Another paraphrased anecdote, this from a friend of mine. This is the story of six weeks in his life.
“First, my mother fell and broke her arm, so she couldn’t work. Then my brother went off his meds [for bipolar disorder] and freaked out. He started destroying things. He kicked in Mom’s front door, cut the cable line, cut the freon line in her refrigerator, put a giant nail in my truck tire.
“My mom moved out, went to go stay with a friend. She was scared of my brother. When he called to find out when she was coming home, she told him that. He apologized, packed a bag, and went on a 65-mile hike.
“Now, in the meantime, I was smelling something bad in my apartment (M lives in one of five row houses in McKees Rocks). Plus I was starting to have really bad back pain. I was cleaning obsessively trying to find the smell and get rid of it. This went on for nearly two weeks. Finally, I was lying on my living room floor, writhing in pain, and screaming about this smell in my apartment.
“So I went to the hospital. They diagnosed me with kidney stones, sent me home with pain killers, and I waited for them to pass. After sleeping for 24 hours, and then passing the stone, I felt a lot better.
“But the smell was still there. Now I kept asking my neighbors if everything was all right. They are two [mentally challenged]* women who live with their crazy mother. (She really was crazy — 91, with dementia.) Was their refrigerator working? Did they need help taking out the garbage? They kept saying everything was fine.”
[*My friend is probably the least politically correct person I know. He used a different word here.]
You see where this is going don’t you?
“Finally, I’m cutting So-and-So’s hair (my friend is a stylist who works out of his home), and asking her if she can smell it — because by now I’m sure it’s in my head — and she like, yeah, and then the flies started. So-and-so is a social worker, and she’s just like, ‘That’s bad, M. That’s really bad. Call the cops.'”
So he did.
The woman had been dead nearly five weeks. Three weeks later, and the house is still being cleaned out (although, thankfully, the smell is gone.) Oh, and his brother finally called.
“Frere,” he said. “I’ve got blisters the size of which you wouldn’t even believe.” My friend went to pick him up.
I have friends going through hard, hard things. Divorces, foreclosures, a mother with breast cancer (caught early), miscarriages, unemployment, children with autism. I have a friend who struggled for years with infertility, finally had a daughter, moved to BFE for her husband’s job, and is now divorced and single-momming it.
And all these friends of mine, they keep moving forward. Sometimes they let me see the struggle, they let me help if I can. I think they are so strong. I mentioned this to M, my friend from the story above.
“They are thankful,” he said simply. “They have something that keeps them grounded, something they are grateful for. Look at you and Dan.”
He was referring to our loss of Gabriel. I’ve known M longer than I’ve known my husband; he was the first person at the hospital when I discovered Gabriel was dead.
“You are the bravest woman I know,” he said.
I hear this sometimes, that Dan and I are brave, and inspirational, and strong. And it’s not that I’m not saying it’s not true — it’s just that I don’t remember feeling that way at the time, or, even, much now. At the time, I was utterly devastated. As time has passed, I just feel blessed, rather than brave.
I think about visiting my girlfriend in BFE — and laughing with her, enjoying our time together. Even though she is going through one of the hardest times I have witnessed. I was thinking, “What gets us through that, or this, or these times?”
I think M may have hit on the answer. And I’m not writing this to tell you to count your blessings. I just came through a pretty tough depression, and I could barely see my blessings let alone count them.
Just keep going, I guess I’m trying to say. I mentioned this in a comment yesterday, and I feel it’s true: Coping is overrated. Sometimes, it feels like the universe is piling on. I wasn’t coping a few weeks ago. Going on, I suppose, moving forward, but hardly coping.
Don’t cope, I guess I’m saying. But don’t quit either.
Red Pen Mama 
Yes. This. This is what I did to get through the summer of hell. Just kept going forward, because forward was the only way out. It was HARD, but in reality, it’s the only option.
Napping. Napping is always an option, too, isn’t it?
Thank you, my friend.
And in the immortal words of Dory the Fish, “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming…”
Hugs, my dear!
Life sucks sometimes but that does not mean we stop or our kids’ needs stop. Sometimes you simply have to tread water to get to the next better place.
I hope this idea — that, yes, life can be hard, and yes, we have to keep moving forward — is something I can pass along to my kids. That I don’t try too hard to be their life jacket, and let them tread a little water!
I think that is the hardest part of all abut being a parent.
I too, am very fond of the Dory “just keep swimming” philosophy:) I think we all have challenges we face on a day to day basis…I seem to recall a previous post of yours about a parable…the one where villagers could leave their problem on a tree but then had to take one back, too. And everyone chose to take back their own. (did I explain that right?) I think about that parable A LOT. Especially when there is a stretch of hard days all in a row. I was talking recently to my aunt whose daughter is bipolar and my heart just ached for them as they are both really struggling…and I thought, how grateful I am to have children on the autism spectrum. I feel like there is so much more support, services, and overall awareness of people with autism than those with mental illness. Not that this is right…I feel like people with mental illness have been hung out to dry…but that is another comment for another day. I think that it is the love we have for our children, family, and friends, and the love they have for us, that helps us through. I am extraordinarily lucky to have (and had) so many supportive people in my life. One of the best things my mother ever taught me is to never ever give up…she kept going when I didn’t think it was humanly possible…she made it to the hospital to hold her newborn granddaughter despite being terribly sick and weak after radiation and chemotherapy. That is just one of many many examples. Sometimes you have to just. keep. going….my dad would call it “fake it till you make it!” Good advice. I feel so blessed to call you my friend!
Thanks, dear. I like the tree parable; I think my story had a bag or pile: “If you put your troubles in a pile with everyone else’s, you’d be sure to take them up again.”
The other thing that these comments have me realizing is that something else we share (“we” in general) is a sense of community? connectedness? The feeling that we aren’t alone, maybe? And it works to help us feel supported, and then when others need support, it helps us to support them. I think when that feeling is absent, when there is a lack of empathy or even sympathy, that one can turn inward too much. And that can be especially crushing.