one day it will be

I remember her saying those words.  Her back to me as she stood.  The microphone trembling in her pale hand. The room was lit with damp light; bathed in maroon and dirty cream.  Mixed with the buzzing of a little brown box speaker was the chatter of metal folding chairs beneath the shifting weight of 50 or so women in floral dresses.

At her feet an infant in a car seat; in her arms a sweaty disheveled but finally sleeping toddler.  Down the hall a mess of a young boy about 4 years old sitting out in the hallway beside the humming drinking fountain with his head in his arms waiting to be unceremoniously returned to his mother. Yes, this boy belonged to her too.

"I don't feel it now in my heart; my heart is dark. I don't know how I will ever feel okay but this is what the Lord told my husband... that we were to have more children.  I asked him if he was sure because I didn't think I could handle more. I still don't.  I still don't understand it." Her eyes drifted to the infant. "The days are so dark.  I am sure one day it will be a blessing but right now it is so hard, one day I will understand why this is being asked of me, why this is the path I was chosen for...."

This woman, her lumpy lean body and half curled hair, no makeup, her and her 3 kids all under the age of 5- she was the Bishop's wife.  This was his family.

In her testimonial, she explained her way around depression and how devastated she had felt when her husband had told her it was time to have another child.  That child, the infant at her feet.  She told the whole room she hated that baby...

I remember thinking, oh my god, that baby can hear you.  Oh my god, you are going to kill yourself and maybe those kids. Oh my god, this is madness.

I was new to these kinds of meetings.  I hadn't been to church since I was a young teenager.  Now returning as a young mom myself I was sent to the adult meetings.  They were soft and mystical but often offensive.  I would find myself asking, can they say that? Is that okay to tell other people? Isn't that personal choice?

When I think about them I think about the smell of roses, the static of nylon, and velvet voices.

I had returned to church because I had 2 young kids; one of which could easily be sentenced to the same fate as her young son- expelled from nursery to sit in the hall until he could behave- which was never.

I had a Mormon husband who was at home sleeping off a hangover. I was lonely. I was tired of trying to keep the kids from waking the wrath of their dad, tired of endless cartoons, and dark windows.  I was looking for somewhere where whispering made sense.

I remember when that tiny bell chimed to mark the end of the class how I slipped pass the women flowing towards the Bishop's wife,  Flowing towards her righteousness, her courage, and her obedience to her husband and the Lord.

I remember needing to find my children and get the hell out of there.  That was the last time I ever went to church.

My whole family is Mormon.  I was raised in the church.  I know the argument; don't let one bad experiences or person ruin a whole religion. That's nice. But even without that experience, I not religious. I'm just not. I never was.

This isn't about religion anyway it's about that moment of being on a path you didn't follow willingly.  Sometimes it is for the best and sometimes it is not. Hoarders have to do their own cleaning, addicts have to be ready to quit, the patients have to want to get better.

The day before my last dental surgery I had one person at my work remember and wish me well.

The night before my last dental surgery I called it off.  In turn BC called my dentist on his private number.  He ordered valium; one for that night and another for the morning to accompany the other sedatives I was to take.

I didn't want the implant posts- I didn't want the implants.  I never have. I wanted a fixed bridge instead, it was less money, less time, less pain.  If I was having a bridge placed that would have been the final procedure.  I would be done now instead of some undisclosed 3-6 months from now.

The dentist and BC choose implants for me. It is the better choice- only honestly it's not for me.  It's too much for me to handle. And yet despite all my objects to submitting to having my jaw drilled into when I knew I wouldn't be numb I took the valium and watched Soccer on TV.

So, valium is great if you want to feel like you are locked in the attic of a smoke-filled house, totally trapped, nosed pressed to a tiny oval window overlooking a garden party.  And no matter how hard you tap on the glass no one hears you.  Yep, valium effects every part of my body except my mind.

Didn't take the second dose of that shit in the morning.  I got up at 5am and showered.  At 7 am I took the first dose of sedative.  At 8am I was in the dentist chair.

The regular sedition worked medium well. Like before I remember mostly everything, The 2 new crowns were pretty easy.  The 2 top implant posts were not horrible.  The bottom 2 not so great.  We had to stop so often for localized numbing shots by the time he was working on the last one I quit flagging him that it hurt.

When he felt me flinch he questioned me, "Hey, that hurt, where was your hand?"

I shook my head under his hands, no.

My hand was too busy holding my work schedule with the extra shifts I gladly work that no one seems to remember or credit me for. Including the double, I am supposed to pull on Tuesday after having it off for medical recovery and taking it back plus the afternoon to help a coworker attend a wedding.  I won't be ready to go back but I will be there.

My hand was holding the sharp edge of a new haircut I am scheduled for next week that no one will notice because I don't matter in that way to other people.

It was busy holding the threads together of a trip out of town over the weekend for Beach and Soph.  Holding the phone to my ear for people asking my help but never asking if I'm okay.  Holding in an embrace with a mom I don't even know as she cried at the gym on the day her daughter was retiring because to her I am a symbol of the gym where I work.

My hand was not telling him I was in pain because it was holding a microphone, a sleeping toddler, and the corner of cornflower printed burp cloth.  

That was Thursday today is Saturday.  Since then my hand has been holding an ice pack to my jaw as I watch the clock waiting for the one hour of pain relief I get every 4 hours from the rx I have.  

I don't feel it now in my heart; my heart is dark.  I don't know how I will ever feel okay but this is what is being asked of me... one day it will be a blessing but right now it is so hard...

I cried through the whole placement of the posts but it wasn't from the pain.  It was from being on a road I don't want to be on.  I keep being told I will be so glad later... later is so far away.  And until I find later I am alone doing something I can't actually do.

The girls at the dentist office tried to offer me tissues as the tears rolled down my cheeks but it didn't do any good. They tried to tell me how great the new crowns looked.  They asked me to smile to show them but I couldn't because it had been so long since I had smiled that way I didn't know how.