But I Wasn't Ready

But I Wasn’t Ready

This one sentence has been replaying over and over again in my mind. The Des Moines community recently lost a couple of beautiful women to cancer, two women who deserved much better than to go out in such agony. And sitting here this morning thinking about them, the words swirl; “but I wasn’t ready”. They both passed any way despite my not getting there one more time to see either of them.

Thinking back over tragedies, losses endured, losses facing me now; “but I wasn’t ready” is the only thing that seems to remain intact like a worn out vinyl record losing it's ability to make a sound.

I was never ready for divorce or for empty nest. Never ready to be swept off my feet “in love”. Never quite on my toes and ready to hear the news, “he needs surgery and may never see again” or “your mom has suffered a severe stroke” or “your dad is in the hospital, probably dying” or “your grandma was calling your name right before she passed on”. My mind and heart have never been ready for “come to Maui and learn” or “would you like to house sit and spend time at the beach?” or “let me buy you a plane ticket so you can come see your mom”. No matter what the circumstance, even when I try to prepare for what lies ahead, what is coming around the corner, I am never quite expecting what presents itself, both bad and good.

And now, knowing my mom is on such strong medication, knowing her condition is deteriorating to the point I can no longer keep running away from the emotion that it all brings to the surface, I find the mantra in my head spinning out of control again. But I wasn’t ready.

There is a helplessness in life that teaches us we are never in control of anything. We spend a lifetime trying to convince ourselves and others that we are. But simply? We are never really prepared enough or brave enough or weak enough or strong enough or able enough to cling and hang onto anything. We never have enough foresight to say all the right things, feel all the perfect ways there are to feel, experience anything deeply enough or widely enough. And that helplessness can either sink us or free us somehow. Or maybe, a little bit of both all at the same time.

I am realizing how often I spend my precious time worrying about what is going to blind-side me next. Or planning and strategizing for “the perfect life” that I want to be creator of. But day after day I utter the words “but I wasn’t ready”.

I’m feeling rather small in the shadow of my mom’s disease and my stepdad’s brave journey as her caretaker. As my mother shrinks, so do I… and I am not ready. I don’t know how to deal with all of this and I have had no words for months now because I simply can’t find my own footing any more. No matter how you try to mentally prepare, how much outer armor you try to construct, how much you guard your heart against any more brokenness, nothing prepares you to lose someone like you mother, your best friend, the part of you that will always remain buried in your DNA and cellular memory. And yet here I am now, being forced to face the kind of life shattering loss, the kind that feels like it has destroyed my inner compass and made me shout a never ending “BUT I AM NOT READY”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My beautiful niece reached out to me in the midst of my tears last night and sent the following words and I hope she doesn’t mind my sharing them. I truly know I am not alone in the shrinking… I know others are going through, have gone through or will go through similar. So it is with the intent to share her view of strength to offer something soothing, pass forward her gift to me in a feeble attempt of me wanting to make some ripple wave outward from enormous amounts of “weakness” and “vulnerability”.

My niece’s words that launched words (finally) in me this morning:

“People misunderstand and mis-describe what strength is.

I think 98% of strength is showing up to stand with/sit beside the people we love, even if we’re a weeping mess, who hasn’t showered in 4 days, wearing sweats and a t-shirt from 1994 because it’s the last clean thing in the closet. Strength is rolling on the grass and yowling in agony because you know that’s the last best thing you can do to keep your sanity. Visible emotion isn’t weakness. Tears aren’t weakness. Pain isn’t weakness. Exhaustion isn’t weakness. Self-care isn’t weakness. Our patriarchal society tells you lies about your strength – but it’s not gonna break you because you are strong in ways it is blind to. You always have been and you always will be.”

***this coming from a young woman who lost her mother years ago to breast cancer and who has been my pillar of strength for a very long time

I don’t think I can ever offer a comforting sentence again of “stay strong”. I think rather than that sentiment I will forever just sit quietly or offer a tissue or humbly whisper, “I know you weren’t ready. We never are.”