Elliott wrote that “April is the cruelest month” and I sure hope so.  At least for the year.  It’s been pretty cruel so far and we’re only half way through.

A few days ago, I drove past the bay to avoid some Park Street traffic.  I have not be walking near the bay because of the cold (and it is still cold) and I am tired of the ice.  The first thing I noticed was the bobbing ducks, then the lack of ice, then the almost white capped waves.  Even a short glance at those ducks promised to make me seasick, the waves pretty fierce and those ducks all bobbing furiously.  I felt the coming of spring -- still coming, not here and the resiliency of those ducks who could endure the freezing water and the motion of the bay.  I struggle with what those ducks do with little perceived effort.

Mid-April and the reason to write here are piling up.  The will, for some reason, diminishes with each day that passes.  And writing, as soon as I put fingers to the keyboard or pen to paper, is a primary practice for me.  I question how I can ignore such basic knowledge and is deep within me.  Of course, I also know deep in my soul that I should exercise regularly and eat wisely.  

I have the capacity to ignore much of the wisdom stored in my soul. 

Yesterday, I went to the last of 5 meditation classes, “Buddhism in context.” 

After five weeks I have some understanding of dukkha -- suffering -- and that all life has it although it still seems to me that I have more than my share.  I have some understanding of second arrows -- the suffering we add to the actual suffering of life, sometimes called regret or guilt.  Finally, I have listened to the lists and lists to help one who practices meditation -- some of which I can understand, some are too much to hold in my head during the teaching let alone when I am “on the cushion” -- kinda’ cool expression for sitting and meditating. As it was a first class, so much of the teaching have rinsed through me.  I have caught small bits and pieces and for the most part I remain the unlearned student.  There was advice given yesterday: Let the teachings come to you.  I have no choice.  

It has been a revelation and a “duh” that  I’ve finally grasped a bit of the importance of meditating in community.  I ran to church and became a much more involved Unitarian after David died.  Sometimes feeling that there was no way that I was going to fit in but insisting on finding community in the place that insisted on preaching community.  And I have found some community at church but still did not grasp the benefit of spiritual practice in community.  But getting some of it through our Quest activities and now this class under my belt, I feel benefit beyond a simple community.  I am not articulate about this yet, but it is palpable. 

On Tuesday, I begin my eight week Meditation Based Stressed Reduction class at UW.  I signed up for this course as a way to gain credibility in the research world, but now it is much more.  I do want to learn more about contemplative practice for its own sake, for my sake.  I am very happy to have started with a buddhist base, not that I am looking for a new religion but I know that the MBSR course washes away the spirituality of meditation so that it can appeal to a broader audience of students.  I, however, like the spirituality and need the science.  I am excited to begin.

I am exhausted -- not always physically, although my nighttime sleep is regularly punctuated with time awake and so it is rare that I get a full night’s sleep.  It is an exhaustion of the soul and my second arrow is that I fear my life will never change and that I will spend the rest of living this life weary.  

Awhile back I was talking to someone about adult service for the disabled and the person casually said, “When you daughter applies for services . . . “  The words were a punch in the gut.  The person had no intention of hurting me, and truly there was no reason not to use Julia as an example during that conversation, but suggesting that Julia will need adult services for the disabled when she is an adult hurt badly.  It may sound crazy but I hold onto a belief that she will be “normal,” “typical” or at least be able to support herself with employment and have friends, even a partner.  I did not know how invested I was in that belief.  Evidently greatly no matter how irrational that dream is.

Julia is still asleep beside me this morning -- Sunday is the only day we are in bed late.  She is the source of so much of the dukkha in my life.  Truth and sadness.  Last Monday, Julia peed in the car again. She peed because she would rather play with her iPad than mind her body.  She couldn’t wait to jump in the car when we were going to do errands, do food shopping and then go to speech therapy.  She did not go to the bathroom before we left because she wanted to go into the car and play with the iPad.  She never asked to go to the bathroom at the various stores we were in and just before speech, I had enough time to run into the food coop to pick up tofu.  Julia asked to wait in the car.  When I came back to the car she was still on the iPad and she had peed in the seat.  I had to stop at the rehab clinic and cancel speech, then home where the car needed to be cleaned out immediately and then go to the car wash for a bio wash that cost $139.00.

The peeing made me angry and the anger sat with me for an entire week.  Towards the end of the week, I saw clearly how much the anger had to do with the loss of control. I have been holding knowledge without acting on it -- that her tioleting habits have deteriorated badly and I’ve lived just hoping they would get better with time.  Nothing that Julia does gets better with time without much teaching and practice.  Julia needs to be reminded to pee and poop even when she is potty dancing.  And it isn’t just when she is immersed in compelling activities.  It is everything -- emptying the dishwasher or putting toys away.  And I am terrified that my life will be nothing nothing but taking care of her.  Forever.  Now with her period I have another another layer of responsibility.  “Change your pad, go to the bathroom.”  Remind, remind, remind.  More and more care for someone who can’t even carry on a decent conversation.  Forever.  Another second arrow because I do not know that this is true.  It is fear nothing else and the truth is that there is little I have control of.  Why let this unknown punctuate my days? 

Opening the blinds this morning, I spy the snow on the ground.  There were weather reports of a spring-like day today and the updated report is that it will be warm for a short time today, but the wintery mix of snow, sleet and rain will only turn to rain and not allow for any gardening.  Gardening is my own true practice.  I have not done it as a practice, as anything more than a struggle for three years.  I am hopeful for this year but the practice needs the spring and it is not here yet.   

The dear son of a dear friend is very sick.  It scares me.  I feel very far away and unable to do anything.  I try to hold my “what ifs” at bay, but they come crowding in all too often.    We have a history, this friend and I, and the history makes it hard to be optimistic.

I know that there are many things to be grateful for, still I whine:  I placed an amazon order for some birthday gifts for Cheshire.  I had a few missteps but when I finally got to the part that would allow me to write a greeting, I broke down in sobs.  The sadness of missing David, of our life together and as a family, of all of the small steps of raising Cheshire, of the joys of raising Cheshire, of knowing that this family life is irrevocably over jumps out at me.  33 months and it can still be so raw.  I know I am not through the tunnel of grief completely, but I did not know how close the tears can still be.

I awoke this morning with the idea the no one does what I want to do.  No one indulges me. I almost laughed at myself for such a thought.  It was so childlike and so utterly selfish.  Is that what having a partner means?  Indulgence?  Not that David, or any partner, does what the other wants all the time, but sometimes, I got or expected to get my way.  Crazy, selfish, considered or wise, David catered to my whims and wants sometimes.  And that was delightful.  The immediacy of a partner is a blessing and still, still, still, I miss it. 

And so, this is April so far.  I hear NPR stories about cherry blossoms in DC or dandelions’ first bloom, and it is as if those word are personal attacks.  I need spring.