One of the side effects of sleep deprivation is that my emotions are laid bare right on the surface. At its worst this manifests as anger, which can show itself in the form of rage directed at my children. This leads to shame and guilt and unending worry...and also an unending stream of apologies. This, my friends is not healthy, and I am wholly unashamed to reveal that I am again seeing a psychologist to help me work through what I now know is moderate to severe postpartum anxiety. Here I was looking around the corner, expecting and preparing for a return of my postpartum depression, when ol' postpartum anxiety came in from the opposite direction and wrapped itself around me like "a boa constrictor, a boa constrictor, a boa constrictor...and I don't like it one bit."
And while this is a chapter in my life that is proving to be one of the most difficult yet, it is not without its silver linings. With my emotions laid bare, I'm also finding that when I'm at my most exhausted, my guard falls, and my heart is at its most open and raw. And when your heart is open, miraculous things can happen. And that's just what happened this morning...something miraculous.
It's important, first, to back track to yesterday evening. I was outside on our porch with the girls and Ike when I noticed a handmade plant stake in one of the potted plants that hadn't been there a few days ago when I had watered.
As you can see, it reads "Mija." I guessed (correctly, I might add, based on a story I had just read to Bea where the little boy was called "mijo" by his mother or grandmother) that "mija" means "daughter" in Spanish. I had an idea of where it came from...my sweet friend Laura Parish makes these and is known to leave gifts on our front porch. I didn't, however, know why she left this particular stake.
I had every intention of sending her a thank you text, but the girls distracted me and I forgot. So, I was delighted when I received a text from her this morning explaining the "mija" plant stake. She has been making these stakes for the Day of the Dead saying she liked "the idea of remembering the dearly departed, but not going as far as an all out Ofrenda." She had given me this stake as a tribute to Helen (and for those who may not know who Helen is, she is my daughter who was stillborn 4 1/2 years ago). With an already raw and open heart, you can imagine that it begin to ache for Helen in what I can only describe as a purely joyous appreciation for her having existed and for getting to share the short time I had with her.
So, with Helen occupying my thoughts, I opened the back door and looked down to see this:
The knowing in the deepest part of my soul cried out that this was from Helen. Not only was it from Helen, but it was her way of telling me that everything is okay; that everything is going to be okay. That she's always with me.
People, our angels are among us. Our loved ones who have passed. Our spirit guides. They are there. And sometimes it takes a raw heart, a heart raw from hurting, to help us see what is always right there in front of us. I don't wish for you to have a heart raw from hurt, but I do hope that each of you has an open heart ready to receive all of the miraculous gifts the universe has to give.
