And She's Back

My 20-year-old daughter was gone for about three weeks and came home.  We're working on things. The three of us - she, her dad, and I - sat down and talked.  I mediated because she and her dad had not had a lot of contact at that point and there were very hurt feelings that had not been addressed. But we made leaps and bounds.  We've talked about family counseling, which I've asked her to instigate but she has yet to do so.  I think we still need it.  And I started to see a counselor again.

On my third visit to my counselor, she and I talked about my mediating our family talk and she said, "Wow, you don't really need counseling." But I do.  Not on how to deal with my daughter's difficult emotional state, although I think we'll do some Love Language tests and see if that helps.  I already know my love language is service because I'm forgiving about words, which in the long run, mean nothing.  But I think I do need therapy on how to cope with my physical changes that are permanent from when I got sick. I've buried that at the moment because other things have been more important to address.  But it's there, sitting in the back of my throat, having chipped a chunk out of my heart.  I need to grieve and not have someone tell me, "But you lived."  Yeah, I did, but I lost something important that my life and ability to work is affected by.  And one of my major soothers of my soul has been taken from me for the rest of my life.  So, yeah, there is that.

If you don't follow my blog, don't know me, you aren't aware that I sing.  Correction - I used to sing. Not professionally, by any means. Not even in a choir as an older adult.  But I grew up in a family where there was always music.  My mother played the piano and my older sister played the guitar. Every family get-together was filled with singing - hymns, folk music, Christmas carols, Mom & Dad's favorites from the '40s and '50s.  We sang.  I have.....no, had, a beautiful voice.  I sang in the car, around the house, in the shower, sitting at my computer listening to music, and at church.  This was a stress reliever to me; a soothing sound to my soul.    But I no longer have that ability.  My daughter even said, with tears in her eyes, "You won't be able to sing to my babies like you did to me."  My last specialist confirmed there is nothing that can be done without risking losing my speaking voice, too.  But I need that for my job.

So life moves on, as it must, and we work through the difficult times and pray for better with our best effort given to make it so.