Saturday Sept. 15

INTO THE WOODS AND HOME

I've been off in the woods with my bestest cousin and her wonderful dogs. Fabuloso! Today after a little unpacking, I decided to write more about my mother and her long slow slide into passing into the next stage.
Had to crack open a new pad, the last one's full. But instead of that I found an old pad that has extra room and this piece I wrote back in Jan. of '06. It's so odd to read this now.



END OF THE RIDE


I should be doing something, but all I can manage is a shower and a haircut. And though I’ve heard all these words before, and spoken to the same shut eyes, it feels different this time.

The terse communications that I get tell me little. Sparse details that define the last long run downhill on the roller coaster. You know the one: just before you pull into the station, just before you get on or off.

The linked cars slowing-- slowing. The clanking noise of the gears engaging, the expelled breaths that had been held for the exhilarating ride. Oh yes, terrifying too, at times.

At the end, you feel a little emptiness, that moment before you fumble for your jacket or purse. The stillness inside as you wait for the gum-chewing boy to unlock the safety bars.

You stand up and turn, waiting for a pause in the crowd. You take that step out, into the next moment of your life, and in that step you remember the whole ride. The sweet clutch of your lover’s hand on your arm, the nausea as the car flew upside down, not once but time after time. You’re glad you went, but just as glad it’s over.

A huge bell rings—your ears tremble.

So I stand, foot in mid-step, waiting for the bell, an urgent telephone shrilling the news of the end of the ride. The inevitable phone call.

I wait.