Waiting For The Rain
I wake in the morning to no alarm or demand, just the rise of the sun. I turn onto my side and pull the light linen sheet close into me as the thoughts I escaped during sleep cycle back. They’re loud and big and they hurt. Sleep is no longer an escape as I’ve had my nightly dose. My phone is a headache not ready to be had. The only option left is to get out of bed and go to the place where I tame my thoughts.
Before I do, I use the bathroom, I brush my teeth, I put the clean dishes from last nights dinner away, pour myself a glass of cold water from the fridge, walk into the garden to see Lucas watering the plants, we kiss and exchange our morning words:
‘Ca va?’
'Oui, ça va et toi?’
‘Oui ça va. Bien dormi?’
’Bien, et toi?’
’Bien.’
We smile, kiss again and Lucas continues to water the plants. I walk back inside to get my yoga mat and return to the garden to lay it out in a shaded part of the lawn that begs the heat of midday not to touch it.
I arrive on my mat, the place to tame my thoughts. I breathe, I breathe and I breathe. The thoughts come in and try to take me away but my inner self fights to keep me present and sane:
‘No, come here. Come back here.’
My inner self is demanding, so I bring myself back to her - to my breath, the calm and the quiet. I sit and continue to tame the pounding thoughts. But eventually, one breaks free and begins to control my mind and body. I start to overheat and itch to leave this place. Unconsciously, I open my eyes, stand and begin to roll up my mat. But my inner self catches me in the act of leaving before she gives me permission. So I sit back down, breathe and tell myself to come back.
I don’t leave until I give myself conscious permission. I wait and wait for permission to arrive and then, and only then, do I allow myself to open my eyes. The sun has begun to steal from the shade and the heat of the day is awakening - I breathe and brace myself.
I recently read a beautiful book called Small Pleasures by Clare Chambers where she wrote “The journey into love was so effortless and graceful; the journey out such a long and laboured climb.”
As I read that line, my mind didn’t think of past lovers or partners - I thought of hockey. Such an effortless and graceful descent into love at age seven; full of hope, childlike pleasures and dreams. Now I’m on the journey out and up at age twenty-five; the heartbreak, the cold and broken hallelujah to love. A grieving period, of not just love but self. Grieving the loss of those hopes, pleasures and dreams that I shaped for myself at age seven; that I reshaped at age ten, thirteen, sixteen, nineteen and twenty-two. Mourning an identity that I have held longer than any… aside from that of a daughter, a sister, a niece, a cousin and a grandchild.
It’s laboured and long… and I’m only five months into what feels like a never-ending hot, heavy summer.
* * *
Since I left the confines and conformity of elite sport and stepped outside, I’ve been sweaty and uncomfortable. The ickiness of the heat surprised me, I thought there would be a cool breeze blowing that would carry me off to the next great adventure of my life. But my weather prediction was far off. It’s a goddamn desert out here and I’m so poorly dressed.
I spend most days walking around aimlessly searching for an oasis of answers that will cool my overthinking brain. Who am I, what am I meant to do now, where am I meant to go? But I can’t find the answers anywhere and being without them is physically painful. My head constantly feels like it might explode at my temples. My only solace is sleep - so I wait for night to set in so I can escape the questions and the pain. But when I wake the questions start again and my skin turns to fire. My motivation is low and anything requiring it sends me into panic. Why didn’t anyone tell me how hot it was out here?
I thought I had the answers. I thought I would step outside and walk with purpose, adequately dressed and armed for life. I made an effort whilst in the confines of elite sport to build my identity away from it. I had other hopes, pleasures and dreams. So why the hell am I burning up out here?
I wish I was dressed right and I wish I could find the oasis. But grief doesn’t come to you like an invitation with a dress code and directions. It just arrives and it’s just hard, and apparently hot.
So I’m finding ways to cope with this insufferable heat. I put clean dishes away, I keep the house tidier as if its cleanliness clears the mess in my mind, Lucas reminds me to keep the windows open as an invitation to the breeze and I take myself to my mat in the morning. And as the heat comes in throughout the day I remind myself that the heavy, thick, uncomfortable air is the prelude to rain. So for now, I’ll just keep sitting and breathing in my prelude, waiting for the rain.
Lily
P.s. Thank you for reading. If you like what I’ve written please share it on your social media and if you want to speak with me about anything I have written in this piece feel free to reach out to me on social media or via email lilykbrazel@gmail.com