It's Always Both
Anticipatory grief. Preschool graduation. Yelling at my kids. Laugh-crying with my mom. Killing Butterflies. Hospitals. Breathing. May in June. Lists. I won SeriesFest Pitch-a-Thon! Whose story?
Thursday, June 1, 2023
I woke up early to write May’s newsletter on June 1st. I love the quiet grey of the early morning. I’m never alone in this house. Of course, Nya also decided to get up early, now that she doesn’t have preschool to get to on time. Why.
Sleep. Space. Time. Such rarities in these parts. Combined with a full helping of anticipatory grief. Maybe I need to adjust my expectations of myself…of everything….
Nya has now positioned herself on my bed looking right at me. Asking -
“Why are there shelves? Your breath is stinky. You have an office and daddy has an office in the same house? Why do you sit? What would happen if you stood, would you hold your computer like this and eat it “chomp chomp chomp” like a t-rex and then eat daddy? How can you read all these books? What is a bookmark? Now she’s pulling books out of my bookshelves and telling stories “written by Mr. Mustache” (her alter-ego). She does all the different characters’ voices, like she asks me to do at bedtime. The dragon in her story this morning is beatboxing. So extra.
And now Seylah is in here, bonnet on, stuffy under her arm, asking if she can do the beat. (I never wanted to sleep at their age for fear of missing something. The OG FOMO.) Now she’s telling Nya this really should be a horror book. And, now Seylah is taking over, reading the actual book, finding page 83, teaching Nya numbers and how to place a bookmark.
Nya says NO! and now they are fighting. They love fighting. Nya does this new high-pitched whine to ensure she remains the baby in the family. Her emotional response to graduating from preschool? It’s literally my least favorite thing. Grating. Worse than people chewing.
I am already yelling at them and feeling bad about it. So of course now I’m just letting them be all up in my mix. And then he yells and they leave the room. We need to have a parenting meeting, where we figure out how to stop yelling and start modeling calm nervous systems - where we don’t forget their helmets for biking, or the car seats, no matter how much stress we are under - where it’s not always this messy, chaotic, frantic, fragmented.
I do wonder about my incessant need to record everything in real time. Is it me needing to be the narrator? Is it my need for control? Is it fear of forgetting? As if I’m terrified it didn’t happen if we don’t remember? Or am I just doing what I do, writing everything down. That’s my jam, after all.
Boundaries are so hard. If compassion comes from boundaries, I sure need more of them. But all this beauty, and all these moments with my babies, I don’t want to miss. My heart.
Seylah loves when Nya makes up stories. We all do. The best way I fall asleep is when I ask Saxon to turn off the light and tell me about sports. I instantly pass out. Stories. I guess that’s all we are all doing. All the time.
Time is different when a loved one is sick. Aunt La (Saxon’s great aunt) has been in the hospital for more than two weeks - in the ICU. Touch and go. In and out of a coma. My mom’s big CT Scan is June 7. The call with her oncologist to find out if chemo is working or not, is June 9. Waiting is impossible. So much to hold. And still, so many chores.
Anticipatory grief looks like: almost falling asleep driving to the hospital, then forgetting where the hospital is - the one I drove to yesterday. Forgetting the headphones I forgot yesterday. Forgetting the car seat when I switched cars. Forgetting the camp forms for the allergist to fill out at Seylah’s 3 hour appointment yesterday at Children’s hospital, where it’s confirmed she has asthma. Aunt La is on a breathing machine, and my baby struggles to breathe. My grandma struggled to breathe. Saxon’s father struggled to breathe. What is scarier as a human? I realize I am not breathing.
Before I went to visit Aunt La on Tuesday, I called my mom from the hospital parking lot, as I waited out the windy thunderstorm. Once she took me off speaker, we had a good hard cry together. I am always grateful for our talks. I am always grateful for her tears - for any release she can experience. I miss and love her and still can’t make sense of me being here while she is there. It is the hardest thing in the world for her to have this disease, and do chemo, and feel like she’s waiting for the doctors to tell her about her own body, and what is going to happen. Not to mention processing the reality of death and dying. This is a lot. We laugh-cry. The storm passes. I go inside.
10th floor. I sit with Aunt La, listening to her, laughing with her, answering her questions about my mom and SeriesFest, letting her know it’s ok to drift in and out of sleep, making sure she has Audible for her sci-fi books, changing the flower water, spraying the lavender spray (hospital smells are real), placing the special colorful blanket on her, giving her loved ones a much-needed break - they haven’t left her side for one moment. They are tired, scared, grieving. We all are.
When I left the hospital, the sun was shining. I was more present, everything crystal clear. I hold the elevator for someone. I help a man put his wife’s jacket on who is in a wheelchair, eternally smiling into a distance no one can see but her. Everything in slow motion. Or maybe that is just the natural rhythm I try to fight against with my coffee and busy-ness.
I have written everything down that Aunt La said, but it’s not my story to tell. It’s hers. All I will say is I love her dearly. She is a kindred spirit. An intuitive, loving witch. And if she wants to stay alive, I want her to stay with us - loved, comfortable and pain free. When it was touch and go earlier this week, Saxon went to see her. He thought it was the last time. I asked him to play this for her, only if she was up for it:
He said a tear fell from her eye when she listened, eyes closed. She squeezed his hand. I want to believe this so hard. And it’s not about me. I just want her to know she is loved. That she is not alone. This is the goal for all the work, all the living. For us all to feel these truths.
It is true that illness reminds you to be grateful for your body and your life. Your breath. It is true that contemplating death increases your happiness. It just does. I am learning this as I write about a death doula, and, as I practice some of what I’ve learned, and what I’ve already known, when it comes to caring for my loved ones.
I talked about some of this in my pitch at SeriesFest - that I WON! Hell YES! Thank you all for your energy and prayers. It worked. The spirit was with me. I am beyond grateful that I was able to make this happen - especially for my mom and Aunt La.
Next week is big. My beloved paying subscribers to The Overflow will receive a big “What We Said” edition! I hope it makes you laugh-cry and cry-laugh. I know I am doing both pretty much all the time these days. We can hold both. It’s always both.
If becoming a supporter - of me, my work, my voice, my family - is on your list of to do’s, today is a great day to check it off your list and subscribe.
Thank you to all my beloved subscribers thus far. You have no idea how much you make me feel connected, motivated, held, encouraged, and loved. Thank you all.
If you’d like to support our family in other ways, Saxon and I have a wedding registry here - if you’d like to get us a gift that he picked out for us by him (omg - def check it out just for fun), and he has an incredible Old Man Saxon Patreon where he shares exclusive music and videos, and he does these sweet personal video messages. Love him. High recommend! And you can always join us on our podcast, Britt and Sax, as a subscriber, and write us a review, or give us a quick 5 stars! It all helps. And if you feel moved, join us on our Britt and Sax Patreon for exclusive conversations and more. And if you want to know more about my mom’s journey, I write her Caringbridge updates. (I have the most support for my writing on Caringbridge! Ha. Funny not funny. Both.)
So many ways to connect and support us. We love you. Thank you.
Love and boom, B
Now - below is The Overflow I wrote this Tuesday - for my beloved subscribers - and hopefully for YOU if you choose to join us today! I hope you do.
Tuesday, May 30, 2023
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