Saturday, May 9, 2015

I think I over slept

Most of us have those day when we just go deep inside, take a look at what it is, what is not, what we have, what we want, what we've accomplished, what we have not, and most of all, days in which we get a little caught on how all of that feels. They aren't necessarily bad days, one can even argue that they are not necessary days at all, but yet they happen. At least to me. I hear it far too often: "you don't have to analyze it  all" or "you think too much", funny as it seems, days like those I do not think much at all, instead I get pushed up and down in a whirlwind of emotions I sometimes cannot define. Sometimes I just don't want to, to be honest.
A day, a plain and common day when I get sucked in the routine and the rushes of the hours and chores one after the other. A common day on my happy uneven weeks would go pretty much like this. The thoughts and emotions come as they please, the facts and the experiences are always rich, sometimes more, sometimes they are just devastating. 
The alarm wakes me up and I look at the clock, I can't remember when I had a full night sleep, I use to look at it at one, at three, at five a.m., when I wake up, put the kettle on, take a fast shower, wake up the girls and dressed them, half asleep. I prepare their pieces of fruit to school, check the school bags, fix breakfast, comb their hair, brush their teeth and repeat over and over again that they have to hurry so we don't miss the 06:07 buss to school. I rush to work and get the day going. I tried summarizing how a day at work is, but it is not possible since however hard I tried it always looks organized on paper. It's so hard to explain! Every task is executed at the same time as two or three others. Short on staff, getting  patients admitted before the other ones were discharged, having them on the couch for a few hours.  That does not say much, because you cannot see them, because you have no clue that that guy on the couch waiting for the resident to discharge him has just heard that his life is fading like a candle. It really doesn't matter, because how hard I try words don't show the sadness and the desperation in his eyes, his uncertainty, his resignation, his pain. It really doesn't matter because the screams don't sound with my written words, and the wounds don't smell through the blog, and the trembling hands taking mine and begging for help do not get real for you. And all those stories of life, suffering, hope, miracles, sadness, desperation, light, love, kindness, anger, death, struggle, victory and defeat get all lost in the bureaucracy and the documentation, they slowly fade in the runs to get to the practicalities of the day done, they become the background of the problems to be solved. And so goes the day, the doctor screams and yells at me once more, he is frustrated and so am I. The relatives complain, I'm not enough, I did not do enough... they are right.  And the day goes by at work, and those little words of kindness spread here and there, those warm touches, those sincere "thank you", those unbelievable caresses to the heart make it worth it, sometimes. 
I run to get the girls, they are tired, they complain, they are wining, they are hungry. I make dinner, we make homework, they take their baths and the clock gets 8 p.m. We cuddle and read a story, I sing to them and kiss them good night and see how they sink in the land of dreams with those lovely tiny peaceful smiles of satisfaction on their lips and I get filled with love and pain. Pain because they won't be here next week, because the house will be quiet and alone, because I will not sing or kiss their foreheads and whisper in their ears how proud and happy I am to have them, to see them grow, to see how wonderful they are. And I go down and do the dishes in the silence, and think about the day, what I could have done better, what I did right, what that patient said, what the other meant. I think about them and their lives. I think about the responsibilities, the bills to pay, the supermarket list, the laundry, the cleaning, what I will make for dinner tomorrow, and yeah... housewife's worries, nurse's worries, mom's worries... I make a cup of tea, take a look around and sit in the darkness of the kitchen. The silence hurts, it hurts because it's there no matter what I do, it's always there.
I go upstairs and look at them in their beds, still with the tiny peaceful smiles, sleeping like angels, so innocent and so small, so pure and so perfect. I lay my head against the wall and as an unwanted tear falls down my cheek my thoughts betray me "I need a hug right now".
I pick up a book and go to bed, and as I slowly get lost in someone's words my heart aches and goes "I need a hug so much"
I thought about my mom today, when I saw the girls laughing and screaming of joy at the theme park. What would my mom think of me if she saw me? Had she ever imagine I would be the one I am now? Had she ever picture me so lonely? Had she ever imagine I would feel like I do today? Would she be proud of me? I know I'm not. I'm happy and thankful I've made it this far, I certainly am, but proud? proud I am not, pride does not fill the vacuum, it does not build bridges over the holes in my soul. I've made it this far, I've built up this life I enjoy and am thankful for but I was a dreamer, I believed in happily ever after, I thought it was true that you get what you give, I hoped and dreamed and the alarm went on and somehow I feel I've over slept.

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