A weekend from now Easter will be celebrated around the world and although we may not all “celebrate” I always think there’s time to renew, refresh and be grateful for what we have. I must however point something out that as a person with chronic “invisible” illness and a mother, I’ve been struck by the difficulty in actually telling the Easter story and admire those who have told it so well. I do not mean to be blasphemous but cousin, if I tried to explain that a dude escaped but nothing was moved and his clothes were still there back in the day with Bipolar, gesticulating wildly, pausing to try to remember my train of thought, and possibly crying a little, I can imagine the looks I would receive as I walked to the cast out / leprosy section of society.
Similarly, I have had a multitude of children under five (who my husband and I created) look up at me inquiringly, asking for clarification on different parts of the story. What does the Easter Bunny have to do with it? Was the Easter Bunny the pet back then? Mother mumble. Second question: they first hurt him a lot and then loved him and wanted to be his friend? Shocked little faces. And before my philosopher but practical eldest son could unpack ANYTHING further, I looked SO excited and said guys, let’s go make play dough! But we were still talking about… NO. Did Mom say that you can sprinkle as much flour as you want? And we all excitedly went to the colourful muck that was MUCH better than the mess of a conversation I didn’t want to have.
My Philosopher Son is coming on Saturday for a bit of a break. To reconnect and to finally have his 21st Birthday. My heart in preparation is so anxious, so excited, so happy and so sad. What do you tell the most precious cargo you’ve ever had that you are so so so sorry about the times you hurt them when you didn’t mean to. That you are equally sorry about the times I couldn’t get up, although a quiet voice inside me screamed that I should. That he and his siblings are the most beautiful, amazing souls despite and in spite of the contributions that I had and had not made. That I wished him the kind of happiness that would be felt and remembered in each of his cells and signed in his soul. That he deserved the kind of peace I had never truly known. Because he had always given pieces of that to me.
In anticipation of his arrival and Pet Bunny weekend next weekend, I am doing what my grandmother did, sneak off to the room to have a little cry. To be flooded with the memories of his life, his support, his little frown, his enquiringness. The fact that he watches National Geographic Deep Sea stuff because it cheers me up. That he has annoying habits like tickling me (but we signed a contract against this now) and holding me. In anticipation of all of this, I am grateful for the opportunity of renewal, to try things again, and perhaps google answers to those pesky questions before they’re asked by anyone again. Be part of those who support us as opposed to those who don’t. I am 4 M’s Bipolar Mom.
4 M's Bipolar Mom 