Ruminations on Past and Future: Another August Day

8:44 AM.  Voices and hands and feet echo and bounce off the walls and I awake to another day in August.  I shake off my nightmares and all of their painful psychological detritus.  I should have known the nightmares would come back again.  I just met with a new therapist and while it’s old for me, it’s new for her, and as I bring her into my past, I drag that past back into my mind’s eye.  It doesn’t matter how far I get from my past.  There will always be times it binds me like an eagle’s talon in my sleep.

Shhh.  I’m safe now, I think, gazing out the window and stepping over books and magazines that I tossed on my bedroom floor just before I slipped off to sleep the night before.  “Get dressed and brush your teeth,” I order, and I wonder if it’s true that I show them no love, allow no smiles, and bear them no affection?  Is it really a terrible legacy I leave my beloved?

In truth, I think not, but the pain of not knowing is underscored by the unbearable visions I receive while I sleep. I dream these dreams as the night fights against the damn-it-please-come-soon morning light.

11 AM.  My son comes into my room, bubbling over with indignation.  “Mama, Maddie just hit me.” He points to his arm. “Right here.”

Typing at full speed, I glance over. “Uh-huh. That’s not nice.”

His voice takes a melancholy turn.  “Yeah.”  He hops up and down and then his tone brightens. “Can I hit her back?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Can’t.”

He paces around me demanding answers to his questions as I type and yet again I count the days until summer ends.

1:30 PM.  After we conclude a trip to Kohl’s that only stands out for its lack of tear-my-hair-out-bad-hilarity, I sit next to my six-year old at Wendy’s.  I’ve taught them the meaning of “numbnut” after a minivan almost crashes into us in the parking lot.

My daughter, almost 9, smirks at me.  “Can I say ‘numbnut’ at school?”

Brushing my still-blonde, but so close to brown hair out of my eyes, I shake my head and shrug and grin all at once.

“It’s better than idiot, right?”

I sip my diet coke and look at this child of mine, with the still-blonde, but so close to brown hair and before I can answer her, my youngest son bumps into me, lost in thought, and staring at the closed-circuit TV set.

“Is Wendy’s going to be here always?”

I look around and think.  My other child, the blue-eyed son who bears his father’s name, has a serious look about him, but he’s just hungry.  I cannot seem to give an easy answer.

What lasts forever?  I see chairs and tables and children and people I don’t know, and none of us last forever.  But this isn’t really the question he’s asking me.  I want to reassure him without lying to him.  I want us, our love, our family, to last as long as we can; I want to be here as long as I need to be and as long as he needs me.  And yet, dear son, beloved light of my heart, there are no guarantees, no promises, no sure things.

I close my eyes and a flash, a fast-moving series of images, zoom from one synapse to the next, and in that millisecond, I see a fire burning, a nuclear bomb falling, and please God, I pray, make it so that I don’t see or feel us burning.  I’m not afraid in that moment, the moment that I hope is just unfounded fantasy that will never come to be.  I’m at peace, sitting here with my three children inside of a Wendy’s on an August afternoon, secure in knowing that this day, this moment, is all I can really be sure of.

It’s enough.  It’s enough for me.  And it that I know I’m free.

I smile over my straw.  “I hope so, son.  They do a good business here.”

“Yep.  Not like Ho’s Dynasty,” pipes up my daughter.  She’s talking about our favorite Chinese restaurant, which just closed down.

I take this in, my eyes making contact with each set of blue or blue-gray eyes in these children of mine, and I flash an easy smile.  “Yes!  Well-said Maddie!”

A tiny child toddles past me and we exchange winks.

As I clean up the table and crack jokes with my daughter, I think about all of this.  I don’t make up the rules that govern our lives or dictate how many days we have left.  All I have is this moment, with this family, and a quiet faith that there will be enough moments.  When it comes to the future, our future, it really is that simple.

“Sodas.  Trash.  Let’s go,” I chirp.

“And watch out for numbnuts in the parking lot,” adds my daughter.

I hold the door open and look both ways before we cross the blacktop and head home.



21 comments on “Ruminations on Past and Future: Another August Day
  1. D says:

    Sounds so familiar…the therapist, the numbnut (yes we have those South Africa!), the kids etc. Thank you for the perspective you give to my thoughts – spot on almost everytime!!

  2. dmmacilroy says:

    Dear El,

    Said it before and I’ll say it again; You’re good. And on track. And in tune.

    Just keep connecting the moments, writing when you can and enjoying the ride.

    (I just decided to try to meet you in heaven. With any luck, It’ll be Widget and I, numbnuts both, but hey, that’ll be two less to watch out for in the parking lot, right?)

    Aloha,

    Doug

    • Hello Doug,

      I always smile when I see your picture, and I do promise to try to look for you in heaven. I am grinning about you and Widget, and I must confess to a certain numbnut side of me as well!

      I hope the world is as beautiful out your way as it is here. The cicadas are singing and the frogs are making weird noises and I feel at peace.

      xo,

      El

  3. “And watch out for numbnuts in the parking lot,” One of the most profound bits of advice I’ve ever heard.

  4. Powerful post, El! You have such a way of blending powerful thoughts and emotions with everyday life. And you really seem indomitable. 🙂

  5. Nothing lasts forever, but connected hearts sometimes beat in time to our need. The absurdities of the little things like numbnuts who insist they must be directly in front of us in traffic are another thing that I am all to certain will last forever. Wendy’s will always last longer than Chinese restaurants, by the way.

    Nightmares my darlin’ El, well someday we will find the right box to put them in and though they may forever lurk, they will not forever hold us hostage.

    I love you.

    Val

  6. Beautifully said El. I can picture the day unfolding. Sorry to hear about the nightmares.

  7. I love this little piece of your day, played out in perfect pitch and rhythm.

  8. pegoleg says:

    What lasts forever? Indeed. Thanks for the gently melancholy reminder to cherish the moments, El.

  9. What a beautiful post! Eloquent and tugged at my heart strings. My babies are still small (3 and 1.5) but I know too well how fast the time goes. Visiting from Outlaw Mama and so glad I did.

  10. touching, poignant, and sweet. i wish i could write like that. thanks for the reminders to appreciate each moment.

  11. Ha! I’m finding your missing comments!! xoxo

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  1. […] Running From Hell with El, you do lots of the same things I do, but you run 10 miles in the morning before I step foot out of bed. You are amazing. […]

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