Mistake

Some days I swear moving here was the worst mistake we've ever made.

I feel like I left in the middle of my life - MY life, the one where I lived for ME and did things for ME - and that I'll never get to go back.  Some days I feel that in moving here, everyone else has been able to progress, to grow, to improve, ...except myself.

I'm so incredibly proud of my husband and his accomplishments.  I can't believe I am lucky enough to be married to him, my soul mate, someone so intelligent, clever, funny and sweet.  He's honestly the best decision I've made.  Period.

He has flourished, and so has his career, because of moving here.  He easily could have remained in Nova Scotia, working with the same people, in the same places.  But?  We chose together to aim for something different, and to make a big change.  It was risky, but one that has panned out beautifully for his Medical career.  He is respected and valued at the hospital and clinics he runs.  He's formed friendships and connections.  But then he's like that.  Drop him anywhere in the world, and in 20 minutes he's found someone to have lunch and talk about sports with.  Having a vibrant social life is second nature to my happy guy.  People like him, and he's got the endless energy and confidence to like them back.

My children. Oh, where would we be without them?  Different as night and day, yet cut from the same cloth.  Best friends and each others greatest irritation.  They too have blossomed under these Alberta prairie skies.  They are forming their own worlds, one tiny brick at a time.  The landscape of their childhoods couldn't be more different from my own, but they are happy.  Truly, happy.  They have lovely friends.  A big house and yard to safely play in.  Lots of activities.  We take fun family vacations.  They smile ALL the time.

But...  that niggling feeling in my skull.  That inkling that I left a large portion of who I am, well...  WAS at this stage of the game, abandoned when we came here.  Moving here wasn't ONLY for my husband.  I had lost my job and hadn't been able to find a new one, and here was Calgary brimming with jobs for engineers.  I knew that living here we would make a lot more money and would be able to live quite comfortably in comparison to staying in the Maritimes.  I knew that in doing so we may have to raise our children without family nearby, but we told ourselves this would allow us to raise them as we saw fit, without having to answer to much outside opinion.  We were strong and young.  We could do this.  I would stay at home.  He would work.  This was our plan.

But as time has gone on, I feel something beginning to crumble.  As the children get older and we "need help" less and less from family in the form of visits, I feel a shift happening.  Their lives have been spinning and continuing as much as ours has.  Each passing year I feel we are less and less connected to one another.  We miss major events in each others lives.  We are not there, and probably will never be, and when we are together it's different.  It's an event.  It's just a visit.  In some ways, it's not real.  Many times I feel they don't know us any more.  And it breaks my heart that my children miss out on visits from their grandparents.  We either have a big giant visit, or nothing.  All or nothing.  It's the way it's always been.  Sometimes an entire YEAR will pass before we see some family in the flesh.  A YEAR!  Such an enormous quantity of time in the life of small children.  My heart aches to be closer, to feel more like a family with the relatives my children adore so much.  But.  Here we are.

We've been here a decade.  The friendships that I formed back East are beginning to fade and dilute.  I know less and less about the women who I loved so much as friends, who I still love but who I have to admit are simply not really in my life anymore.  Not really.  I feel the strain on the relationship with my brother.  The disconnect I have with my only blood-related niece, and my husbands' nieces.  Truthfully I'm a terrible friend, here.  I don't carve out time like I should to tend to the new friends I've made.  I'm either busy with our children, or I'm tired.  I'm not myself.  I yearn for connections in this sprawling city, but I can't be bothered to make them.  I continually sabotage my own identity here.  I'm a shell of who I was, and I don't know how to fill it up again without neglecting the kids, our home, or our family unit.  Balance.  It's missing.

Now that my children are school aged, another shift is happening.  For nearly 9 years, I have been at home.  Stay-at-home Mom, and proud of it.  I gave them the start I so desperately wanted to when they were born.  I was there for them each and every day, with no days off.  We survived it together and came out on the other side stronger for it.  But, what happens next?  Once they are in school every day from the time the bus picks them up at 8:00AM till the bell rings at 3:00PM?  I'm not even sure how to begin answering the question of "What will you do with your time now?", a question that has already been posed to me now that my daughter is in half-day kindergarten.  The answer is a frightening "I don't know."

To go back to work as an engineer terrifies me.  I know I've lost a lot of my knowledge and skills from lack of use.  My skin is thin and I don't take criticism anywhere near as well as I used to, and I was never really good at it.  Least of all is the problem of logistics.  I've come this far being 100% available for my children when they need me.  I've given up so much so I can be home when they are, bring them to their activities and appointments, kiss them as they go to school, wrap them in my arms as they step off the bus at the end of the day.  Do I stop now?  Do we look into daycare now?  So I can work a job downtown all of a sudden?  Would they hate me for it?  Would they judge me later for going back to work, when most of my income would be eaten by income taxes at this point, so I can feel some sense of purpose?  And would I even feel that?  Or would I just be busy, rushed, angry?

I have no answers.

I feel alone.

Lots of days I feel like I'm all alone.  Unimportant.  Valueless.

And on top of it all?  Another Christmas is coming and we will be just the four of us.  Another in a long list of major events and holidays where we won't share it with any aunts, uncles or grandparents. Another time for me to wonder what's it all about if we can't share these moments with our families?

So, it's easy to blame moving here as the root cause.  To peg it on having to move here for my husband's Residency.  To play the "I gave up everything " card to justify wallowing in my self-pity.  It's easy to lash out and think that we're not important, not worth visiting.

It's a dark time in my heart lately.  I'm trying to snap out of it.  I'm hoping this post will help air out my mind, sweep my heart free of these hurts, whether perceived or real.  I lay awake at night, trying to figure out what has changed, why all of a sudden these things are coming to light, and why this pain is so fresh.  And then, I dream of being in a workplace, surrounded by people who need me and who want my opinion.  It feels good, being valued for doing something other than housewifely duties, even if it is only imaginary.

What disturbs me most is this is the thing I so desperately wanted - to stay at home with my kids.  I forgot to dream past that.  And there is my mistake.

-TDW

F#ck You

My parents were visiting for Christmas, which meant I was able to drive my six-year- old son to school, instead of sending him there on the bus while I say at home with my daughter.  This was a little luxury, as I was able to let him sleep a good twenty minutes longer, I got to drop him off at the doorstep of his school, send him off with lots of "I love you"s and fresh kisses.  I got to see that he got to school with my own two eyes, then make my way back home through the light of the rising sun to begin my day with my daughter.

This particular day was strange from the get-go.  It had been really REALLY cold for a few days, in only the way it can be really REALLY cold in Alberta.  However on this morning a warm breeze was blowing in, which created a thick ice-fog everywhere.  It was a little strange but mostly beautiful.  Everything was so quiet and still, cloaked in a white cotton candy blanket.  The rising sun above the fog painted the world as it saw fit, changing its mind every few moments.  Pink one minute, orange the next.  Icy yellow, then robin egg blue.  Surreal.

I woke up my son, deep into his sleep, thankful that I was at least able to let him rest that precious extra twenty or so minutes.  He groggily awoke, I helped him get dressed and got him his breakfast.  Oatmeal or toast,  pancakes or eggs.  I can't remember now what it was.  A glass of milk.  His vitamins.  Thorough brushing of teeth and wiping of face.  A little hair gel for good measure.  Lip moisturizer to protect his ever-cracking lips during this terribly cold winter.  Snowsuit, mittens, scarf, toque, boots, backpack, lunch, wave goodbye to Nanna and Grandpa, hop into my truck, away we go.

I remember I hadn't slept well the night before and was trying to mentally wake up with a travel mug of coffee.  I felt as fuzzy-headed as the world seemed to be, with it's foggy blanket on that silent white morning.  I commented to my son on how terribly strange the fog was.  How THICK it was.  How palatable, almost.

I could barely see ten feet in front of me, so I took it slow.  I was extra-aware of how tired I was and how cautious I had to be because I was groggy and because of the fog.  We slowly made our way towards the highway that would bring us to the school.

Heading south, we evenutally had to turn ourselves eastward, turning left onto a four-lane highway.   There were many cars that morning, people off to work, to school, starting their day much as we were.  I remember thinking how very careful I had to be making this left handed turn onto the highway.  It's a terrible area at the best of times with no traffic signal to help you manage the speeding  lanes of traffic at this four way intersection.  I remember thinking "Make sure the way is REALLY clear....  you can't see anything!!".

I hummed along to the radio as my son sat in the backseat, chatting with him about his friends and his day ahead.  I made the turn and paused in the safety of the median of the intersection, double-checking the way was clear, peering through the fog for headlights.  Then I slowly made my way onto the Eastbound lane.

And then it hit me - or it nearly did.  There was a car coming in the lane I had just entered.  And it was coming fast.  In the blink of an eye, this driver managed to get around me, dodge the vehicles in the adjacent lane, give me a hearty finger over his right shoulder, honk his horn in an irritated fashion, and continue on his way, all without mechanical or bodily harm.  It was over almost before it began.

In that moment, I was a bit oblivious to what had happened, or more accurately, what HADN'T happened.  It took me a half-second to realize I had made a mis-step, and was the cause of how this driver had to behave.  I was a little annoyed by being told to f#ck off, but otherwise shrugged at the situation and moseyed on my way.

It wasn't until I had nearly reached the school, maybe five minutes later, that the gravity of what I had nearly done really sunk in.  Had it been another, less reactive driver, that oncoming car I truly hadn't seen - I DID NOT SEE IT! - would have slammed into us at 100km/hr or faster.  Best case, it would have done some terrible damage to the rear of my vehicle.  Worst case, it would have been a direct hit to my son's door.

I began to shake and consciously tried to calm down so my son wouldn't think I was upset.  I pulled deep breaths into my lungs and held tightly to the wheel, my mouth dry.  I turned off the radio.  I drove incredibly slowly the rest of the way.  I pulled into the school parking lot and let my son out at the curb.  I fought the urge to leap from my truck and pull him into my arms and sob into the shoulder of his snowsuit.  I settled for telling him I loved him and waving goodbye, and waited until I saw him open the door of the school, ignoring the long line of cars behind me waiting for me to move so they could do the same.

The rest of the day was filled with this looming sense of doom.  The what-ifs of that horrible 2 or 3 seconds clung to me all day, making my eyes fill with terrible hot tears, taking away my appetite and any remaining energy I had.  I felt so lucky and guilty and chaotic and irresponsible.  I tried to shut the images of what could have happened from my mind, but they crept in anyway.  The awful potential that I could have made a tiny, terrible mistake that could have left my life so broken.

And then, later, I said a silent prayer of thanks.  Someone was looking out for me in that moment.  Actually, at least two people were.  He was, with a capital "H".  And then there was the fellow who told me to go f#ck off as he whizzed past me in his car, right middle finger pointing skyward for my benefit.  I wish I could know who he is.  Compliment him on his amazing reaction time.  Thank them.  Apologize.  Hug him.  And tell him that by avoiding hitting me, he saved more than just an accident.

If it hadn't been for him, that foggy day of feeling cold and lost and disoriented would have been the rest of my life.  Wandering in a world that is almost the way you expect it to be, but somehow is not.  The fog would have kept the sun away.  The accident may have kept my son away.

That afternoon, I picked up my son from school and held tightly to him.  I gave him extra hugs and kisses that night.  I gave him extra dessert.  Over the next few days I tried to cut myself some slack for making a mistake that mercifully morphed only into a wakeup call.  I made peace with it, tried to learn, and moved on.  Reflection and prayers and thankfulness.

But still.  I was never so glad to have been given the finger.

F#ck you.  Bless you.  Thank you.

-TDW