Sink Down, Rise Up

As an adult child living with her elderly parents and her three children in her childhood home, I have often defaulted to my role as youngest daughter. In many ways, this has been of great comfort to me over the past few years of radical change and chaos. Without the steady presence of Mom and Dad and the harried rhythm of this home, I’m not sure how my family would be doing these days. In this environment, I have relearned how to both walk and talk in this new older skin of mine, much like an infant but with grey hair, crow’s feet, and unpredictable hormone fluctuations. Yet, it has been 3 years since my world imploded. With a divorce looming on the horizon, it is time for me to shed the comfort of my role as child and put on my big girl pants. God I hope they fit.

As I sink down into this hot bath of perimenopausal womanhood and abandon the child I once was, it has become a mission of mine to forge on unapologetically and to take up space and I mean that quite literally. The square footage of our little home is not much for the six of us. For the most part, we are fine. However, I have found that having a space of my own—to write, to meditate, or to just sit in peace—has become a do or die kind of thing. When I started to look at office spaces for rent on Craigslist, I finally said “You are out of your damn mind.” With that, a tastefully redesigned basement living space with comfortable midcentury modern touches began calling my name. One problem…an 800 pound pool table. Given as a retirement gift to Dad after years of working for the same company, this table has been the central feature of our basement for about 20 years. The other two parts of the basement are Dad’s writing area and his tool workshop, aka “Grampy’s office”. As a cellar dweller, Dad tinkered, toiled, and played. Anything that ever broke or needed dressing up, we’d bring to Dad and he’d gently say “I fix” and fix he would. In the past five years, dementia slowly started to claim Dad’s ability to do all of those things and two years ago, he had a heart attack. Approaching 90, his mobility is limited and the only places he really goes are upstairs to bed and to his chair on the main floor. The basement no longer calls his name as it does mine.

The decision to put Dad’s pool table on Facebook Marketplace was not easy and the guilt nearly froze me. I didn’t monitor the incoming messages very well and hesitated to respond to any of them. Then, last week, a man named Ruben sent me several messages and was clearly intent on getting a response. He and his wife had been searching for a pool table for their basement and were planning to host their family for a delayed Christmas celebration in the coming weeks. “It looks like an Olhausen. Is it?” he asked me. I had no idea what he was talking about but apparently, it is. When Ruben came to take a look, I told him about Dad and casually mentioned the many tools that he no longer uses. With that his eyes lit up and when he walked into Dad’s workshop, he officially geeked out. My hesitation about everything quickly melted away and I decided that Ruben was very deserving of any and all joy that this pool table and tools would bring him.

Yesterday, the billiards table movers came and it was disassembled and moved out from the bulkhead within an hour. Ruben not only got a pool table but also a few tools that will help him be the “I fix” person of his home. Mom and I did our best to distract Dad as we had decided it was not worth telling him. We both felt guilty as us Irish are too inclined to feel. “This will bring another family a lot of joy.” I told her. Of that, I am convinced. Ruben, if you’re reading, congratulations on a very joyful purchase. When the movers finally finished and I walked into the empty space, I felt a sense of relief wash over me; the possibilities for myself and my family are exciting. I know that this decision was somewhat “selfish” and my lapsed Irish Catholic self wants me to bow my head in shame. Then I remember that whole “sink into the bath” metaphor and relax my jaw. I deserve the space that my life takes up and, as my therapist says, the good energy that will emanate from having said space will benefit all within my circle. So, I raise my head up out of shame and guilt and allow this bold act of selfishness to unfold. It feels not just good but healthy.

Shedding my role as child here has not been easy; I know I will forever be Mom and Dad’s baby (and probably the baby to my siblings as well). Yet, it is clear that my purpose here is not as a child but as a strong mother to three spirited children and a fiercely protective daughter of two incredible parents. I am not just content with that, I am energized. From here, I will be careful and deliberate with my energy and give myself that which I want and need in order to provide that which this quirky family requires and deserves. I will sink down into that basement with my fluffy, premenopausal self and perhaps, just perhaps, I will carve out a space to start doing that yoga stuff again I had started two years ago. Or, maybe I’ll just write the next 167 issues there. Either way, from that she cellar I can comfortably continue to rise into this purposeful life of mine. Now, who knows someone who can do floors?