Dance in the Rain

My mother was many things. It’s no lie to say that she hated me. She hated how I threatened her, how she could not control me, she lived in fear that I would eclipse her. But she loved me too. In her own way, she gave me what she could. She taught me class, dignity. With the worst of circumstances, she made me the capable and competent and loving person I am now.

I don’t miss her during the divorce. She would have made things worse. I know this in my bones. This much heartache and worry and woe would have been food to her narcissism. She would dive in and she would make it so very much worse. I know that my mother was never going to be the mum that would tell me to come home, that would tell me she loved me no matter what. There was always going to be some poison in her kiss.

My mother had 2 magnets on her fridge when she died and I brought them home with me. Magnets, if I may digress for a moment, are deeply personal. They are inexpensive, but we buy them for a reason. To remind us. Because they make us smile. Because they speak about who we want to be. We expose our underbelly in magnets.

Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain. I think was maybe a reminder that her life was hard and learning to dance in the rain was essential.

Mr. Spit is moving out the end of February. I have slept next to him, drank coffee next to him, cooked him dinner for a significant portion of the last 16 years. However much this was my choice, it is hard. Sad. Lonely. My family isn’t much. Small. Sparse. My friends are diving in – checking on me, offering to come and stay and take care of me when I switch drugs. I call them and tell them I’m not sure I can do “this”, and they tell me I will be fine, I am already fine. They tell me they believe in me.

I was at the hardware store buying some parts to fix my screen door. I am casually looking to replace some drapes when I came upon one of those wall stickers Рtelling me to learn to dance in the rain.

So I bought it.

I don’t know where I will put it. It’s not really my kind of thing. But it connected me with my roots, made me feel a bit less alone.

And reminded me of what my friends are telling me – I already know how to dance in the rain.

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2 Responses to Dance in the Rain

  1. Jane says:

    Sometimes, the rain is suprisingly warm. Sometimes, you need a really heavy duty raincoat and wellingtons. And a sou’wester.

    Much love.

  2. Jill A. says:

    I have never been much of a refrigerator magnet person either. I have only two I have ever bought for myself. I’ll share them with you; I think you will like them.

    Peace.
    it does not mean to be in a place
    where there is no noise, trouble
    or hard work. it means to be in
    the midst of those things and still
    be calm in your heart.

    The second on says:
    People who don’t like cats were probably mice in an earlier life.

    I was divorced after sixteen years also. It was about 6 years after the baby died. It wasn’t drama filled or full of angst, though the catalyst that got me moving was his pregnant girl friend. It was sad, it was hard, but. But. There was too much pain already in our lives, to much hurt to want to hurt each other more. Go. Be happy. Live, love, laugh. Me, too. We both needed to find a way to be possibly happy again.

    Peace to you, Mrs. Spit. Or Ms. Spit. Or whoever you are becoming, love.

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