Here and Now

Where are you?  Here.  What time is it? Now.  Say this until you really feel it.  Until your soul reaches out with grasping tendrils to root you in this present moment.  You are here and now, and nothing else matters.

I say it, and say it.  But so little of my life is spent here.  My mind races ahead to panic over things that need to be done or fears come true.  Or languishes behind to slowly flay myself, peeling inch by painful inch, for sins long dead.  Past and future are worthless shadows.  One is long gone, the other might never be.  Worthless shadows that wrap themselves around me, constrict my breath, chill me to my heart.

Taidgh is taller than me now, this son of mine.  His smile and eyes seem the same, but so much else has changed.  The deeper voice.  The lanky, uncomfortable gait.  He has taken to putting his arm around me lately, gently rubbing my shoulders each time he does.  I know he can sense these trips I am taking.  Maybe they are etched in the tautness of my face, the clench of my jaw.  I am touched by his gesture, this attempt to anchor me in the present.  Touched, but discomforted too.  I am not ready for this role reversal, and neither is he.  His mind has started racing, his heart pounding in panic for reasons he can't fully explain.  He is taller than me, but still a boy.

Aberash used to be a master of the here and now, but this is another casualty of the disease.  Her past is a place where everything was perfect, her future a dream of when all will be perfect again.  The present now seems to be mostly a reminder of what she has lost.  "When I'm all better, my energy will be back.  When I'm all better my face won't be swollen. When I'm all better, I won't have trouble sleeping."  When I'm all better, I'll be back to being me.

I count.  Six pale orange pills.  Two ounces of water.  One more day until the next labs.  Unknown hours of waiting for the results.  150 plus days of pills and labs and waiting and no answers.

Sue and I seem to be too frequently passing each other by.  She is always running. To camps, to doctors, to other appointments.  And I feel like I am always working.  When we talk, it is about this running and working.  Or his racing heart.  Or her pills and labs and waiting and no answers.  There are moments in the day when our eyes meet and I can feel the pull to stop and hold her, and know that we are one in this moment.  But we pass each other by.  Off to running and working and pills and racing hearts.    

Aberash and I are playing in the Atlantic.  She rides flat on the boogie board, heedless of the chilly waters, as I tow her through the waves.  She is laughing in a way I haven't heard in weeks.  My mind begins to race ahead - how long will this moment last?  While she weans off the prednisone we have no idea if the new medication is working, and what waits for us around the corner.  I feel like I am treading water, no sight of shore.  And I know it is only I matter of time before I slip with exhaustion to the darkness below.  But that is just a shadow and it dissipates with the sound of Aberash laughing. When it hits me, it takes hold like a drug, sharpening my senses to complete clarity.  I can feel the breeze and sun and spray distinctly on my body.  The scent of salt and sea surrounds me.  I can take it in with a deep breath, let it fill my lungs and mingle with the salt and sea of my blood.  My toes dig into the sand, anchors that hold me in place with the waves push and pull.  A big wave rolls in and we time it perfectly.  Aberash lets out a joyful whoop as she rides the crest up and over to crash on the other side.  I look out over the horizon to see wave after wave rolling in.  And I realize that my laughter is mingling with my daughter's, the music of two people anchored in a present moment of love and joy.  Where are we?  Here.  When is it? Now.

We are here and now, and nothing else matters.