Blind Spot

Thoughts Across the Calendar

September

A faint smell of pinon floats on the brisk night air as I walk the few steps from my car to Emily's basement. It's September and the air smells of "football" (Oklahoma State football). Mom would know what that means. It's a feeling that lingers in my throat somewhere between my heart and head as I avoid the dew-kissed grass and aim for the stone steps marking the path to Emily's gate. It's late; Craig needs me, I need Craig, but I still have cat duty.

A lot has changed since mid-April when I began my semi-permanent residency in Denver. Seasons have changed. In April, I packed my suitcase with spring-time clothes with a few sweaters to cut the chill.  Now, i find myself deep into September. Halloween decorations fill the racks at stores and baseball decals have been replaced with football banners and Denver Broncos merchandise. Mom has been gone for 3 months and Craig seems to be nearing his end...

October

It's October. For months, we could have worn a rut between three directions: first, from the hospital to Craig's and, then, from Craig's to Emily's. These routes became as common as the lines on my hand and now there's little point for the desperate go-between save that from the need to "do the cats" and "clean Craig's apartment". The hospital was cut from the sequence long ago and now the other half of the journey has ended. Our Mom's and Craig's journeys have ended and the role of caretaker is no longer there. That frenetic 14-month pace is over and it's awkward making the drive between Craig and Emily's without "panic and anxiety" as carpoolers. They are still there in a sense, just dressed in evening wear with the expectation of recognition.

But the days pass, and when the reminders pull on the hem, I tend to look down and shake them off more than pay them any recognition. Diane said it best when she noted that to directly look at what we've been through-the loss of our mom and Craig-is like looking at the sun. You can't look at it directly lest you burn your eyes and reap painful damage (adding an artful spin). It seems that way. To take on this loss is too much at once, like eating an elephant in one sitting.

It's not like I won't "look" though. I try; it's just a blind spot--a total eclipse of the sun leaving only a sliver of what waits behind. Those slivers appear in the spontaneous moments of boredom followed by the "hey, I'll call Mom or Craig" moments, and the jarring sadness of not being able to. Or, seeing Craig's sweat stained Michigan hat I'd put on from time to time before handing it to him. Those are the slivers, the rim. The void in the middle is what awaits recognition.~E