It has been a beautiful fall weekend, sun shining, I think it’s been warm too. The view of days is often from my bed looking out the window into the trees. Two sheets of clear plastic distort the view some, in hope of adding insulation to the single pane. I can still see movement of birds and squirrels, though it takes a little figuring sometime.
It was a little breezy this weekend. The wind blew the loose hanging maple leaves tempting them to let go, fall free. From time to time, leaves gave in and gently danced on the wind until resting upon the green grass. Nature’s own symphony ushering a season of change.
Dad called today, he is doing well with his recovery post-open heart surgery. He has a long list of medications to take and is still getting out to walk almost every day, although he does get winded easily. His life storm took him to the edge of death and back. We are all grateful he is still with us. From my own limited view from rehab after my car accidents, I know his recovery is not easy.
I was saddened and shocked to learn my brother lost his house. At an earlier time when I was fearful of losing my home he and my Dad said they’d ban together and buy my house if they needed to so I wouldn’t lose it. Hard times do not discriminate, do they? Now Dad has a huge mountain of medical bills and my brother, faced with his own life storm, went into foreclosure, and is living in a friend’s basement.
Considering my own life storm more seriously, what will happen with my own house and belongings? I am considering selling or taking the old truck off my insurance and not drive it at all. I haven’t decided, it’s a great tool for big jobs.
What will I do with my late Mom’s belongings like the Hope Chest she had intentions of giving to me later, but her death interrupted? I think of her cake decorating kit, the Victrola I loved so dearly as a child. I had hoped, if things got bad, I could ask my brother to store them for me. My Dad and Step Mom sure don’t have room in their tiny house, especially now with Dad’s mobility changed.
Perhaps, it’s time for me, like those little leaves, to let go.
It is frightening. I feel I’m free falling and I don’t know where I’ll land. I hate that I am much more vulnerable being disabled, and the uncertainty is an energy drain beyond belief. I wish I had a plan, I wish I had a safe place to land.
I don’t feel I’m letting go because I want to or because it’s right, or because I believe disabled people should lose their homes and everything they own. I think I’m letting go because like the leaves, I’ve been hit hard by the storms of life, held on as long as I possibly could, and no longer have strength to hold on to some ideal of how life could be if I could only find the help.
Everything was done right, I bought a house I could afford, didn’t go overboard in credit card debt or owe on vehicles. I lived within my means and I still lose it all as though I was an irresponsible steward. It doesn’t make sense. All because of a disability I did not cause.
I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be disabled, I don’t know how to lose everything, and I sure as heck have not figured out the magic combination it seems to take to get the help I need if it exists.