“Just remember this . . . We are what we think. All that we are arises with our thoughts. With our thoughts, we make our world.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It means, don’t worry.”
From Elephant Run by Roland Smith
Easier said than done for a mom. Ever since my first child was born over eleven years ago, I’m constantly navigating a world full of dangers I hadn’t noticed before. Not only dangers to my children but to myself as well. I look back at the stupid risks I took in my youth and wonder how I survived. My next breath is stuck thinking about my children doing a version of those same stupid risks, their own variation of “coming of age.” I lose sleep over it. “It” being “everything.”
Since the election, I’ve avoided the news and social media, unable to stomach the information that comes through. It’s, like, worry on a totally different level. I don’t believe I’m being dramatic when my fears of an apocalypse are being realized. I tell myself it’s out of my control. My husband reminds me that as long as our children are healthy and safe and our immediate world isn’t affected, we can’t worry about it.
But, “it” means “everything.” What happens in the world also happens to my children, and I nearly wilt from worry.
Until I get a reality check.
Last night, I got news (through social media, ironically) that one of my high school classmates passed away, losing her battle with breast cancer.
At first, I didn’t believe it. But other posts followed, how her close friends will miss her, her college roommate will always hold her in her heart, prayers going out to her family. A husband and three children. I didn’t realize how sick she was. The last post I remember seeing from Lorien was about her daughter’s success at a horse show. She’d been so proud of her, and I had foolishly thought from the tone of her post that everything in her world was okay.
Lorien and I grew up in tandem at Lake George elementary. She always towered over me. I specifically remember feeling dwarfish next to her in gym class. At some point in high school, we were in the same Home-Economics class. (Home-Ec. Do they even teach that anymore?) We learned how to sew. We made stuffed animals. She made a brown puppy and named it “Roadkill” — which she announced in her signature low voice, followed by her signature deep, chuckling laughter. I’d looked on, bemused at her dry, semi-morbid sense of humor. It was a glimpse of who Lorien was. Just a glimpse. But it’s stayed with me.
Lorien and I weren’t close. In our small school, we were friendly but we didn’t hang out on weekends or anything. I didn’t really know her all that well. Still, her tragic death has shocked me awake.
As I snuggled my children into bed last night, I thought about Lorien. How she was no longer able to put her kids to bed, to kiss them goodnight. She wouldn’t see her daughter in another horse show. She wouldn’t be able to post how proud she was of her. She wouldn’t see her children graduate from high school, college. She wouldn’t see them get married. She would never meet her grandchildren.
What the fuck am I worrying about?
The passage above is was taken the book Elephant Run by Roland Smith. It’s one of my son’s Battle of the Books books this year. I’m reading along with him so we can talk about it and study together.
A small thing. But a huge thing.
Our jobs as moms are made up of these small, beautiful things. Things that Lorien also won’t ever be able to do again. Pouring cereal, packing lunches, signing permission slips, meeting the school bus, driving to piano lessons, monitoring homework, trimming nails, reading stories, doing unending laundry . . .
Guess what, Moms? These small things are *just as important* as the big things. We know this, but we need the reminder. These small things shape our lives and our children’s lives. They make up our world.
We have to cherish every little thing. Celebrate them, even. Every day. Because, my god, they matter. They are everything.
“Just remember this . . . We are what we think. All that we are arises with our thoughts. With our thoughts, we make our world.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It means, don’t worry.”
jdspero 
Excellent Johanna. We have to live each day we are given to the fullest.
Thank you, auntie. Love you
Thank you for writing this. I was feeling the same way last night and hurting for a husband and children that I do not know. I will always remember Lorien’s big smile.
In June, we lost a close family friend suddenly who left behind a young wife and two toddlers. Then, in September, a friend lost his wife to a tragic bike accident leaving behind a young daughter. And now my beautiful cousin Melissa is fighting for her life. These events force you (as they should) to put your life in perspective and cherish the little things. Also, to make time for friends and family.
Oh my goodness, Kathy. I’m sorry for your loss. It’s heartbreaking to have such suffering hit close to home. It’s especially hard when young kids are affected. I can’t imagine. I recently learned about Melissa. We are praying for her! Hug your beautiful children extra long tonight. oxo
Beautiful and true. Just like you Johannah. Thank you for reminding all of us.
Thanks, Mom. Love you!
Johanna, This is wonderful! I too thought “what the fuck am I worrying about?” When I heard the news of Lorien’s passing. My heart aches for her husband, children, family and friends. My husband passed 7 years ago this New Year’s Eve and left behind a 2 year old daughter. I tried to remember that night last night when I heard the news and can’t even remember the month that followed. I can imagine what’s going through the families heads and am just absolutely heart broken, sad, scared and anxious for them. Thank you for sharing this and putting life into prospective.
Oh, Libbie. I can’t imagine what you must’ve gone through. Can’t even imagine. Your strength shows through in your daughter, and amazes me. I, too, am heartbroken for Lorien’s family. We all need a reminder now and then to appreciate every moment that we have on this beautiful planet.