So blue they are.
And like a wave they just crash.
And it hurts.
It’s not the crashing that hurts. No. That is the best part. That is the part you feel. It pounds down hard. If anything you walk right into that part. Feeling every bit of the cold water. That part reminds you you’re alive.
It’s the undertow that gets you.
Being that pebble that finally made it to the beach to only be dragged back under and swallowed by the sediment that was stirred. Gone. Taken. Ripped away. The light of the beach is now dark.
Never to know when you will be lucky enough to make it up again.
And the craziest part is I’m not even at the beach.
Just right here in this bed.
But it pulls all the same. As if these sheets have a force.
It’s June again.
This was once my favorite month. School celebrations. Warm weather. And for many years the beginning of a much needed teacher vacation.
But the last three Junes have not been such.
2 years ago in June I was told my son had cancer everywhere and his survival was anything but certain.
Then a year later in June I was diagnosed with PTSD. Out of no where I was crippled with anxiety and depression. It was “understandable” (as I’ve been told) after the years I had been through. At that point we had finally gotten Jacob out of the hospital, to only be embraced by Covid to pull him (and me) right back into isolation.
It was a lot. And PTSD it was called.
But this June had promise to be different. How could it not? There seems to be light out there. There is reason to celebrate. Jacob would go to camp! I am back living my purpose, helping others find theirs. Yes-Cancer mom was able to create a future for higher education to help millions.
But yet here I am, in bed.
I woke up the other night to find myself crying in my sleep. That was a first. It was the strangest feeling. I wasn’t quite sure how to stop crying or what I was even crying about. I was for sure not in control. My body felt like it was its own being. I looked at Steve sleeping in bed and even forced myself out of bed to look at Jacob sleeping in his, but while my eyes saw 2 healthy humans, my body cried as if they were both gone.
So for the past few days I have just closed them. No need for eyes. Even rational sights don’t register in the undertow. I may see, but I don’t feel. So I sleep. I have an uncontrollable need for never ending sleep. But to only awake to a sense of gloom and guilt.
Guilt of being a sucky mom. Did someone feed them dinner?! It’s Benno’s birthday will someone buy him a cake?
Guilt of being a sucky leader. DId I miss an email?!
And the guilt pulls me with the undertow, back to tears until I fall asleep again.
Its June again.