UNDER THE MICROSCOPE

NEW SPECIMENS OLD SPECIMENS THE SCIENTIST MY LOG CONTACT ME
2002-05-10 - 2:21 p.m.

Yesterday�s entry was not posted until this morning because I was too tired to post last night. That entry was �Stages of a Cold.�

SECOND THOUGHTS

For all that I write here in this journal, there is a lot that I don�t write about. Unlike some journalers, I know that family and friends read this journal and I like that. Yet, it does make me careful what I say and how I say it. Even were I more anonymous, I still would be careful. I�ve never really believed in anonymity. I�ve sat down in too many airplanes only to discover I knew the person three rows back or that the person next to me was someone with whom I went to elementary school. But not all my caution is the thought that I might hurt others. Like most people, I worry about how I appear.

I�ve thought of appearance and substance as I�ve looked over my entries about the Washington trip and realized that the most significant event is not mentioned. While I was in Washington, my Mom�s first cousin, a wonderful, warm, loving person only a year older than I lost her battle with metastasized breast cancer. She left behind a husband whose first name is the same as Mr. Philately�s and two elementary-school-age children. My first thought was �Oh, dear.� My second thought is the one that gives me pause.

My second thought was �Why can�t I go away without the kids without the sky falling in?� The last time I went away with friends, I went to Seattle to Mary�s house and then down to Portland to meet other people such as Lobotomybabe and Bev. While I was there, Day-Hay�s best friend ended up in the intensive care unit with complications from E.coli infection. Part of the trip was spent discussing with Mr. Philately what to do about Day-Hay who was off at camp. Last fall, I was in London with Mr. Philately on September 11th on what we intended to be a carefree second honeymoon.

As I heard myself thinking that, I heard a small voice from somewhere inside me. �That�s right,� it said sarcastically. �It�s all about you.� Then I was ashamed. But less than a week later, I�m not so sure that I should have been ashamed. Of course I think about me. I�m human. Most of us think about ourselves at least second, if not first. I�d be stupid not to think about myself. What matters though is not that I thought about myself. What matters is what I did about it�nothing.

I ditched the Sunday night party at Pentagon City and took the Metro out to the suburbs. I went through old pictures with her brother because I knew no other extended family was close by. I stayed late, despite tiredness and some trepidation about traveling back alone into Washington. As is my wont, I did what needed doing.

This week, one of the women Day-Hay babysits for told me that Day-Hay needs to learn to forgive herself for the small things. (Apparently, Day-Hay put the kids to bed a bit late because clean-up took longer than she expected.) I agreed with her. Then I got to thinking. Maybe her mother needs to set the example.

So, on second thought, I�m forgiving my second thought. Surprisingly, doing so allows me to focus outward better than before. Now I feel much freer to mourn. It turns out that when I stop worrying about MY thoughts, I can think about others more. There's a lesson in there somewhere---and that's my second thought.

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