Revolving Doors and Paper Signs
- spacetofeelings
- Jun 30
- 2 min read
Life lived as a revolving door. This is an image I receive often for myself and with those I’m in relationship with. Generally what I have come to understand when I see it, is that I’m being asked to remain open, in movement, yet, also remembering that even revolving doors require occasions where they are not in motion, are perhaps locked, and are not in service.
There have been seasons of my life where I’m not sure I would have made it to the next day, if I didn’t have a door, that could close and lock behind me. I recall vividly having to place a note on our door, when Douglas shed his earth suit, letting everyone know that we appreciated their concern, yet we were not hosting visitors at that time. That sign was on our front door for at least three weeks as I recall.
Car doors opened, closed, footsteps up and down our brick entry way, bending over to read the sign I had created. Shuffling back, sometimes leaving something on our doorstep. This is what I was imagining as I was motionless on our couch in those early days.
Could I have existed with a revolving door at that time? Absolutely not! I would have been care taking everyone else, and not myself, because that is how my energy rolls and leaks out. Placing my mask on so that I could help another not feel as devastated as I was. How messed up is that? I know, I know, this is something I will be working on for as long as I have breath.
It was one of the most brilliant decisions that I made in those first weeks of acute grief. I still recall the sign was handwritten with a purple jelly pen. Taped upon the glass on our front door, a bit crooked, just as I was. A few visitors even opened the old fashioned mail slot that was located in this door, to say whatever they needed to. Bless them for their trying to create a connection, when the draw bridge to our island was drawn up and tightly sealed.
Understanding that jam packed living rooms offer support and comfort to many. This time our being together as a small family had to become our first priortity before our revolving door was in service once again. This was what we needed.
Such a relief to remind ourselves that we do have choices. Most likely no one even remembers our slightly askew sign, yet I do. It saved our little island of grief. All it required was paper, tape, a pen, and words from my torn and tattered heart. Our souls required this immediate care taking. We were in the spiritual ICU on life support. No removing our intubation tubes, yet. There. Was. Nothing. To. Give.
*Until miraculously there was.
I’m intrigued by this imagery of a doorway that is “out of service.”
With my estranged family, I’ve been envisioning a private path (for me) that leads to a larger “public” road, where a gate stands ajar. Yes, the gate is open, yet I am no longer standing next to it, gesturing wildly and sometimes desperately for people to enter but getting not so much as a sideways glance.
I feel that I’ve been dragging myself out into that road for years, alternating between “obligatory” and consciously chosen sweeping, cleaning, weeding and other particularly harrowing upkeep. But no one seems to notice or care.
I’ve finally realized that the private path is my domain. In keeping my own little vein…
Your words, my dearest Joanie, never fail to reach my spirit at the perfect moment in time. It's as if you're truly living along side me. I'm the most blessed girl in the world for resting in your orbit.
Left the job yesterday. Had no other choice but yet it was a choice, that I made for the good of my soul, which you've taught me to not only listen to but honor. I need always remember I have choices! Thank you🙏❤️
Thank you for sharing your tender words. I'm not so sure I'd have even had the strength to find a pen.
It is not me that's a warrior woman so much as you reminding me I am because…
I love that you turned inward to your grief in those early days, and I don't know why, but I espeically love that you wrote a note that you were choosing you and Douglas in a purple jelly pen. I think purple is the line that connects here to there. Thank you for sharing these words, your experiences so we can see that we also have choices, even when we think we have none. Maybe espeically when we thing we have none. Hugs, my friend. 💜
And you give so much to the community of bereaved parents, so grateful. Feel free to put the note back up whenever you need to xx
A crooked sign on the door, a locked door behind, motionless on a couch, and taking care of everyone but myself. My heart is sad for your sad heart, Joanie.