My head is cloudy. I’m realizing with sorrow and unwillingness that even the sweetest things in life evolve and change.
Of course we’ve been heading toward this fork for some time now, however the prongs of decision continue to force our hand. The tangible, visible forcing rose like cream to the surface this weekend when my husband found a long-forgotten allen wrench and went to work disassembling our kids’ bunk beds.
We had scrimped and saved and experienced a bittersweet turning that summer, too—the summer before the birth of our youngest. Emptying the crib meant moving toddlers to big beds and saying goodbye to two babies so we could welcome one more. That was nearly six years ago, that season of pregnancy and anticipation and construction.
But Friday, each turn of the wrench and every twist of the screwdriver became a metaphor for the deconstruction that seems to be happening all around me. World events that crash in on our security. Smaller storms brew in our own lives and communities, tossing hearts and rocking steady feet. Questions and challenges and new ideas send me reeling and reaching for something to quell the tide in my belly.
I feel the splintering acutely, like a vegetable peeler taking away one slice of my heart at a time. Slowly, as slight as velum, slivers fall to the floor and I am left in confusion and grief, without the energy to navigate the next fork in the road.
There’s an old song* that says “You can stand there an agonize, till your agony’s your heaviest load…” The pinprick of sorrow that started with an allen wrench has swelled to somber agony when thrown into the mixing bowl of emotions and decisions.
It’s never just about the thing. It’s never just about the bunk beds.
There are always layers to lift up, peek below, peel away, and come to terms with.
It’s just that sometimes those layers feel so…profoundly…heavy.
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*song credit: Watershed, Indigo Girls