Tuesday, November 28, 2017

That Perfect Strength

Sometimes Life tests us.  Hardcore.  To the bone.  Maybe further than that.  Whatever "that" is and however deep "that" goes.  I thought after all my surgeries I'd learned how to just take it some more when I couldn't take things anymore.  Not so.  Life's challenges are all different.  They take different courage and different strength to face.  But strength nonetheless.  And I suppose I'm always learning how to face new challenges and the chaos that comes along with that. 

If there's one thing I've learned in my forty-one years and counting, even if we're ridiculously type-A personalities, even if we're fiercely independent, even if we actually believed once upon a time we could do literally anything (and probably pretty perfectly), it's this:  we sometimes need others who can see with vivid clarity the strength inside us that we ourselves have forgotten that we possess.  Because they can see us from the outside.  They have always seen us.  With true eyes.  And they remember all our triumphs along the way.  They intimately know the stuff we're made of.  They know we may be utterly tender-hearted, and broken in ways we desperately wish we weren't, but we're also made of steel where it matters.

I am so lucky in this life to have an incredibly dear family and chosen sister-friends who constantly remind me what grace is and who remind me that strength sits quietly beneath the surface, in a reserve we may think is empty, but it is certainly not.  I could spend hour upon hour writing about my family tonight, but I think I'll save that for another time.  Tonight, I want to focus on a specific night.  In my hometown in Louisiana.  One week ago, tomorrow.  In a beautiful home.  With some very special women.

I found myself the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving sitting in Alexandria with three of my dearest girlfriends at one of their houses.  They even yielded to me the ottoman so I could rest my bunk hip after my long journey in from Dallas after pouring me a glass of red wine as soon as I walked in, after big hugs with each of them, of course.  It's been weeks or maybe months since I'd had a drink, so it didn't take much to make me start to feel warm.  The relief at just being in the same room with them, and the laughter with which we all were frequently overcome, also helped. 

I've known these women the better part of my life.  One since near birth and the other two since junior high.  And we've seen and done and lived and loved through SO MUCH together.  Such beautiful heights, and such heartbreaking lows.  One is an artist.  One is a teacher.  One is a lawyer.  (And I'm realizing as I write this that I, myself, am an artist, former teacher, and current lawyer... all three... fascinating.)  All of us are moms with two kids each.  And all are so very beautiful, inside and out.  And it just so happens all three of these dear women friends of mine are widows.  In their early 40s.  It's not what anyone would have ever expected... or planned... or wanted.  But it is.  Life does not follow a playbook, as I was recently reminded by someone else dear to me.  It's also quite the beautiful mess, as I was also reminded recently by someone else I admire. 

And I know there are no accidents.  I need strength in this chapter of my life, and it is here I found myself.  Listening to and talking with these amazingly strong souls sitting before me.  The universe gives us exactly what we need in order to do what we need to do and be who we need to be.  I sat there in sheer wonder at the strength of these women I adore sitting around a table with me.  I would have never guessed in a million years back in our youth that we would be having these moments, these conversations at this stage of life, when back then we were dying our hair with Koolaid, running around at Mardi Gras in Lafayette, sunbathing, jumping on trampolines, or sitting on top of the world, or in Lodi, with Icees (that may or may not have been spiked).  We ultimately moved to the dining table where we shared tears and stories, songs and dreams, laughs and what-the-hells.  We held hands when we needed, lifted each other up, and we ate pecan pie.  With whipped cream.  We all understand deep love and deep pain in different ways and take nothing for granted.  It's as deep as it gets.  It almost felt like we were characters in some movie or something (though there's already a Ya Ya book-turned-movie about other amazing women from Alexandria).  But this is no movie.  This is the real shit.  The deeper pains and most treasured gifts only mid-life can bring.  I felt like such a lucky girl in that moment, despite the harsh realities we all discussed and cried our way through together.

I am still so in awe of those women and their stories, and mine interwoven with theirs.  And their all accepting love for me.  And mine for them.  It was no accident I was fully present in their presence that night, and I felt more at peace than I have in months.  The gnawing pit in my stomach subsided for a glorious while as I just existed in a deeply personal way with those girls.  We all Need More (#fileitunderNeedMore) in different ways.  And maybe, just maybe, we're here together on our journeys to help make sure those needs get met.  Actually, there's no maybe about it.  No irony is lost on me.  No serendipitous moment escapes my notice.  I hear it all.  Absorb it all.  And I am feeling my way in the dark... looking for stars all the while.  Hugging and holding hands of women I love through it all, deep in a special November night back home.






 







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