On pain and writing (and tea)

Here’s the thing. The pain will find you no matter what. For days, weeks, months after you thought you were fine.

And for me, writing is what makes it come out. Writing is my therapy. I probably knew this all along, and that’s why I couldn’t do it anymore. It’s hard. It’s painful. The fun and the friends, that’s all to numb it. And it works for awhile, and it's almost necessary. Maybe to almost get strong again. And then I start writing again, and all of the feelings come pouring out. 

I thought I was okay. 

It was a night where Sam was having one of his own meltdowns. For no reason (or maybe every reason). But, he was crying and inconsolable and refusing to go to bed. I tried for awhile, but then gave up and then, I decided to make some tea. 

I leaned up against the counter, staring blankly at the Keurig. Thinking about how it works. The reserve of hot water in waiting. Jake’s parents had a Bunn coffeemaker – the kind that had hot water in reserve, and brewed a pot in minutes. I thought about how his mom would make pots and pots of coffee on Sunday mornings, and I would use the green coffee cup. That one was mine.

I thought about how the last time I was drinking coffee in his parents' kitchen from that green coffee cup. And how different my life is now. Who would have thought I would be here? By myself. Then I realized maybe I’m not okay. But when will I be? When will I not be so sad about this? When will I just think of a Bunn coffeemaker and not think about his parents and cry about how my life used to be and how it’s not now? And that really fucking sucks, you know?

When the tea was done I walked backed upstairs to Sam, who had now in protest grabbed his blankey and laid down on the floor in his room. I scooped him up and put him in his bed. I laid down on his tear soaked pillow, and just waited for him to stop crying. And then I cried.  Sometimes it all happens at once and it gets all too much, you know? Something just hits me wrong and then I can’t stop crying.  

Writing just jars something loose in me. Cracks me open, and it all comes pouring out.

But then he calmed down. He looked at my face. I don't know if he saw my tears. He grabbed my hand, and told me to rub his back. So I did. I held him. I felt his pain. I didn’t know why he was in pain, or what made him upset, but I get it. 

It could have been a cup of tea.