Twenty months ago, in the garage that has been transformed into a movie theater, I was watching, “The Big Lebowski” with my husband. My first time watching the film, I was feeling glad for the chance to find out what the buzz was about. Bowling, white russians, and a tumble weed. The side door of the garage opened, my husband paused it, and my step-dad and my mom come in.
My Step-Dad hands me a box of tissues, “You’ll need this.” He says.
“I have stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer.” He gives me a hug and I cry. Mom cries. My husband cries. He goes on to say that he is uncertain how much longer he’ll live. Without treatment, a doctor tells him that he has two months left. Six months pregnant, at that time, I wonder if he will live to meet this little baby.
I drift away. Far off, to a place, where this type of news is seen but not felt.
More than twenty years ago, in the basement of my aunt’s house, I was watching a drama about a girl having an adventure with her family. On Wednesdays, my aunt and her husband would go bowling while I babysat their three children for a couple of hours. The kiddos were sweet and I looked forward to watching movies after I put them to bed.
My Dad comes down the stairs and asks, “Do you want to watch, ‘America’s Funniest Home Videos?”
I decline that offer on the basis of not wanting to watch people fall into tables, wedding cakes, or each other. My Dad’s hurt expression lives forever in my eye lids. I try to take it back, but he is heading up the stairs and out the door.
I stand there. Holding on to a clear understanding that some mistakes can’t be undone.
All my life I’ve loved to read. Books are filled with stories. Pieces from the hearts of my fellow humans. Romance, mystery, historically accurate or completely outrageous; they all fit together on a shelf. I have lived so many lives, seen so much of this world (and other worlds!) and the amount left to learn is limitless.
Twenty years old, a sophomore in college, I destroyed one book. It was not something I had done before or since. The smug smile of the author caught my eye and I torn all the pages out. Then, I tore them into smaller bits and threw the bits up. I watched them float down, angry snowflakes falling on dirty dorm carpet.
Rewind back, two months before that, I was highlighting and underlining feverishly attempting to rework my mind. All of the chapters seemed to offer some simple precise  way of handling every situation that life could throw at a person.
“Ah,” I said to myself while sitting on the floor of the shower, “All this time I been sweating the small stuff.” Yep. I was sitting on the floor of a communal shower. What the heck?! Thirty-five year old me is totally grossed out. Anyway.
Something sad happened. A relationship that meant a lot to me ended. And I just flipped. Because it’s not small stuff. It’s NOT ALL SMALL STUFF.
It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to feel angry or afraid.
Being truthful with yourself brings freedom.
And when you are free you can open up to peace, love, and joy.
Sometimes, it seems like people (myself included!) confuse the difference between living a life that’s comfortable with a life that is meaningful.
There’s more here….but I need some shut-eye 🙂
Hugs!
Terra
Life Without Montages 