Coming to Terms.... other wise known as acceptance

Today is a new kind of normal for me. Today I am still a teacher, I am just not a teacher of my class. My littles now belong to a new teacher. Yes, it's hard to fathom. And my heart is broken. I got what I asked for, but it is a painful wrenching of my soul anyway. I'm heartbroken. Sad. Misplaced. There's a bitter taste in my mouth. And a sour feeling in my stomach.

But I am also free. Tonight I am not writing lesson plans, nor struggling with the guilt of not being prepared for the new week or with not being with my school children.  This evening I am free to be my Dad's companion, champion, caregiver, overseer, and fierce protector. Which makes me so sad and tired just to know that he needs protected. But I've seen it over and over in these days since he's been incarcerated, um..., I mean incapacitated/hospitalized/bed-bound.

So here I sit, protector of the sleeping. Listening to his snores. Choosing to believe he has peace tonight. Choosing to believe that he is not in pain tonight. And not really needing to be in protector mode. And that's okay. Because I have to believe that the times he needs protection are fewer than those when he is well-cared for and has his needs met and dignity respected. I need these times when every little need is met. It buffers my soul for the times he cries in pain, the times he treated like his feelings/pain don't matter, his needs are only wishes. I just love him so. And he has loved me for so long and shaped my world view and given me everything a girl could want from her dad. Well, maybe not everything. He's not perfect. But he has always loved me. That is enough today.

I feel a new day dawning. There is a small shimmer of hope in the rising sun.

Oh. And for the record. I think this just might be the beginning of acceptance. Acceptance that although there are many things I don't like in this current situation, this is the situation. And given what I'm facing, needing time to be present, it is probably a good solution.

The acceptance of my Dad's condition, uncertainty, and lack of immortality (okay, yes, he's mortal), that is still a road that I often veer off of. I come to terms, then I barter with God again, then I start to believe he's going to rally. Then I accept the fact that it is simply unknown. He may rally. He may not. I do not know. Accepting this uncertainty is a moment by moment venture. And there are times I have it covered, and times when I do not. But hope is still rising like the morning sun. There is still a large dose of melancholy interspersed, but the hope is growing.