At the beginning of each flight, attendants instruct passengers,
“…in the event of loss of cabin pressure, put the oxygen mask on yourself before helping your children or other
passengers.”
As a mother, this directive always troubled me. What decent mother would take care of her own needs before those of her child?
Life has a way of bringing its truths full circle until you finally get them.
Three weeks ago my ex of 16 years and my children’s other mother died suddenly. She had had some health issues for years, but nothing which appeared immediately life threatening. Unfortunately, this was not the case. She died. Gone. Without even saying goodbye. Early one morning, she went out for breakfast, had a heart attack while driving and crashed into a telephone pole. We are told she died at the scene.
In an instant, the amiable relationship she and I had developed after
separating ten years ago disappeared. In an
instant, the colorful, comfortable, thriving life I had built for our children in
my home was darker, duller, and cloaked in sadness. In that moment everything changed…and yet so
much didn’t. In spite of the tragedy
which made us want to stop breathing, life demanded
we keep living. Bills still needed to be paid; children cared
for, groceries bought, homework completed, tests taken, college applications
submitted, laundry washed, gardens tended, and life lived. It seems offensive that the life force on
which we had been coasting along now required
that we continue living.
To see my children, who I love with all my heart, in pain and be
helpless to make their pain go away is, by far, the most the most overwhelming
situation I have ever encountered. All
prior disappointments, devastations, heartbreaks, and traumas paled in
existence. They weren’t even in the same
ballpark. For the first time since my
children were born, I was at a complete loss as to what to do to care for them. I have done what I think are the right things
– talked with their teachers and school counselors, made sure both have a
therapist they trust to speak with, and encouraged them to stay open to their friends’
offers of support. My daughter and son are
eating, sleeping and still talking, positive signs I am told. We also hug a lot these days, more than ever
before.
Nature has a way of helping. We
go numb. We forget. We find anesthesia and comfort in friends, family,
television, books, and the internet. We
escape for a bit. In time, though, the
initial shock wears off and we realize the unfathomable is real. The impossible was
standing dead center in front of me, taunting me with its presence. It was at this time that I realized it was
not only a good idea to take care of myself alongside my children, but that it
was an absolute requirement.
So, I am doing just that. I am writing and started this blog. I met with a counselor this week and,
thankfully, am sleeping in spite of my menopausal age. My garden is a balm too, although I haven't
had much time for it in the past three weeks.
This weekend though, she's all mine. For the first time in my life, I have a
thriving vegetable garden - lots of greens, kale, collards, broccoli, mustard,
arugula, spinach, fennel, and carrots. I
like feeding my family healthy food grown by my own hands.
I have put the oxygen mask on and am keeping the oxygen flowing. Once again though, the flight attendant’s words come
to mind:
“…remember that oxygen is flowing, even if the bag is not fully
inflated.”
