I saw her walk up and I knew. I knew there was some weird connection between us. Can you ever just feel someone else’s vibe? Can you feel their soul enter the room before you actually see them? Like a warmth is filling up the universe?
That was her. And at some point, we hugged upon introduction. After all, we are family. Sorta.
I could tell that for certain, she was a person that even after she parted, she’d stick with me. We began talking. About our lives. I think I could have talked to her straight through until dawn’s morning light. She had been battling health issues for almost ten years. And she finally had answers. A light. A feeling of resolve, maybe. And she knew about the whole cancer thing. She knew that we’d get each other. And each thing she said, my head bobbed along with it. YES.
We got each other. She and I.
Me, with the cancerspective. Her, with the reality that any day could be the last. Like. The reality of it. Not just the thought or the concept.
And I felt like she, too, got me. Like. Truly. The way that neither she nor I checked our phones or got up to move along to another conversation. The way she actually listened to my words, not waited for me to end a sentence so she could insert her experience or story. It was one of the most genuine conversations I’ve had with a complete stranger.
There’s a warmth in that feeling. That human connection. That thing that is just there between two people. Sometimes, there is just an inexplicable charisma between two people and the connection sparks, immediately. And it’s not just when there’s an attraction between the people. But rather a mutual admiration and love of what that person is.
We talked about our faith. And how it had grown through our circumstances. We talked about our doubts. Our fears. Our thoughts about death. And the after. We talked about what changed. What happened the day that we realized our new reality. The reality that we were, as she stated, awake.
Oh. My. Word. I think I actually gasped internally when she said it. It was truly my word. The word that I had been feeling. But hadn’t had a name for. Hadn’t been able to label. That was the difference. My difference.
Before I went through the last year, I had a brilliant life. I can’t deny that. I had a life that knew love, and children. A life that knew very little untimely loss, I suppose. Very little financial pain. I had a life with a new house. Three healthy children. A dad and mom who I enjoy. This tribe of friends who I suspected and easily spouted that I would do anything for. Siblings I adore. And of course, this true true love for the man who laid beside me every night. A God who forgave me all of my sins. My life, for all intents and purposes, was charmed.
And yet, I was lost a bit, I think. I lacked energy every day. I felt so waffley on my choice to be a full-time stay-at-home-mother. I felt stressed, truly, about every little thing. The way my house looked. The way I was stacking up to other moms around me. The way my banana bread came out. Even though I didn’t know I was stressing about those things. I now know, I was.
I questioned my writing. I questioned my faith, at times. I questioned what my gifts to the world were supposed to be. And I just felt inadequate. As a mom, mostly. But as a wife, too, I think. I don’t really know how to explain it. Except to say, I wasn’t AWAKE.
I was sort of drifting through many days just hoping to get through them. Not like I didn’t want to be in them. Or I didn’t want them to be happening. But more like, I was just searching for what was next. What was my purpose. How on earth was this midwest mama of three little boys supposed to leave a ripple. Make an impact. I could barely stay up past 9 o clock.
Because while there is so much joy in early motherhood, for me, it was also hard. Exhausting. And I some days just wanted to get to their next phase.
I would feel good about writing. But I would find myself censoring my crazy at times. My internal truths, were sometimes held internally for the fear that I might say something that would bring on the trolls. I would feel good about loving. But I questioned how my husband could find me smart, fascinating, or beautiful, when he came home to me in yoga pants and sweaty pits, daily. And I felt like I wasn’t the mother my boys needed me to be. I didn’t know why I felt so inept with them. But I did. I felt like, with them, I could never do enough.
And it wasn’t like I was even sad. Or mad. Or depressed. Now that I’ve gone through anxiety and depression after diagnosis, I know that what I felt prior was more like a stagnate feeling. A feeling of what on earth do I do now-ness. But I had no real energy to make any changes. To take any big leaps. Or to really put myself out there, like calling myself a writer. Or a mentor. Or a want to be inspirationist.
I wasn’t unhappy. In fact, I have true writing that proves that I was actually content once again… or perhaps very very close. And when I read those words from last year at this time, I know I was telling my truth. I wasn’t embellishing on the contentedness that I had in my heart. In my bones.
But. I wasn’t awake.
I know that now. Because now. I am content. Now. I have energy. Now. I am thankful in ways that I’d never known I could be. Now. I feel. Daily. I remember daily. What it was to have to fight. To hurt. To ache. To feel my body under attack. To feel like my life was going to be taken away from me. That I was going to have to say goodbye to the little people I felt as though I had just said hello to. And to hold my husband’s hand knowing that “until death do we part” was coming earlier than anticipated. Or than I ever would have wanted.
I know now that I was sort of asleep through so much of the boys first years. Not because I didn’t want to be present. But because I couldn’t find the energy every day to be the perfect mother to three under 5. It was a bit of a blur from day to day of nursing, diaper changing, refereeing, and the minutia of motherhood. My love never wavered. But the luster to me of staying home lost wore off quickly in the newborn stages. It was a bit of an all-consuming, ever-encompassing thing that made me feel a lack of my former self without direction as to what my future self was meant to be.
But now. It’s this thing. This vibe. This whimsy in my life which has returned. And it has woken me up. It has made me awake to life’s simplest of joys. To life’s beauty even in turmoil. It has made me hope for the gift of presence in each day. Of laughter in the hard moments. Of gratitude for even the stupidest of things. And of praising God for my health, every.single.moment.i.can.
I’m living awake. Just like she said. She said it and I thought to myself, “She gets it in the way I don’t.” I was meant to meet her.
I have woken up to this life. I now feel beyond content in the oddest way. In this way that supercedes what I thought of that word just a year past. I finally feel like I am living in the spot where I am. The spot where I am meant to be. I feel happy to be me. To wake up every morning. To enjoy the warmth of a thick mug of coffee in between my hands. To feel kisses on my cheek as my husband exits from work. I find myself obsessed with the Littlest’s baby babble, the Middlest’s spunk, and the Oldest’s sage wisdom. I yell less. I laugh more. I find these things that before would have just passed me by as the very most critical parts of my day. I am in love, more than ever, with the human connection. With spending time with people I really truly am fed from. People who fill me. And help me see the joy in their lives.
I pray more. I eat healthier. I hug more {if that’s even possible}. I love harder. I want to write every thought of every day. And it’s all because that thing. That thing that seemed like a mountain. That was my mountain. The thing that seemed like the worst thing that could ever have been thrust upon my charmed life. It woke me up.
And now, I live my days, eyes wide open. And completely in love with this whole thing called life.
She said the words, “I feel awake.” And I nodded. I exclaimed, “YES.”
When we were ready to part, I clutched her close to me. I didn’t want to let her go or I at least needed enough of her spirit to rub off on me that I could carry bits and pieces of her with me as we moved forward, apart. And I knew that I would. Carry her along. Whether we saw each other again in 6 months or four years. Because she completely got me. She absolutely understood.
Because we’d both had the mountain. And we’d both watched it move.
She was just what I needed on that day. To use that word. To put my heart into letters. That formed a word that explained all the feelings I’ve had through my journey in one simple phrase. I’m awake.
And though I love sleep, and naps, and sleeping in on Saturday mornings, I can say that being awake is the way to do this thing. To not feel like one day is simply draining into the next into the next. Or that we’re just floating along here. With no further purpose than what we are in the day in day out.
I didn’t know it. I didn’t know the name of it. And I’m not even certain I was sacked out. But I know one thing for certain, I wasn’t awake.
When we had to say goodbye, I felt as if there had never been a day that she was alive that my heart didn’t know hers was in the universe. I felt as if God had brought us together, at just the right time, both in a state of gratefulness and acceptance of our lot in life. And I closed my eyes tight to keep back the tears as we drove away. From the time spent becoming family. And the time devoted to unearthing my true spot in this life. The chance to be more than I can dream. Even if I’m only dreaming of raising great children and writing a book I’ll never sell.
We have to know our dreams. We have to know our souls. We have to acknowledge that it’s okay to think normal is hard especially if normal is our only point of reference. And you, my friend, deserve to know that you are enough just as you are… And you don’t have to know what plans lie ahead. Because each day is our life. Each day is our gift. And we don’t know when those days might stop.
I was given this gift to understand what most people know, I think, without needing a second chance to remind them — life ain’t always easy, but living is truly a dream.
Awake. Yes. I am now awake. And I never could have told you before I wasn’t. Or that life could be so fulfilling doing the most seemingly mundane tasks.
I am awake. Are you?
