Tonight I went to put some of our discarded toys in a charity box down the block while my parents hung out at my house. These long weekends feel very long, my folks and Mia and I all squeezed into my small 2-bedroom apartment. I've lived alone most of my adult life, and like the life. Right after Ross died I felt a very strong need to be with my parents, but I'm feeling, er, smothered right now. As I was leaving, my folks said take your time and my dad said, yeah, maybe you'll get those keys made, referring to a key errand I planned for tomorrow. As I left, I thought, yes! I will get those keys made. And off to Home Depot I went.
But something got lost in the translation ...
Not 45 minutes later I returned to the insanity patrol. Mother pacing at the window. Father standing guard at the door. They couldn't reach me on my cell phone and thought I had just gone down to the corner. What could possibly have taken so long? After the hysteria died down they explained to me that given our circumstances, perhaps they were more sensitive than other parents might be. I had to say to them, as I have so many times before, that I took something different from our experience: to live life, not to fear death. I guess with Mia I feel like I don't have a choice.
This is the kind of conversation that people like us have on a Saturday night. Normal, tortured and coping.
