Steel Magnolia's

My Dear Steel Magnolia's,

You. You, human that though vulnerable, and even more delicate that you appear, are also stronger, wiser and more damaged than you appear, you, sitting there. I see you.
Today might be a good day.
You know a HARD, but good day.
Because all the days regardless of how sweet, also hold some bitter.
It is a path you walk, a sharpness with each breath.
You also have an ability many people don't, the standing and brushing off and holding your head up high, seeking the light, the sunshine and moving forward.
You are amazing.

Whether you are parenting kids from hard places.
Perhaps that child is no longer in your home and you are feeling the aftershocks?
Helping a parent, or spouse through a mental or health illness.
Surviving something yourself, a loss, an illness, a depression, a fear.

I see your invisible backpack full of bricks you strap on. I see the worry lines you hide in your smile.
I see the tired, behind the sparkle in your eyes.

YOU. You are brilliant, and shiny and strong.

You deserve a medal today, just for getting up and doing it again. Give me your address and I will send you one. You like crayon and construction art right?

Last night after, returning home from an extended weekend, visiting our child at her Residential Treatment Center, I had a lump. You know “the lump”, lodged in your throat, the well of tears just under the surface of your eyes that makes things hard to see.
And so you tuck in children.
Unpack musky wet swimsuits straight into the washing machine.
Make lunches.
Re-tuck in children.
Get one more glass of water.
Wonder if you have the energy to brush your own teeth and change in to pajamas, and then you crawl into bed, exhausted, and stare.at.the.ceiling.
Because silly you, after 3 days, and two sleepless nights in a hotel room with 9 people, non stop “fun” of swimming and movies and arcades and rides, and tantrums, and pouts, and ear aches, and crying, and fighting and F.U.N. ...you thought crawling in your soft bed, you would automatically fall asleep, much like your snoring three year old who is curled up in your spot on the bed.
That three year old is a jerk. That sweet sweaty little face all sleeping, and dreaming...all ASLEEP.

And then you feel the lump, you have been ignoring. It's there. Waiting.
Kinda like the phantom “ Oh yeah, I had to pee 3 hours ago, that goes away and comes back” condition many busy mothers know.

And, hello Netflix .
Where is there a ; “I need a sad movie to make me cry about someone else's sad story, so I don't have to sit here and cry about my own stuff” category.
Too many words in a description?
Dude, they have a “ Because you watched My Little Pony:Twinkle Wish Adventure, recommendations”, category.
I am writing their customer service, after this post dangnabit.

Linds, FOCUS.

So yep, me, needing a good cry.
I have my go to's:
Greys Anatomy scenes.
Bridges of Madison County.
Simon Birch.
The Painted Veil
Beaches
What are yours?
Steel Magnolia's is a double whammy for me.
You see I have a diabetic son, daily I worry “If today could be the day.”
Every morning is still a “is he breathing morning.”
I also have daughters, I would not only give my kidney to, but all of my working limbs.
I also have friends. A tribe of miraculous people that will walk me through and have times of ultimate loss.

Your show will begin in 17 seconds.
Let's open the flood gates.

I needed that cry.
I needed the multiple times I was touched and reminded that hard and sad and loss, is a human condition. During the funeral scene I thought of all of you. The parents that carry tragedy for their lost and living children.

When Malynn cries, “I -I don't thing I can take this!
I -I don't thing I can take this! I-I just want to hit somebody

'til they feel as bad as I do! I just wanna hit something!
I wanna hit it HARD!”

We have all felt that.
That alone and desperate, and empty in our pain.

When Annelle says;
“When things like this happens. I pray real hard to make heads or tail of this.”

I think of the people I know, sitting at desks getting through their days with the lump in their throats, not sure if it matters, regardless of how HARD they work, the money just isn't going to add up.
I think of Mom's driving to IEP and 504 meetings again. Fighting for rights of their children, being judged for their kids behaviors.
I think of someone holding the hand of a loved one in a hospital, not sure to plea for healing, or the peace of letting go.
I think if the broken still beating hearts of relationships torn and hurting...and still walking around.
I see you.

I walk next to you in this marathon, of hills and valleys. Dips of high highs and low lows...all with a small pebble in our shoes.
You are a warrior in yoga pants, a suit and tie, Mom jeans and a stained sweater, dress casual, 3 day worn pajamas. You, amazing. You, medal, for just breathing.

Today I got up.
I walked my autistic son through four separate triggers and melt downs.
I redirected my ADHD son a gazillion times, and though I am not confident his socks match, I am pretty sure he didn't wear penguin pajamas to school.
I made a hot breakfast for nine people.
I have already sat my five year old in 3 separate time outs and wiped pink sparkle nail polish off two walls and a counter-top. Today I walked past my child's empty bedroom at least a dozen times, each time feeling the subtle stab in my heart as it whispers, “will she ever sleep in that room again?”

I am going to be O.K.
She is going to be O.K.

“That's what my mind says,I wish someone would say that to my heart.”
You. You, human that though vulnerable, and even more delicate that you appear, are also stronger, wiser and more damaged than you appear, you, sitting there. I see you.“You know, I love you more than my luggage.”

Love,
Linds