I needed human interaction on this pandemic Mother’s Day, not just a drive-by wave as in weeks past, but time to watch my grands run around the yard without fear of abusing the 6 feet rule. 
It took a lot of preparation and creativity, but we managed a fun outing. I convinced the littles that we were playing dress up with masks, homemade face shields and my nursing PPE. Peekaboo with my headgear made Chloe laugh and feel comfortable with this new version of her Gigi. But it was surreal.

This morning,  I’m staring down my last necessary continuing education courses to renew my professional license. Why follow through?  Is this another dead end, another loss? Will I ever be able to practice again or volunteer with a medical ministry? I want so much to head for the front line, yet, I’m stuck in the reality of vulnerability. I no longer don my armor to heal; my equipment now monitors my own malady, not the vitals of my patients.

Am I permanently sidelined?

Am I fading into the woodwork? I’m beginning to feel invisible. My voice evaporates in the conversation; I’m not sure I’m invited to the table any longer.   
I remember sitting with my own gray-haired relatives, soaking in their wisdom, their rich history. Will mine ever be received or has the lure of the screen finally buried my generation’s treasury?
My soul is lonely this holiday season, but this I’ve rediscovered: without a voice, I will wither.
 “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” Maya Angelou 

 Recently, I’ve had to talk back to myself... a lot!
I think the anticipation of turning 65, retirement age, without my partner has crushed me. All of our dreams, our plans sit in a pile, threatening to steal the joy that I’ve so pleaded for during my bouts of loneliness and depression.
 Today, I remind myself: my most expensive real estate is my mind. I can’t let anything or anyone stay there for free and I must capture destructive thoughts the moment they check-in and leave them with Christ. 
Presently, I’m wrestling with the idea of not holding on to those who let go of me a long time ago...that includes my late husband. Releasing him proves the hardest as there was no obvious toxicity in our relationship. However, the truth remains: he did let me go as he prepared to depart from this life and begin beyond. 
My retirement plans (emphasis on mine) included total immersion into the world of grandkids! Close proximity, much spoiling and teaching, relief for tired parents...that was not anyone else’s plan. I can’t find fault for we, too, chose the same with our own parents. It’s just harder on this end, isn’t it? And eternity together seems a long way off. What looms heaviest is they might forget my love for them. How will I leave a legacy they can touch?  
So much for rambling in the dark...in a strange manner, I welcome this painful season; I’m confident  this constant renewal of my mind is vital to an ongoing, growing walk with my Lord.