I now know what it is like to come home from a long day of work, to be relieved of the stress of wondering if your car will make it through the day, (my breaks are barely working) ready to sit and sigh, and instead be assaulted by the mail.
The mail lies on the counter, in a seemingly harmless pile and in the midst I see her handwriting again, I shove aside the bill on top, to expose the recipient’s name, relived, it is not mine. Addressed to my son, his yearly card, the one time she singles him out, his birthday card.
I know that assaulted is a strong word, and that perhaps I am being dramatic again, but it seems that it literally can pierce and intrude into my world.
Her handwriting is like a scream into my house. I may be over sensitive, but like a ghost from the past, it arises when I least expect it.
And then last night she appears in my dream. In the dream we happen to be reaching for a grocery cart at the same time and she comes to hug me and tell me that my ‘dad’ misses me. In the dream I move away, mumbling something incoherent to both of us……I wake up, it is near morning.
My family ghosts are free spirits, they can and do pop up whenever they please, unleashed and unbounded, they plop into my world and I then bobble for a while as they steal this present moment, flooding it with a jumble of past and future daydreams.
While doing this new mail route, I delivered mail to a younger brother, and while sharing that info, the other carrier said that he knew my oldest brother real well, in fact just spoke on the phone to him for a long while.
I simply said, “Oh.”
The carrier lived near my brother’s place before my brother sold it and headed out of town to live near my dad.
What can I do or say about that? Luckily my silence was chalked up to concentrating on where the mail goes. Instead in my head I had to continue to push away the thoughts of him and fight to keep the focus on the mail.
Isn’t it peculiar that a mention of a name can open the floodgates of so many thoughts and emotions, that by simply seeing handwriting it brings forth a volume of words that hold stories upon stories?
It may be my naivety where the trouble lies, for some reason I am surprised always when I happen upon a sister or hear a brother’s name, or see my mother’s handwriting. What am I expecting?
Isn’t it like being shocked that there are bears in the woods, fish in the sea, and birds in the air. I live in the same place, and not much has changed physically, just that my relationships have been greatly altered.
How divorce parents make it is beyond me. I guess we will forge this new non-relationship and until that becomes familiar, this will be odd and assaulting to me, until I get used to it.
Isn’t that like getting used to being slapped? How will I become used to that?
Is it better to explain and to point out to strangers that I no longer speak to that brother, for that brother paid the defense fees when my father was in jail for sexual abuse! Isn’t that cruel and unusual punishment to the stranger?
What would be a way we can both stand in that spot, this man who seems to like and admire my brother and me who shudders to think how off balance he truly is? Is there a mutual spot?
It always leaves me silent. How does my life’s drama fit into a normal day learning a new job?
When we enter into new places and are introduced to new people we immediately try and find out if we have common ground between us, and in my case, my ground is unusual at best.
You know the term, “it is a small world after all” it truly is.
How the connections continue to spread like a matrix around us, that no matter where you go, no matter what group you attend, there will be someone in there who has ties to your family.
There are 16 in my immediate family counting me, so the matrix is spread far and wide, like a spider’s web.
Oh the web we weave……I think that was when we are lying, but we weave webs just living life day to day, we make pathways and alleyways, we build and demolish roads, my web has to be a real tangled mess.
Instead of the spider that is weaving it, I feel like the fly, or a very dizzy spider, with disconnecting lines!
Do spiders plan their webs or do they just continue going around and around and in the end there is this wonderful tapestry that glistens with dew drops in the morning sun?
Do they have a pattern they are following? Are spider webs like snowflakes, no two alike?
I guess we spew out the same tiny threads as we walk along in this life, a matrix is being tied in behind us, we are leaving a trail, by word and deed, a fragrance of who we are, the web called life.
