Lost at sea

Life is a whole freaking lot right now: at home and in the wider world. Domestically we can’t break away from these awful mass shootings, antisemitic and anti-Islamic words and actions. Abroad it feels like every time I turn around another war is breaking out or another terrorist group is attacking. I wish I could say all these recent events are shocking, but history tells a different story. I hurt for the innocent people of Israel and Palestine who are caught in the middle of a centuries-old war. For the people of Ukraine who are STILL fighting for their homes and worried about being forgotten. For the shooting victims in Maine, the 565th mass shooting in America THIS YEAR. Not to mention any of the other atrocities that don’t even make the newsfeed and not for a lack of being newsworthy.

I’m reminded of times during the pandemic when we were told that because the news was so intense, it was ok to take mental health breaks from the 24/7 coverage. But it’s been three-plus years of intense news, and mental health breaks just aren’t cutting it anymore.

Tuesday morning, I cracked like an egg, all over the floor of my closet. It wasn’t pretty and required a reapplication of make-up afterward. Coming off Adelaide’s death and birthday, the successful but emotional CURE benefit, my imminent book launch, constant reminders of unfathomable horrors occurring across the world, and, and, and – it’s no wonder it all caught up to me and exploded out of my eyeballs. So, this morning I decided to stop, breathe, and try to reground myself with a little perspective.

I went back and read a few of my blogs from just before and after Adelaide died hoping to find some answers or insight there. Something that would pull me out of the stress and despair I was feeling and back to a place of productivity and compassion. I mean, writing the words had helped me once, surely reading them now could help again?

Oof.

I was reminded how far I’ve come and yet how familiar all those feelings and experiences remain. I survived those dark days, an inchstone at a time, and even managed to allow happiness back into my life. Happiness that I now find myself struggling to hold on to amidst the chaos of the world and my swirling anxiety around the zillion changes that are about to wash over my family.

Then, in one of those blogs, aptly titled, “A New Normal”, I found what I was looking for.

“Adelaide had been my North Star: A fixed point to which we set course affecting every decision made in every aspect of our life. In my deepest despair, I have felt lost without her light to give me purpose and show me the way. But in writing this post and thinking of what's next I realize that her light has not gone out. True, her presence no longer sets my schedule, but her life and memory will still show me what is most important.”

Even though I have been doing so much to make meaning out of her loss, at some point I stopped using her as my compass. As time has widened the gap between her physical presence and now, I’ve found myself hoarding my fading memories instead of allowing them to be my guides.

Motivation is not the same as navigable direction. 

For example, in coming to terms with Adelaide’s genetic diagnosis and understanding that her early death was inevitable, I’ve been wishing that I had enjoyed more of my time with her. I spent so much time worrying about her, because obviously, that making time for joy was, at times, a challenge. But now that I’m doing everything I can to honor her, I’ve once again lost touch with my present, my joy, my North Star. I don’t want to repeat my errors in this new season of life – I want to enjoy and appreciate the magic and chaos of it all.

Now, as for world crises, Adelaide is not about to bring peace to the Middle East but she can remind me that when I was at my lowest sometimes what I needed most was for my hurt and pain to be acknowledged even if it already had been that day or even by that person. So, today, I acknowledge again the continued horrors and discrimination occurring to my Jewish friends and the innocent people of Palestine. This is not ok, and I am so sorry you are hurting and living in fear. Making what should be obvious statements like these doesn’t make the news easier to watch, but hopefully it helps someone in my circle feel a little more supported.

These moments are difficult, but they will pass, and (hopefully) new ones, better ones, will replace them. We will constantly evolve with our newest new normals. And maybe next time I’ll remember a little sooner to let Adelaide, my North Star, guide my way.

Photo Credit: Rachel Friedman, 2017

ID: Adelaide in a pink dress sitting on a blue couch being propped up by Kelly who is kneeling on the floor in front of her. Kelly is smiling at Adelaide and wearing a pink sleeveless sweater.