I am clawing my way out of a hole. A hole I cannot see, touch, nor feel. I’m merely encircled in it. Ever find yourself encircled by a circle? Entwined in a vine? Entranced in expanse? Oy Vey, I shall stop there! Enough with the quasi rhyme-y, alliteration wanna be(s).
My hole is easily defined, for it is wallpapered with ingratitude. I shall therefore attempt to remember (this phrase is key, for when one is under a great deal of stress, remembering things–the right things–is a challenge) to set my thoughts upon the Heavenly before touching my feet to the ground. I shall attempt to remember to greet my Almighty Father first thing in the morning, before I lift my head from my pillow. And by doing so, the redecorating process begins.
Have you ever been lost? Truly in a spot of unrecognized territory? I have. Once, while vacationing on the island of Oahu, Hawaii. I took my husband and two children on an adventure we will never forget. I am an avid hiker, at least the Rivka I am most familiar with, I can say, is an avid hiker. So to an unfamiliar trail I took my family, the call of true adventure my thrill. We began our trek to the hidden waterfall with somewhat of a visible trail to guide our way. And though at many times we were unsure if our chosen steps were leading us in the direction we hoped to go, we were offered a smidgen of hope from a random passerby to assure us our desired destination did, in fact, exist. So while we had a successful venture to the pool of water I had longed to see, our hike back to safety took a wrong turn. The rain began to fall…and fall, and fall. And with it, the trails were completely washed away. Banana palm trees lay fallen in the mud. Our once familiar markers were sailing down the, now flowing, creek leaving us truly lost and in a place of unrecognizable territory. Gone were the one or two previous people who kept us on course. Gone was solid ground, only slippery mud and a husband/father with a guitar (because every hiker totes a musical instrument, right?), a wife/mother with a bit of fear lurking inside her, an optimistic boy, and a little girl who promptly spilled the rationed trail mix as if paying homage to the ritualistic offerings from the island’s past. In that moment, flip-flop bedecked, we the Bent family were considering how it might feel to sleep in jungle-like surroundings with no food or water left for sustenance. Yet plenty of rain and who knows what else! We obviously made it out, thanks to the guitar and the little boy. No questions please.
Well, here I am again. Lost.
Where is Rivka? An honest to goodness question circling within my soul. Hello…anybody home?
Oh the logistics of my whereabouts are accounted for, but the “me” I am so familiar with seems to be missing. I am not depressed. I know what that looks and feels like. I am not oppressed, I have been there too. I am simply too pooped to come out to play. Every day for the past three weeks I have awoke in the morning and begun my search. Or I lie awake through the night unable to properly sleep, thus getting a jump start on my quest. I am looking for my Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows. I am hoping for the feelings of “everything that’s wonderful is how I feel when we’re together” to return into my view again. You know, my Lesley Gore!
Yes I have been lost before. However, I have never before been in a predicament of unfamiliarity as result of too much pressure. I have been blue, I have been burdened, I have been overwhelmed, and I have been tired. But being in a place of enduring the weight of too many difficult circumstances culminating simultaneously equating to a pressurized intensity unbearable to my body, mind, and soul, is new terrain.
Unable to speak. Unable to write. Unable to muster up the energy for thought. Pressurized, and thus, vaporized.
I began to formulate an ‘SOS’ type text to send out to my girlfriends who I figured could handle a cry for help. But even that weight felt too heavy to lift; end result, delete. Prayer. Ah, the Heavenward thoughts which unite the human spirit with the spirit of One. Key word in previous sentence being, “thoughts”…mine are bankrupt. Fill in the blanks.
As I sit here in my living room writing, post a three week hiatus, my husband enters into the room to inform me our plumbing has backed up yet again. We have a root ball blocking our sewage flow. Tomorrow the dig will begin, at least I will know where to find me…on another path leading toward shit. I think I’ve written about that in the past. Sorry, the color brown seems to suit me. And a statement like that does echo the voice of depression, I apologize. I am merely utilizing my literary license to invoke the melodramatic. Truly, sewage problems I can handle…I know how to squat over a bag covered bucket!
Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows…the search continues. “Lesley, are you out there?!”
P.s. It is a good sign that I was able to formulate a post. Cheers to that! Now may you please enjoy the song, and remember it’s that time of year again when the baby king hides out in a cake. 😉
I like to arrange furniture. Actually, I like to arrange, re-arrange, and flat out design rooms for functionality, efficiency, comfort, and visual delight. Thankfully I am married to a design junkie as well. He not only enables my inclinations, but he is a full packaged resource when it comes to any and all of my fancies–whether it be the design or the build. Sometimes we work together to formulate a new quadrant creation, and sometimes we work as fast as thieves to get our vision to the end product before the other spouse can override the desired change. All in all, we have loads of fun in either situation. And we both enjoy keeping a non-cluttered environment where we can rest from the excitement of the world outside, and welcome friends and family to the Bent life as we live it.
Note: For some reason I am really struggling to write this post in English. My thoughts are being driven by my Spanish speaking mind and translating to the Germanic language is a challenge. …just something for you, the reader, to keep in mind as you meander through this literary presentation.
In fact, right now I sit in my living room mentally wanting to give into the call of slumber which comes as result of the sun beaming through the window, warming the sofa making the ideal location for an afternoon nap.
The sun drenched couch
However, the longing of the mind to rest is being thwarted by the accelerative properties of the caffeine present within the large cup-o-joe I just ingested a few moments ago. I am also unsure of what the next hour will bring for my weary mind and body, thus the trepidation of the forthcoming is keeping me from the prone position for now. What might the next hour bring? you ask…
Well, it could mean another trek to the hospital with my son, Cole. My poor son has suffered so much in these past 3 years, and yet he continues this route with a frequency too consistent too feel as if he has ever caught a real break. And with him we ride, alongside his struggles, his sufferings, and his visits to the ER. And as much as he wishes for himself that his cycle of pain, diagnostics, and medicinal ‘Russian Roulette’ would stop, he remains quite sensitive to the infliction his course imposes upon his family. This is not a course for the faint of heart! And though I personally feel we are in a Purgatory-like state, he feels as if this IS Hell. I say, not quite Hell just yet because we are inching ever closer to a proper course of treatment for a decent quality of life. I say, let us not give up our chores of dusting the furniture and vacuuming the rugs just yet. This temporary place of torture, I believe is drawing close to its end; But we have been keeping house in this locale for so long now, I can understand why Cole is convinced it is Hell.
Now I must go and evaluate the condition of my son, who is in his room doing his best to distract his mind from the heaviness upon his body. But before I take my leave from my free therapy of the day, I will properly give thanks to the Roman Catholic religion for providing me with the analogous place of the interim. Without it, I just might forget where I am and get lost in the idea that we are here, in this moment, forever.
"I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them a great deal."
-Jane Austin
"Me lo han quitado todo
-bueno, casi todo-
porque me queda la sonrisa
el orgullo de sentirme un hombre libre
y en el alma un jardín
de eterna florecitas."
-Armando Valladares 1981, La Mejor Tinta
My title is deceiving. It implies I am in the market for a new daughter. This is not the case…I assure you. And though this post has nothing to do with shopping for a child, it does involve the parent-child dynamic. Are you surprised? Have I not overused this topic already? I will answer for […]
living in loss and gratitude 
The Noise