My Hysteria

When I became a mother, in the sleepless, painful days immediately following the birth of Mason, I had the greatest revelation of my life thus far: I am loved beyond anything I could have previously comprehended. All the overwhelming emotion that was now focused on the tiny human being sleeping in the clear, plastic box beside me -- all the blind love and admiration and protectiveness -- someone else felt that way about me. Somehow, I finally understood so much about my own parents, the choices they have made and the way they treat me as I watched my tiny new son snuggled into my bosom. And I changed forever . . .

About a month after Mason's birth, I was watching The Incredibles at my parents' house. Now, I do cry often when watching movies, and being all post-partum certainly didn't improve that. So at the point in the movie when Elastigirl and Violet and Dash are about to get blown up by Syndrome's missiles, and Elastigirl shouts, "Abort! Abort! Abort! THERE ARE CHILDREN ABOARD THIS PLANE!" and Mr. Incredible shouts, "I'll do anything!", I was balling like crazy. Then Elastigirl goes and wraps herself around her children to save them from the blast, and I was really gone. I cried and cried. And every single time I have watched that movie, which is at like 500 viewings at this point, I cry. I laugh at myself while I cry, but it's like every parent's worst fear being played out in a Disney movie . . .

Last week, there was a huge earthquake in Japan. Soon after, there was a huge tsunami triggered from the earthquake. There were tsunami warnings for Hawaii, where I have friends who live right on the beach, as well as the entire west coast of North and South America. I worried about my friends -- had they heard? Did they know what was heading their way? A facebook post, "Tsunami warning" brought tremendous relief, and I cried a little knowing that even though the people I know and love were safe, there were many more who weren't.

I've spent the last several days trying to read as little as possible about the devastation in Japan because the media is so, so good at telling the most heart-wrenching of the stories. One of the first articles I read told of a woman whose small daughter was swept away right in front of her eyes by the tsunami -- she just wasn't able to hold on tight enough -- and I just lost it. A couple of days later, a friend posted a photo of two parents mourning over the body of their daughter who was taking a driving lesson when her car was overtaken by the tsunami. The mother stroked the daughter's hair in the wreckage of the vehicle, surrounded by mud and debris.

These are the stories that haunt me. Being powerless to save your own child. Knowing they are about to die and not being able to do a damn thing about it. Desperately trying to hang on only to lose your grip. And I wonder, how do you get past that? How do you pick up the pieces and move on with your life? There is nothing more frightening to me in this world than losing my child(ren) -- nothing worse I can imagine than that. It scares me in a way that I just can't think about it or else I will be consumed with worry and fear.

Today I am overwhelmed with gratitude for my children, that they are safe and whole and running around like maniacs. I am so grateful to be able to smell their morning breath as they nuzzle into my armpit much earlier than I would like to be awake. I rejoice in their noises and their needs and their sweet, sweet kisses. I am grateful.