I’m not here to talk about how the depression and anxiety are back because good God how many people suffer from mental illness? And how many of them are writing about it on the Internet nowadays?
They are back, by the way. In spades.
But what I came here to write about is not the crippling fears that keep me up at night (even though Simon is like, pretty much sleeping through the night (at least according to the medical definition (which means 5 hours in a row)) WHAT? SUCH A BETTER SLEEPER THAN LOUISA (although now I’ve jinxed it by talking about it on the webz and he will totally start waking up four times a night)) or the occasional episodes of weeping that keep happening when I least expect them (damn you, Disney! Why is Dumbo so touching?). Or the stupid medical bills that keep arriving. Or the Random Christian Woman At The Park who pissed me off last weekend (I may write about her later, however, because I think it warrants a post, I’m just not sure I’m up to writing it today). Because there are things a happenin’ around here (okay one thing in particular) that will probably alleviate at least some of the problem. But I’m not allowed to talk about it yet. Sorry to be all secretive and lame. It’s not that big of a deal. I’ll tell you in a couple of months and then you’ll be totally let down because it’s not that exciting for anyone but my family. No, it’s not another pregnancy, I promise.
What I did come to talk about is how sometimes there are just those little moments of clarity. Or synchronicity. Or beauty. Or whatever you want to call them.
There is a radio station here in Las Vegas that every Saturday plays a re-run of and old American Top 40 episode from the 80s, back when Casey Kasem was hosting. Because both my husband and I love 80s music and pretty much despise anything happening right around now in the music world (in other words, we are those grouchy, old curmudgeons who wax poetic about everything that happened when we were young, especially the music, and how everything sucks now, and totally can’t get past it *shakes angry fist at radio while saying “in MY day” in a perfect Grumpy Old Man impression*) we like to listen to it every Saturday morning during breakfast
in a desperate bid to recapture our youth as a nostalgic bit of fun. This morning somebody was doing a heartfelt long distance dedication to… somebody. I wasn’t really listening because I have two kids. We had eaten our typical Saturday morning breakfast of pancakes and were now all four in the living room. Jason was dancing with and/or chasing Louisa around and I was holding Simon in my lap. He was awake and staring around wide eyed, occasionally smiling (his new trick this week and OMG SO CUTE – if I could just manage to capture it on camera I would post it for you but I always manage to capture the moment just after the smile when he’s screaming or spitting up or pooping) and trying really hard to hold his head up (almost there but noooot quite). And then the actual song from the long distance dedication came on and it was “Let It Be” (by the Beatles (duh)). And lo, the radio was talking to me. Or Casey Kasem was talking to me. Or the Universe was talking to me through the radio. Or whatever. It was a moment that made me stop and smile and think everything is going to be okay. And that I should probably just calm down. Or, you know, LET IT BE.