I mis-set my alarm this morning, getting up at 6:30, an hour later than I usually do on workdays. It was probably just as well — I had a restless night, in part because I knew what today is.
I’ve talked before about how the Big Noise changes how I encounter the world, and how it echoes even in the moments that should exist as unalloyed sweetness. That remains true, although I note that there would have been a pretty good chance that one or both of them might have left by now anyway — Dad would have been 74, Mom 73, and neither had been pictures of health. Sometimes that makes things… not better, but easier to accept that they’re gone. Other times, it makes it worse, as I think stealing a relatively small remainder of life has its own cruelty: “There would have been a time for such a word.” It didn’t have to be hurried into being.
And over the past year, I’ve had so many times as I’ve struggled with different thoughts and feelings when I’ve really wished I could have spoken to them. They had different kinds of wisdom, but I could have used either or both. And there are so many moments, with the Spawn, and Mrs. M, and in my Pinocchio moments as a writer, when I want to say, “See? We did okay. I do these things, and some folks seem to like them, and [Spawn] is smart and beautiful, and well, I got at least some of it right so far. You got it right.” I hope they knew that, even at those final moments when everything must have seemed so horribly wrong and failed to them. I want to tell them the failure lay elsewhere, that what they did brought good, and that’s what they deserved to remember as they were thrust from this life.
I suppose one day I may get to do that. There will be time enough for such a word. Until then, we maneuver through the Big Noise as best we can.