Of course it’s “spilt milk” but I am fine at the mum type kitchen things, it’s the firewood that can bring me undone. It’s all that Mr fix-it stuff that my Mr Fix-it used to do, sure sometimes nagging was involved, but he did it. So now, with no Mr Fix-it and doggone it no one to nag (kids don’t count they seem to be able to block you out), I can just look at it, and be cold, or take a deep breath and get the heck on with it.
Wielding an axe overhead with such precision and accuracy I chopped those suckers into firewood that could burn itself…anyone believe me??? Anyone? Well it’s chopped, no actual injuries to speak of, and pretty it isn’t. But it fits in the fire place and it will burn. Most importantly though I didn’t actually cry. Nearly, but no tears, not a one. Maybe a little “what the hell happened to my life that took my wood chopper away?” type thought, but I did it.
This is new territory for sure, not quite sure what to call it, but its progress.
I don’t make any wild assumptions that I won’t succumb to fits of inadequacy in the future, but today I am OK. Today is all I have.
Decisions need to be made, things need to be fixed and like it or not life goes on, partner or not! So for today I will man up and do what needs to be done. Femininity intact, I will just have to do it my way.
But I won’t cry over the firewood.
2 years and 7 months I have waited for this. To truly feel once again that my cup does indeed overflow. Full to overflowing, running over with honest to goodness love. It’s been a long time.
I used to muse to myself of the goodness, the love, and the absolute blessing I felt just being wife and mum to beautiful people. Ordinary people to the untrained eye, but with my well-honed mumma skills it was clear: they were beautiful indeed.
Then the tragedy.
Cancer stole my love.
My cup was empty.
My cup was broken.
Now to hear my children’s laughter, and have it warm my heart, to hear them talking to me, really talking to me and be able to engage, to once again find joy in simple things is beyond priceless. It’s pure gold.
My cup must be mending.
All the tears, all the determined searching for answers, all the willingness to face the pain head on, has done something. It has begun healing my cup, my heart. I cannot say that I have willed it from my own strength, because I had none, or discovered hidden reasons, because there are none. It was the God of all creation, who made the cup, who made my heart, He knew what it needed when it needed it and healing is the result.
I am sure that my grief is not completely over, because my life isn’t over, and for as long as I live I will hold love in my heart for my Paul. But I feel love and joy again, and I know that I know that’s a good sign. I can once again be full of love and blessing. Nothing grand so far, nothing the papers will write about, but I know it’s going to be OK. In my everydayness I can smile and have life overflow.
My cup overflows.