Rocky got the snot beat out of him. He got knocked down, knocked out, bloodied, bruised, humiliated and humbled. And he kept getting back up. Sometimes it took longer than others. Sometimes he had to cling to the ropes, sometimes his trainer had to peel him off the mat. But he got back up.
I’m back up.
Yesterday flattened me. Yesterday had me looking at the smoldering wreckage of the life I planned for, the life I wanted, the life holding the fragrant cedar chest of my hopes. And forced me to see- it is gone. The house in which I had planned on raising my children, growing older and genteel, and becoming a grandmother is now another casualty of agency and addiction.
It hurts. I am grieving for those hopes, for the million futures I will no longer have. It feels like being kicked in the chest, and you curl up as the waves of icy hot pain radiate from your heart. And you can’t do a damn thing except wait for it to pass.
But a strange thing happened…
The worst has now come to pass. I have lost my marriage. I have lost my best friend. I have lost the promises and hopes of a future I wished mightily to have. I have lost a co-parent and love. I have lost financial security, savings, retirement, my good credit and health insurance. I am going to have to, through no fault of my own, let the house go as well. I feel like Rose when she has to watch Jack sink into the icy north Atlantic blackness. Perhaps for me to live, I have to let it all go.
So now I find myself, pulling my mid-thirties, with the future laying in wide avenues before me. Only a few things really matter: my children’s’ health and safety, and finding a way to support us. Everything else is frosting. It’s oddly freeing. My legs are shaking as I pull myself up yet again- but the flame of hope is kindled, strong, still, calm and safe deep inside.