I'm trying to be happy. Trying to stay positive. Trying to remember that everything happens for a reason. I have lots of reasons to be happy: two adorable kids that keep me going going going day and night, a husband with whom I can laugh, good friends that share their ups and downs with me, a home, food, clothing, plane tickets for summer vacation, family far and near, my computer, a telephone. I am happy: I have all it takes to have a good life. I have lots of reasons to stay positive: it keeps my spirit free, I can imagine a better future, things could always be worse, summer is on its way, my family is healthy, there is a party to celebrate the Lord in our lives quickly arriving. I know everything happens for a reason: I worked with autistic people as a teen, my fave author since I was a kid writes books about autistic kids, my main project in college was about Holland, we purchased our home just before the market costs exploded, just driving by a garage one afternoon we spotted our future car in the driveway, I sent an email to some American that lived in the same town as me and she has become one of my best friends, I gave birth when my entire life was falling apart around me. These are all examples, even if ever so tiny, of proof that things happen for a reason. And today, that's what I need to remember, as the spring in my step falters, my shoulders hold an extra knot, and my eyes are not shining as bright as they could.
Today, my mom is supposed to be leaving: destination Belgium. Today my mom is unable to fly, on antibiotics, and staying home with her foot up in bed. And me, call it major disappointment. And even as I try to rationalize these feelings of self-pity, I know it is unfair. But to me, the unfairness falls under the category of me not being able to arrive at teh airport, park my car, and meet my smiling, beautiful mom at the arrival gate. These plans we have had for months in the making have been carried off to some forsaken land, and if I don't keep busy, tears threaten to fall from the corners of my eyes. Today, I am walking around in a misty haze.
I should be grateful. I have a mom in my life, she supports and loves me. And at this moment in time, she is sick and in pain and needs me to be strong. I am trying to be strong, trying to be positive, trying not to allow disappointment to blur my vision. But it is difficult. Still, we'll get through. As long as my mom comes out on top of this, feeling healthy and living with no pain, that's when it will truly all be okay.
So, she won't be here to share in our celebration. But at least we'll be at church where we can ask God to watch over her, help her heal, and feel His love fill us up with faith. And hopefully, some of that disappointment can be turned into strength for my children as well, helping them to smile as seas of dissapointment fill our world with that misty haze.
Get Well Soon, MOM! We'll be missing you, but we're staying strong!