This picture is about where I am. Stairs that lead directly into the fucking raging, rising river.
With Glenn Frey’s death, and of the same illness that I have (ulcerative colitis and related RA, please donate for a cure), I feel positively haunted. HAUNTED.
It’s been a particularly difficult 48 hours or so and Frey’s death did not help matters. I’ve been dealing with a difficult personal challenge that’s required me to draw upon some friends and measures of support I didn’t think I would have to tap, but have been grateful they are there. And they really were there. People are so fucking great, even when you didn’t know they would be. It makes me cry, the support.
My ship is lost at sea. I am without an anchor. Things I thought I knew and could count on are undone. So much is unsettled right now. And my heroes are dropping like flies. Untethered. Adrift. Looking for a place to land.
What is this lesson that’s in front of me? That there’s really absolutely nothing and no one that I can count on? Because I’m hearing that, and I don’t like it. And I don’t know what to do with it. Or maybe I do and it’s just a hard lesson.
How much more tightly can my wagon be drawn in its circle? Is a lone person a wagon, with their son, every other week? Is this all I have, and all that I do and exist as goes towards protecting him and being what he needs? Ok. Ok.
I will protect my son with my life.
Everyone knows this.
If my life is nothing but him, and I get nothing else out if it but being his parent, I guess I’m ok with that. People I have over, people who are in my life now, that’s enough for me. I derive great enjoyment from the friendships I have now, from going out with friends and from being in the social circle of the people who like my loud, brash self exactly how I am. I work hard to be there when people need me. I go out of my way to help people who I think need my help. I expect nothing in return. To be able to draw from a network of support when I need it, at the moment I need it, those are the steps that keep me afloat above the raging river, and I am so thankful for them.
Maybe this is all I get. Maybe I should not bite off more than I can chew. Maybe nobody else can deal with me, and my crazy loud son. Maybe it’s just us.
So this is 2016. This is how it’s going to be?
I’ve never been one to back away from a fight, and just a couple of weeks shy of 47, I’m not ready to start laying down.
If I only have 20 more years, like Frey, I at least want them to be spent as much as possible with people who love and support me and like me for who I am. As broken, damaged and flawed as I am, I am still me, and I’m trying really hard to make a go of it.
Are you observing from the stairs? Are you in the boat with me, manning an oar? Are you on another boat, trying to sink mine? Or on the shore, completely ignoring me?
Our lives are changin’; this old world keeps turnin’
And I sit here and wonder, baby, what we’re really learnin’