Frail Moments in a One Parent Home

When visiting my family in the Spring of 2012, I received the news that my grandfather had unexpectedly passed away. I did not get to attend my grandmother's funeral, so I was grateful to be in the area at the time. When we arrived at the service, I sat myself in the back row with my toddler and infant completely oblivious to the obvious...toddlers and infants don't sit through funerals. After several attempts, I accepted defeat and allowed my other family members a more peaceful grieving experience. In that moment, my heart realized my reality, I would not be afforded the luxury and privilege of tending to my grief when it showed up. 

At the time, raising two children on my own was temporary. My mantra was "I can get through anything with an end date." The art of powering through, until I could arrange for, or schedule the care of my children, and shield them from my own trauma, began. And to my credit or demise, I came close to mastering it.

Now, with older children, my four daughters are not easily fooled by any facade. They call me out when they catch that faraway look in my eyes, revealing I'm not fully present with them. Long car rides that once allowed me to quietly release pent-up tears are now noticed rather than ignored. They sense the palpable distance created by the weight on my chest that I try to carry with confidence. The guilt consumes me when my frail humanity shows through instead of the strength, they should be able to rely on. I have spent much of their lives shielding them from the negative behaviors and choices of others. But who is there to protect them when I fall short?

This week JoJo was upset about a minor issue right before bed. On a whim, I asked her if she could possibly stop being upset, if I allowed her to express her feelings the next day at 1:00pm. She paused her whole tantrum in shock over this request. She very matter of factly told me "Absolutely not, I feel this now, and I am going to get this out."  She is right. It is an absurd request.

I am 100% responsible for 4 humans. Experiencing life with them is one of the biggest joys most days. I don't wake up with the weight of responsibility, but rather the anticipation of what the day will bring with each individual personality and contribution to the collaboration. On my fragile days, though, I can be consumed with the fear that my weakness will create insecurity as their protector and provider. I never want my children to feel like they must take care of the person that is here to take care of them. 

Then, I had an interesting experience with JoJo.  I was doing yoga in the living room while JoJo played quietly by herself. As I attempted a difficult balancing pose, she noticed my foot wasn’t in line with my hip like the instructor in the video. JoJo gently placed her hand under my ankle to lift my leg. Although I was still using a good portion of my own strength and effort, she adjusted my leg in a way I couldn’t manage on my own while also keeping my balance. Once I moved to the next pose, she simply went back to what she was doing

The significance of that moment has run through my mind multiple times. I did not feel weak or inadequate. JoJo didn't lose her confidence in my capabilities. She saw that I couldn't manage that part of the practice on my own, then once I could, she returned to her play time. I did not feel guilty that she interrupted her play to participate in my practice. And most likely she left with a sense of pride that she had what was necessary to help. 

It's a delicate balancing act. I preach that there is a measure of grace given to each of us for the season that we are called into, and I can summon that belief for my children as well. Ultimately, I am not their protector or provider or the one that loves them most. And I can find gratitude that they have had opportunities to witness this truth.

In this recent season of uncertainty and waves of unexpected grief, I have been giving myself a 2 hour window (expanded from usual 45 minutes of spiritual maintenance). I pour myself into reading, writing, praying, meditating, and physical practice. And even though I can't prevent all the impromptu moments of sadness, grief, or frustration… This intentional, scheduled time fills my cup to overflowing; resulting in much more of me available to be poured out. There is also a release of guilt as I invite my children to swim in the overflow, share in the supernatural joy, and allow them occasions to support in the difficult. 

They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit. Jeremiah 17:8