Some people....sheesh!

A bowel obstruction. 

That's what we are told my mother in law has.  She's in ICU...in a haze of foggy morphine induced stupor after a successful surgery for...a bowel obstruction.  She's developed an infection, and that's not so good, though the surgery went well.  She won't have a colostomy bag....and that is good news.  She's recovering...and that's good too. 

However...she happens to be in a relationship with a man that is, for lack of more appropriate words, crazy.  Oh yes...he's from the same "background", which makes him acceptable to her...but, the guy is certifiable.  Literally.  He's bi-polar, and has brain damage.  He may come from the country club arena she is so committed to, but...he's a homeless ex-hippie guy.   So why does this matter to me at all?  In general, it's none of my beezwax. I could care less. I don't have to deal with him, and if she likes her homeless boyfriend who lives off trust funds and friends in between bouts of irritable mania...more power to her.  But, it matters to me when he calls my home and starts trashing my husband because he can't just pick up and leave to take care of his mother (who is going to be fine.).  This homeless crazy guy seems to think that my husband, who spends his days counseling the poor, the abused, the sexually violated and the mentally ill, and then comes home to nurture and care for four little boys and his pregnant wife, is somehow...negligent in his duties because he doesn't say "screw it all!  I have to leave my life and take care of my mom....to hell with the fact that I have a mortgage to pay and children to feed." 

Now, in a more comfortable world, my husband would have unlimited paid vacation time...like a homeless guy who has a cozy trust fund...but, he doesn't, and we don't, and it isn't AND, his mother isn't dying.  She simply had bowel surgery for an obstruction.

I don't like it when mentally ill a**wipes interfere with my families hard fought for harmony.  We struggle every day to maintain peace and joy in a world that seems very unstable.  We grope for calm as we endure pregnancy while knowing that it could end any day...that we could lose our little girl, for no reason.  We strive for love as we watch the world fight and kill our earthly brothers and sisters.  We pray for hope as we deal with an eldest son who ALSO struggles with mental illness and brain injury. 

We don't need this.  We don't have the energy for it.  And yet...it is like a relentless waterfall of drama.

My 12 year old broke his wrist.  I spent all afternoon in a clinic to find that out.  Tomorrow we get to spend all day getting it in a cast.  I spent the morning sobbing in my midwifes office about my anxiety and stress levels and fears.  She loaned me a doppler so I can hear my ever elusive baby's heartbeat while she hides sweetly behind an anterior placenta that prevents me from being able to feel her.  My husband spent his day caring for his clients and listening to their pain, trying to find ways to help and comfort the broken hearts placed before him.  I spent the evening driving kids to Aikido and band practice and then, I made an amazing Thai meal of bison panang.   All this BEFORE the phone call that stole my evening with my husband away with the transformation of chaos into the attempted peace we were striving for in spite of a crazy day. 

This man, my mother in law's boyfriend, friend...whatever he is......he had the gall to tell my husband that he is a failure because the book he wrote that was published and released in the same week that our twins DIED...has not done better.  He mocked it and spit on the love that carefully tended to each and every word.  It didn't do better because we had nothing to give in the way of promotion as we dealt with broken hearts and shattered dreams.  The book is wonderful.  The timing sucked.  I still believe in that book, by the way.  It's beautiful.  I pray that one day, someone will read it and give it to someone else, who will give it to someone else, who will give it to someone else......etc.  It's worth reading. 

It broke my husbands heart to be so trashed about something so precious to him.  His book.  Losing his babies.  But to be seen as "a failure" in the eyes of a man who has done little more than pamper his own whims...well that was enraging. 

Mental illness.  Personality disorders.  Brain injury.  Abuse.  Trauma.  Selfishness.

WHY? 

My husband took my hand after that phone call and said..."Sara, I know we wanted to spend time together, but I don't want to rage all night...I need to play the drums.  I need to go out and hit something I'm allowed to hit.  I need to play the drums." 

And...I understood...and kissed him goodbye. 

My husband doesn't drink his pain away.  He ROCKS it away.  With rhythm and soul.  With passion and heart.  Tonight, people will dance to his impromptu beat, and he will come home in the wee hours of morning, exhausted...and cleansed.   I know he knows how to heal...he knows what he needs....and when I go outside later on to throw a ball for my sweet Fur-friend...I will ask the stars to keep him safe in the night.  To bring him home to me.  Safely.  Healed.

I'll also be sending healing thoughts to my mother in law.  A woman whose bowel obstruction ironically mimics her interpersonal constipation.  I don't say that to be mean...I just notice it.  I'll be sending prayers for clarity to her manic boyfriend...may he see the truth and stop abusing people in an effort to control others while trying to evade a need for control in his own life.  I'll be sending hope to my eldest son...may he remember how much he is loved and stop pushing away the source of that love.  I'll be sending warmth to my sleeping boys, may they always be the best of friends...and to their little sister...in the hopes that she will grace our home with her laughter and joy...and to my twins...who I will love forever.  Sending peace to the world....may we all remember we are not separate.  May we all remember we are star-dust.  Together.