merde (anag: me red)
2005/06/27 8.45 am
“I take it you are there?”
I was mildly annoyed. She knew that I worried. Every morning when she left to take kids to school or to go anywhere for that matter, I said a ritual, yet heartfelt prayer. “The Lord protect you on the road!”. This included protection from “negligence, accident, stupidity, violence, road rage, rape, and anything not covered by these descriptions”.
“Yes, I am sorry my love. We got here just before 6. There was very little traffic on the roads. Must be because of school holidays!”
As usual I tried to swallow my irritation. At the age of 45 it should be over my deep fear of losing those I love. I suppose she is a buffer to me against the chaos of aloneness. I relish being alone when she is coming back but I cannot imagine what it would be like to be without her. It is a bit humiliating to be so dependent on one person (or 3 people -- this includes my daughter and my son, who are mini bastions against the void of being alone -- little deposits that insure that she will come back again, not matter how much later.)
I hate it when she drives at night. It is not as if I can imagine all the bad things that can happen to her, or something like that. It just makes me uncomfortable. There is a sort of unease that drains the light out of me. A metallic taste of nothingness that instantly pervades my heart. I know it and I want to avoid it at all costs.
Then I remember the three weeks of (unnamed space -- identified by absence of anchors -- adrift in a inter-stellar anomaly field -- thank God for science fiction) that stare me in the gizzard. The Lord only knows what will happen in these 3 weeks. While she is away visiting her sister in Kiwi land, our daughter in tow, I will be home with our disabled son. What qualifies a sweet little seven-year old (cute but mute -- and anyhow the personification of all my lifelong struggle against helplessness and redundancy) to hold me back from the lip of the abyss? Truly i will face my nemesis. We will see if Jesus really meets me in the pit of our deepest despair
“I take it you are there?”
I was mildly annoyed. She knew that I worried. Every morning when she left to take kids to school or to go anywhere for that matter, I said a ritual, yet heartfelt prayer. “The Lord protect you on the road!”. This included protection from “negligence, accident, stupidity, violence, road rage, rape, and anything not covered by these descriptions”.
“Yes, I am sorry my love. We got here just before 6. There was very little traffic on the roads. Must be because of school holidays!”
As usual I tried to swallow my irritation. At the age of 45 it should be over my deep fear of losing those I love. I suppose she is a buffer to me against the chaos of aloneness. I relish being alone when she is coming back but I cannot imagine what it would be like to be without her. It is a bit humiliating to be so dependent on one person (or 3 people -- this includes my daughter and my son, who are mini bastions against the void of being alone -- little deposits that insure that she will come back again, not matter how much later.)
I hate it when she drives at night. It is not as if I can imagine all the bad things that can happen to her, or something like that. It just makes me uncomfortable. There is a sort of unease that drains the light out of me. A metallic taste of nothingness that instantly pervades my heart. I know it and I want to avoid it at all costs.
Then I remember the three weeks of (unnamed space -- identified by absence of anchors -- adrift in a inter-stellar anomaly field -- thank God for science fiction) that stare me in the gizzard. The Lord only knows what will happen in these 3 weeks. While she is away visiting her sister in Kiwi land, our daughter in tow, I will be home with our disabled son. What qualifies a sweet little seven-year old (cute but mute -- and anyhow the personification of all my lifelong struggle against helplessness and redundancy) to hold me back from the lip of the abyss? Truly i will face my nemesis. We will see if Jesus really meets me in the pit of our deepest despair
posted by Duncan Bouwer at 12:51
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