It’s a week from Good Friday, the day we go back to court. It’s been a long year of court appearances and slow, oh so very slow progress toward a resolution in Mr. Happy to Be in His House and Not the Big House’s case. The weather today is just as it was when I arrived last April: rainy and cold. The difference now is that I’m warm.
I’m wearing the heavy sweatpants I stole from Mr. Rugby and the heavy sweater I stole from Mr. Happy and the most amazing pair of fluffy, warm socks Jenna or Rob gave me for Christmas. You know you’re old (and cold) when you appreciate getting socks for Christmas.
I’m warm on the inside, too. Another huge difference from last April when I was freezing not just because I had yet to pilfer clothes from my kids, but because I was frozen with fear. Fear of what would happen to my son. Fear of not finding the right people to help him. Fear of being separated from Rob for painfully long stretches of time and what that might do to our marriage. Writing this now, I’m reminded of a quote that hasn’t crossed my mind in far too long:
If you can’t beat fear, do it scared.
I’m big, fat proof that you can do it scared and survive and suddenly realize one day, while you’re sitting on your sofa, wearing stolen sweatpants and fluffy socks, that you’re not afraid any more.
You’d think that I, the woman who navigated her kids through their dad’s illness and death, that I, the one who navigated her way out of her awful, ill-advised second marriage, would have had more faith in myself from the start. But, here’s the thing.
I forgot.
I forgot that I’d done those scary things.
At the moment of that first phone call from my son in the Rappahannock County Jail, it was as if everything I’d lived through, learned, gained confidence from, washed away. Right down the drain. And so I stood there, on the starting block of the unknowable road ahead, with nothing.
Naked and afraid has never been a more apt description.
And this from a woman who wrote an entire book about resilience.
Oy vey.
I can think of a million reasons I forgot. I can make a million excuses and I can cut myself a million breaks. But having done that and, I swear, I have, I’m not sitting here beating myself up, I will not, from this day forward, forget again. Ever.
No matter what happens on Good Friday or Bad Tuesday or Fucking Inconceivable Saturday (maybe especially on Fucking Inconceivable Saturday), I am always going to remember who I am, what I’ve survived, and that I Can Do It Again.
I can do hard things. So can you. The trick is to remember we’ve done them.
As fate or timing would have it, I’m publishing this on Good Friday, the day we go back to court. I have no idea what’s going to happen today. Probably more of the same which is to say, nothing. I’ll keep you posted, of course. Thank you for your prayers!!
Amazing writing through a hideous life journey! Put it all together and, BAM! A GREAT BOOK!
I love you and pray for a fruitful outcome.
Good luck today! You’ve got this!