I take comfort in Laura Munson's account of her own emotional distress and exhaustion:
I've been jet-lagged and restless through the nights, tossing and turning and walking the pearly moon-lit rooms of our house...
And in my waking hour...without him, my eyes open and immediately start tracking back and forth like they're looking for something. I ward off the thoughts, blinking and staring hard at the mighty conifers outside my window, ash lavender in the dusty dawn. But there is a lumbering force behind me. Pushing at my mind. Trying to knead me into knowing that something dear to me is missing. That I should be afraid.
And that bastard knowledge is there. Consciousness, like an ambulance chaser of dawn....
Lord, if that doesn't describe my despair perfectly...
Thankfully, I can also take comfort in her epiphany:
[O]ur happiness -- our ability to love, to be in a place of harmony with ourselves and beyond -- is not outside ourselves. Our happiness is not outside ourselves. It's just as natural as waking up to a dog barking somewhere in the distance. Smelling coffee... Even when you know that the day will be full of challenges...
It's important to think of who you are in that meditative waking trance. Not where you are in the world. Because you may think that...you had to cross the ocean or pay your dues by years of hard work and even rejection... But what if there really isn't anywhere to get? What if you're already there, no matter where you are or where you wake? Doesn't that feel easy on the brain? Maybe the bumper stickers don't lie. What if there is no there there? Maybe we don't have to cross oceans after all.
God, it's so Wizard of Oz. Sort of pisses me off.
My epiphany, boiled down then, to this:
Our happiness is not outside ourselves. It's all here. In us. It always was...
And that means...my husband still gone...that it's all here. Here...
I will not retreat to the pit of suffering.
Now, you may be far more enlightened than I. You may have grasped this already. And I did, too -- in theory. But it wasn't until this morning, when my heart was heavy and I thought I might cry on public transportation, that I truly understood it. As I sat there thinking, "I wish he would call. I wish he would accept this period of crisis for what it is and come to the end of his suffering. I wish he woud let me in again." It hit me: even if he did call, accept this period of crisis for what it is, come to the end of his suffering and let me in again, I still wouldn't want my happiness to be dependent upon him.
My heart breaks for him, sure. I wish I could be there, I wish I could comfort him, I wish I could help him through this. I wish I could feel his arms around me and rest in his embrace. But I can't fix him. I can't heal him. I can't do anything but, as Laura Munson said, "love him from afar." Sometimes the way to love someone is simply not giving up on them when they expect it. When they most want it.
But if/when he does fully let me in again as partner in this world of madness -- I'm unattached to outcome, remember? -- he will have bad days. Bad weeks. Bad months, even. And he will be grieving, hurting, struggling or irritating on occasion. And I don't want my happiness to be based on him. Or his behavior. Good or bad. And he doesn't have to: I create my own happiness. It's all here inside of me.
Thank god for reminders 18, 19 and 20...
18: A friend last night, offering her support at any hour of the night. "I'm here if you need me," she said. "Ha, it's 10:00," I responded. "Don't you need sleep?" "Well, I do," she said. "But I'm well-rested. I can be awake if you need be." How incredibly thoughtful and comforting...
19: A homeless man I pass every day on my way into the office. His lot in life is far worse than mine, but he sits there every morning, his spirit not outwardly affected. He says, "Good morning to you, do you have a dollar to spare?" while everything he owns sits beside him on a bench. It's not that his pain makes me feel better. The lesson isn't "it's all relative." Rather, his pain reminds me that each of us has his/her own struggles and demons. We can't escape pain and suffering. "We all fall down," as the Diamond Rio song says. I am one with everyone else in the universe in that sense.
20: A father and son riding by on a bicycle, the son strapped in to a child's seat on the rear of it, wearing a tiny helmet. "Dad, why are we going this way?" he said. And the innocence of children and the precious role of caretaking grounded me again.
All three excellent reminders to take stock and give thanks...
Leave your own experiences and reminders in the Comments section.
-Me