The left side of the road

Today was Ron's first day at school. He started year 4, so it wasn't supposed to be a big deal. It is, after all his fifth "first day of school" and with 5 "first day at nursery" before that, you would expect it to be easy by now. And for him, it is. It's his second year in this school, he knows the kids, the teachers, the lay of the land. He was very excited and nervous and happy to go back to school, and after we handled the "he's grown a whole inch during the summer and now has nothing to wear" crisis, he had organised everything a full 24 hours prior, just in case.

School Ron. Looking very anxious. Yeah. Right

When we were standing there on the playground watching him go in, I was fine. I wasn't disappointed that he didn't look back, because he did, and he waved. I wasn't too worried or sad to see him go inside the school. Not like last year, when he was completely new in London, in the school, in the class. We waved, bought some new school jumpers for him that would actually fit, and left the school toward the bus.
My parents are here for the month of September, so they, Yon (who starts his school year on the 16th) and I went to Starbucks and to do some shopping. Yon was devastated. He is not used to being home without his Ron, but apparently it's nothing a chocolate muffin, grandparents attention and some "stuff touching" couldn't cure, and by the third shop he was once again his usual chatterbox.
But I found myself anxious. What if Ron isn't ok? I couldn't shake the anxiety that my baby is having a bad day. And when the battery on my phone died midday, I was starting to panic. What will I do if the school is right this minute trying to call me because something horrible had happened to Ron and I won't be there to answer??? Hidai is in a meeting, I am not at home, my battery is dead, and you know this is the exact minute he will fall / fight / get kicked out of school. Yes, I know it's irrational, and I know I did not have to insist that we all - me, Hidai, Yon and my parents - go pick him up from school, but I couldn't help it.
He had a fab day, if you want to know. Why, did you think otherwise?

It made me think about anxieties and fears, and how my life is full of them now. When we moved to London it was after a very tough period of our life, where I learned how fast and hard things can deteriorate, and how little control we have over our lives. A few months ago I read this line in a blog I can't remember the name of, about how only bad things happen quickly. Your whole world could crumble with one phone call, your sense of security gone, your ability to sleep at night, your health, your home. Every thing you worked for, can be gone in a span of five minutes.
Building it back takes time. A long time. In some areas we are still working on it. But I thought, I had the crazy fantasy that moving to London and building everything back will instantly heal all scars. But how do they say in one of my favourite movies of all time - Kong Fu Panda 2 (I can not go up any flight of stairs without mentally reciting - "my old enemy... Stairs!") "Scars don't heal. Wounds heal. Scars? fade I guess". Well, fading takes time. More than a year apparently, because they are still here. All you need to do is look a little bit beneath the surface and you will see them, the little habits I picked up when I wasn't sure where the next blow will come from - obsessively checking the mailbox (every single time. And I mean when I leave the house to go pick Ron up from school, and 30 minutes later when we return); making Hidai text me before he calls with a "everything is fine. Just calling"; Letting Hidai deal with unrecognised numbers on my phone, open mails and post from the bank or every other official looking envelope. I get cold sweat whenever I see a letter addressed to me in the post.
I know it sounds crazy enough, but believe me, those are the more normal things, the ones I am (almost) not embarrassed to write here. There are more. Far more embarrassing.
I told Hidai a few weeks ago that I can feel it, the anxiety, it's actually palpable. I can feel it lurking underneath the surface, just waiting for me to take the wrong step and fall again. For me it is like driving on a road with a mountain on the one side and an abyss on the other. It is a real road I am thinking of, one I drove on for many years on my way to Uni. It is a beautiful road that is carved inside the mountain, in one of the most beautiful parts of Israel. It is a narrow road, full of unexpected turns, and when I think of it now, I think how some people, they drive more to the right, close to the mountain, while others drive on the left, closer to the abyss. Every wrong turn, not even that, every hesitation, will send you free falling down. How I wish I could be one of those right-side drivers. One of those people who says "it will never happen to me". One of those people who feel safe and secure in their world. But I am a left-side person. I keep looking down. I know what lies there and I know how hard the climb back is. There are days where I can feel the small stones on the side of the road falling down, where I can see the narrow escape I've had.

Not the road, but the same principle

There is strength in knowing you've survived. After the dust settles there are lessons learned, life changes, priorities sorted. Difficult times teach you more than a thousand hours in a classroom (and I should know, I've spent a few thousand hours in various classrooms) about life, about people, about love and loyalty, they make you grow up, you discover things about yourself you didn't know where there, you appreciate more, and learn more than anything I think, humility.
But they leave you scarred forever, and always on the left-side of the road. They cost you parts of yourself, time you can't get back, money that was lost, relationships that couldn't withstand it, and more than anything, they robe you of your sense of security. Of denial-land.
As for me, I would like, just once, to pass my mailbox without opening it.