Stocktanks and Hummingbirds beside the Sinkholes

Growing up in central Florida, I became familiar with sinkholes.  Lakes could be drained in a day, or whole homes would suddenly be swallowed. 

While I have not physically experienced being close to a physical sinkhole, I am well acquainted (as all of us are who live this life) with metaphorical sinkholes that just swallow your plans and dreams within seconds. 

While this is not technically a sinkhole story, several months before the Big Texas Freeze of 2021, we noticed our in-ground pool leaking large amounts of water. Our original plan was to figure out how to fix it. We loved the pool. When the numbers came back, we realized we needed to go another route. We could not keep a pool.  Those days were gone.  Instead, we decided to fill in our pool and create a backyard oasis. The dogs now have room to run and chase, we have 5 bird feeders and 2 hummingbird feeders full of flying creatures, and we put in a stocktank pool redneck-style complete with a pump and filter. We have backyard seating areas where I now sit every day and read. Swimming this past summer was not the same, but what was a loss has become one of my favorite things about my house.

  

Though few know this, four years ago, my youngest announced he would live full-time with his dad. That conversation and the days and months after it felt like a sinkhole had swallowed me up.  Feelings of utter loss and devastation were as real as a hole in the ground. I felt like a failure. I felt shame. There is no way to fill in this sinkhole.  My life has not been the same. We talk, he responds to texts, and we see each other about 8 hours a year even though he lives 10 minutes away. He still loves me and hugs me hard enough to squeeze all the air out of me, and my heart breaks if I think about him for too long--even now. There is no way to fill in this loss or make it better.  None whatsoever.  However, I cannot remain at the bottom of the sinkhole.  I have invested instead in others who need the love of someone who cares. I have found out new things about myself.  I have spent more time sitting and being rather than doing.  And I treasure every moment with this young man when I get to see him.

  

Obviously, for all of us, the past almost 2 years have been a sinkhole of sorts, swallowing up graduation ceremonies, lives of loved ones, family get-togethers, and plans for the future.  Our sense of security and confidence in how things will go have been swallowed up just as surely as if it were a physical sinkhole.  There are no ways to recover those days or those lives.  However, I have learned that I can maintain my friendships long-distance, I can learn to know my students just as intensely, and I can treasure the small moments of life that I do get to enjoy now that life is returning a bit back to normal.

This past summer at the urging of my primary physician, I had genetic testing to see if I had the same genetic mutation that possibly led to Mom's breast cancer. I did. It was surreal to suddenly find myself with an oncologist, taking a pill cancer patients take to reduce my chances. Within a month, a breast MRI (part of my new annual regime) found an abnormality. It was found to be benign, but the lesion is the type hard to monitor and often is surrounded by malignancies. So, here I am today awaiting a lumpectomy on Friday (a little over a year after Mom died of complications of chemo for breast cancer) and will await biopsy results over Christmas. In the meantime, due to other testing I was ordered as a part of my new high-risk cancer regime, out of the blue (with no symptoms) came the diagnosis of erosive esophagitis and gastropathy.  Thankfully, we found it before the damage became more permanent and before it could become cancer, and again I await biopsy results from those tests.

To say that these health issues did not feel like a sinkhole had swallowed me up all over again would be a lie.  To say I handled the sudden ground-swell of changes with grace would also be a lie. I have cried, wailed, and yelled at my perceived injustice. This person who rarely saw the doctor other than for required annual visits has seen more doctors in 3 months than she probably has in the past 15 years put together.  Anxiety, my constant stalker, has reared up in ugly ways. In the meantime, my friends and husband have stepped up to hold me in the midst.

The sinkholes of life are not easy.  They may never be filled in as before.  I am not the same person I was before Jonathan left, before job changes this year, before my health issues arose. In so many ways, I am glad I am not that same person.

Despite being told for 20 years of my early adulthood that I was unlovable and unfriend-able, the experiences of  the past 4 years have revealed more friends, more hugs, more support, and more unjudgmental acceptance than I would have ever anticipated. This strong Type A has finally admitted she needs help from others who have jumped in to help.  I am more sensitive to those with less-than-ideal family situations, and I try to be aware of others' hurts.

I may not have my pool, but I have beautiful hummingbirds buzzing around, and my dogs chasing each other bring me joy.

I may not have the relationship I have longed for with my youngest, but I know he knows that I love him unconditionally, completely, and without judgment.  I also know that when I am reunited completely with him one day I will treasure each second even more.

I may not have had the health news I anticipated at the start of 2021, but I have found new ways to appreciate the present, and I have discovered how important it is for me to ask for help.

The future looms wide open.  The sinkholes may continue to come.  

However, in the midst, just know I am a text, FB message, or phone call away.  We can always set up a stocktank pool beside the sinkhole, share a Diet Dr. Pepper, and laugh at something while we watch the hummingbirds.