I have this vision in my head that I replay often, especially on the hard days, where my boys – now grown men – are sitting around the dining room table reminiscing on that time mom did what she thought was best, owned her boundaries, and still provided, showed up, explored, and put in the time, effort, and work. Maybe that’s my own ego talking; I’ve been exploring the ego more and more these days. My google searches becoming less and less about others and more and more about myself.
The memory can feel so different than the moment. Isn’t that a weird concept? How we can feel so defeated, so tired, so dirty, so uncomfortable, so overwhelmed in the moment and yet forget all of those things and look back on the accomplishment, the effort, the reward. Perhaps it’s a reminder that you get out what you put in. In any event, writing in the moment has its challenges these days and as I reflect on this trip quite a few months after-the-fact, I’ve forgotten all about a phone call to my mom that I know I made where I told her that I didn’t think I could do it. I remember being at a restaurant and just feeling spent. No more patience, no energy left for reprimanding. And yet looking back on these images, I only see the triumph in having done it. In having gone.
And that sweet gift of Lola – who the boys were originally calling “Michael” before I notified them that she was girl. The stray cat who wouldn’t leave our side. The stray cat who now makes me question all the mean things I’ve ever said about cats and has me wondering if I may just end up that divorced mom of three grown men who now lives solo with a houseful of stray cats she’s saved. Or maybe they saved her. Plot twist. In any event, we speak of Lola as the cat that chose us; the cat who showed up and wouldn’t leave. The cat who spent the entire 5 hour drive home curled up on one of our laps. And the cat who, once home, worked her way into even Jimmie’s heart. A best friend to us all but especially to Sonny, who now completely dismisses (read: downright abuses Jimmie) in the name of only loving Lola.
At the end of the day, all the mud washed off. I mean that both literally and figuratively and I’m gonna write that on a post it and put it on my wall for a daily reminder. Right next to the taped up piece of paper that reads: Sunshine is the best disinfectant; the only way to cure the darkest parts of yourself is to shine light on them.