PHOTO:Mary van Balen
Yesterday was a struggle. Perhaps, as my spiritual director suggested, this year’s holiday season will be difficult. When she mentioned that a week ago, I was quick to respond: “Oh, I don’t think so. I have been living on my own for close to two and a half years. Besides being legally recognized, not much has changed. I’ll be fine.”
She smiled, and knew better I suspect. This time last year my three daughters joined dad and me for Thanksgiving. This year, Dad is in a nursing home, and I baked a ham tonight to give him an alternative to turkey when my daughter and I have dinner with him at noon on Thursday. Later my daughter and I will visit one of my brothers and his wife. I need to be in bed early to be ready for work in at 4:45 am on Black Friday (Stay tuned for that one!).
Many times all three daughters have not been able to make it home for Thanksgiving. What is different this year is that there is no family home for them to return to, and there will not be again, at least not in the traditional understanding of “family home.”
I thought of my sister traveling to spend the holiday with all three of her children and their spouses (and fiancee), my brother with his clan of children and grandchildren gathering at the farm. Sadness crept into my heart. Once again my spiritual director had proved wiser than me.
I felt stuck, mired in a place between what had been and what might be. Most of my belongings remain in boxes stacked around my bedroom. When self-pity threatened to take over, I did something uncharacteristic for me: I cleaned.
My office was a mess: court documents that needed filed mixed with correspondence, sales receipts and countless other bits of paper laying on my desk. The file cabinet was unorganized and deciding the right place to put freelance writing projects and bills was almost impossible. So, I decided on a deep-down clean and reorganization.
For hours, papers and file folders spilled onto the floor. I had a “shred” pile, a “return to file” pile, and a “pack away” pile. By 6am the next morning, the piles were gone and I had designated a separate drawer in the file cabinet for different projects and personal papers. After setting the alarm for 1:30 pm the, I fell into bed.
“I’m unstuck,” I thought as I closed my eyes and smiled. I had only a moment to savor the sense of purpose and direction that accompanied preparing my work space for writing projects. “I am a writer with jobs to do and ideas to pursue,” I told myself and then promptly fell asleep.
©2010 Mary van Balen
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