Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Alone

When you're born into a herd, you instinctively hate to be alone. It should come as no surprise to myself, and yet I am surprised, that I have an unnecessary and all consuming aversion to being alone. Surprise at being so pathetic. Surprise at failing to be independent and self sufficient and "I am woman, hear me roar". Surprise at being scared. Surprise at feeling vulnerable.

Solitude is beautiful, really. Revealing and poetic. Melancholy, peaceful. Confusing and insane if applied too liberally and for too long of periods. Refreshing in small doses and after long bouts of occasionally monotonous motherhood. So why, in blessed tarnation, does it bother me so?

It's the single thing I fear most about dying. Not that I have to die. Not that I won't live once I'm gone. It's that I have to take that last and first step solo.

Today, before I went to pick up the girls, I paused for a moment to take note of the sparkling clean house I managed to whip up...courtesy of Ga'mas ever so affordable free babysitting tab. Clean vacuum lines, disinfected counters, folded laundry...Adios...because when I return with the darling hoodlums you will be toast. Then I became weirded out by the silence, creeped out by this noise or that, and bolted.

And although I am very much a beggar, I am still more or less a chooser. I think you've even phrased it, "Rae, you're kind of anti-social." I want company. But not just anyone's company. You can be surrounded by company and still be alone. I love the presence of your voice, and the comfort of knowing you are there. I still can't sleep without you. If you are gone, I lie awake...upset with myself for allowing worry and anxiety to infiltrate my much needed sleep. In the solitude of our bedroom, I honestly pray in gratitude for you. For your laugh and your boyishness and your amazing ability to be a father. For your warm, comfy body next to mine in bed. For your pillow talk and unbelievably silly and often stupid jokes. For your ability to rock the late night ice cream sundae and laugh out loud at Wipeout with me. For the fact that as I am typing this right now, you are in the kitchen singing out loud to Metro's "I'd swim the ocean for you". Wrapped in the revealing emptiness of the room that is currently devoid of you is when I really know, despite my attempts at looking tough and independently strong....I have staked everything on you. A prayer of gratitude turns into a plea. Come back safely. Grow old with me. And someday, let's just lie there, holding each other with our musty, ranky breath as we gaze into each other's fading futures. Okay?

My dear, what would I do without you?

I don't even entertain the question.
So please, try to understand...if I whine or complain or pout about any extracurricular activity that takes you away from us for a time...it is just that question I am trying to avoid. I like you. I have this silly crush, a woozy addiction. I'd swim the ocean for you...

4 comments:

Daron and Jamee said...

Last night,I couldn't go to sleep until Daron got home. Even though he might not be home until 1 or 2 in the morning. And I have to get up at 6:00am. Every creeping sound was keeping me from just relaxing and enjoying my solitude. Tuesday night is fun, Wednesday night boring, Thursday night is down right awful, Friday night is scary, but a little more hopeful because Saturday means he is home until Tuesday at 1:00pm. Then it starts over. I miss him.

Daron and Jamee said...

Ok. Now I am stalking you. If you had one of those counters on your blog it probably would have gone up 50 since I got online. I love your writing RAE. I went back to all your past posts and read them all now, I think. I'm pretty sure I did. So, you might see some more comments on past posts that were not there back in January or March or when ever the post was.

Amy said...

Okay, the tears started at "I have staked everything on you." And while it has not been long (or for good reason) since the last time I cried (yes, Shinae, those were tears after coming out of "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants"), I am sitting here balling after this post. Emotionally, obviously, you have great material but writing wise too...how for a second the reader is unsure of who "you" is and then you just know...how you tied the ocean line in from up above...thank God for the invention of the blog or look how much we'd miss...keep writing.

Shinae said...

Amy. I was not the only person confused about why you were crying at the end of that movie.