Now I lay me down to sleep...

For all practical purposes I should be in bed fast asleep by now.  I got up early today, baked a cake, worked some in the garden, did NOT take a nap, and I took a powerful allergy pill about an hour ago that normally knocks me out in about ten minutes.  Yet, sleep eludes me.  My heart is too heavy to sleep.  Lying in bed wide awake makes me feel like a fraud, especially when I know my body would rather be sleeping.  So here I sit in a chair instead, trying to fool my brain into thinking it is ready to rest.

Today was Mother’s Day.  It was my first Mother’s Day without my mother on this earth.  I wasn’t prepared for the feelings that came over me today and the past few days leading up to it.  I thought I had grieved my grief, but I guess there are still unresolved issues in my psyche.  And, on top of all that, the community column I wrote for May was about my mother, and the paper chose to run it today, in the Sunday issue, and on Mother’s Day, no less.  That was emotional for me, and I felt honored, yet my joy was overshadowed by the same things that have me sitting in this chair instead of snoring in my bed.

Sometimes I get overwhelmed by emotions and I shut down.  I have learned to push, push, push them down into a little bitty bottle until they dry up.  As a selectively mute child I was too shy and embarrassed to talk to anyone, even my mother and sisters, about anything too personal.  That reluctance to share my innermost fears and feelings has left a residual effect on me all of my life.  I find myself fearing reactions of others to my problems, and play out the worst case scenarios in my head before speaking them aloud.  Most times I choose to stay silent rather than face rebuffs or accusations of insecurities and unjustified anxieties.  

So in an effort to unload and get some sleep I will share a tid-bit of what is weighing on me tonight: old wounds, no mother, financial burdens, health problems, and last, but certainly not least, oldest son graduating.  Whew! A load off my chest. Not.

I know once I can finally pray my soul to sleep and keep things will be better in the morning.  That reminds me of my Granny.  She used to sleep with me when she stayed at our house overnight.  When she first got in bed she would talk to me in the dark and tell me things about her life.  If that didn’t put me to sleep (not that I was ever bored, just too young to care) I would be lulled to sleep by the sound of her whispered prayers.  I couldn’t hear what she was praying for, maybe she was praying the rosary, but she would pray for a long, long time.  I miss that sound of her private whispers to God.  I miss the stories, too.  I wish I would have listened more intently.

Thinking about my Granny makes me feel better already.  I hope she is still whispering those private prayers and that some of them are for me.  That reminds me of a great argument I came up with the other day about prayer intervention, but I can’t remember it all right now, and anyway I’m finally getting tired.  Another day, perhaps.

Yes, things will be better in the morning.  Things are always better after whispered prayers in the dark and a cup (or two or more) of morning coffee.