Narrow & "All Better" v Better

Jack and I talked to the Boy on Monday for the first time since he has been at wilderness, five weeks after we dropped him off. It was great to hear his voice and hear how he is managing. I remember when I was a kid and I scraped my knee, my mom would clean it up and say "All better!" The Boy is doing better, but like a mom, I want him to be "all better," not just "some better."

Back before I started my day job two years ago, I took a writing class at North Seattle College where we discussed feminine archetypes. We learned about the three phases on womanhood:

• The focused, and directed virgin represented by Diana the hunter; 
• The diffuse-focused mother who has her eyes and ears constantly open represented by Demeter; and 
• The queen who basks in wisdom, represented by the late stages of Hera.

Ironically, right now I feel like I am living all three stages at once. I am like Diana the Hunter, with a direct and narrow focus on supporting Peter. My friend circle shrunk in numbers but increased in intensity, with me calling the same friends once or twice a week, not counting how much I talk to my friends at work. I still feel like Demeter the mother, paying attention and worrying about the Boy. Now that I am living alone in my little downtown nest, I feel like Hera, the queen.

My life has become very narrow, but tonight I broke out of the constrained pipeline I had been living in. A guy I know from back in my public education advocacy days is running for Seattle School Board and I attended a fundraiser for him hosted by a few of my friends, a group that had not been part of my small circle of six people who knew all of the ins and outs of the shitstorm that is my life. When I got to the party, the candidate who I already know and respect, was talking. Instead of having to vicariously relive my school board campaign memories, I snuck away to get some dessert when the hostess caught me.

"Lauren! It is so good to see you! How are you?"

I blanched. Oh shit, I thought. It is one thing to be transparent and open, but I don't need to tell everyone everything. Instead of talking about the Boy, I told her all about my job and the Apprenti program.

"How's Claire-Adele?" she asked. That's easy. I might get out of here without having to mention the Boy at all, and that would be cool.

The candidate finished his speech, and came back to the kitchen. We talked more about elections. The candidate left, and I was getting ready to go back to walk Fox.

"How's the Boy?" the hostess said. Other friends were there, including a couple who heard the Boy's story on the flight back from New York over Spring Break. They hadn't heard the latest installment, so I really couldn't just bullshit my way through this and say he was fine, because this couple would be like "Wow! I am sooo glad to hear the Boy is doing well! That is AMAZING!" I can't be transparent in March and then lie like a sack of shit in July. (It is late. I'm tired. My "colorful vernacular" is coming out, as the Boy has said about his swearing.) 

So I told the story. The Boy is in Wilderness. Then off to boarding school. 

Welcome to Northeast Seattle. No one was shocked. Everybody already knew somebody who knew somebody who had a kid who went to wilderness.

So I am branching out. I didn't lead with the Boy and Jack, like I do with my little tiny inner circle. I lead with my job and with Claire-Adele, two things in my life that are going well. I wasn't trying to put forth a good face--I was recognizing that everything in my life isn't so difficult or challenging or in crisis. This weekend, I have another party with a small group of friends. We will see how it goes.

But much has changed since earlier today. At lunch, I sat with my new manager.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked. This wasn't a small talk question. He wanted to know how I was doing. He was the one who pushed me to take the holiday weekend off and go on a trip. I talked about all of stuff coming up with the Boy, and all of the decisions that will need to be made in the next month. I admitted I was stressed.

"Are you feeling better?" I think he asked twice because perhaps I didn't answer. I didn't answer because I didn't really know what to say. Was I feeling better? It was hard to know. Plus, I really can't bullshit this guy. He is too smart for that.

"Grief comes in waves," I said. "You feel bad, then you feel better, then you feel bad again, but this time you feel bad about something different."

It wasn't until I got home tonight that I realized that sometimes feeling better means actually feeling like shit. Or, that feeling like shit means that you actually are starting to feel better.

At the campaign party, a friend said "Sometimes you are afraid to feel bad because you are afraid you might never come out of feeling that way."

I fear migraine headaches. What I get one and it doesn't go away? Fear of being sad is kind of like that.

Am I "All Better"? No. But I am better.