“Happy holidays!” My chiropractor says, and then catches herself. “I mean, well, ah…” She trails off. I’ve known her for 20 years, and she knows me, and my family.
I’m falling apart.
I don’t mean emotionally, although that is true, and understandable considering circumstances. Yesterday I decorated the tree. I had cried for two days at the start of the month when I opened the Christmas boxes, but eventually decided that I would still have a tree this year. I’d given Carson’s sister the box of family ornaments that he had set aside for when he had his own place, but I’d forgotten about the little wooden star. Lise, his grade one teacher, had painted his name on it. I’m sure she gave one to every student in her class, but Carson thought it was just for him.
I wake up early this morning, in pain. As I drink my coffee in bed, I inventory. Chronic conditions, that I normally manage with diet, exercise and minimal medication, have flared up and bones and muscles ache.
What I’m missing this morning is my energy and unrelenting optimism. I finish my coffee and go back to sleep.
Two hours later, Scott coaxes me with brunch and I go down in my pyjamas to eat it. Habit carries me through cleaning up the kitchen and making our second coffee, but I feel heavy, leaden, so I carry it upstairs, back to bed.
Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional. Normally I choose positivity every morning, the same way I choose to be in love. I remember my ex’s disbelief when I told him this— he felt love was something that just happened, that you could fall in and out of. I felt it was a conscious choice.
After an hour of staring, alternately, at my phone and the low, grey clouds outside the window, my coffee is gone, and I remember that there is still birthday cake in the fridge. I take a painkiller and with cake as the bribe, get dressed.
In the kitchen, cake reminds me of the Finnish spice cookies I planned to make for Christmas, so I get out the ingredients to mix the dough. I notice the kombucha fermenting on the counter and taste it— it’s ready so I start brewing the next batch of tea.
The dough needs to sit, the tea to cool. One step at a time, with breaks in between. I text my daughter and ask her if she wants to help me make cookies, or if I should just deliver some tomorrow.
I start to clean the kitchen again and see the returnables in the garage. Some people in my new strata had been putting returnable beverage containers in the garbage and recycling bins, so I set up a separate bin for them. I rinse, sort and return, and post the receipt from the charity I give the money to. It reminds me that I wanted to donate to the Christmas hamper fund, and bring in some extra winter coats, too.
Scott sees me going back and forth to the garage. He smiles.
“Looks like the Energizer Bunny is back.”
And so it goes. I do what I can do: simple pleasures of food or nature; being with those I love; thinking about helping others; maintenance of my home and my body.
Maybe tomorrow I will wake up and do my workout, or maybe I will lie in bed and weep. I do not waste time expecting one or the other.
It may be hard, sometimes, on this journey, to find my joy— but I will not choose suffering.
On with the brave travels.
Brave Travels 