I Don’t Know How You Do It

People have always said to you, “I don’t know how you do it.” Solo parent your two kids, take your kid to all their doctor appointments, produce a multidisciplinary arts festival, work, and run a household.  You thought you could, you felt fine, if not a bit stressed and worried, but now you say, “Well, I guess I didn’t.” Look at me, I’m crying. Maybe doing it all, didn’t cause this for you, maybe it’s a coincidence. “There are no coincidences,” you tell me, annoyed by my diminishing statement. But you were on top of your game.

You saw other people, their ambitions solidifying into success and stability. But yours, without a solid foundation—or maybe Foundation—seem to have crumbled. Any words of wisdom? I wish I knew what to say, you can’t look at it like that, maybe it did take its toll on you, and this is how it chose to, not by heart attack, cancer, or stroke, but by attacking your nervous system. It’s a cruel irony, isn’t it? That your strength and perseverance would be met with betrayal by your own body.

You thought you were a bundle of nerves, but then you realize that they aren’t working, so maybe it was something else.

 If your body is telling you it’s too much, then it probably is. But you didn’t have a choice. So many things landed on your plate, and you received them with grace and patience. Your attention to detail, for so long, went unnoticed. Reading medical journals to inform yourself about health issues with loved ones, your websites, the clothes you wear. I wish I had your drive.

I don’t have advice for you, I’ve never been through this. Don’t give up. I remember you saying you were dead inside, maybe you were right, you said you felt lonely and that nobody held you, but you I’m holding now. I hope it’s not too late.

Could it have been different? It’s so hard to know, after all ,this could be epigenetics.But you spent most of your life fighting those inner battles, telling yourself all the go-to pep talk phrases, but deep down, you knew it was just lip service. Don’t let yourself spiral into blame. This isn’t your fault. 

What if it was…? What if I could…? What if I didn’t…? Your lists are a mile long and counting.I don’t know if you should have regrets, but you have so many. Regrets are an awful thing.

Sometimes these things happen. It isn’t the choices you made; it’s just bad luck, I suppose. 

Don’t forget your gifts. Let’s focus on what’s ahead, let’s make your bucket list.

• Get published.
• Land on the New York Times bestseller list.
• Publish your plays and have them picked up by Broadway.

With all your imagination, it’s bound to happen. Oh, and go to France? I’ll try to get you there—but the economy, the political atmosphere, the money, the dogs… There are a lot of obstacles, but let’s get there while you can still walk. 

You’re wasting away here, let me feed you. I made you some nourishing food. How else can I help? Did you take your vitamins? What about your medications? Of course it still matters. You’re here now, and that’s what we’ll deal with. You look fine on the outside, but I know the truth—that it’s creeping up on you, quietly, insidiously.

And when you’re too tired to get out of bed, I’ll bring you my acoustic and sing your favorite songs. I know, you want me to sing “Creep” by Radiohead and “Waltz #2” by Elliott Smith.

How’s the chicken? I made it your favorite way. I know you love vodka sauce. And next time, I’ll make you eggplant parmesan. Don’t worry, I’ll make it gluten-free and slice the eggplant nice and thin. I’ll use tomato chunks so there’s lots of texture and taste.

For now, we’ll take it day by day. I’ll hold you, cook for you, and remind you of everything you still are—and everything you still can be.