So I had initially planned on hiding out for the remainder of Winter, but the damn thing doesn't seem to be ending on my schedule, so here I am. As is par for the course, may I present you with A Side Tangent: Last week, we had this delightfully fluffy snowstorm. The sort with REAL snow, not the hateful accumulation of 1 inch of windblown ice. As I stared out from the doldrums disguised as seasonal depression, it occurred to me I don't posses that. It's not the seasons which depress me, but rather their complete lack of effort in mimicking the pictures on the calendar when it comes to representing said season. The other underlying cause of my depression? Lack of purpose.
I previously spoke of not having anyone on my picnic blanket right now... that this fact was perhaps adding to my unreasonable grief. Two nights ago, that all changed. Two nights ago, I received (or rather, forcefully extracted) news of such a monumental caliber, I fully expected I would collapse under the weight of it all. But that isn't what happened. In fact, not at all.
My husband's mother has a story all her own. As does my relationship with her. Yet ups, downs, and ballyhoos aside, I feel a sense of responsibility for her and her well being. When she arrived at our house with the accompanying dark cloud of news, I braced myself for what was to come. In my heart, I already knew what it was, just not the extent of it. There was an evening of relative silence, so I finally followed her out to our garage and broached the subject. She immediately crumbled into a broken mess - the sort I have been resembling for a number of months now. An almost surreal experience as though I were uttering all the words I so desperately wished someone would utter to me in my loneliest moments. I had renewed purpose. This is precisely where I was supposed to be and what I was supposed to be for her.
After his mother departed for the evening, my Big Bag of Man Candy and I sat for a number of hours and spoke about all that had just transpired. He felt hopeless, overwhelmed.... doomed. Fears began bubbling to the surface. Fears of my taking the children and fleeing. Fears of all the plans we had made coming to an unfulfilled end. Fears of lost privacy and of the reverberating effects of the mental illness our children would be exposed to. Fears of our already questionable finances. As I didn't share these fears, it was up to me to be the unlikely voice of reason. It was my purpose.
In the coming weeks, she will be moving in with us and I will be wrestling with all the legalities to resolve the matters of her home, her belongings, her debts, her marriage, her dog and ultimately her. Without going into great detail, I have had more on my plate recently than I figured I could shoulder. Yet this straw hellbent on breaking the proverbial camel's back inexplicably became more of that popsicle stick I needed to finish my shoddy rendition of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I quite suddenly felt more alive and hopeful than I have in years. Odd.
I'm not sure whether I'm a glutton for punishment or I've simply long-since lost my mind, but this new purpose has become a catalyst to what I'm fully convinced are great things. The fact that there IS a next chapter is good enough for me. My goggles are back on and my seat belt is fastened.... after all, I do so adore those silly plot twists as I choose my own adventure!