Oxygen

Last month I flew to Charlotte to visit a friend. My father dropped me off at the airport about two hours before my plane departed. He must have been worried I wouldn't know what to do with a chunk of time. He kept suggesting things like, "When I'm waiting for my plane to depart I take a long walk, go get a bite to eat..." I needed no prompting as to how to utilize a break from life.

I sent this pic to Jeff immediately upon settling in at my gate. He took the day off to handle the home front. Silence while sipping my coffee. Ahhh.

 

 

Next, I sent him this one. He responded, "I'm driving." Wasn't sure if this jargon meant he was jealous I was sitting at an airport reading uninterrupted or I was distracting him because he was driving. Definitely jealousy. Officially on my vacation, I disconnected. My phone off, I engaged in "light" reading, a memoir, about a woman who grew up with a drug addicted mother. I probably could use some suggestions on choosing "light" reading. Soon I found I needed to move to a different seat as a woman talked on her phone incessantly for about twenty minutes behind me.

 

After the plane took off I awaited the announcement I love... "If we should lose air pressure in the cabin, an oxygen mask will drop down from above you. Please put on your mask before you attempt to help others." Most people around me fiddled with their cell phones, peered through the micro windows or chatted with their seat mate, innocuous to the profound message.

 

An oxygen mask. Air. Breathing. Life.

 

The oxygen mask symbolically represents to me the need for me to care for myself so I can be the mom, wife, friend, the person, God needs me to be. Designed me to be.

 

If I can't "breathe", I'm no good to anyone else. Not in the moment and definitely not in the future.

 

All us moms go through periods of sleep deprivation. Many years back Alisha began sleeping terrible. She would stay awake most of the night. I stayed up most of the night watching her watch me. No illness, no present danger. She forgot how to sleep. One day, exhausted, I set out to complete much needed errands. Mid-way through my driving I found myself daydreaming. I stopped at a light, confused briefly where my destination was. I had the radio on, and tuned myself in to help get re-focused. They began talking about the dangers of sleep deprivation. One of the signs of not getting enough sleep being forgetting your destination. The message revived me. I realized lack of sleep was suffocating me.

 

That night I made the decision I would sleep. Partying all night long may work for the princess but not the queen. Sleep became my oxygen mask. During the day I had energy and reserve. My outlook improved and even helped me brainstorm remedies to help her sleep better. Eventually Alisha outgrew the all-night parties.

 

The oxygen mask arrives in different forms. Sometimes practically, like sleep or food or exercise or a trip away. It may come through another person with penetrating, truthful words seeming like a two-edged sword. Like the time I told the pediatrician how worried I was about Hannah having a serious injury playing hockey. She told me she understood but I needed to, "take it down a notch." It felt like I gulped in fresh cold air as I swallowed those words.

 

Mostly my oxygen mask keeps me from taking on more than is my responsibility to take on. It's God telling me to depend on Him. To let Him be God. To find rest in Him. It reminds me I am only human. Apart from Him, from oxygen, I can do nothing. It also checks and balances me to my place in the universe, providing a way out toward pretending I am God or idolizing those I love or even the roles I have in their lives.

 

The weekend away visiting my friend breathed new energy into me. I sat at the airport waiting to board the plane home when a man also waiting to board, sitting near to me, remarks my way, "I hear it's cold in Michigan." I nodded, secretly hoping he would vanish so I could continue to spoil myself and read another book. I considered getting up and moving like I had when I departed for Charlotte. I had just spent an entire weekend with my oxygen mask on tight though. He persisted with small talk. Finally I relented and put my book away, giving him the cue he had my attention.

 

As it turned out his father was dying and he was returning to Michigan to say goodbye. He talked for an hour about their estranged relationship, his own battle with addictions, and coming to know God. I said very little. When the plane finally boarded, he asked me to pray for him. His name was Chris. I told Chris I would pray for him. Chris hadn't needed a thing from me except to listen. I thanked God silently for being my oxygen.