Someone mentioned that today was the
26th anniversary of the famous October
snow storm that took out power in the northeast for about
a week.
I couldn't believe it. It seemed like a
lifetime had passed. I was in college (first year) and realizing for
the first time I had options. Namely, a friend who lived in the city
(with power) who would let me crash on her couch while I went to
school.
My parents might have had some nostalgic hopes of being together as a family through the hardship.
My parents might have had some nostalgic hopes of being together as a family through the hardship.
But I jumped at the chance to abandoned
them.
Who wouldn't pick hot showers and late-night-television marathons with friends over studying by candlelight with the parental units as they tried to cook dinner over a Coleman stove?
Turns out I'm more of an opportunist
than a survivalist.
These things don't change.
These things don't change.
I struggle with what to write here,
especially with so much going on in the corner of the Earth that I
call my own.
Do I tell you that I worry? Or that I'm
not sure I'm happy? Do I tell you I feel anxious and ineffective?
That I miss my mother? That I hate feeling any comfort at all that
the woman who took her place is delightful. It makes me feel disloyal
to the woman she was.
It makes me feel like I've abandoned
her again.
Do I tell you that I am not prepared
for the future?
I try to push it out of my mind. Think
about cheerful things.
The kids are fine and growing like
weeds.
Silas went from 32 pounds on his
birthday in June to 39 pounds just this past week. It's making me sad
that I have trouble hefting the former flyweight.
Annabel is practically a teenager, and
acting like one (in the pre-teen positive sense) as she cares about
the condition of her clothes and the state of her hair. Tangles are
becoming a thing of the past as are mismatched colors and prints.
More often than not, I find I can't
recognize either one of them when I search across the soccer field.
She's taller than I remember. Her hair is longer. She plays with more
assuredness. He is just as fast as the other boys and nearly as tall.
Soon they will be going to high school
… and college …
The bus won't drop them here at the end
of the day.
Too soon, their homecomings will be
brief visits. They will have their own homes elsewhere.
I feel guilty. Like I have abandoned
them too, as I spin off into the future where the ground is
uncertain.
I need to stop jumping ahead. I need to stay put in the here and now.
