There is a stronger hum to the heater now. The brew of the coffee pot is the only other sound heard. Billy Sue has done her business and is gratefully back in bed. Caught up on my sleep I begin to replay the week, the conversations, the reactions.
He is struggling. There is the requisite pause before Hello, a trademark of his. I smile when I think of all his trademarks, all those quirky little rituals that make him who he is. He tells me what he's done and what may have happened, and I try to listen without emotion but there is a certain sadness here. Nothing I can pinpoint, just something weighs heavy or maybe so many things together weigh him down. I assume the latter and simply encourage more talk with less words on my part. Listening, sometimes it can be hard so we don't want to do it. Yet we love so we do.
There is a melody in her speech and this is one of those rare times she actually calls me. She is in heaven, on a waterway, in luxury and you can hear it in her voice. It is so beautiful that somehow it has become a part of her being. She describes to me the last twenty-four hours. The books she has read, the food she has eaten, what it means just to let go. And I think of Slater and Isaac taking that road trip to the ocean, watching them back down the drive, those smiles on their faces, what that meant to them and how it translated as part of my being. Two road trips at once because of the love we share.
Love can be hard I think. So unselfish it becomes about the self. We feel those we love. Their joy is shared, their sadness endured. We lose ourselves, at times, in those around us. Then we may wonder where we are. And what about them? If they ever found out how much they affected us would they not be honest about the sadness for their love of us. How much pressure that would be to lie to even those you love. When would you tell the truth?
I guess the truth always needs to be told and lies of omission are lies nonetheless. Maybe it is the love, that weird, connecting energy between humans, a four letter word, that forces the truth and provides a soft place to land in a potentially sharp dream. Maybe it is okay for those we love to be sad or sick or blocked sometimes. Our love can't fix. It can only be.