These past few weeks, I have been stricken by fear. It is an indescribable, unfamiliar feeling for me and I imagine for many. An invisible monster has upended our world; not just my world, but our world. We did not invite this monster in, but perhaps provoked it? Did we? Is this somehow our doing? Have we managed to tempt the wrath, or was this just a matter of time, and that time has come?
I have struggled to keep my composure–three weeks of sleepless nights, and days where I feel as though I’m floating subliminally through space. My actions have no reactions. I’m neither effective no compliant. I am trying and failing, living and dying all at once. The world, our world, is at war.
As I think these words out loud in my mind, I imagine all of the mothers before us. How did they do it, as the bombs fell, or they watched their sons sign up and ship out. How did they manage all of it? Planning the meals, knowing the lines at the grocer; would they make it there? Would there be anything to buy, and if there was, would they eventually have anything left to buy it with? And the cooking of the meals, and the cleaning of the kitchen, and the reading of the books. Telling their children, “everything is ok,” over and over again. Would they often fail–would they have to steal themselves, and lessen their warmth as away to impart a sense of stoicism. Would they go into the bathroom, or the pantry, or the cellar, or the corner of a room for a brief moment to weep, sob, or scream into a pillow?
How did they manage? How will we? How will I?
I want to know, I really want to know, because I have no idea how I’m going to manage this. I’ve decided to start this blog to collect all of our stories, and our fears. I also hope to uncover stories from mothers across the decades who have just like us, bore the weight of our hearts outside of our bodies, as the world self destructed all around.
