Parenting is weird. You spend nine months worrying, daydreaming, building up these elaborate scenarios in your head, only to realize within hours of returning from the hospital that you have no idea what you are doing. It all boils down to the fact that we can plan, daydream, and prepare ourselves as much as possible, but nothing is ever guaranteed.
This has not been an easy season for my extended family. The deepest of our roots, the foundation (in all it's imperfection), crumbled after forty two years. We are all wading through the emotional and logistical aftermath, with my main focus on uplifting the people hurting the most. We are cautiously imagining a new normal, while all of us are fully aware that we have no idea what the future looks like. All of this is further complicated by serious health issues with both parents. Things like caretaking and medical needs are whisked into this mix of uncertainty.
The weird, beautiful, painful part of this is that it goes on. It always does. While I am tempted to crawl under covers and ignore the persistent blast of Christmas tunes, to flip past the Christmas movies on TV, to cancel our Christmas plans, I have this little guy to take care of. He deserves every minute of a great Christmas. He deserves to carry the warmest and fuzziest of memories forward with him. He's a reminder that I have to keep moving forward, to grit my teeth through the parts I'm not feeling, and just keep going. I am grateful for this unexpected push, for the fact I get to be a parent at all, and for the way our daydreams will never prepare us for muddling our way through life. There is power in wading your way through uncertainty.
