It is a Friday. My usual day off. I was looking forward to this day of nothing and find myself off center. My stomach hurts. I am tired. As usual, I am sad. Maybe, even mad.
I saw the orange school bus race outside my front window. I glanced at my watch to see what time it was. 3:09. Children being let out off for home. Tired themselves and looking forward to their own personal sanctuaries.
That feeling hit me hard. The feeling of anticipation as my own children came home from school. Friday always brought Papa Murphy’s for supper. Then watching TV. In our day it was Psyche and Monk. There was so much noise. Laughter and bickering in one breath.
Saturday came with doughnuts or bagels. Maybe, canned Pillsbury cinnamon rolls. I loved those rituals. I hate now.
I offered to go out tonight with a welcomed response. What should we do? Movie? Dinner and movie? Just dinner? Too much freedom.
I wish I knew what to do.
This is a time of learning what it means to be me. To be us, again. To be able to know my feelings and share my feelings. For him, as well.
What next? My youngest used to ask what we were eating for the next meal just as he finished the current meal. Something to look forward to. I get that. What next?
Maybe, I instead need to be present now. Maybe, I will be as Richard Rohr put it, dualistic in my understanding of the presence of God. The movement of God. God is out there in the future with the plans for me. And, God is here with me now to enjoy and to live.
I miss my babies. That is the gift for today, getting ready for tomorrow.
In the meantime, I will watch Murder She Wrote. Jessica always found the killer. There is a woman I can look up to. Never intending to be a mystery writer. The path was given to her and she went full steam ahead, one mystery at a time.
