A line cast, a hope followedSaturday, July 30, 2005
dear xxx,
Well here I am again, there won't be a send button pushed tonight, but still I write, because I've become accustomed to your audience. It's easier to keep writing, pretending you are listening now, then to face the silence cold turkey.
I could tell I asked some good questions in the meeting I went in for this morning, even though I wasn't sure at first I was bringing up anything relevant. Then this afternoon when it came time to write a status report for the month, it seemed like there wasn't too much tangible to show, and it didn't seem right to put in there "and I asked some good questions which helped people clarify things." But still I felt good about today. Now that I'm not asking you those sorts of questions, I'm not quite sure what to do with myself here anymore. So there's a word document archived on my hard drive, "future questions for xxx" thinking someday I'll have the chance to ask them again.
When you asked me to plant the flower box "for us", at the end of that difficult conversation, I have to admit I latched onto a hope that there might be a someday. Someday. So I planted Potentilla and Thyme, as if I could choose plants that would grow me some sort of magic charm to conjure up a wished for future out of compost and sun and water. Then added an Impatiens, a small nod to honesty. I'm not quite sure what it is in "us" that brings out this sentimental streak in me. I realize its silly but it made me feel better. Sage might have been more practical. If Thanksgiving comes around and I've proved to be the turkey in all this at least I could have used it in the stuffing. But I can't muster practicality or cynicism, my usual safe defenses. So this morning I was out there with the watering can, tending. Tending a little seed of hope feels right, because if it grows, I know what an amazing flower it will produce.
The last few weeks I've been going to bed at night exhausted but lying a long time awake, listening to the cat purr, listening to the hum of the fan, trying to find some position my body feels comfortable in. I've never slept beside you yet the night keeps whispering "he is missing here." Its midnight now and I imagine in a few minutes I will go upstairs and begin the negotiation with the empty place again. If I pretend you are there, it feels like I am clinging. If I let go, it feels like I am adrift. Eventually there is blackness and dreams and the deepness that reminds me that regardless, I am still just me, a breath in, a breath out. Another day has passed. A lot more days will pass before I know if the seed is fertile.
Grow.
love,
me
Well here I am again, there won't be a send button pushed tonight, but still I write, because I've become accustomed to your audience. It's easier to keep writing, pretending you are listening now, then to face the silence cold turkey.
I could tell I asked some good questions in the meeting I went in for this morning, even though I wasn't sure at first I was bringing up anything relevant. Then this afternoon when it came time to write a status report for the month, it seemed like there wasn't too much tangible to show, and it didn't seem right to put in there "and I asked some good questions which helped people clarify things." But still I felt good about today. Now that I'm not asking you those sorts of questions, I'm not quite sure what to do with myself here anymore. So there's a word document archived on my hard drive, "future questions for xxx" thinking someday I'll have the chance to ask them again.
When you asked me to plant the flower box "for us", at the end of that difficult conversation, I have to admit I latched onto a hope that there might be a someday. Someday. So I planted Potentilla and Thyme, as if I could choose plants that would grow me some sort of magic charm to conjure up a wished for future out of compost and sun and water. Then added an Impatiens, a small nod to honesty. I'm not quite sure what it is in "us" that brings out this sentimental streak in me. I realize its silly but it made me feel better. Sage might have been more practical. If Thanksgiving comes around and I've proved to be the turkey in all this at least I could have used it in the stuffing. But I can't muster practicality or cynicism, my usual safe defenses. So this morning I was out there with the watering can, tending. Tending a little seed of hope feels right, because if it grows, I know what an amazing flower it will produce.
The last few weeks I've been going to bed at night exhausted but lying a long time awake, listening to the cat purr, listening to the hum of the fan, trying to find some position my body feels comfortable in. I've never slept beside you yet the night keeps whispering "he is missing here." Its midnight now and I imagine in a few minutes I will go upstairs and begin the negotiation with the empty place again. If I pretend you are there, it feels like I am clinging. If I let go, it feels like I am adrift. Eventually there is blackness and dreams and the deepness that reminds me that regardless, I am still just me, a breath in, a breath out. Another day has passed. A lot more days will pass before I know if the seed is fertile.
Grow.
love,
me
