Down Into the Well
Way down in the well, I see images of people I love most gazing up at me with wide eyes. I'm disconnected. I'm not jumping in, not holding out my hand to touch their reflections. I'm just staring at them in silence. I'm good at that. Cold as cold can be at times, yet full of compassion.
I see David, my husband. If he were gone, I'd be lost. His face ripples in the water and re-composes. I like to think he's a constant. But what if not? What if he decided to disappear. Forever. Sick of me and my distance. What is it that I should tell him, the one I love the most? That for him to be gone would leave me suffocating. We had that scare. His blood work was bad, very bad. We panicked. David immediately started going to the gym every day and running on the treadmill. He changed his diet. Stopped drinking. The weight came off fast. He went from 199 pounds to 168 in 4 months. Know what I remember most? Grabbing him in a desperate hug one night and telling him how much I loved him and that I wouldn't know what I'd do without him. I can't remember the last time I told him that.
Next, I see my mom. Her reflection in the water is crystal clear. She's always there, always has been. Recently, we argued. What disgusts me about her is what I don't like about myself: her constant worrying and need to be in control. She didn't like what I told her about dad (and herself), so she attacked me. I'm still pissed about it and have taken a step back from the well so she doesn't always see me. She wonders what I'm doing and every once in a while, I re-appear, but I like being away and making her wonder. Typical daughter. She will be gone one day for good, and I will wish I had never stepped away. I know this. Reminds me of the saying, "Nothing happens until it happens to you." So true. What do I want to tell her? All the things she does that annoy me: I want her to sit still and listen to me. Her mind wanders. She doesn't listen. She needs to chill. Stop moving and doing. Relax. But what should I tell her: That she's loved. That the way she feels about her mother is the way I feel about her, that I hope Arden and Tess feel the same way about me one day. That I would miss her to no end, just like she misses Grandma.
I see Arden and Tess fading in and out so fast I can't keep up. They change. "Mommy, mommy" they say and I answer "what?" in my usual bothered tone. I can't focus on their faces. Squinting my eyes for clarity, their images are not still. In the movement, I glance away, distracted. I look back, and their reflections are in another spot. At night, I re-adjust my eyes while they're asleep and still. I imagine myself spending hours with each girl, asking her about her fears and dreams, telling her about mine. I say over and over again, I love you more than this world, my life is complete with you in it. Then the sun rises and I haphazardly peer down into the well, searching desperately for their murky faces. When I see them clearly, I'm relieved, and then something else pulls me away again.
**Note: This was written in 2010 and never published on the blog, so I decided to post it today.
I see David, my husband. If he were gone, I'd be lost. His face ripples in the water and re-composes. I like to think he's a constant. But what if not? What if he decided to disappear. Forever. Sick of me and my distance. What is it that I should tell him, the one I love the most? That for him to be gone would leave me suffocating. We had that scare. His blood work was bad, very bad. We panicked. David immediately started going to the gym every day and running on the treadmill. He changed his diet. Stopped drinking. The weight came off fast. He went from 199 pounds to 168 in 4 months. Know what I remember most? Grabbing him in a desperate hug one night and telling him how much I loved him and that I wouldn't know what I'd do without him. I can't remember the last time I told him that.
Next, I see my mom. Her reflection in the water is crystal clear. She's always there, always has been. Recently, we argued. What disgusts me about her is what I don't like about myself: her constant worrying and need to be in control. She didn't like what I told her about dad (and herself), so she attacked me. I'm still pissed about it and have taken a step back from the well so she doesn't always see me. She wonders what I'm doing and every once in a while, I re-appear, but I like being away and making her wonder. Typical daughter. She will be gone one day for good, and I will wish I had never stepped away. I know this. Reminds me of the saying, "Nothing happens until it happens to you." So true. What do I want to tell her? All the things she does that annoy me: I want her to sit still and listen to me. Her mind wanders. She doesn't listen. She needs to chill. Stop moving and doing. Relax. But what should I tell her: That she's loved. That the way she feels about her mother is the way I feel about her, that I hope Arden and Tess feel the same way about me one day. That I would miss her to no end, just like she misses Grandma.
I see Arden and Tess fading in and out so fast I can't keep up. They change. "Mommy, mommy" they say and I answer "what?" in my usual bothered tone. I can't focus on their faces. Squinting my eyes for clarity, their images are not still. In the movement, I glance away, distracted. I look back, and their reflections are in another spot. At night, I re-adjust my eyes while they're asleep and still. I imagine myself spending hours with each girl, asking her about her fears and dreams, telling her about mine. I say over and over again, I love you more than this world, my life is complete with you in it. Then the sun rises and I haphazardly peer down into the well, searching desperately for their murky faces. When I see them clearly, I'm relieved, and then something else pulls me away again.
**Note: This was written in 2010 and never published on the blog, so I decided to post it today.
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