The Ache of Monday Morning
by Lisa McCrohan

I watch my husband and children hop into the car and drive off to school.
I stand there on the front steps, barefoot in my pajamas feeling
the cold cement underneath my feet, my empty hand still warm
from the toast I ran out to give to my daughter.
Now my body is still, watching the car disappearing.
Puppy wagging his tail patiently waiting for me inside.
Crisp fall air against my skin.
Yellow mums in full bloom in the barrel by our steps.

That’s when I begin to feel it – the ache of Monday morning.

I walk back inside. Just a few moments ago,
the house was full of sounds – pancake requests,
butter sizzling in the pan, worries if there is time,
coffee brewing, “I don’t want to go to school” grumblings,
children going up the steps to get dressed, juice being poured,
refrigerator opening and closing, the quiet kiss on her forehead
and my gentle hand rubbing his back when I heard the whisper
within me, “Slow down, Lis.”

It was full, too, of trying. Trying to hurry and then slow down.
Trying to connect. Trying to remain loyal to my intention to be
gentle with my husband, to remember we are a team, when,
in the pressure of getting toast buttered and jackets on in a hurry,
I saw the children’s lunches still not finished being made, and
I went back to those old stories in my head that keep me coiled around
my heart, closing off. And I snapped at my beloved.

It was full of desire, too. Desire to make it right.
Desire to take back the words. Desire to begin again.
Desire to make nutritious food for my children’s hungry bellies that will
last them for a few hours. Desire to fill them with my love and
regard, ready for the day of being apart. Desire to tell
my husband, “I’m sorry. I so love you. My heart is so
full of love for you. Good luck teaching today!”

But now there is silence.
I lay my body against the hardwood floor.
I need to be against the earth where I can hear my heart.
Now here’s the ache of Monday morning.

It’s ok. I’m not too quick to get rid of it.
These mini griefs stirred up on Monday morning after
a full weekend, a full house, a full kitchen island,
a full children’s table of makers and paper –

they make my heart tender…and open.

I’m not too quick to move them through,
hurry them along, push them away with
the work I must do today. They show me how
deeply I love, how widely my heart can ache…and open.

They come from the ocean of longing, the mystery of
our souls being so intertwined and yet
how we are born into these separate embodied forms.

They reveal the ache to be broken open and
meet Love at the door –
of my heart, of our house, of my beloveds’ heart, and

welcome Her in,
feel Her pulsing through every cell,
every longing, every desire, whispering,

“My Darling, Feel this. This is who you are.
This is the space of your belonging. Feel and remember.”

Lisa A. McCrohan, MA, LCSW-C, SEP

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Dear readers, to anyone whose heart aches, too, on Monday mornings…the ache of Monday morning can make us feel quite tender and vulnerable.  Let’s not be too quick to move out of that tenderness and vulnerable space.  It can reveal the deeper longing to let go of old beliefs and stories — stories of how we are disconnected, alone, responsible for it all — and embrace the story we all know and remember.  The story of how Love is always waiting at the door to embrace us, soothe every longing, and remind us of where we truly belong.