In a few days, I will have been without my home for eight months. I am afraid I am losing larger chunks of myself, more frequently now, than I did when my loss was new. This indefinite, indeterminate, interminable waiting is eating up my beating heart even as I live and try to shift to a comfortable position which would allow my breath to sigh in, to exhale expansively.
I remain in awe of those who bear their losses with grace and patience. I know there are mothers who look for their lost offspring for years, decades even, if their life span allows. I wonder at the Cosmic mechanism that regulates their heart beats, syncs up their body functions so that they can place one thought in front of another.
People offer me platitudes: I am advised to look back at how much I have already endured; I don't have a choice (or many rights) so I must endure patiently; I should teach myself to look forward to new things I will undoubtedly surround myself with and anticipate the joy of shopping, setting up, designing my abode. Worst of all is when I can see people actually sigh in exasperation and look away when they think I am going to begin my same old litany.
I am afraid I sigh and look away too, but I can't seem to stop the litany.
I am also afraid that the contractor, association, City, all are rather tired of me and wish me gone to a place from where I cannot find my way to their tired ears; they have stopped acknowledging my desparate pleas for an estimate on a finish date.
These are Cosmic Processes and I should know better than to expect mere humans to know anything.
In a couple of months, my child leaves for College. We have a couple of shorter trips coming up next month. In a couple of weeks, I am going to have to begin another quarter.
We are making all sorts of plans for all these journeys and deadlines. However, it seems to smack of inappropriate, inexcusable, unbecoming hubris of the worst kind to even begin thinking of what we might like in our home, to ask when, if my home will be finished.
In fact, today, it seems improbable that we will ever find our way across the street.
Today, it seems that my family will soon end its Summer visitation and go their own ways, and I shall still be sitting here, in this not-mine space, trying to exude undying, genuine gratitude I do not feel for having a roof of sorts over my head, still waiting for six more months before anyone can tell me anything about Progress on the Cosmic Process.
I remain in awe of those who bear their losses with grace and patience. I know there are mothers who look for their lost offspring for years, decades even, if their life span allows. I wonder at the Cosmic mechanism that regulates their heart beats, syncs up their body functions so that they can place one thought in front of another.
People offer me platitudes: I am advised to look back at how much I have already endured; I don't have a choice (or many rights) so I must endure patiently; I should teach myself to look forward to new things I will undoubtedly surround myself with and anticipate the joy of shopping, setting up, designing my abode. Worst of all is when I can see people actually sigh in exasperation and look away when they think I am going to begin my same old litany.
I am afraid I sigh and look away too, but I can't seem to stop the litany.
I am also afraid that the contractor, association, City, all are rather tired of me and wish me gone to a place from where I cannot find my way to their tired ears; they have stopped acknowledging my desparate pleas for an estimate on a finish date.
These are Cosmic Processes and I should know better than to expect mere humans to know anything.
In a couple of months, my child leaves for College. We have a couple of shorter trips coming up next month. In a couple of weeks, I am going to have to begin another quarter.
We are making all sorts of plans for all these journeys and deadlines. However, it seems to smack of inappropriate, inexcusable, unbecoming hubris of the worst kind to even begin thinking of what we might like in our home, to ask when, if my home will be finished.
In fact, today, it seems improbable that we will ever find our way across the street.
Today, it seems that my family will soon end its Summer visitation and go their own ways, and I shall still be sitting here, in this not-mine space, trying to exude undying, genuine gratitude I do not feel for having a roof of sorts over my head, still waiting for six more months before anyone can tell me anything about Progress on the Cosmic Process.
God has given unlimited time to the contractor to finish his job, but has forgotten to give you unlimited patience to go with it.
ReplyDelete