Driftwood

For nearly 18 hours, I was lost.  Unmoored.  Drifting.  Asea.

I even warned Mark last night that I felt my five-year "cry" revving up.  And he looked kind of scared.  Hey, I'm an ugly crier but not a scary one.  Ultimately, I spared him by letting my tears slip silently onto my pillow while he sunk into slumber.

This "life" thing can be really heavy sometimes.  Fortunately, my siblings and I make a pretty awesome Team Sally, but I have lousy upper-body strength, so maybe it's not surprising that, after spending the day with my ailing mom yesterday, I was ready to call "uncle" and let someone else carry that burden.

Unburdening myself, it turned out, was the secret to getting better.

I don't think of myself as stubborn or fiercely independent.  Yet, I seldom reach out and ask for help.  But last night and early this morning, I felt raw and thin and vulnerable. And I decided that what I needed most from my friends was to have them share in carrying my burden.

So I told a few folks about my wobbly state of mind.  About my mom's decline and the weight that accompanied it.

I am not well practiced in the art of being human, sometimes.  Fortunately, the folks I reached out to were confident in their ability to listen and love and absorb.  And, because of them,  my load got a bit lighter.  Not easier, to be sure, but. . . lighter.

By mid morning today, I felt almost human again.  Silly and grateful and grounded.

As for my friends?  Well, I suspect their days got a bit heavier.  That is the end result of unburdening your woes--someone's got to carry the extra load.

And me?   I will still carry this sadness within me, knowing my mom is writing her last chapter.  But I won't carry it alone.  And that makes all the difference in the world.