Wednesday, January 26, 2011

January 26

     I am no longer invisible.  I am so far from where I thought I would be, my journey so derailed, my head spins.  Somehow, I know, I will get there, get back on track.  But I certainly have had the air knocked out of me.  Sometimes I can't even breathe; no time for a break or chance of feeling centered.  I haven't spoken to Him in weeks.  I just hope he gets it back together.  And somehow, back in contact with his kids, my kids.  As for me, I made it clear weeks ago He may never come back to this house. I just need Him well so I can get out. Move on.  I don't want to be angry,  it's just not me.  I just don't want any of it ever again .  But I don't want my kids hurt any more.  His second night in the hospital he calls and asks me to come.  I race across town, sign in, call up, and am put on hold for 15 minutes.  The nurse finally comes back on the phone and says He's changed his mind, I can't come up, he doesn't want to see me.  "But he called me and asked me to come," I begin to cry.  "It's His call, and He doesn't want to see you." Click.  I leave the lobby sobbing. He's so mean and I am exhausted.  I sit on a short stone wall outside the hospital to call a doctor friend of mine to tell her what's happening, and I light a cigarette.  A homeless-looking man comes up and asks for a smoke; generally I do give money when asked by obviously needy people on the street.  However, on this particular night, sobbing in the freezing cold outside the fucking hospital, trying to explain what happened to my friend, I was just too cold and distracted to dig through my purse to find the man a cigarette, so I shook my head no.  "What was that noise?"  my friend screams into the phone.  To my shock, the man had assaulted me with a handful of pennies for refusing his cigarette request. And there, on that wall talking to my friend, as pennies are thrown at me by a homeless man, we really started laughing ...  when it rains it pours -- and sometimes it pours pennies.  What defines us is how well we rise after falling.  At least that is what I keep telling my daughter, although right now, it's really a hard one to sell... 

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