Life has a way of throwing us into the unknown. Thrusting change in our face when we least expect it. Stripping us of all we know and are comfortable with in a heartbeat, without warning.

And even if we are expecting it, too often we are ill-prepared. We can’t know until we know. We can’t understand or properly prepare until there. Even if our current reality is far from ideal, transitions are hard. Going from one version of ‘you’ to another takes patience, courage, faith and resilience.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve leapt (or been shoved) from one reality to my next. And while attempting to steady my feet and catch my breath the only thing I can utter is, “Now what?”

What’s next? What do I do? How do I go on? Who am I now?

Sometimes a “Now what?” comes out with a gentle sigh. Sometimes it exits in a fit of tears. Sometimes it is tangled in an angry outburst. It rarely comes wrapped in a cloak of peace or security. It maybe never has (even in positive situations).

Some “Now what?s” aren’t even our own. I tend to feel other peoples’ “Now What?s” just as heavily. They sit on my chest without budging, or push me hard from behind. I fall into the hole of anxiety, despair, and fear with the person experiencing it firsthand. And even though I’m feeling similar emotions – by stepping into someone else’s shoes – there’s nothing I can do to help. Nothing I can do, or say, to lift the weight of their “Now What?” All I can do is express (sometimes repeatedly) that I’m there. And that I’ll stay there until you come out onto the other side. No matter how long it takes. No matter how hard you need to lean.

I’ll likely stay with you after, too, if you so desire.

Once you have my heart I’m all in. Show me an ounce of appreciation and I cling on, threatening to never let go.

What are some experiences that may lead to getting a case of the “Now what?s”?

Your parents are getting a divorce.

Now what?

You have to move again?

Now what?

You got fired from your job?

Now what?

You didn’t make the team?

Now what?

Your partner had an affair?

Now what?

You’re pregnant (and don’t want to be)?

Now what?

You’re pregnant (and want to be)?

Now what?

You gambled, and lost?

Now what?

You’ve been diagnosed with a chronic or terminal illness?

Now what?

Someone you love has been diagnosed with a chronic or terminal illness?

Now What?

Someone you love died suddenly and unexpectedly?

Now what?

You got into a car accident?

Now what?

You’ve had a falling out with someone very important to you?

Now what?

Your home burns down?

Now what?

You’ve been dumped (expectedly or not)?

Now what?

Life is really a series of moments where we go out on limbs. Every chance we take and every decision we make puts us at risk of being scared, hurt or disappointed. Every day we wake up and we’re vulnerable. Loss and change can happen in a heartbeat.

Thankfully – for most – these moments of struggle aren’t common. They gut us all the same, for a time (and/or until the next one comes along), but our lives don’t typically saturate us with “Now What?s”

Unfortunately, there is truth to the saying, “When it rains it pours”.  I personally know far too many people who have been force-fed more heartache than one should ever have to digest.

Some examples of my own personal “Now What?s”?

When I was graduating from my undergrad my Mom had booked a hotel suite for her parents, she and I. I had to get to the school fairly early the next day and this meant we could have a celebratory dinner the night before and take our time the next day. Many of my friends were doing the same, and were going out to celebrate and socialize.

I knew better than to leave to join them. I knew my Mom would frown on that. Despite feeling disappointed (and ticked) I bit the bullet and stayed in. I snuck down to the lobby for all of ten minutes to make a phone call, and upon my return my Mom was having an altercation with her parents (this was not unusual). I could hear them from the hallway and my heart immediately sank. As if the dynamic had fallen apart in that short time!

The argument was silly. My Gramma had been insisting that my Grampa put on his pajamas. Grampa was embarrassed that his daughter and granddaughter would see him that way, so he was refusing. My Mom got so sick of hearing their bickering that she blew. And when I came in the room I refused to take her side in the argument. I should add I wasn’t siding with anyone (if I had to, I’d have sided with Gramps).

She was so angry with all of us that she left.

And all I could think was, “Now what?!”

I thought that maybe she’d gone and booked another room. That maybe she was ‘teaching us a lesson’ (but was still nearby).

Nope. She had driven the two hours home. She had left us car-less. The school was a good thirty minute walk from the hotel and we were in the middle of a heatwave in June (her parents were 83 and 84 at the time).

She called the next morning and dangled her presence at my graduation in front of me like a mouse being dangled in front of a cat. She asked me to apologize. She said that if I did, she could still make it on time. I normally would have. But for once I said no. For once I told her she was being ridiculous.

I was graduating with honours, after attending university for four years on scholarships, to boot. I owed her nothing in that moment. She quipped that she was grateful to have a day to write her report cards at home, since she had taken the day off of work, and hung up. She left the phone off of the hook.

“Now what?!”

Panic set in. How was I going to get to the school (in heals and a dress). Further, how were my grandparents going to get there later for the ceremony. Yes, yes – we could have called cabs. But at the end of the day, how would we get home?

My grandfather and Dad never had a good relationship. My Grampa had his reasons, which I never disputed, but my only option was to call my Dad (who was coming later for the ceremony). He and my Mom had been divorced for 22 years at that point. But his Dad had a van, and that was our only hope.

Thankfully my Dad was game. I would walk to the school early, as was expected of me, and he would stop at the hotel en route to get my grandparents and our things. It would be awkward and uncomfortable, but he was making it possible.

Although the day started with heartbreak and fear, it ended on a highnote. We celebrated my schooling with respect and kindness, and we all made it home safe and sound (and smiling). My Mom thought she was derailing me. We all found, and clung to, the silver lining. That day was her loss, not ours.

There was another time that left me in a similar precarious lurch. My Mom and I had gone to Wonderland. She had driven me and my friends multiple times in the past, so I didn’t question or doubt what way we were going.

We got lost.

We pulled into a gas station and I pulled out our paper map (yes, one of those, that’s all we had back then). I was getting our bearings and trying to find the best way out of the mess when she erupted.  How could I let this happen? How dare I be so ungrateful? Careless! I was so irresponsible. I couldn’t do anything right. Why did she ever do anything for me anymore? I did my best to block out the barrage of insults. She took that as rude. To get my attention she splashed the contents of her water bottle at me and the map.

Out of frustration I crumpled it up into a soggy mess on my lap.

Now what?!

She started to drive again. Still in a rage. Somehow she had figured out where we were and how to remedy our situation. In no time we were in the Wonderland parking lot. She was thrilled. Ecstatic. Overjoyed. Over it. I was a ball of nerves and a walking bellyache.

As soon as we were through the gates she wanted to find a roller coaster, stat. I politely asked if we could wait until my nerves settled down.

That was a mistake.

She started to lose it again. I was so embarrassed. This time we were in public. People were watching. She took off running and in the crowd I couldn’t keep up. I walked, aimlessly, crying behind my sunglasses. Hoping she would miraculously turn up. Waiting to hear my name belted out from the speaker system.

That never happened.

Now what?

I bumped into people I knew. I tried to act collected and cool. Like it was no big deal that I couldn’t find my Mom (aka my safe ride home). I intermittently tried calling our house from my cell phone. There was no answer. She had to be somewhere at the park (she had no cell phone for me to call). Just over an hour later I called the house one more time (it would have taken her that much time to get home).

Our house line was busy. She was home. The phone was off the hook.

Now what?

Then I remembered that our high school cheer-leading team was in a presentation there that day. I tracked down where it was being held. My best friend and her Mom (who lived around the corner) should still be there. They were my only hope.

I found them. They were there. And once again (like so many other times) they saved me. They took care of me. They brought me home.

Another time my Mom and I were arguing at home. I eventually lost track of why the arguments even started, but they got volatile, quickly.

I always tried to remain passive. Peaceful. To not fight back. I avoided stoking the fire.

From a very young age I always had a bag partially packed. These fights happened often, without warning, and sometimes led to me fleeing the home. Out of anger. Sadness. Fear.

To this day I pack horribly. I take too much; clothing, comforts, toiletries. There were too many times in my childhood where I went without. Not knowing when I’d be welcomed home again. Now I bring everything; just in case.

On this particular day it was pouring rain. The front lawn had just been cut. She grabbed my toiletries bag from under the bathroom sink, ran to the front porch, and threw it out onto the lawn. It skidded along the top of the grass. I ran out after it.

As someone who has struggled with acne for years, my face products are important to me. Those, and my makeup. Both were in that bag.

I grabbed the bag. Bare feet covered in cold, wet grass clippings, and turned back toward the house just in time to see the door slam (and lock) in my face. I was stranded, with only my grass stained toiletry bag, in the middle of our front lawn. Barefoot. Crying.

Now what?

Again, I walked around the corner to my best friend’s family home. I’m sure it got to a point where they could hear me coming. Sense it. Like it had been too long of a ‘good stretch’. I was their ‘other child’. Their mother always made me feel loved, protected, and welcome.

Now what?

Another time I was about seven years old. I was in my long johns and matching long sleeved shirt. It was winter time. My Mom had been drinking. She was angry. Expressing that she felt I loved our cat more than I loved her. Telling me that she loved the cat more than she loved me.

That wasn’t new. It was something I was used to. I was a mistake, I know. She wished she hadn’t had me, yes. I had ruined her life, true. None of that, even at seven, shocked me. But then she grabbed some rope.

She told me, slurring, that she couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t care for me. The house. Her job. The cat. She was going to hang herself, and I was going to pick the beam from which she would, and I would have to watch.

She dragged me by my arm to the basement. Deep down I didn’t believe her. She was just scaring me. This couldn’t be real. Her hand was strong on my upper arm. It hurt. I wanted to run. I needed out of the house. She wouldn’t let go.

When she finally did let go, in an attempt to ready the rope, I ran. It was the nightmare where you can’t run or scream come to life. I fumbled over my feet and my words the whole way up the stairs. Through the house. Out the front door. Across the snowy lawn. Through the ditch in my bare feet to my neighbours’ front stoop. Banging, breathless and voiceless, at their front door.

They wrapped me in blankets and called 911, and then my Dad. I sat in their front window watching, waiting, shaking. Wondering what my Mom looked like hanging from her neck in the basement. What beam did she choose without my help?

Now what?

The ambulance lights flashed around the corner. They backed into our driveway. They wheeled a stretcher up to our front door. They disappeared into the house. It felt like we waited for hours. Waiting to see my mother’s dead body wheeled out to the ambulance. Her face covered. I could picture it. I expected it.

Instead, they came out with an empty stretcher. There was no urgency in their strides. They turned the flashing lights off. Loaded the stretcher. Left the driveway.

My Dad arrived at our neighbours’ just as the police officers pulled into the driveway of my childhood home. He took me to the home he shared with his girlfriend. I didn’t know where my Mom was. How my Mom was.

Now what?

I stayed with them for a couple of weeks. Eventually I was told my Mom was fine. She hadn’t killed herself. She hadn’t even actually tried. She blamed it on being an alcoholic (that was part of it) and they gave her medicine to help her kick that habit.

I thought my life was starting again. In a new way; without fear, guilt, or sadness. I thought the alcohol was to blame. As if removing that key component in our puzzle would solve all of our problems. She was quitting drinking because she wanted me back.

She wanted me, for once.

It didn’t take long, even with alcohol absent, to fall back into old habits. In short, alcohol wasn’t the problem. My life wasn’t starting brand new again.

Now what?

Although my Mom had many mental health struggles, and a lot of external pressure from her career, our home, her family, and being a mom, I still love(d) her dearly. Fiercely, even. Even as a small child I committed my life to her; to gaining her approval, acceptance and love. To being enough.

So when she was diagnosed with cancer the first time; when we found out she had lung cancer, and would need surgery, I felt a whole new “now what?”

Cancer happened to so many, but I never expected it would happen to her; to me.

We got through the first cancer scare mostly unscathed. Hopeful. Resilent. With new perspective.

And then it came back. Worse. In a new way.

Incurable.

Untreatable.

Terminal.

Now what?

Once again, I couldn’t breathe. What did you do as the only child to a single parent who was dying? You left your full time job, that’s what. You did whatever you could to support your ailing parent in their final days. As always, you threw yourself (heart and soul) into being good enough. Doing enough.

For five weeks we spent every day together at the hospital. My husband proposed while we were there, and at his suggestion, in ten days pulled together a wedding and got married; there with her in attendance.

She died, peacefully, just over a day later.

Now what?

I remember the nurses always commenting on how well we were ‘making the most of it’. They called us the Bobbsey Twins and said we had a love and a bond they rarely saw. An optimistic and grateful nature they weren’t used to in Paliative care.

They had no idea.

I will always be grateful for that five weeks with my Mom for more reasons than I can count. Our time together had been difficult. Strained. Stressful. A constant struggle. That five weeks gave us reprieve from what we were used to. For the most part, it has given me perspective and peace.

After my Mom took her last breath I felt a whole new “Now what?”

The nurses had remarked so often about our connection, and I knew even then that I was thriving on the routine. Our new reality. I also knew that when she finally left her physical existence that I would be sucked into a “Now what?” no one and nothing could prepare me for.

I can even admit I’m still there. Stuck in the grey area between having her and not. Still struggling with who I am without her, and our relationship, defining me. Still trying to be ‘worth it’, and still trying to prove (mostly to myself) that I was meant to be born.

Amidst the obviously negative ‘Now what?s’ there are also great ones. Ones where something so wondrous, thrilling and exciting happens to change your life for the better that it takes awhile to wrap your head around your new reality.

I remember dragging my heals through our post wedding “Now what?”. We’d gotten married once at the hospital, and then again a year later so that we could properly celebrate with the people we love. I had been so consumed by my Mom’s passing, our first wedding, and then the planning of our second, that I hadn’t had a break; a chance to catch my breath.

The “Now what?” after a wedding is heavy, even if extremely happy, for anyone. You go from dating (and dare I say blissfully young and free, despite being monogamous) to completely consumed by your wedding. Even the simple ones take a great deal of time and energy (take it from me) and in their wake you have to reestablish your purpose. Your role. Your title. Your relationship.

Now what?!

And if you so decide to become parents (married or not) you’ll experience a whole new level of “Now what?” Just when you think you’ve settled into your new roles you add a brand new (vulnerable, needy, impressionable, innocent) human to the mix. For most, you have nine or so months to mentally wrap your head around what’s coming, but you can’t know until you know. The physical, emotional and spiritual elements of becoming a parent aren’t sufficiently explained in books (trust me, I read them all). In one way or another these tiny (perfect) beings break you open. Literally and figuratively.

I remember when I finally accepted that I was actually in labour.

Now what?

I remember when we got to the hospital. I was stripped down, a gown was thrown over me, and I was told to stop fighting the pushing. I was told to push.

Now what?

I remember our baby being placed on my chest. Looking at his sweet face. Not even knowing his sex at that point.

Now what?

I remember my Dad and in-laws leaving.

Now what?

I remember the midwives leaving for the night.

Now what?

I remember being told we could go home.

Now what?

Seriously? We can go home? But you haven’t even seen my home. You’re trusting me with this baby? We can just walk out of this hospital? Put him in our car and drive away? It’s damn well harder to rescue or adopt a pet! Really?

Now what?!

Then the rush of people happens. The loved ones who can’t wait to shower you all with love and affection and food and baby clothes. Your front door doesn’t get locked for weeks on end. People take numbers for their turn to meet the baby. You’re caught in the blur of hormones and healing. Love and oxytocin. Joy and fear. Exhaustion and exhaustion. And then it stops. The last person in line meets the baby and leaves.

Now what?

You see, life can’t guarantee much for any of us. No matter how prepared we are, or how much money or support we have, it will always throw change at us. Some we’ll welcome, some we’ll shy from, some we’ll have temper tantrums over. No matter how we react, instinctively or by choice, we can’t completely push the “Now What?s” away.

They’re going to happen. Whether you’re ready, or not. Whether you see them coming, or not. Whether you want them, or not. There’s no telling how long each will last. How they will change you. Who you’ll be when you come out the other side. Or who will hold your hand through them.

But if you need me, I’m here.

Don’t ever feel you have to “Now What?” alone.

– C.Mom