This February my
two youngest children, boys in grades 11 and 12, entered brick and mortar high
school and I am no longer a homeschooling mom. My life as I have lived it for
the past 16 years has come to its natural end. We have lived fully and deeply;
the transition to this phase of our lives has been ...lurchy. But we are
finding our footing.
If I liken our
schooling years to a race, I am the marathon runner who stumbled across the
line completely spent and needed help to get up. I have since moved from the
critical first aid station to the convalescence home. I am encouraged by the
days when I have the energy to look around and visit with those who come across
my path, but I rarely go looking and when I do it's mostly just to the path
outside the home. Crossing the street is still too much. I'll wave at you but
will turn back to my bench in the sun or couch looking out at the rain.
So for now, my
life is being lived closer to home. Instead of the focus being on what is best
for my children's education, I am able to consider my own health and well
being. The difficult days are less frequent. I can usually "do
something" two days in a row now, although the third is often a flat, slow
day and I plan those days of activity carefully. More than that scares me
because I know what the next days will be like. (And by "doing" I
mean one activity: one yoga class, one grocery shop, one visit with a friend.)
I still prefer days at home. I am learning some amazing things about myself,
the world around me, and am finding joy and passions that are deeply
satisfying.
I am in no hurry
to leave this bench. I have completed and succeeded in my marathon. My
recovery time will be a while yet, my next races nothing more than vague
thoughts, except that I will plan and run them differently. If you see me, know that I'd love some company. I can encourage you
in your race. I can sit quietly and let you catch your breath. I can listen to
your dreams. But it's up to you to stop. I can't, and won't, make you notice
me.
