2003-09-30 - 6:21 a.m.
This entry is for On Display. The topic is "Fresh Starts."
I AM AFRAID
I am afraid. There it is. I am afraid.
I have discovered that I cannot write when I am afraid. Not when I am really afraid. Not until I am willing to face the fear. Not until I can name it.
Somehow, naming is a very powerful thing. Something named is something tamed�at least a little. I can speak of something named. I can think of something named. And once I start thinking, once I thaw and thoughts begin to spin, I can see. What I can see, I can breakdown. What I can breakdown, I can conquer�if only enough to decide whether to go through or around.
I have been afraid of hurting. I have been afraid of adding to the pain of my sister and my family as though somehow my pain was that powerful. But their pain is spilling all around and they have so little room in their pail that my drop or two will make no difference. What I have to say will not surprise them.
I am afraid. I have known for a long time that I am not special. The world can turn on me and mine as quickly as on you and yours or that guy across the street. But much of the time, like many of us, I stuff my fear deep, deep down and don�t let it out, not even at night. But recently I spend my nights hunting for Mr. Philately and not finding him�only to wake to find him in my very own bed.
Nor is my fear unique. My grandmother�s generation felt it. She became a widow much later than most of her friends. Many of them were alone by the time they were sixty or so although, unlike me, most of them married older men. My sister has had it come true.
But this month it seems as though it is stalking those I know. The deaths of men, married men, in their forties and early fifties, this past month have been numerous. Three I knew personally---including the most recent, the Deputy State Public Defender of my state�and one man who escaped a heart attack with his life.
But looking at that fear, facing it, I know that I could make it on my own. Our finances are set for my doing just that and my job helps make it possible. Soon Kat will have her license and even the driving will be doable without Mr. Philately. We could do what needs to be done. We could make it.
But, oh, I do not want to.
I am afraid.
IN CASE YOU MISSED THEM:
Wanting to Want
Barbie
Mistakes Were Made
Mourning the Store
The Gift of the Little Boy
previous - next
|
Copyright 2006 by Ellen |
