I could go anywhere but back. I drove recklessly with no particular destination in mind, plowing forward, unaware of anything around me. Everything once in a while, I had an urge to jerk the wheel quickly to the right, running the car off the road, or sharply to the left and plow across the
median and "accidentally" forfiet myself to the home-bound rush-hour taffic. The effects from the outcomes of the decisions I was responsible for making weighed heavily.
scenario I : would find myself, learn how to fulfill my potential as long distance mother. I would likely never feel certain I had made the right choice to disturb our family ecosystem so as to allow for the hope of peace and growth. div>
i had no planned direction to travel in besides "AWAY". I continued on at a barely-legal speed, my vision blurred by the flood of tears I could not control. I tried to focus on- but also forget abouy- every inch I put between myself and the heart-crumbling scene I witnessed in the front yard of my now former home.
My thoughts felt like Grand Central Station during rush hour. I tried to manage and direct the high volume of thought-traffic racing, uninvited, through my conciousness. Memories of holiday traditions, giving birth to my babies, snuggling at naptime, packing lunches, cheering at games, hours spent on road trips, dancing in the kitchen, sharing the burden of yard work, singing the wrong words to our favorite songs on the radio, reading books out loud while we killed time camping at the rodeo grounds, all the time spent waiting together-- for the carpool or someone's step off time or tip-off or standing in line for a stall to become available at a rest stop among endless other situations. The security blanket of these happy memories quickly turned from warm and fuzzy nostalgia to near hyperventilation. Like the lane of traffic I had the urge to barrel into, the realization that the late nights binge watching our favorite silly shows on Netflix were over. It sunk in that the nights of sleep-walking zombie toddlers with bad dreams would no longer be interrupting my sleep to rid their room with "Monster Spray" (which was simply my perfume, but it never failed to convince my sweet, trusting babes that the lingering scent of Mumsy in the room would keep anything scary away). I shook with sobs as I thought about immunization schedules and well-child doctor visits that I had forfeited keeping track of, the mail no longer collected and sorted into piles by my hands, our Weird YouTube Wednesday tradition or mandatory Taco Tuesday activities that very likely would not be enforced or carried on and even possibly eventually forgotten. I would from this time on, be missing our nights spent in sleeping bags on the balcony with snacks and a telescope waiting up for meteor showers.
I wondered if they would still have the "last day of school" bonfire. A favorite event of mine, this fun/nonsense/and slightly appalling tradition was born from my overwhelming frustration built as I was the patter of all the junk built up and finally brought home from desks and teachers' files and dump them on my lap with the expectation that I would have some sort of equivlant care or interest value in the old news that their teachers and convinced them was due. The Fire was accompanied by mandatory S'mores ingredients I purchased and set up on a folding table, ready for the storm of hands about to befall. Watching the fire bowl with fixed anticipation, all attention from every child and adult present was focused on last year's Torch Holder. The honoree carefully lit the precarious mountain in the bowl, built from take-home papers, science projects, composition books, and tests collected from the over-stuffed, zipper-splitting backpacks of 6 hard workers. Sometimes the circle of spectators around the flames would sit still and mesmerized, heavy with nostalgic silence while reflecting on the flashbacks of the last 9 months. Just as often, the rush of pent-up frustrated bitterness of deadlines, due dates, floundering group projects, unfair teachers and tough-love coaches was suddenly released in the sudden ignition of a forest's worth of papered trees ignited. Torched schoolwork was met with cheers, clapping, and dancing as they experienced the irreverent treatment of the old book reports, cafeteria menus, "your child was exposed to___" notices from the nurse, notebooks of repetitive spelling words and handwriting practice, all destructed in satisfyingly dramatic flames. Pieces of ash here and there that caught a breeze floated as lightly and freely as their hearts, continuing to the skies up and away from them. Indescribable satisfaction was had, watching all the assignments we had agonized or stressed over, collected just in case, even tests they were bitter over missing too many answers charred into nothing. From the folding table, a couple melty, sticky unremarkable treats hardly compensated for a school year of hard work...except that it did. I discovered throughout the years that it wasn't the actual dessert waiting for them, which was weak in comparison to so many others throughout the school year, that they looked so forward to. It was the shock value time and time again upon seeing me so willing, and even excited, to see them light all their important papers on fire. It was the hours we sat there-- technology and friend-free-- the 7 of us, joking about the teachers that were difficult, reminiscing fondly on the office staff and coaches we would miss over the Summer, divulging our most embarrassing moments of the school year in a judge-free environment to be laughed over and released that was at the heart and core of the event.
The thoughts of similar traditions over the years that I had created based on nonsense, positivity, and building togetherness consumed my entire soul. I was agonizing over whether they would follow those rituals and habits, seeing the value behind it all or if now left to carry on themselves, they would let events and patterns I had established and created all fall away. Without me to promote, persist, and convince, would it all be written off as just something silly that their mom used to do.
I was hardly aware of driving the car and was actually astonished later when I thought back on that drive and realized that I had no idea how I managed to operate a vehicle and arrive safely at my destination.
I knew where I needed to go. I wasn't ready to admit I had failed and I was lost, lonely, and helpless by going to my parents' home and so I drove towards the only other place I knew zero judgement and unconditional love existed. The sweet saint of an angel that was our drill team president and founder had a casita adjoining her barn that was not currently being used and I was certain that she would wrap her arms around me and take me in. With no forewarning, I headed in the direction of her mini-ranch. planning on finding a nearby hotel for the night and calling her with the most humiliating and humbling question. I imagined different ways to word it, but the simple fact was that I was lost in life, had no home, and was completely dependent on others to help guide and support me. As I drove, my focus shifted on how the conversation might go, how she would react, how much she might ask for rent, to played through my mind and I anticipated the worst but in the back of my mind, I hoped it would go exactly as I knew in my heart it would-- I would call her and tell her I had nowhere else to go and she would tell me the casita was empty and I could stay there.
I was steering the car, oblivious and guided by faith and autopilot, fueled by my previously dormant and now suddenly dominant survival instinct. and pulled into a hotel that I found near her ranch. I had never done anything like this full-fledged adult situation I was in. I tried to remember how to check into a hotel based on movies and TV shows
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