falling into nowhere

river’s been coming home with elaborate stick figure drawings of himself defeating bad guys, winning treasures, hilltop struggles, roars of applause from unseen audiences, and arrows pointing to emptiness.

“what’s this?” i asked, pointing to a series of arrows going down down down.
“he’s falling into nowhere” he replied.

it’s kinda where we’ve been. on the other side of now. horizontal parenting through illness and fever. no seatbelts on the emotional rollercoaster of faraway indecisions and everyday dramas. a birthday {and now we are six} the two weeks i will never forget when health goes out the window and is replaced with fear and uncertainty. when 18 hours of sleep everyday for a week is not enough to lift the lead from my chest. this has been the reality i would love to forget. the days i fell into nowhere.

nowhere is a scary place to be especially while single parenting, navigating disconnect and ambivilance while making lunches and doing homework. i want to shake myself healthy but i’m just too tired to do anything but lay back down.

i went for a drive the other day. to sort out my fears. to wrap my head around everything and nothing. and i ended up in this place. familiar yet new. all i wanted was to feel something. and i felt nothing but alone as i sat in the grass and looked up at this tree.

then slowly, a figure walked near. and there was something about his smallness in the measure of this tree and his dog and the sky and the season. that i realized, quite by accident, that feeling small is sometimes a gift. and nothing is forever. and nowhere is scary but it’s eventually somewhere when you land.

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