Just A Place I Used To Be

Just A Place I Used To Be

hold on

When did it happen? Somewhere, seemingly in the night, while I lay sleeping, life shifted.

It changed from this epic journey I was on where everything was possible, to a journey I had been on. Like a roller coaster ride, I boarded it, so excited and full of excitement and then suddenly we were climbing the biggest hill, pausing at the top, taking in the view and then whizzing around the track, laughing, gasping, holding on for dear life, barely able to scan ahead to see what was coming next. And then, suddenly you could feel it begin to lose its momentum and the ups and downs began to lessen and level out. The curves were not as tight and the speed was lost and you knew you were heading for the platform where the ride ends.

How we would wish for one more big thrill. But no matter how hard we wished, the ride was coming to an end.

I woke up one morning and the way I looked at things was different. Nothing had happened, there had not been some big epiphany, nor had I made a monumental choice, it was just different. Once where I would look at something and it felt like a someday possibility, things now remind me that part is over. There is a sadness all mixed up in my go to it attitude and joy of life.

It is not a huge sadness that sucks me dry or pulls from the joy of each moment but a great sense of reality. All I can compare it to is my hysterectomy. I was only 28. It followed struggling effort to get pregnant, many surgeries and much physical struggle. I thought I was prepared for it, and intellectually, I had. And then there came that moment, after surgery when it all hit me. No more babies. It was over. No-one had told me the last child was my last and I did not get to surrender that part of my life gracefully, with choice. I did not get to cherish each moment of my last pregnancy, instead, I was dealing with a fight to hang on to my ovaries. And I cried. I cried for 3 days straight.

This is somewhat like that. Through all my life, I have been struck with how quickly things come and are gone. I felt loss when I realized my children no longer wanted bedtime stories, or the last diaper had been changed. The last basketball game my kids played in the whirlwind of school, community and church activity came after the fact and there was no warning to prepare me.

Somewhere in my head, I wanted to be able to cherish those moments, to stand in them, take one last look, imprint them on my being, and then walk gracefully away. Instead, life steals them away in the dark of the night and I wake up to feeling such a sense of loss and overwhelming sadness.

Now when I go places, I know I may not get to return. When I see people, I may not see them again. I live each moment without that endless sense that there is some huge well of moments in the back yard and I can return to it as often as I like. That well disappeared with my youth. The reality now is that moments are finite and that I have lived a life already filled with many moments.

And then I ask myself what I did with all those moments.

And I look at the people who have shared my journey and are still standing by my side.

And I feel the cars slowing down and the ups and downs levelling out . . .

 

 

HOME

Home so far from home.

So far to go

And we’ve only just begun

And oh, every lie we told

Is written in stone

Every lie we wrote in our bones

And hold on, there’s nothing to pack

We know we’re not coming back

Oh oh Oh oh!

And Oh, ever promise that we broke

Is sewn to our clothes

Now we are pinned to the wind I suppose

And oh, every fallen flake of snow

It has to give in

Oh but we are pinned to the wind I suppose

And oh, every fallen flake of snow

It has to give in

Oh but we spin and we spin and we spin

And hold on, there’s nothing to pack

Lay your heart out, we’re not coming back

Oh oh Oh oh!

Hold on, there’s nothing to pack

Lay your heart out, we’re not coming back.

We’re not coming back.

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