Sometimes heartbreak comes in the smallest, most unsuspecting moments — like right after you get out of the shower, right in the middle of a conversation.
Working out early in the morning leads to some of my favorite time with my husband. As we get ready — before we start making breakfast, waking the kids and hustling through the day — we talk.
On this particular morning, we started talking about “next year” which is actually this year. As a teacher, he often talks in school years which I totally get. "Next year" our little Ava starts kindergarten. Tyler starts talking, “We need to figure out what we will do with Abby so she isn’t the only little one at Peggy’s on Tuesday’s and Thursday’s. We need to talk about before and after pre-school care. And, we need to start talking about who we might be able to have pick up Ava from school.”
Tears. My chest is slightly constricting. I can’t control it. He is is still showering and I have retreated to my closet from which he can hear my sobs. “I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he says. Of course this sweet man didn’t. He is practical and kind and caring and thoughtful. So he continues, trying to console me when all I can hear are my own sobs which I now am thankful are drowning out his efforts to console me. It won’t work. I finally lift my head and mutter, “There is nothing you can say. Thank you for trying. I love you.”
I want to be the one picking my ponytail swinging daughter up from school. Nobody else. Me. Only me. The thought of missing that precious time of excitement and sharing, it is heartbreaking.
And then, as I pull myself together, make my way upstairs and curl into bed with my two sleeping beauties I snuggle and thank the good Lord that they are healthy and safe, that they are living vibrant lives with a variety of people that love them. I whisper to Ava that I love her.
Our morning hustle starts. Clothes, socks, shoes, hair, breakfast, my voice on repeat, “Come here, please. We don’t have time to read that right now.” It’s all going in the predictably comfortable way that I love.
On my way to the office, I called my Mom. The tears come back. Six months. I have six months until that spirited, little, and excited human starts school. Mom is strong in a way I can only pray I become. We remind each other how much we have to be thankful for. As we talk, the irony of this conversation is not lost on me. I want to be the one to pick my child up from school every day. I want more time. My Mom just wants to see me everyday. And yet, I am not in Texas anymore. Someday, Ava may not be in Indiana anymore. I avoid that train of thought and dart back into the here and now.
Right now, we are blessed. I’m sad and blessed and thankful all at the same time. I’m focusing on the time we do have. Making the most of it. Last night, we all snuggled in the same bed. There was a “tickle tackle”. There were certainly books and songs, movies and talking.
Our time restored my joy, sweet sweet joy. It also reminded me that we are in control of our own healing. We can’t always change our circumstances in the moment, but we can keep things in perspective and be intentional about creating a future that better aligns with the desires of our hearts. Change isn’t easy. Working toward goals that matter isn’t easy. I think it is one of the reasons so many live with discontentment or frustration.
At some point, you approach a line. When staying on the current side of your line is harder than change, you make changes. But, it often isn’t until that pain or frustration is bubbling hot enough to get our attention that we decide to cross the line for something more refreshing.
