There
are moments when I truly feel that I am lost in the folds of time. Functioning
within a slow-motion, somewhat off-color and loosely patched-together film.
Yet, fascinating and sometimes difficult to watch because I am the primary
player and I guess the unwitting or, perhaps, very willing scriptwriter and
director.
Looking
through a discolored window into a sometimes foggy garden; a garden of life, my
life. Moments, places, episodes, conversations, silences… There are many
instances of this long passage included in this running blog (lately, more
of a “crawling” blog) but when I look at the total picture, there is the
realization that much has been relegated to forgetfulness. Because time
deletes some of these memories. Perhaps because the mind will do the same,
pushed by an encroaching inability to remember some of those details. I think this last may be an expression of subliminal and deliberate self-defense. Survival instincts.
Early
summer, many years ago… perhaps another life. My son, then 18 years old or so,
in the midst of his confusion and inner turmoil, ran away from home. In the
time I had prior to leaving on an extended business trip (another one of
those) the communication with his mother (by then my ex) and with
several search and poster agencies became, to paraphrase a(n) (in)famous term, “fast
and furious”.
By
the time I left, we still had not heard from him, nor had any news from any of
the agencies. His mother called me regularly to request funds to continue the
search; I called her to learn if anything had happened. After a strange period
of silence (no funds requests, no news, no calls) I decided to call to
find out if anything had been heard. This time, probably by punching the wrong
button, I called her home number rather than her cell phone as had been her
request.
The
phone rang for a few times and when I was ready to hang up on my end, it was
picked up at the other end. No one spoke and I called in “hello” … a tentative “hi”
came back over the lines. To my great and happy surprise, it was my son, who’d found
his way back and had been at his mom’s for almost a week already.
We talked
for a while, he never really touching on where he had been and what had happened.
The where we later learned had been Chicago; the what, he took to his grave. I
was just happy to hear his voice and to know he was alive and back home, although
the “and well” part remained to be seen.
After
I hung up, I had a deep sense of relief about knowing he was back. However,
somewhere else a feeling of anger began to roil up deep inside.
He
had been back for almost a week! His mother had not told me. She had been quick
to call for money and to make sure to throw guilt my way about his leaving. Trust
me, I had enough guilt to throw around; there is always the questioning and the
inner berating.
Yet, when
he came back, she had not said anything. If I had not called the home number
that day by mistake, I don’t know how much longer she would have kept it from
me.
Peevish?
… Petty? … Revenge for a failed marriage?
Any
and all of the above; none of the above. Her excuse when I called her on this
was that she had misplaced the overseas number. Difficult for this to happen
unless her phone was lost. She had the number on speed dial. It took some time
and effort to force that anger to disappear or, at least, to be relegated to
the back of the cage.
A
moment from the past; a scene from that foggy garden of life memories. Almost
lost in the folds of time… I wonder how many more of these exist.
I am sure
many.
Be
Well … Be Back!!!
Final Notes:
· Pray
for those who are
fighting an illness which may take them away from their loved ones… Every
request is heard, and counts!!
No comments:
Post a Comment