I haven't cried a lot in the last few years. I don't know if it is because I am on anti-depressants or because I can't dare slow down because then I'll feel everything and collapse.
Either way. I can't cry. I can barely feel grief and sadness in the way that I know is true. It is part of why I can't write. Why I can't focus on a book, unless it is an audio book and I can listen to it while I do something. It is hard for me to be still and focus on one thing without wanting to jump around and do something else.
I've been given the gift of Rachel. The Nourisher. She helps nourish mama's after their babies are born. I am her first adoptive mama client.
Last week she made a meal and I sat in my room and did needle work. I drank tea and listened to an audio book. (Multi-tasking, I know...but still it felt quieter.) My room was messy but I had those moments and someone else was making a warm meal, and being there to love my kiddos while I had a few moments. And it happened. I felt the sting of tears behind my eyes. The quiet space. The nourishment of someone caring for me. Tea, needle and thread, and written words spoken over me. I didn't cry but I felt that part of me open up a tiny fraction.
It happened again today. Rachel came today and we talked, we cooked, and I shared and she helped me make my house ready for Sabbath. Then when it was time for her to go my heart did that funny fraction cracking. Again, tears stung the back of my eyes. Not crying. Not yet. But the fraction cracking.
And so I wanted to write this down. Part of the healing I have been praying for and working toward?
This space of care that Rachel is bringing. I didn't know what to expect. It is so hard to ask for help but I knew I would need it even if I didn't want to ask for it. So I asked for this help before Eden came home. Knowing I would still be struggling three months in. (I am.) I didn't expect to begin to feel space for tears. Space for sadness. Space to feel what I don't have time to feel. I don't even know what I feel or what the sting of tears is for. But I have space now. Whatever it is feels important. But not like a mountain is important but like the lichen covering a rock is important.
Is it the space that gives a place for the tears and ache I haven't felt? Or haven't been able to invest in. Truly, I think it started when my grandfather died. I couldn't grieve so far away in South Korea, alone from family. I tried to grieve better when Aunt Teresa died. But I didn't know about how when I was still far from family. Then my student Marissa died. I couldn't grieve in front of my students, I had to be strong. Then later Caitlin died, and how could I grieve that when I had to teach. Then later Emma came home and there was surgery. Heart failure. More surgery. I couldn't cry or be weak I had to gain information from the doctors to keep abreast to the best care for Emma. I just can't cry. I am a mama and I don't know how to do that and care for my kids. Is that why the space for me gives me that?
I don't know but I am thankful. Thankful for Rachel and her nourishing care.
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