Storms

So, I didn't have class that night. (Anyone surprised? Anyone?) The trepidation I'd felt truly had dissipated by the time I got the word, though, because that closet of non-"other"-dropping-shoes was full of multiple-planning-just-in-case by then. And this isn't a good thing. My head has been spinning like a top - or a cyclone - because I'm now fully involved with a level of emotions that are ... Well, this week has been all about tempests.

Storms aren't always bad. They blow and destroy, yes, but, like most things in nature they also clear the way for the new, the stronger, the more numerous. They wash and uncover, too - I checked out the Crater of Diamonds web site yesterday, and it said some of the biggest stones have been found after hurricanes and heavy thunderstorms. And storms, whether meteorological or emotional, sometimes just take things down the bone, showing us what's really important.

My mom is sick with cardio-pulminary hypertension. She has been for quite awhile, but it's getting bad now. Instead of focusing on the shoe-drop this time, however, I tried looking at the vortex that has been spinning for just as long - my anger. I'm angry at her for trying to take the easy way out of so much of her life, especially the weight loss she needed (she took Fen-Fen years ago), and even more for not trying to do it the old-fashioned way (or any other) after she found out she had the CPH when she could have done it. I'm angry for the way she treats this all so casually, ignoring the realities of her situation as she chatters on and on about moving to an apartment and living on her own even though she forgets to pay bills, forgets to shower, even forgets she has a call on the line when the phone is in her hand. I'm angry at her for making us watch as she slowly kills herself with her denial.

Except I realized today I'm not angry with her at all - well, not much. Truth is, this squall belongs to the Big Lug.

His triglycerides are up again, which means new medication - added to the others that help his hypertension and type-two diabetes. When I listed everything I was mad at Mama for this morning, I found a fit for him, too. This explained the escalated level of emotion I've been prey to (especially since the misdirected fury revved up the same day he got the results). He needs to lose the weight while he still can. He needs to stop using the meds as a cure when they are nothing but a patch. And he needs to want to do it - which means I have to shut up.

That's the hardest part of all of this. I have to bottle it, redirect it, calm it - something other than focus on either my husband or my mother. The storms that help us aren't other people's but our own; stuff happens and either turns up a diamond or blows leaves around, but it's our storm, and our choice, not someone else's. I feel like the guy stuck in his car in Kirksville during that tornado last night - I have to watch it all happen and do absolutely nothing.

Am I worried? Yes. And no. He's not seventy years old, he hasn't spent his life abusing his body, and he's not severely obese - in other words, he's not in immediate danger, not like my mother is. I just love him so much I don't want him to be even close to it. And, truthfully, it's timing - with this whole alternate-planning thing going on, with all I see as possible futures (good and bad) along with the alarmist swirls that accompany them, and the frustration of continually biting my tongue ... darned if I wouldn't rather have those ever-dropping shoes.

Or I could just take in all his pants.