Balance--ever elusive--
The tug-of-war for peace of mind--
Jumbled thoughts and actions
Never-ending expectations:
It's an Imbalancing Act.
This Year. This year I will analyze my life
(Capture it and place it in a jar--
Hoping something comes alight like fire-flies),
And determine how to tip the scale--
Some things have got to be handled.
Yes, I know.
I know what I'm looking for:
What can stay and what must go--
So now I examine the parts.
(As I have done before.)
Life strewn out on the examination table.
Pulling it apart, piece by piece,
Determining which parts are "worthy"
and which are not--it's purely objective.
Some things do not justify my time.
Cast off. Parts of my life.
Where do they end up?
Where do they go when they are discarded?
Nonetheless, the experts agree
That I will be much better off without the appendages.
Still top-heavy after days of drizzle and hard work.
I am still walking off-kilter.
I don't understand this!
I have rid myself of nearly everything--
These old, scratched spectacles alone remain.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
End of Day Ramblings
"Hello?" I answer the phone, with bobby pins in my mouth, balancing a comb and Iphone in one hand, hair spray in the other.
"Sis? Are you there yet?"
"Nope. Still at home. In the bathroom getting ready. Had a late start."
"Oh. Hey, will you tell Momma something for me, when you see her?"
"Sure."
"Just tell her I love her."
"Did you call her? She has her cell phone, I think."
"I tried. No one answered."
"Well, it's raining out today. Pretty bad. Maybe they're still en route."
"Maybe."
"I'll tell her, Amanda. I should get there right before the surgery...If they don't take her early. I'll tell her when I see her, okay?"
I can hear the relief in her voice: "Thanks, sis."
Mornings for me are difficult anyway, but getting up before dawn on a rainy morning out, thinking about my Momma and this surgery, made it even worse. I felt like I was literally forcing myself to keep going:
"Get up. You can't afford to hit the snooze again. Get up. The doctors won't wait for you. ... Get a bath. Get a towel first..." I forced myself out of bed, forced myself to the bathroom, and forced myself to keep going even when I couldn't seem to find anything I needed to make "leaving" a reality.
I called my Mother as soon as I got off of the phone with my sister.
"Momma!"
"Yes, honey? Where are you?"
"Still at the house. Are you at the hospital?"
"Yes."
I pulled my phone away and looked at the clock. Quickly calculating, I said, "I'll be there just in time, Momma. I'll get there as soon as I can."
"Just don't rush, baby. Drive safely, okay?"
"I will."
Everything felt like it was going in slow motion. I couldn't get the horrific images or thoughts out of my mind. It didn't help anything that nothing was where it should be...my two-year-old had apparently raided my purse again last night. At one point, I was tempted just to fall into the bed again--claiming it "fate" that I wasn't able to go...I even practiced saying, "It just wasn't meant to be...Nothing was working out..."
But I finally got it together. Got in the van and headed that way through the slick streets. It rained the entire way...So hard that I was afraid to turn on the radio lest I got distracted...So hard I couldn't help but thinking of the inherent dangers of the roadway. I hit standing water and the car hydroplanes...I sit straighter, eyes focusing...I slow down and get in the right lane. I will go as slow as I need to. Momma wants me there alive.
When I finally arrived, I found they had already taken Momma back for preparations to be made. I felt deflated.
Then, my sister Heather called for me. "Do you want to see her before she goes in? She's just had some happy gas..."
"Yes!" I exclaimed and rushed to meet her. They led me back through two sets of huge double doors, back to rows of rooms with sheets for doors. Momma was in the one with a giant "2" labeled above it. My sister pulled back the sheet for me and I walked in.
"Momma!" I met her stare. She was still alert. "Momma, how are you?"
"I'm so glad you're here," she said.
The attendant looked as if she needed an explanation.
My sister offered, "This is my sister, Shirley. She just drove in. Our other sister has called multiple times..."
My mom whispered, "She lives in Oklahoma City."
"Momma, Amanda called." I said, thankful for the opportunity to do as I'd promised. "She wanted me to tell you she loves you."
I saw a tear fall onto my Momma's cheek.
"We love you, Momma." I said, holding her hand.
"I love you, too," she said. I could see the fear in her eyes.
"Momma, it's gonna be okay." I said, and slipped away.
"Sis? Are you there yet?"
"Nope. Still at home. In the bathroom getting ready. Had a late start."
"Oh. Hey, will you tell Momma something for me, when you see her?"
"Sure."
"Just tell her I love her."
"Did you call her? She has her cell phone, I think."
"I tried. No one answered."
"Well, it's raining out today. Pretty bad. Maybe they're still en route."
"Maybe."
"I'll tell her, Amanda. I should get there right before the surgery...If they don't take her early. I'll tell her when I see her, okay?"
I can hear the relief in her voice: "Thanks, sis."
Mornings for me are difficult anyway, but getting up before dawn on a rainy morning out, thinking about my Momma and this surgery, made it even worse. I felt like I was literally forcing myself to keep going:
"Get up. You can't afford to hit the snooze again. Get up. The doctors won't wait for you. ... Get a bath. Get a towel first..." I forced myself out of bed, forced myself to the bathroom, and forced myself to keep going even when I couldn't seem to find anything I needed to make "leaving" a reality.
I called my Mother as soon as I got off of the phone with my sister.
"Momma!"
"Yes, honey? Where are you?"
"Still at the house. Are you at the hospital?"
"Yes."
I pulled my phone away and looked at the clock. Quickly calculating, I said, "I'll be there just in time, Momma. I'll get there as soon as I can."
"Just don't rush, baby. Drive safely, okay?"
"I will."
Everything felt like it was going in slow motion. I couldn't get the horrific images or thoughts out of my mind. It didn't help anything that nothing was where it should be...my two-year-old had apparently raided my purse again last night. At one point, I was tempted just to fall into the bed again--claiming it "fate" that I wasn't able to go...I even practiced saying, "It just wasn't meant to be...Nothing was working out..."
But I finally got it together. Got in the van and headed that way through the slick streets. It rained the entire way...So hard that I was afraid to turn on the radio lest I got distracted...So hard I couldn't help but thinking of the inherent dangers of the roadway. I hit standing water and the car hydroplanes...I sit straighter, eyes focusing...I slow down and get in the right lane. I will go as slow as I need to. Momma wants me there alive.
When I finally arrived, I found they had already taken Momma back for preparations to be made. I felt deflated.
Then, my sister Heather called for me. "Do you want to see her before she goes in? She's just had some happy gas..."
"Yes!" I exclaimed and rushed to meet her. They led me back through two sets of huge double doors, back to rows of rooms with sheets for doors. Momma was in the one with a giant "2" labeled above it. My sister pulled back the sheet for me and I walked in.
"Momma!" I met her stare. She was still alert. "Momma, how are you?"
"I'm so glad you're here," she said.
The attendant looked as if she needed an explanation.
My sister offered, "This is my sister, Shirley. She just drove in. Our other sister has called multiple times..."
My mom whispered, "She lives in Oklahoma City."
"Momma, Amanda called." I said, thankful for the opportunity to do as I'd promised. "She wanted me to tell you she loves you."
I saw a tear fall onto my Momma's cheek.
"We love you, Momma." I said, holding her hand.
"I love you, too," she said. I could see the fear in her eyes.
"Momma, it's gonna be okay." I said, and slipped away.
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