Tonight I am empty. There are not words.
Where I used to see words floating in air, or feel them forcing themselves out of the ends of my fingers and crowding through my veins, tonight I have none. There are words for worry, and words for fear, and words for unmoveable sadness that has parked itself atop my feet and freezes me in place.
But there are not light words to make a lilting narrative of the day’s silly events, the quip at work about circus bears, the side joke to a colleague about another person’s shirt, the cookie I saved from a title company appointment for Rabbit, and how she carefully broke it into pieces to share with me, with her daddy, and with her Grandpa.
I have no words that can bandage over the sinking feeling when I look at the picture my sister took of my dad, snapping the photo with her cellphone as he sat in his chair, a pinched look of pain on his face, his arms swallowed by his sleeves, his skin ashen.
I have no words that can gloss over my mother’s confusion and her panic, her late night phone calls to her sisters, her sitting on the sofa with her head on my sister’s shoulder, crying.
There are no words that can act as an antidote to the word “tumor” and no words that can neutralize the clustered, complicated and conflicting soup of emotions I’m feeling when I think of my father being sick.
I can write about it, but the words are mechanical and perfunctory. They don’t flow. They drop. They thud with weight and sit like gargoyles flanking me as I stand and look down on the landscape of the changing future.
Stumble It!
9 Comments
November 10, 2009 at 8:55 pm
Your words lead me directly back to my father’s cancer in 1995 and the five years that followed. So much emotion and feeling we have for our parents. Our not perfect but much loved parents.
Take a few days away from the computer if you need to.
Hugs,
Di
November 10, 2009 at 9:44 pm
Ugh. That sucks. So sorry to hear that, Mary.
November 10, 2009 at 10:23 pm
I hate that I relate to this. Blessings to you.
November 11, 2009 at 11:01 am
I think your words describe your pain very effectively. I’m so sorry.
November 11, 2009 at 1:43 pm
I only wish I were there to hug you in person and make you a cup of tea to cry into. Love you.
November 11, 2009 at 2:11 pm
Awwww Mary, I can feel your anguish. It builds in my throat as I read your words. You and your family are in my thoughts and prayers.
November 11, 2009 at 6:12 pm
My heart is heavy for you; I wish I was there to hug you and stroke your hair and whisper promises that you’ll get through this. All I can do is sit here, two states away, and wish my dear friend wasn’t facing what we all fear. I love you, Mary. And even as you say you have no words, your words are poetic and agonizingly beautiful – they fall and thud because you so poignantly put to words what fear does to us when those we love, and hate, and count on, begin to fade.
November 12, 2009 at 12:56 pm
I’m so sorry. We relate to the memory stuff; my husband’s mom is going through it. It’s very hard to watch when someone’s memory fades and their personality changes, especially when it’s someone you love.
I will pray for your dad and your mom.
November 12, 2009 at 8:15 pm
For one with no words, you’ve said it beautifully. I pray things will work out for you all.