. . . except when I'm not.

 I planned to write this post some days ago. I planned it to follow closely the post about doing surprisingly well with a post describing when I'm not. As I opened the browser window that day and typed the title, I told myself it was a good time to write about when I'm not doing well because I wasn't.  

It had been the worst morning in a while. I'd woken up weeping, pouring out a flood of  emotions that can only be called grief and which five little letters can't begin to describe. Throughout that day I felt drained. I couldn't tell whether it was because I'd worn myself out sobbing, or simply that grief was so very heavy. Client calls were both welcome relief and an exhausting slog. 

It was the perfect day to write about Not, except that in that day's Not, the words refused to come. I sat at my computer and willed words to make sense of the nonsensical, but they didn't.  It was the perfect day to write about Not, except I couldn't.  

So I left the title sitting lonely in the browser window and waited.  I waited through days of doing surprisingly well some moments and not so well others.  I used the good moments to work with clients, settle my office
into the room where Ryan died, to finish my divorce and to arrange Megan's travel so she can be here for a second memorial. I used the well moments for errands and grocery shopping. For days I waited for the inspiration to write and for days it failed to bring its particular brand of healing and relief. There was a lot of Not in those days.  

Today I had lunch with my mother and we did the next fitting for my wedding dress. We talked about Ryan too and how we're both coping. Sadness mixed in the joy as I imagine it will for some time. When I left I stopped to pick up some things for a care package for Megan. A little bit of mothering that is still possible. I smiled thinking of her enjoying favorite treats of mine. 

Driving home I passed Red Robin and remembered Ryan's last birthday there. Not just his birthday last year, but his last birthday, the last time I'll wrap his presents and take him out for treats. I remembered going there after he'd get his hair cut to have a little joyful time with him. He always liked Red Robin. I remembered the last time, after the last haircut, when he only wanted fries, when he was compliant but withdrawn, when it was all I could do to entice him into the trivia game on the gizmo on the table. His withdrawal that day is one of many hindsight indications of what was to come. 

My mind turned to mush and I looked forward to taking him there again, only to have reality crash down a second later. 

I think that was when the tears started. It was a few stoplights later that my chest was heaving and the sound of my keening filled the car. I wondered if some wise officer would pull me over on suspicion of drunk driving. It occurred to me to pull myself over, but the highway didn't offer many options and traffic was heavy and I was in the left lane and I just wanted to get home.  So I sobbed and drove and no one pulled me over.  

It was as I wept that I began to feel the yearning to write. I missed the notebook that I was never without in the early days, but that had settled into an office shelf this week.  

Luck and instinct brought me home to my notebook and my cozy couch corner. Today is the day to write about Not. 

Perhaps the most challenging thing about Not is that it is so unpredictable both in nature and in time. Not can be fatigue or agitation. It can be craving sweets or losing appetite altogether or both within minutes of each other. Not can be unsettled stomach or inability to think. Indecision or constricted chest or pain in my ribs. 

Not can arrive predictably when I walk near the high school or unexpectedly for no reason at all.  It can happen as I'm reading kind and thoughtful words in a card, the very same cards that have helped me more than I could ever have imagined they would, keeping me connected to the very best the world has to offer: loving care, connection, and empathy.  The same sweet pictures that ground memories and link me to a reality I can stand to know also tear at my heart and reduce me to tears.  

Not can be a lump in my throat that I swallow away, a momentary flash I choose not to follow, or a tidal wave of pain I couldn't escape if I tried.  Not is a bit of every day, nestled in between the happy clients, the wedding plans, and Megan's newest trapeze tricks. When Not comes I try to welcome it, to feel what is there to be felt, to let it move through my body as it wishes, and when its done I catch my breath and carry on. 

I'm doing surprising well, except when I'm not.