We are on our first "staycation", certain to be our last. This week began with my parents leaving for a much-deserved vacation - we all miss them. Then Ella came down with a bad virus - we all hurt. When she was finally well enough to venture out again we went to a store where another little one pulled her by her pigtail down to the ground - we all cried. Then came the dreaded phone call that my Aunt Pat had journeyed home after a long battle with cancer - and I collapsed.
I knew that Aunt Pat was in hospice care and finding her way out of this life. My faith tells me she is at peace. But I was filled with such a sorrow, so many regrets - not enough visits, Ella not having met her - and let's call a thing a thing: guilt. Guilt that I had wallowed in the little inconveniences of the week as if they were monumental. Guilt that I had ever been angry at having to reschedule plans, that I had lowered myself to describe a day with my family as "a waste of a vacation day" (yup, I said it, covered head-to-toe in stickers and rocking a baby Dora). Guilt that I was blind to the reality that my Aunt Pat lived every day by: family is a blessing to be enjoyed.
It's been a difficult week by any measure and I'm not wearing the stress well. I pride myself on being a very purposeful person, and a very present parent; I was neither. It hurts to admit - to admit that I'm not nearly as adaptive in a squall as I imagine myself to be when I'm daydreaming through smooth seas. But it is important. It is important for me to admit it, because otherwise I'll remain stuck in that rut. More importantly, I need to admit it to my daughter. I need her to see me struggle...and fail. Too often we wear the mask of parenting as infallible superhero; it is so much more important to be human. The business of parenting is tricky: to teach our children how to struggle, how to grieve, and to grow through it when we're not entirely sure how to do it ourselves.
I spent the first part of this week wallowing, pushing my own agenda, and failing splendidly. In honor of my Aunt Pat and everything that she was, and in consideration of my many blessings, I will be spending the second part of this week celebrating the quiet moments of love stuck in a sick house with my little family. It won't be Norman Rockwellian. We may get to do approximately zero of my pre-planned adventures. We may not even get out of our pjs. And it will be enough. Take two!
