I wanted to title this post I’ve F***ed up a lot, but at the final moment, I censored myself.
It’s something I rarely do. Especially now that I’m about to enter my seventh decade. (Thanks for that Karen Kammer.) But tonight, my kinder, gentler Gemini twin beat my spoiled brat Gemini twin into submission, grabbed my hands, and took over my keyboard.
I have no idea what she’s about to write. But whatever it is will be perfect.
I’ve thought a lot about loss this past week. And I came to the conclusion that wallowing in sorrow every once in a while is not necessarily a bad thing.
We spend so much time hiding our true feelings, pretending everything is OK, putting on a happy face so no one sees our pain, that we not only exhaust ourselves, but we deny ourselves and others the spiritual connections for which we all long … the connections that fill our souls and make us conduits to eternity.
Imagine if instead of pretending everything was OK, we were honest with one another — with ourselves — and admitted that everything is not OK. Imagine if we allowed others to witness our pain and our tears, instead of hiding them behind the curtain of who we think we should be.
It’s my favorite word.
As I write this, my soon-to-be 91-year-old mom sits a few feet away from me doing crossword puzzles. The sweetness of the moment is so powerful, it makes me want to weep. There’s a bitterness to the moment because I don’t know how much longer I’ll have her with me.
Which brings me back to the title of this post.
I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. A big mistake is what brought me to spend this week with my mom. The details don’t matter. But oh, what a gift that mistake has brought!
I’m struggling to live in the moment and appreciate the now. I pray for the strength to give thanks for what is and not rush to move past these feelings of wallowing in sorrow before I’ve accepted the blessings they came here to give me.
And if making mistakes will continue to bring these blessings, then I pray I continue to f*** up.