If time isn’t up, then it is out of joint. I couldn’t sleep last night. Just past midnight, I woke up and couldn’t fall asleep again. At 1:30, I went downstairs to write on the couch. I couldn’t write either. I texted friends. It is incredibly useful to have friends in different time zones when you need to talk in the middle of the night. I spoke with friends about my mother. I talked about my fears, about what it might mean if she were to die and if I never had the chance to speak with her about so many topics. I realized today that the truth is that even if she lives, I won’t have most if any of the conversations I dare imagine.
I am afraid of ghosts, but only ones that aren’t real. My mother is a ghost now. I’m afraid she’ll never recover. How do I have a relationship with a person who doesn’t remember details about the present let alone the past? Today she couldn’t remember that I’ve been planning to be away all summer. I am sorry to have to leave. But I’m not sorry. And I’m afraid to find out what she remembers of me when I return.
Time is out of joint. It’s so disjointed. It’s fragmentary. It’s a false binary. It’s nothing.
How can nothing be so terrifying?
Be First to Comment