I want to tennis-ball-spike vulnerability away from me. Its tentacles are massaging my neck all creepy-like, and no matter where I go—to social media, to take Bunny’s cloth igloo hideaway out of the dryer, to tuck in Evelyn—it follows. It’s not quite tripping me yet, but its pitter-pattering little feet are never more than six feet away.
I watched a video of a young father in the final days of terminal cancer. He and his 9-year-old daughter, his 4-year-old son, and his wife are savoring time—enjoying Airbnb adventures and good meals. I listened to a recording he made for his daughter on her wedding day. I thought of Dave. And I imagined the devastation if that were us.
Dave’s scared of death. He was, anyway. I hope that if anything happened, I could help alleviate that fear. Dang. What am I doing? Why am I indulging these worst-case scenarios anyway?
Perhaps sitting for a few heartbeats with this vulnerability isn’t such a bad thing. Maybe—just maybe—it is like a fine wine or tom kha soup, and allowing it to pool on my tongue and savor it is an ok thing to do. Maybe inspecting the spiderweb-thin barrier between my current reality and a nightmare one allows me to better appreciate the life I’m actually in. The one I’m currently in—these are the good ol’ days. The fondest of the fond. And I know that because I can balance on the edge of unraveling and darkness.
Here for it all is a trip to the library to see Ms. Lita check out Evelyn’s towering stack of 15 children’s books. It’s watching Evelyn write backwards 5s and 2s. It’s feeling the bass of her feet pounding across the floor as she snuggles up next to me on the couch and whispers, “I’m scared”—and I get to be the one to soothe her back to bed and reassure her that Dad will be home soon. It’s so many, many things.
And I’m here for it all. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 