Things Lost

There was an accident. That is what they told me. It wasn't my accident but soon I would learn that it would take over my life. It was February 1, and nothing would ever be the same again.

I rushed to the hospital, there in the ER was my mother. It was obvious her situation was bad. I figured out quickly that life was altered, she was altered, things had changed, and things were lost. Lots of things.

I lost the ability to believe that life would all work out. Quickly my world became an exercise in warding off problems as they cropped up. Like playing tennis against those ball machines where the problems get fired at you every 45 seconds. I suck at tennis.

On the second day, I lost a baby. I sat in the hospital at my mothers bedside and began to miscarry. In the days that followed, I shuffled back and forth between my mothers room and the fetal imaging center in the hospital. Each day the heartbeat of the baby I carried slowed. The miscarriage became, in my mind, a metaphor for what was happening in real life. Life was leaving me slowly, minute by minute. I wondered if anyone could tell. I tried not to complain. I didn't want it to be about me. It wasn't.

Eventually, I wasn't pregnant anymore. My mom was still in the hospital. I lost some more things. People were there, they stood by me. They watched. There was nothing they could do. I wondered if they could even understand what it felt like. To lose all these things. Quickly, though, they were lost. Life continued, at least for some.

I lost my hope. No longer did I believe in anything getting better. I lost my faith in community. It became apparent this was a road I was to travel alone. I lost my mother. I lost a baby. I was lost. I lost sleep, how I miss the escape. When I sleep I dream, bad dreams that wake me and take me right back to February 1. I lost safety. I am fearful much of the time. When the phone rings, I panic. A phone call represents a problem, more problems.

I lost a marriage. I don't think it was much of a marriage, anyhow. But still. I lost my youth, my naiveté. I'm certain that if this experience where to leave marks not visible to the naked eye that under black light I would appear scarred and battered. There is no part of me that is untouched by this. No aspect of my life that hasn't lost something. I have lost my sense of connectedness.

Since then I continue to be lost. Not always, but frequently. The problems still come at me daily. Recently I have begun to believe that I have lost my ability to handle them, but I do. They keep coming and I keep swinging my racket.

Not everything is lost, I have family. I have beautiful children. I have a few close friends. Some more willing than others to talk me down when I feel all is lost. One such friend likes to say that she is a "rock and an island". I smile when she says that. I relate to that. Maybe that isn't a bad thing? Rocks are strong, they persevere.

I miss the things that were lost. I miss my mom, my unknown child. I miss feeling carefree. I miss sleep. Many things were lost, and, I miss them all.