pockets
My brother died earlier this week. He had schizophrenia and was addicted to meth and alcohol. He was homeless. Sometimes, in better weather, he called it "freedom." I called it painful to watch while setting rigid boundaries.
I had to deal swiftly with his death and everything that came with it. I cry in the shadows, in the pockets of time between the busyness of my life. I cry for my dad, who has to care for my mother (also living with schizophrenia). I cry because I'm grateful my mom doesn't know and understand what's happened. Because Scotty chose not to communicate with them for the last fourteen years, she can believe he's out in the world, still as stubborn as ever. I cry because I miss the little boy he was before mental illness and addiction took over.
Along with this pain is the sadness I feel for my grown children. It's hard to watch them take baby steps into adulthood only to have to toddle back and sit again. I remember what that was like, and I know things will get better, but it's difficult not to have the ability to fix things. I'm a fixer; handling crisis is what I've done my entire life.
As a parent, you hope every new friend will finally be the one to love your kids, flaws and all. You meet these people, and you think, "Finally. This one is the oneāthe forever friend. No disagreement, no moment of hurt will be enough to turn them against the baby I once held so tightly." And you exhale with relief.
When it turns out they are also as flawed as your own, and that the connection was tenuous after all, your heart breaks wide open. At times I think my hurt is greater than that of my kids. I want so much for them. I wish I could spare them the pain I've seen in my life: the dead-ends that come out of nowhere, the shallow relationships, the indecisiveness, and the sharp turns that make your heart race. I would bear it all for them, but I can't. There's nothing I can do to protect them.
People hurt each other. I felt myself shrug as I typed this, but it can't be shrugged off. People you think will love you forever won't; people you think will show up for you don't. It's life. The best we can do is fiercely love the ones who stick with us.
The moments I'm able to pause at all exist because of those people. They make sure I have those pockets of time; they shine a warm light into those shadowy corners. If I can't take the pain from the people I care about, I can at least carry some of the load as others have done for me.
And I can wish on all the stars that my kids will find the people to love them forever.