There is an Allman Brothers revival going on in my dining room this morning, as Jacob plays and shows Henry a few tricks over the remnants of bacon and toast, juice and coffee.
Last night he asked if I would climb with him again if I'm going to live without the constant rollercoaster of antidepressants and mood stabilizers and sleeping pills. I had great plans at one point to conquer my new, ridiculous fear of heights and had started a climbing course for beginners but had to drop out when my reaction times slowed as the medications took over and I kept making pathetic jokes about the gingerbread at the very peak of this house. He didn't want me halfway up any walls then.
Now there is a need. Distractions via living life. Getting back on the horse since we'll soon be out from under a crushing schedule of therapies and talk. And I don't care who disapproves and I don't care who is disappointed and I don't care who might know better. What matters is Ruth and Henry and Jacob and Bridget. Let's not forget Bridget.
I'm going climbing now. A family climb. Our first 'real' family climb ever. I'm scared to death.
