Thunder

Superman needs the sun.

I need thunderstorms.

There is no other energy quite like it. I feel it in my soul even more than my body, and it energizes me like nothing else.

Thunder has many tones. A soft, distant rumble, like a mother’s strong voice from inside the womb. A sharp, powerful crack, like a verdict that reveals truth. And a dozen variations inbetween. All of which, to me, are like the loving voice of God.

Contrary to what might be more logical, when I hear thunder, no matter how far or close it is, I feel safe. (Yes, when it’s very close I may still jump. But then I’m fine.)

I came to terms long ago that if God wanted to strike me down with a bolt of lightning then there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. And that, perhaps ironically, gave me peace.

At least with lightning.

I’ve been struggling lately with faith, beliefs, base understandings I’ve always held. Thunder, though it comes from the sky, grounds me. Maybe I don’t have to have all the answers. It’s okay if right now I’m more full of questions and doubts than certainties. When I hear thunder, blessedly a near daily gift in this seasonal weather, I have an anchor. Something bigger than me. Something unknown, strong and powerful, yet gentle and soothing. Something intangible yet physical. Something spiritual.

Superman needs the sun to recharge.

I need thunder to remind me to keep going.

Mother’s Day Part Two: Gains

Last week I wrote about Mother’s Day and the loss of my mother. This week I’d like to add part two: what I have gained.

The first time I met my now mother-in-love we were having dinner at one of my favorite restaurants down the street. She was late and that was a concern because as I know now she’s always on time and even early.

Turns out the car clock had been messed up after a routine maintenance stop and she just didn’t realize it.

I was nervous. You know, trying to make a good impression nervous, but by the end of the meal I was so tickled happy I wasn’t very worried anymore.

That was the beginning of a relationship I treasure daily, even when I don’t know how to express it.

Such as with names. I’m the awkward type of person who will address you exactly as you introduce yourself to me. If you say your name is Charles, and I hear another friend call you Charlie, I will still forever call you Charles until you tell me it’s okay to use the nickname.

So when my mother passed away just a few months after my wedding and I hadn’t yet started calling my mother-in-love “Mom” or some variant of that, I had a difficult time figuring out what to do. I hope this didn’t hurt her. It wasn’t her; it was 100% me. I felt then and still do feel close to her. I was just having a hard time losing one mother so soon after gaining another and adjusting the names I used. Saying “Mama” was painful and reserved for grieving. But, eventually, I think two Christmases later (I am ever grateful for your patience!) I checked if I could and then added “Mama” to her first name.

It may seem like a small thing, but it meant the world to me. I’d had a mama the whole time, I had gained more patient love, and I could finally express it out loud.

If it wasn’t important, I wouldn’t miss it so much

Sadness is a daily reality. Sometimes it’s godawful overwhelming, and sometimes it’s a tinge that flavors life.

It’s a season of loss for me. Loss of my baby — the Old Man Baby Cat, my orange floof of love. Loss of certain experiences, gathering in person with friends and getting hugs, drumming together, high-fiving coworkers.

I’ve been very fortunate to be able to stay home at this time, our effort to keep not only ourselves safe but to prevent being carriers of the Covid-19 coronavirus to others. We’ve been home since March 15, ironically an anniversary day of ours so it’s easier to remember.

It’s now May.

In that time we have left our neighborhood once, for a medical need, and otherwise have been finding our patterns and working on our physical, emotional, and mental health from home. Trying to be of help to others from a distance, as well, but…it’s a time of sadness, which can make it harder to help.

Grief and mourning are never far from my heart these days. I think about loss a lot. I try to think about how to handle it, how to prepare for the upcoming days this month that I know are going to be in that overwhelming hurt category. I’m never very far from crying or tearing up.

But there is also still good. As the Eleventh Doctor said, Life is a pile of good things and bad. Neither one makes the other invalid. Just right now the good things keep having that taste of bittersweet.

Seeing friends via video chats (and learning tips on how to deal with that unique stressor factor…seeing oneself or constantly being aware of what you look like is awkward at best) is a wonderful time. And oddly sad.

But the sad doesn’t negate the glad.

It’s a mix.

And I will take the mix and having the good reminders and sweet times with friends over complete isolation or just bad.

But I guess I’m trying to say, I also need to sit with the sadness. Let it be there. It is present. I acknowledge it.

Somehow that makes it hurt just a little less.

I accept it. It is my companion. It’s not really there for my harm. It shows me what I value and what is dear to me.

That actually shows me something good about myself.

 

 

May is National Mental Health Month. This article from The Guardian has some insights, tips, and links to resources for dealing with mental health needs during this time of physical distancing, including a link to the Crisis Text Line (at https://www.crisistextline.org/). Please know you are not alone.

My diaversary was last week

Three years ago last Saturday. July 6, 2016. That’s when I had official word of something I suspected and feared a decent bit. That’s also when I was finally able to start receiving the life-sustaining medicine I needed.

I knew the anniversary was coming but I kept forgetting and didn’t plan anything (some people celebrate their diaversary — I have — I say any reason for cake let’s go!). Instead I had a pretty good Saturday at work where I did my best to make progress on my plans for supporting others living with chronic conditions, and helped those who called and came to the place of employ, and did my best for my coworkers.

The first two years I feel like diabetes was about all I talked about. Maybe 70% or so. I did try very hard not to make that the only thing. I do appreciate friends, family members, and coworkers who were patient and also genuinely interested to hear me talk about it. This past year I feel like I have been growing more into myself as a whole person again, not only as a diabetic. This is the right direction.

Of course I’d rather not need to deal with this autoimmune disease every day, but I have definitely accepted it as a part of who I am and have been adapting to life with a broken organ. This is also the right direction.

The timing is right and come September I will be all the more able to share my story, what it means for me to live with this diagnosis, and spread awareness and understanding to others with peace in my mind and balance in my heart.

This year I didn’t have a party or eat a piece of cake. But that’s also okay. This year I feel like I’m ready to move forward. I have something of a handle on this ever-changing situation, my instincts are solid, my doctors are excellent, and my support is amazing.

I’ve been building up my house, my sanctuary. Very soon I will be able to open its doors to others.