Countable Moments
From the age of 5 all the way to the present day, I have had a persistent daydream.
What would I do if I had one more day with my father?
My memories of him are simple, sensory. Walks 5 minutes from our house, sitting on his shoulders, playing in nature. I was too young for much else.
Now that I know more about the world, what else really is there?
If there was one more day, I would hold my father and not let him go. I would look at the trees and the water and the plants with him, cook our meals, see the sunset. We would laugh and joke about everything. In my daydream there is a rainbow and we stand on the porch and look at it, smelling the raindrops latent in the air.
With both of my parents, also, there is the ache to know—what was the last day? What was the last day like, the last hours, what was the last thing I said to them, how did we spend that final fleeting time together, not knowing it was fleeting?
Of course, in the case of my mother's death, I was conscious that time was fleeting, even with everyone perfectly healthy. We got no warning of my father's death, why might we expect it of hers? I had imagined it over and over, my persistent nightmare. What about when my mother dies?
I know, without a doubt, that the last words I said to my mother were "I love you." Because they were ALWAYS my last words, no matter what, and I felt the wrench in my heart every time, of this truth and why I was saying it, angry or alienated as I ever might be while I said it, that I would be swept away without her when she left. That she could not and would not stay with me, no matter how either of us wanted that.
It was every bit as I'd imagined it and worse, unending, still to this day, where is she? Where is my mother? Why can't I call her? Wouldn't she love this? Wouldn't she adore every single person in this beautiful life I have built?
She would, I know, and I do. I do so adore the life I have and the ones I share it with. And I know how I want my countable moments with those loved ones to go. I want to be adoring them, no matter how either of us are feeling, I want to feel the wrench in my gut that they are here now and at any time they might not be, and I want to squeeze them one more time.
I want to be gooey with them, in love with them, sweet and cuddled and understanding. I want to be true with them and intimate with them and honest with myself that they could never be the problem, even if I am convinced I have some problem.
My love is here! Here for a limited time! Let me drink them in.
No, I don't process conflict with my loved ones, I don't make an enemy image and I don't relate with someone who is perceiving me as an enemy. My loved ones are here with me, here now. There is always a loved one with whom I can share love—a walk in nature, a meal, cuddles, massage, touch. There is always someone I can laugh with about anything and everything, and I live into the relationships I want.
I live the moments with my loved ones that practices of processing conflict are trying to get to. Resolution with the other is never required to access these moments. They are always right here for me, right now.
