First, there is the waiting...
then comes the mourning.
Dawn creeping up over the horizon
(which I would see if I had the view I once had instead of where I sit now,
with too close city homes obscuring the world's awakening):
Waiting & watching the night sky overrun by the pinkpurpleredorange sun storm….
followed by the inevitable busy-ness of an overflowing life.
Once the wait is over, the mourning for what is lost settles
Waiting for adulthood and independence…
but chasing wisps of half formed reconstructions from my questionable memory
Waiting for health to return to my son…
but always hearing the rapid breathing of a small, struggling body
Waiting for breath to flow freely…
but fearing the accidental feel of a stranger’s warmth or the gentle touch in a crowded room
Waiting for satisfaction and contentment…
but accepting the reality of concessions
Sober recognition of what is -- juxtaposed with what once was.
You would think that would give rise to embracing each moment, the epiphany of survivors.
But no.
It brings the permanence of mourning:
parents die
children are vulnerable
viruses speak an unknown language
and questioning past choices creates dangerous contemplation.
Teacher, mother, partner...writer?? Time to put it out there, I suppose. I started this on March 1, 2019 as a part of a challenge to write, everyday. March is over and yet I am still writing. Maybe not every day, but still writing.
View all posts by amyilene
Published
3 thoughts on “Another thing no one tells you…”
Yes, and now that waiting has a new dimension. Waiting for the virus to disappear. Wonder if it will. Regards
I’m so glad to read another post by you! I have been thinking of you. I am so sorry that this couldn’t be a joyful post about being home with your son healthy again. It is powerful to read your writing. I am sending you warm wishes for strength and small comforts amid the huge difficulties.
Yes, and now that waiting has a new dimension. Waiting for the virus to disappear. Wonder if it will. Regards
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m so glad to read another post by you! I have been thinking of you. I am so sorry that this couldn’t be a joyful post about being home with your son healthy again. It is powerful to read your writing. I am sending you warm wishes for strength and small comforts amid the huge difficulties.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you….we are home, but I am struck be how permanently the world has changed.
LikeLike