it is 9:00 a.m. in the holy city of zefat. I have agita. once again. it's more like a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. not knowing my fate, I guess, is keeping me in a state of agitation. I have been going through psychodrama in my head and of course, talking it over with my friends for hours.
I am paralyzed. I cannot function. I am too tired to make a move. I am haunted by my past. I feel like I'm trapped in a nightmare. I want to scream. I want to wake up from this state. I went outside and it was cold. I sat in the shade and I shivered. I then moved into the sun to warm up. I fell asleep and the kids walked past me.
the granddaughter came over for a hug but the grandson did not. he looked tired. we have always been joined at the hip and it seems like we have finally been surgically separated. it hurts. it has to be for the best, right? I mean, everything is ultimately for our best. all the pain I'm feeling is for the best. all the tears that I'm shedding are historically and traditionally spot on. our temple is being destroyed. my home is my temple and it's crumbling.
my family is leaving me and I am alone. I see the grandkids for about a moment every week. this is my punishment for calling myself a live in babysitter. this is my penance for yelling at my son when he came up to tell me, ever so quietly, that I had once again ticked off his young wife. this is my 'al chet' for being angry at them and not joining them for their huge shabbaton. this is my repentance for not allowing them to live their lives.
I am a bit dizzy. I feel like when I had cancer. I am too tired to do my dishes. I am all talked out and yet I want to talk for hours. I cannot take this quiet. I cannot take not knowing when I will be let out of this cage. I want to go back to sleep and never wake up. I want to schedule brain surgery so that I might die. I want out. I don't want to face not having a life. a life, for the most part, that was based on being a caregiver.
I want to be quiet in my head. I want to regroup. I want to start planting succulents downstairs. I want that awful pool to be taken apart. I don't want to see that awful swing set or the patio furniture anymore. I want to finish painting my gates. I started 15 years ago . I want to get up and get dressed and go into town. I want to feel strong. I want to have a life. I want to feel relevant.
I don't want to join the ranks of grandparents who are estranged from their kids. I don't want to get a hobby. I don't want to take up crocheting. I don't want to ever cook again. I want to lose 30 pounds. I want peace in the middle east. I want to stop ranting. I want to stop being sad. I want to go back in time before cancer and brain tumors and balagon. I want to feel happy.
I besieged my son with emails yesterday. I wanted him to understand that I didn't have an easy life. I wanted him to understand that I did try to help him all these years and that I got myself into a bad situation in the process. I wanted him to know that I do want him to succeed and prosper and be independent. and that indeed, I want him to have a good family life and blossom.
I didn't ask him to reimburse me for paying his health insurance for the past 7 years. nor did I remind him that I paid privately for his hernia operation a few years ago and stayed overnight with him and took him home in a taxi. isn't that what moms do even when their sons are married, right?
my son seems lighter. he even kissed me yesterday. he asked me how I was this morning. that's progress, right? I am playing a waiting game now. I am waiting for them to move out. I am waiting to see if they will involve me in picking up the kids after school. I am waiting to see where they will have my grandson's birthday party this year. it has been downstairs in my backyard for the past 7 years. I am waiting to see if they will invite me to the party. I am waiting to see if my son will ever pop over to say hello and bring the kids to see me. I am waiting to know if they will want to see me during the holidays this year. I tend to think not.
I should be waiting for the messiah, I guess. yet, here I am. waiting it out in the holy city of zefat, the city of refuge. waiting for the high priest to die. waiting for contrition. waiting to be freed. may we all have a great Shabbat and an easy fast!