No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path. – Buddha
The morning air was as heavy as my heart as I listened to the music of Philip Glass while walking The Poodle. The ground is still saturated from days of nearly non-stop pouring rain. We’ve finally had a break in the weather and with any luck from Mother Nature we won’t have any more rain through the weekend. As I walk up the street towards my house I feel like I am pulling myself up out of a hole of quicksand. I awaken from my thoughts to note that indeed, I am walking ever so s-l-o-w-l-y.
This is not my usual pace, I think. Wow. Is my mood raining this kind of blue?!
Let’s blame it on The Poodle. He’s like a slug behind me though I think he’s happy for the slow pace, for once. His snout has disappeared into a laurel bush just off the sidewalk.
“Come on,” I say as I pull on my stubborn love. Out comes his head and along with it a snout covered in dirt.
We both drag on into the house.
Later I’m on the yoga mat trying to get into the rhythm of a practice that I had selected on Yogaglo. I’ve been barely ten minutes on the mat when The Poodle decides to plop down, between my legs, smack dab onto the middle of my mat.
“Really dog!?” I say in exasperation as I nearly fall out of warrior II pose.
The sun shines warm through the window in front of us. I can see that it is bathing my poodle in light and a comforting warmth. He looks content beyond measure. I don’t have it in me to break up his happy place so I abandon the practice and instead reach for my little red pillow.
Now I opt to sit with Headspace Andy’s gentle voice. I choose a twenty-minute guided meditation on managing stress as The poodle sleeps soundly by my side.
It was not easy to connect with my breath. The “video” of two days ago is like an infinite slow-motion loop through my head-space.
So the “soft” kick-out took place. My basement is empty once again. Fortunately the day went without drama. No shouting nor expletives…no blaming or shaming.
Kind readers I am sure you’re scratching your heads over my blue mood. After ten months of many purple minion moments you’d think I’d be doing cartwheels of joy across the living-room floor.
You’d be wrong.
My daughter calls to check-in. She asks if we’re happy to have our basement back again.
“There is no joy in any of this,” I tell her with sadness coloring every part of my being the darkest blue.
My son has left in a position much like he arrived in. He’s gone back to Pennsylvania. He’s barely got enough to pay one month’s rent for a room that is smaller than the little study from which I write. And, his head is still stubbornly on backwards.
My efforts to make a difference seem to have been fruitless. The bullet points of my plan (less than five to be exact) to help him help himself seems to have failed miserably.
I’m crushed. We have all been in the trenches with this soul for ten months and nothing worked.
I know, I know, I know….
Not my fault.
I am the mom.
After the last item of what little he owned was loaded I hug him and tell him to be careful driving in the rain.
“You have it within you son to figure it all out and while you do so, never ever forget that I love you… to the moon and back and beyond.”
My thoughts inexplicably go to the ocean. I see my eight year-old boy playing in the water. He’s on a skimboard and he’s lost in the wonder of “skating” on sand and water.
The memory makes my heart swell.
There is bliss in that….