Everyone wants a piece of me and I am chip-chop-cut into tiny little pieces, scattered on the wind. My calendar is full and my batteries have run out. I am slow-slow-slowing down, like a toy, like a plant in winter, like a harangued mother.
I am a pile of ash. Burned up and burned out.
The hospital rings, and rings back again. Letters arrive in the mail and my desk is covered with fragments of my attention. Pins and needles, rope and twine. A Barbie doll with no head; a torn bookmark. Physio referrals and a letter reminding me about bills I need to pay. All juxtaposed in what I imagine looks like very neat chaos.
Music plays and I am putting my baby to sleep, pat-pat-patting her tummy and shushing her quietly to drown out the sound of her siblings fighting and the emails pinging in my inbox. I am hiding under a pile of chaos. Dying, dead, done. I am finished. It collapsed and killed me.
Shhhhhhhhhhhhh. Are you listening? I said shhhhhhhh.
There are times in life when you just need to ride through the storm. Successes are measured in the very tiny grains of sand. Someone remembered to take their library book to school. I remembered to eat lunch. Someone is wearing clean underpants. A grain of sand, a small success.
Everything is piling up. Are you there God, it’s me – Veronica.
And I am shhh shhh shhhushing while I pat the baby’s tummy and rub her head, her dimpled fingers wrapped around mine.
We will take this moment of peace and wrap it up tightly, because we’re going to need it, you and I. As the chaos falls and the world burns around our feet, we will be okay, because we have this.
A speck of sand. A tiny success.
We will be okay.