Some days the sun just don’t shine, and then some days…

I was doing homework tonight with Ant. He was carefully printing his spelling words, saying the words aloud before writing them, saying the letters as he wrote. I sat beside him, watching in wonder. We started the school year with screaming tantrums when it came to homework. He hated school—a vestige of kindergarten. Now he is so proud to show his sweet, pretty teacher just what he can do. He loves getting in the car every morning to head to room 109.

Suddenly, he turned away from his spelling words straight to me, and asked, “Momma, why are we all here? Why are we alive?’

I was stunned. I took my time. And then I told him what I believed, stressing that this was MY belief, and that when he was older, he could come up with his own.

It made me think.

Last year was bad. I was working too hard. I couldn’t pay the bills. The debt was piling higher and higher. J was almost a year into his unemployment. His mom was sick. He was in a really bad place, emotionally, and was slowly slipping away from me. The car kept breaking down. Ant cried almost every day about going to school. The house was falling down around us, it seemed. The basement flooded every time it rained because of a major crack I couldn’t afford to fix.

I was so stressed out that my whole body hurt. The pain was so unbearable that I actually went to the doctor. Everyone thought I had rheumatoid arthritis. My hands were so stiff and swollen that I was not able to tie my shoes in the morning. I could not find any position that was comfortable. I saw specialists. I started physical therapy. I went to yoga. I woke up every morning an hour early to walk in the cold dark, one and a half miles every morning, just to get my joints to work. J would come with me—pretending we were Roman legionnaires to get my mind off the pain as I walked.

I would come home and cry from the pain and the frustration of it all. I grudgingly went on the RA medicine, despite my concerns over the side effects.

I’ve never been good in the cold dark winters, especially after the holidays. I know I may have seasonal affective disorder. Last year, well, last year was something more.

This year is different. Jason is working, and in a much better place. His mother is in remission. We sold the house in an economic apocalypse. I love my job, and the ladies are careful to remind me not to slip into my workaholic ways. They chastise me when I return from lunch too early! Ant loves school again. Not only can we pay the bills now; we can pay off the debt. We’ll be done in a year, and then we can consider J’s and my return to school.

I don’t hurt anymore. I don’t have RA, and I don’t take the meds. It was the stress and he worry. I don’t cry in the mornings, and J doesn’t have to pretend that we are dressed in red wool and armor, marching towards Hispania.

I am happy. My family is happy. K laughs again.

This time of year is always hard for me, and I think it always will be. I can focus my attention on this problem now. I am not worrying about everything else. I can sit there, and tell myself that I will feel better if I have a lunch date with my husband, and then I can go and do it. I can take the time to do the small things that will make me feel good about myself—like buffing my nails or curling my hair. I can plan to take the boys to matinee movies, and think of the vacations we’ll be able to take soon in the future.

I left my office today and stood outside when the sun broke through the clouds. I was surrounded by scurrying undergrads, but I didn’t mind. I stood in the sun for several minutes, letting it warm me, with my face raised and my eyes closed. Everyone must have thought I was crazy, but I did not mind.

Why are we alive? Why do we have to go through pain, or grief, or worry? No one knows for sure, but I have my beliefs. How would I know how good it is now, if I did not go through the year before?