There is a fine line between telling my story “sans sugar” and telling too much, or, worse, lacing it with saccharine. The truth is, the narrator is still not exactly sure where she belongs in this world, if she belongs in it at all – but also that this doesn’t matter. It’s all about Jonah.
For an only child like me it’s a tough pill to swallow sometimes. It isn’t at all about me. And yet, can I be relieved of my role in all of this? Of course not. Jonah needs his mama.
Still I sometimes think: I can’t live this life anymore
And: What a nice hot day to park the car at the top of the Rhinebeck Bridge — so perfectly inviting for suicidals – no barriers to your leap, yet reminding you every few hundred feet or so that LIFE IS WORTH LIVING. I know I have mentioned this bridge before. I’ve always wanted to fly, and that view is so spectacular, and if I ever did come to that fine line and cross it, I think that would be my place to fly-bye
And: I wonder if other people have places in their minds, like I do. My place is like the cyanide pill they ostensibly give you when you go up in the space shuttle. It is a choice you may never have to make but one that’s comfortingly there nonetheless
I still, though, think: I have to do whatever it takes to ensure Jonah’s health, education, happiness, and nurturing. I must ensure everything. Some of that everything is making sure things can stay the way the are, and it looks like things are going to need my help for that to happen
And I berate myself: You ain’t going nowhere, fool
And I can dance around things that were said this weekend, and all the millions of ways, as usual, in which I was spectacularly weak. But I’ll post pictures too, for Jonah was mostly good, albeit scattered and frenetic.
It was a sunny day, almost too hot. A beautiful Saturday, and a good portion of Jonah’s day and mood mirrored that.
Andy was kind enough to drive Jonah up to visit us at my mother’s house.
my mom’s next door neighbors kindly let jonah use their play-set and pool, once it’s opened. jonah asked for “Pool?” a dozen or so times.
At home way at the top, my climber-boo
hey mama!!! hey mama!!!
Eventually he wanted to go see train so we piled in the car, Jonah singing along to the Top-40 Andy’s got on the radio. We were relieved to see the green light down the tracks meaning a train is coming, so we pulled into a parking lot to wait and watch for it, like we’ve done hundreds and hundreds of times before.
This time, though, he got scared of the train after a few seconds.
This was the last of the pictures for the day.
Out of nowhere he grabbed for my hair. I know what to do when someone pulls your hair (grab their fist and pull it in toward your head) so it wasn’t a big deal. Andy got out of the car to let me out of the car, and then Jonah burst into tears, sobbing and upset. Within minutes, though, he was okay and we were able to say bye bye to the train (thank God it wasn’t a long one) and go back to Grandma’s for another shower. His beloved train reminded him of how much he misses home? No. Don’t invent things inside Jonah’s head, I tell myself. You’ve got enough troubles inside your own.
Today M and I went on a long Sunday ride, just like in the olden days when it was deemed neither wrong nor unusual to do so. When we got home I planted flowers in the God-awful hot for about 13 minutes until I felt I would die. I thought about Andy, and how unless I am mistaken he is working for somebody today doing some mulching under this same heat, and how under that same sun too my boy probably asked for pool ad infinitum.
Tomorrow I have to go back to producing numbers; here I can produce words. It’s a fine line, my tightrope. Sundays are difficult. And I only took 3rd place in a “query letter” contest I was hoping to win. And I’m not schooled in query letters. Looks like I have some work to do. First place was the opportunity and $500 to self-publish.
I don’t really want to self-publish anyway. Isn’t that, after all, what I’m already doing?
Anyway. Jonah has his daddy close-by. Today, after all that hot work in the sun, Andy came and got Jonah and kept him for another part of the day.
“He was fine,” Andy told me on the phone. “He had a fun day.”
For me, for now, it is enough. As usual it is still only early evening and I am bone tired. I imagine Jonah settling in to sleep. I miss watching him sleep but imagining it is sweet — I can use memories and visions and dreams. It is good.
The Never Normal 