Fall

Just thinking about way too much as I'm standing at the top of the stairs. I stop to hear people walking by my house, the rustling of leaves pulling my attention away as I put my left foot in the direction of the first step into space. The brisk, scratchy sound of leaves swooshing up into the air with each step of the unknown persons outside my perception. Taking me to a moment in time, not this one. Taking me away from where I should be focusing my attention. Stealing my attention from this critical moment.

Now I'm falling, and all thoughts of leaves and the time of year

and the place I went back to just then are gone. But are they? I'm seeing the

leaves mixed with tears, my tears, as my brain sorts out all the way too much

that was running around in my head on my way to the stairs, to the next errand,

the next crisis, to falling. Falling into these thoughts that crowd my mind.

That make me unfocused when I am so intent on focusing.

Focusing on the many things I need to do to keep all the balls in the air, now complicated with my oldest son’s drug addiction, the turmoil it has caused my family and my business.  What steps to take to protect him from himself while he refuses to get help and remains on this journey, to provide shelter and safety for his two daughters, to protect my company from further harm and embarrassment due to his behaviors?

People must think there is something wrong with me, that I have not gotten him into a rehab program already. What is wrong? He’s 42. An adult. What interventions are there for him when he admits he is as we say, but refuses treatment? Everyone has tried to have those conversations. No, really, we had them. He pushes us away. Shuts us out. Ghosts us. Says yeah, yeah and leaves. Can no one see this? He’s my son!

And I fall. Falling back to the day my daughter died. His sister. A combination of prescribed psych meds and some “recreational” drugs she added. Died in her sleep on an ordinary workday. Left us for a different journey we can not imagine. I, we picked up the pieces and carried on, albeit sadly, empty of spirit. Went on that way for quite a while. Finding joy in the dark is hard. Well, actually it’s impossible. For all of us, including her three children. Left behind. In a freefall of pain and sadness, with no idea what caused this or why. They were children, for Goddess’ sake, why?

Not that it was better for us adults, but we had work to do and now more to care for than we expected. We did the work of life and plowed on. Gradually light returned to our lives. We walked slowly out of the darkness. We managed to smile a little, laugh a little. We wept when we remembered but tried not to leave door to darkness open too long.

The human mind is an amazing thing. The pain of birth. The pain of loss. Waves of tears wash into the shores of sadness and ease our burden. Make the load lighter. With time. And family. Both critical to reweaving a torn life. Then why was it not strong enough to keep it from happening again? Why did we as a family not learn the lessons it brought us so painfully? Why do we repeat creating pain? Are humans masochistic in nature? We treat psychological pain with physical pain to drown out the things we cannot listen to or fix within ourselves. Caring not about the ripples it creates with those who need them, love them, care for them. A horrible selfishness that each of us asserts as our right, while we feel alone in a world full of pain, not knowing we are part of this world, this blanket we are weaving together.

Oh yes, pain of broken bones. Flashing threw my thought pan is the

understanding that I am still falling downstairs! These thoughts and

images are coming at me like falling leaves, bringing messages from the

universe in slow motion. If only I could decipher them before I reach the

bottom!

The bottom is where I have landed alright. Here I am, in the bottom of my emotional cesspool. Feeling sorry for myself, feeling lost, alone. Where do I go with this now? Oh why can’t I pull myself out?

WHAM! I’ve hit the lower landing. Luckily, not on my head, although it sure feels like something got knocked out of it. As for the rest, everything else hurts all over. I think one of my shoes is up there still. What the hell! Now I have a good reason to cry, and I do. Probably for a while. Nobody home just now except me. Well, at least not when I started down the steps. Not sure if I can stand and I don’t try. Whatever I thought was important when I started this fall isn’t anymore.

Can I fix all this by myself, the way I always feel about crisis situations? Do I have to? Aren’t I always saying “Nature takes its own course”? I am. Yet I still want to wave my hand and all is magically repaired. Then I feel sucked in by a whirlpool of sadness of a failure that I don’t control. Really went overboard this time. I can only control my life. I know that. The threads I add to the world’s blanket touch many others, but I can’t repair the knots.

Lost my focus. Lost my way. Lost my footing. But I think I found something. I found some hope in there, for myself at least. Some light to take another step out of this new darkness. To listen to the leaves and not get lost.

I’ll get up from this floor eventually. Really.