Long Time Comin'

Out where the creek turns shallow and sandy

And the moon comes skimmin' away the stars

The wind in the mesquite comes rushin' over the hilltops

Straight into my arms

Straight into my arms

I'm ridin' hard carryin' a cache of roses

And a fresh map that I made

Tonight I'm gonna get birth naked and bury my old soul

And dance on it's grave

And dance on it's grave

It's been a long time comin', my dear

It's been a long time comin',

but now it's here

And now it's here

My best friend Bruce wrote these words... amazing, huh? And again, it is precisely how I feel.

I woke up this morning after spending a fitful night tossing and turning, intermittently throwing prayers to God that I would have the strength and perseverance to get through another step in this divorce: mediation today. I didn't think much about my sadness, didn't give my unrest a second thought. I knew that I had to get through the day doing work before I could even begin thinking about mediation again.

[If there is one thing I've learned during this process, and it's a recent lesson, I need to start compartmentalizing things. My kids are separate from my work, my work is separate from my thoughts, my thoughts are separate from my feelings and my feelings are just a jumbled up mess of something entirely unfamiliar to me because there is no definitive emotion attached to them. Yet, every emotion is attached to them in some way.]

Last February (hard to believe it is nearly a year), I was having a tough time of things. I began getting headaches, backaches, heart palpitations that even Lance Armstrong on his last leg of the race has never felt, an empty tank of spirituality, depression and a couple of panic attacks here and there. I was lost, completely and utterly lost. I would look into the mirror and was unrecognizable to myself, nothing mattered but the kids and even then, I wasn't giving them enough - there wasn't enough of me to give.

I know I am being incredibly personal, but there is a point.

I was at my lowest and I had no idea why. NONE. But then I did. I woke up one morning and I heard a voice. It said, "Do something Carrie!" Now, the "do something" wasn't the part that got me, it was the "Carrie" part that got me. The voice contained the tenor of my father, my mother, my grandparents and my friends. It was a voice that spoke to the part of me that was lost - the "Carrie" part of me - or as Dupree would say, the "Carrie-ness" part of me and the voice that came out the strongest was my own. "Do Something Carrie!"

I thought about it the entire day as I cared for the kids, made dinner, greeted my husband, fed the dogs. When I settled into bed, I put aside the novel I had been reading, I closed my eyes and I prayed. It was the most fervent, heartfelt pray I have ever prayed. And it was simple: "Dear God, help me." I let the prayer settle into my bones and I felt it coming out of every pour because I was unhappy with who I had become, or rather, with losing who I was, that I couldn't pray for anything definitive - it was general. When I was done, I pulled out my journal and I wrote. I wrote until the panic ran away in fear of my strength; I wrote until my depression deflated into itself; I wrote until my headache pounded away on two feet; and I wrote until my backache was so crippled that it couldn't bother me anymore. It didn't go away for long, but it went away long enough that I could finally get a solid night of sleep without waking up in fear.

The next day I made an appointment with an acupuncturist. I had never thought of going to an acupuncturist - ever - until I woke up that morning. I went to her and said, "I don't know if you can help me, but I hate who I am becoming." I told her about the past three years, I told her about hating my husband every few weeks, about how I felt as though I was failing as a mother and as a professional. I told her about my personality before falling into the pit - my smiling, my wit, my intellect and my compassion. All those things I had forgotten about in myself, I suddenly remembered - like I was reflecting not upon myself, but upon an old college roommate that I once loved. But who I was, was not within my reach. Not yet. She worked on my for two hours and asked me to come back.

I started going to church more regularly, and like a good Catholic (another attribute I had disregarded), I began to pray and recognize the Lenten season. I read a meditation every night, I wrote in my journal every night and I slowly started to stop hating myself. I began writing, making plans with friends, and absolutely, unequivocally loved going to acupuncture. It was "me" time. I began getting to know Carrie again, and more importantly, I began to like her.

This morning, it was still snowing a little. I had to get a shower, get the kids up and dressed, feed them, feed myself, feed the dogs and get out the door so that I could rush back here to do work - more work! I go the kids down at the table for breakfast and went outside to start the truck and clean it off. As I was putting on my boots, I glanced at my truck and saw on the flat hood of the SUV, there was a pattern. It wasn't just a flat surface of snow like it was on every other vehicle in the driveway - there was a distinct patter of four triangles in a half circle - like the sunrise. I called my cousin over and told her to take a look. She said, "Wow, that's so cool. How did that get there?" I shook my head. I had no idea, but I stood and stared at it for a good few minutes.

[My friends and I discussed this during one of our book clubs (we don't just drink wine and get silly). Basically, we all agreed that there were signs, evidence of something greater than us, out there for us to cling to every day. We just had to be open to them, acknowledge them and believe in them].

Earlier this week I wrote of a quote I had read: "When you truly realize the miracle of the sunset, you will no longer cling to the remains of the day." That sunrise on my car this morning helped me to realize the miracle of the sunset. Initially, I had thought that the sunset was a metaphor for the ending of my marriage; that the sunset was something that I should consider when trying to let go of my daily stresses. But I was wrong. I didn't truly realize the miracle of the sunset. Do you?

I think the miracle of the sunset was God's answer to my heartfelt prayer. I can hear his voice, not booming like James Earl Jones, but whispering like the sweetest melody I've ever heard. He is saying, "It's over - you wanted your "Carrie-ness", well here it is. You wanted help. You prayed to Me, you did something for yourself, for Me, and here it is. Your pain, your lack of recognition of yourself, your sadness, your insecurities, all of it, it is over. Let the sun set on that person. Here is your miracle."

He answered my prayer! I am going through a painful divorce. I am going through the most stressful time of my life. I am worrying every day about my children. But I am doing it as Carrie. I am doing it as Carrie because He answered my prayer. This had to happen in order for me, well (not to get too philosophical), but for me to be. And it's been a long time comin'.

I'll close now. It's late and I have to get birth naked, bury my old soul and dance on it's grave.