that first stage


Tonight, for the first time, I was home alone for a couple of hours and the houses was quiet. It is easy to fool the mind into thinking that she will come through the door at any minute with all the energy and pandemonioum of a teenage girl, but I felt the silence closing in. And so I made myself go into her room and touch her things, smell her pillow and kiss the big mirror alongside the row of sticky prints where she blotted her lipstick, a palate of shades from blood red to the palest pink. I bitched at her about the state of her closet and refolded the clean laundry stacked in little piles on her bed. Somehow this helps. Someday soon, I am afraid, I won’t be able to open that door. I am living in this constant state of fear of that day.

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4 Responses to that first stage

  1. Patricia says:

    So incomprehensible to me, what you’re going through. I cannot even begin to imagine the pain and sorrow. I wish I could give you a hug. What is there to say except, I’m here if you ever need to talk or we can not talk and just listen to the quiet together. As always, you are in my heart.

  2. dan says:

    doors are amazing things; even when closed, they can be opened at any time. one of my favorite stories is about a seder meal at which a student was directed to open the door to let in the prophet Elijah (a traditional part of the service). After the student later shut the door again he admitted that he hadn’t seen the prophet enter or leave. “Of course not,” said the rabbi, “he does not enter through the door but through your heart.” And now for me doors and hearts have been somehow combined. The heart is always there. That room still needs your touch. We are all with you in our hearts, which are doors to yours.

  3. Miss Bliss says:

    Oh Dan said it just right. So yeah…hearts, doors and all the love.

  4. sue says:

    Dan said it so well. Still in my thoughts, hon…

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