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Mothering Through Crisis
Picking up the pieces and carrying on
On a rainy Sunday evening, my entire world collapsed in the span of approximately 180 seconds.
Up until that point, I thought things had been going pretty well, all in all. But in hindsight, it’s easy to spot the cracks in the foundation, the pieces that had already come apart, optimistically reinforced over the preceding months and years with metaphorical duct tape.
Duct tape offers a solution, but it’s always temporary. I should know. I’ve been using duct tape to “repair” the railing on the door of our refrigerator for the better part of a decade. It works until it doesn’t, and eventually someone flings open the door and condiments go flying, crashing, sometimes shattering. Heinz ketchup, dijon mustard, Kalamata olives, sesame oil, that plastic bottle of fish sauce that we may or may not have brought with us when we moved in a decade ago.
My life now bears an eerie resemblance to the mess of condiments I’ve occasionally witnessed on my kitchen floor. There is nothing to do but pick up the pieces.
It’s just hard to know where to begin.
No one has died. Though I absolutely do not wish for anyone to die, and though no one I love is at any known risk, I must admit that in my current state, I somewhat envy the…
