Leaning III

The panic attacks are still coming for both Hubs and I, but I am risking the sin of pride over how well we continue pulling as a team while taking the time for plying individual therapy tools. We are still leaning, ever so gently, into our individual griefs, anxiety and fears, sharing when the spirit moves us and respecting one another's privacy without question. Yesterday we extracted most of our geezer comforts from the old house. This is my first wake-up meditation here in the new house. By the current agenda, I will have another practice run tomorrow before the children return for the acid test. Have we achieved a stable base from which to launch the next daring adventure of finding our next step to a secure future for the 3 orphans?

As if we needed another source of panic attacks, Hubby's brother has been on a stream of desperate phone calls. His Huntington's Disease has progressed to the point where he isnae any longer self-sufficient. He and his wife are still handling the progressive disability mostly on their own, but his wife is still working a high-power career and caring for her aging mother in addition to her husband. She is a busy, busy woman. BIL is spending mind numbing hours alone and isolated. Has been for a goodly while. As I listened out loud to Hubby's most recent thoughts on the situation, he rambled through the potentials for BIL to move into the guest room once the 19 chicks move out and/or setting up the old house for him.

I didnae bother to keep score on the panic attacks which washed over me while I listened. Advanced HD isnae a lightweight disorder. Nor is the end stage substance-abuse dementia several of my sibs have to offer. Nor the lengthy list of ailments our son's in-laws have to offer. Nor our dependant middle aged son's list. Nor our own age related lists. This morning the residual panic attacks are raging at the Anti-Smoking factions. You guys *PROMISED* me that smoking would save me from the geriatric joys. How the fuck did I end up as the most able-bodied adult in this fleet of fools?

Breathing. . . Plying therapy tools. . . Leaning ever so gently into the chaos.

The 19 chicks in the guest room are still flourishing and big enough that I feel it is time to start acclamating them for the move out to the coop. Toward that end, I wrestled the Christmas tree in its stand to the still unfinished pourch outside the guest room window. I removed the screen from the window and jammed the tree against the house to allow the branches to fill the window. Here chickie, chickie, chickie. . . Time to discover the great outdoors. So far they havenae taken the bait beyond the window frame, but ? ? ? Donae accuse me of experting. I be making this up as I go. Itsy bitsy chickie steps?

Again I leave the mood icon at the rapid-cycling median. I am fine. How are you?

Leaning ever so gently. . .