OYM Day 21: She’s Listening
I have 32 minutes left in the day and I’m making it. I wanted to write in the mornings, but it doesn’t always work out. And sometimes, the nighttime brings out thoughts that don’t come as easily with a new sun shining down upon them. I’m human, so I love me some sleep. But I also know it’s as close to death as I can get without being ill. So when I lay down in bed every night, I’m sometimes hyper aware, and can reflect on my day with a different perspective.
So here it is.
He emailed me. Just 2 short days ago I wrote about my relationship with my father. I wrote about the last time I talked to him, almost 5 years ago, and drudged up memories that I’ve worked hard to put in a soft wooden box, in the back of my head, with memories of camping trips, drive-in movies, and abandonment. It made me realize that we are never over our traumas…we just learn to cope. To grow. To move on. I typically choose to forget. I cut things off like dead limbs in order to save the rest of myself. It usually works until it doesn’t.
Ever since I started this 100 day writing challenge, strange things have happened. Some of the strangeness is rightfully so. I’m sharing deeply honest stories of my life and the people who’ve come in and out of it. I’m sharing these things on the internet. I’m asking for feedback. And when you put yourself out into the void like that, you find the void is not a void at all. It’s a living, breathing, mess of a woman. And she’s been listening this whole time. The difference is now, she’s knows you’re looking for her. And she does not like to disappoint.
The subject line read “from dad”, which is such a dad thing to do, isn’t it? (Side note, but does your computer autocorrect dad with sad like mine does? This just happened and it was so tragic it made my laugh out loud.)
He asked how I was and asked if I’ve been well during the pandemic. He tells me he’s been fine, but his hours have been cut back at work. He tells me he got my Christmas card (it’s May). He tells me about his wife. He tells me he’s turning another year older soon, like I’ve forgotten his birthday. He writes so calmly and plainly. I skim the email quickly for words like “your mother” or “I tried” or “ungrateful”, or maybe “I’m sorry”, but I saw none of them.
I was positive the reason he was emailing me was because he saw my post from 2 days ago. I knew it must have gotten back to him through the interweavings of the internet. But I know my father…even if I haven’t seen him in years. He would be furious if he read it. He wouldn’t email me without mentioning it. He would defend himself and his actions to the grave. He likely will.
So, why? Why is he emailing me now? About such minute details of his life? Telling me he got a new car? That his wife was hospitalized for a week last year for a condition I will not look up because it doesn’t deserve my sympathy? I can’t answer my own questions, but I do know one thing:
She’s listening. The vastness of that thing I look up at every night. The thick pool of quiet that squeezes out the ability to exist and breathe. The one with the shining pinholes and weight that makes you feel as if you’re at the bottom of a bottomless ocean. That one. She’s listening.
The second you really start listening to yourself. The second you start digging, looking… she’ll see you. And she’ll let you know she does. It’s not a coincidence.
Coincidence is just a nice word to help you avoid looking at a situation more closely.
The last 20 days have not made sense to me. Whatever drove me to start this in the first place still doesn’t make sense to me. But she’s listening… and she’s telling me I’m on the right path. And it’s pulling people and feelings and conflict and love for myself into my orbit. Fast and haphazardly. And I can’t stop it it now.
What do you think? Did he read what I wrote 2 days ago or is it just the Universe doing what she does best?
