I'm beginning to understand a little better how my brain reacts to really bad news. It scrambles around in the dark for a fingerhold that feels like normal and it plots a course that is familiar and reassures itself that this changes nothing; that life is as it was.
Night passes and morning comes, like it did last night, like it did this morning, after I received word of Grama’s fall and stroke and internal and external head injuries, and the thing that felt so much like logic the day before -- that certainly her condition wouldn’t get much worse between now and Friday when finally I could break away from the meetings that promised to keep me busy on the West Coast all week; that certainly I could stay focused all that time even though my aunt promised me updates daily or more frequently as needed to chart Grama’s progress -- all of that shattered brittle with the dawn. Along with the certainty that she doesn't know me anymore anyway so what difference does it make if I'm there at all?
What the hell was I thinking?
I just booked my flight. I leave in the morning.
2 comments:
As I read the poem, then scrolled down to catch up on more of my sweet D.'s goodness, my heart caught as I saw the photo. My heart is with you friend, and I'm so, so sad that our paths didn't cross in Seattle. How long are you there? I love you and send you good strong hugs.
thinking of you
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