Today, as I was waiting for a bus that would bring me home, I noticed the black rounded taxis, the billowing clouds, the wind and sky, still damp from an earlier rain, the doubledecker buses, filled with people from top to bottom, and I was thinking how happy I am to be in this life, this world, this moment in time--and how fortunate. I am beginning to understand the areas that make up my borough, and to know, at least in part, how to navigate my way around them. I am becoming more familiar with the buses, the tram, the trains, and the "tube." I am able to walk up a street and know which one connects to it, and to keep an eye on traffic without feeling like I am going to be squashed flat.
It is the first day of my third week of work. I am beginning to make a bit of sense out of the system here, to understand the documentation, to comprehend the progression of a case through the system. And I am beginning to appreciate the differences here, the way they approach people, with a less authoritarian air, with more of an attitude of support. It is feeling more comfortable, to be a helper rather than a representative of the system, to allow families more latitude to live, to not feel it necessary to micromanage families, to let them come to their own solutions, while offering resources and support. Of course, they receive more economic services here, with less headache and groveling, so much of the stress is relieved for them. Our borough has approximately 330,000 people in it, and there are only 120 families here on child protection plans. It will be interesting, as I learn more, to see if this is dangerously low, or if it is all that is necessary, because the system addresses their needs in a different way.
Yesterday was a "bank holiday," as they call them here, but it didn't carry the particular sentimentality of Memorial Day that we have back home. I explained to my roomate that in Indianapolis, this is the biggest weekend of the year, with the Indy 500, and how everyone would listen to the race on the radio, or attend it in person. I remembered Mom, carefully following the race and marking in the Indianapolis Star who was winning at the end of each 25 lap stretch.
I think that my grieving is getting some room to flow, here, as I am opening myself up to new feelings and experiences. At home, I had shut myself down, a matter of survival, I think, closing out the recurring images that crept into my mind of Mom and Debra, of my last few months with each of them, the way they looked, the fear in their eyes, their progressive weakness and frailty. Each time I encounter an old woman on the train, I see my mother, and I feel sad for a minute. I think it is a necessary step, though, this breathing in and out of grief. Otherwise, I would become hardened and stoic, and that is not who I choose to be. I want to be soft and yielding, open and willing, able to feel, and to be vulnerable, and to risk.
A friend and I went to Camden, in London, this weekend, and happened to walk into a cafe that was too crowded to eat in, but on the way out, I picked up a brochure of coming events there, and was so excited to find that one of my favorite folk singers, Richard Shindell, is playing there June 17th! I came home and, at the urging of my roomate, bought a ticket online, only to discover I had gotten one of the last two tickets! The last time I saw him, he opened for Joan Baez at the Tampa Theater, and I have been a huge fan of his ever since. I am so happy to be able to see him in such an intimate setting, in London, no less!
That is the way my life is flowing, right now, today, with opportunities falling into my path, requiring no massive amounts of effort or control, with my housing situation and job placement turning out to be the perfect fit for my personality and my needs. So I am trying not to worry, to learn to rest, to let things happen, to recognize that it is all good. As my friend Mo always used to say to me, "it'll all work out!"
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