Still . . . .

 

 

This is the sound of surviving

 This is my farewell to fear

 This is my whole heart deciding

 I'm still here, I'm still here

 Nicole Nordeman, “The Sound of Surviving”

The sounds emanating from my house the past 6 months (or 12 months) may not have sounded like stereotypical concepts of survival or strength.  

My house has not carried refrains from Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots are Made for Walking” or Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” or Helen Reddy’s “I Am Woman.”

It has sounded a whole lot like sobs, curses, and words of frustration as I moved items around my house by myself.  
It has sounded like phone calls to dozens and dozens of companies.  
It has sounded like yells when two-tier authentication locked me out of every account we had. It has sounded like a crazy woman talking to herself, reminding herself that she can do it, that she only has to handle today, that she has done it before and can do it again.

It has looked like a sweaty middle-aged woman trying to go through mountains of belongings, rubbing her sore back and bemoaning her limited strength.
It has looked like a woman in front of a computer screen staring into the distance rather than focusing on grading.  
It has looked like dogs barking, rubbing against me, and joining me in the bathroom like a toddler, as they desperately tried to get love from someone too tired to give it.
It has looked like a woman walking from one room to the other, only to forget what she is doing and repeating her steps.
It has looked like me cooking food and then realizing I had made 3 times too much to eat.
It has looked like me smiling and saying everything is fine when at many moments it wasn’t.

However, I am here.
At the end of this May, a bit more than six months after my nightmare began, I am still here.

This is no little statement.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

There are choices in life—-
When tragedy strikes, one choice is to curl in a fetal position and let life move by.
It is also a choice to protect your heart so much you feel nothing ever again, to doubt every person you meet for possible ways you can be hurt.
It is possible to live in rage and anger at the unfairness of life, of choices people have made.
It is also possible to just live in denial and move through life as if nothing happened OR live in fear that the worst-case scenario might happen.
It is so easy to slip into a self that is less vibrant, less unique, less “out there,” less passionate for life or others.

However, as the Nicole Nordeman song lyrics say,
I have made the conscious decision—-with my whole heart deciding
To still be here.

For me, this decision to still be here means that
I am still here for the tears, the ache, and the loneliness.
I am here for the laughter and joy of singing at the top of my lungs when I feel like it,
For the wind in my hair as I ride down the road with my windows down,
For the bills, the paperwork, the vacuuming, and the cleaning.

I am still here for the disappointments and the joys,
For the thrills of life, for the beauty of spring flowers, for the sweat of lawn mowing,
For the piles of electronic assignments and emails,
For the endless house repairs that need to be done.

I am still here to talk to friends,
To take two of my dogs for a ride to the convenience store every morning,
To drag trash bags full of garbage out of the garage,
I am still here packing up the car with donations,
And I am here to take on new job challenges, starting now as I prepare for the fall.

I am still here for the numerous ways people will disappoint me,
And the numerous ways people will surprise me and love me,
For the hugs and smiles of others,
For my sons whenever they need me,
For my friends in the middle of the night or at the break of dawn.

My story is not over.
I have fought my way over craggy mountains, hanging on by my fingertips to the small crevice in the rock.
I have slogged through the muddy depressions of life, when it was an effort just to move one leg forward.
I have skipped across open fields with spring wildflowers, tugging on the string as my kite soared above.
I have also boarded the party bus a few times, singing songs with friends, watching the scenery rush by, and enjoying just being along for the ride.
However, I have also trudged along without a new sight in the distance, unsure of my directions, but moving forward one step at a time.


My story continues . . . .
Still. . . . .

And that decision to still be here has to be made each day, but today I am marking it with a forever symbol on my wrist to remind me that it is important to keep fighting, slogging, skipping, trudging---just as it is important to enjoy life and laugh and love BIG.

It is important to be Kim . . . . still . . . . regardless.  

As I approach year 54 in a few days, 

I am boldly deciding with all my heart that I am still here . . . . for whatever comes . . .