Friday, January 22, 2016

Harnessed in

It would be amazing if I could just jump right off this emotional rollercoaster I seemed strapped into.

I am terrified of rollercoasters. I've never ridden one, not in a carnival ride sense anyway.

There's something that makes me want to curl into a ball on the ground seeing images of people hanging upside down hundreds of feet in the air... And enjoying it, nonetheless. I feel like I would be latched onto the person next to me with a Hercules grip as soon as the ride started.  Yes, indeed, I am that sort of ninny.

That said... I seem to be firmly seated on a never ending emotional rollercoaster. I try to believe it will end, the motor will stop at some point or some gears will fail... though ideally I would like it to end peacefully on even ground where I am not at the pinnacle of its height or at the edge of a drop off.

I do not remember buying a ticket. I don't remember any sign qualifying my seat by reaching a certain height requirement. I certainly don't remember willingly taking a front row seat and waving at my family and friends as I said "oh yeah, I got this!"

And somehow... In a dazed stupor or love-blinded moment of ecstasy, here I am.

This rollercoaster accelerates at top speeds, and then suddenly slows like a bogged down crawl through molasses. It's exhausting. 

I haven't figured out the control panel yet. I am not sure who is steering it. It seems like it must be me, because I feel like if I was letting God be the conductor, it would look more like a railroad track through southwestern Minnesota than a rickety, loopy amusement park ride.  

I sit here, going from a moment of joy to a moment of sadness, and I find myself in a struggle to regain control of the ride. Then, I realize the power struggle, and I call out to God to take over. Sometimes, I cry harder, other times, I relax in my seat finally. And then it's a nice, steady chug forward.

You know, until the music changes and a lullaby plays "God bless mommy and matchbox cars. God bless dad and thanks for the stars." and it reminds me that my children's dad chose to disappear completely, and I'm alone, and the whir starts and the wind howls through my hair as the tears start streaming again.

Then, I think about the joy in my boys' laughter as I tell them tomorrow, someone is going to take the two of them somewhere super special and exciting just because he loves them so very much, and how overwhelmed with gratitude and love I am knowing that there's someone out there who desires to do these things just because he wants to. Of course, because this track is as such, it leads to realizing how infuriating and depressing it is that their own father can't be bothered to have contact with them, let alone do something special with them.  I pray to God to ease that heartache for all of us, again, and I find the beauty in the extended family He has provided.

So, I go back to my new, self-proclaimed current athem, and it sings, 

Among other lyrics, and I realize I've been trying to masque my presence on this rollercoaster for the past few days, mainly because I didn't want to burden anyone by asking for company, and because this nagging liar in the background keeps telling me I am a ridiculous, crazy burden that people are tired of accompanying anyway.   But, my athem told me I should show what I am made of, and right now, I am harnessed in and distressed.  

But, I am hopeful. And I haven't given up. I guess I will ride it out.

Did I mention my distaste for rollercoaster yet?

The other night, I finally felt like I understood this:

The love, the all encompassing, intense, unconditional love that I had for my future ex-husband was real, even if the person I thought he was turned out to be unrealistic. 

On my end, it was real, and that's why it still hurts, and why instead of beating myself up over the lasting heartache, I should accept that the heartache is true and deep and correlates to the love I had for him for 14 years. That's almost half my lifetime.

I think that's possibly the moment I wandered onto this ride. I allowed myself to embrace both the love and the loss, fresh, unrestrained, for what it is. 

I hope this ride is done soon.

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