A thick air of uncertainty and seeping sadness clings to me. I realized just now that I have preferred to be in motion to keep it trailing out behind me, because when I settle down, particularly in the house (my parents' house, not even my own), away from the daylight, it seems to cloak me more.
I had preferred to be in motion, planned to be in motion--either down to North Carolina to visit my dying aunt, sharing, talking, pleading with her to be sure she is reconciled with God, this aunt who is now a widow, her husband's memorial service yesterday... Or up to our house, where the busy tasks of each day manage to partially drown out heavy things. The laundry looks the same whether Aunt Gwen is dying or not. But I am not in motion. My plans were halted. Halted, like Gwen and Raymond's plans.
My plans also did not include a nuclear holocaust of anger this afternoon. Trips for ice cream are supposed to be fun. But now my heart is charbroiled; I appreciate quick apologies but appreciate a tempered tongue even more. I think the weekend was emotionally trying enough for everyone already.
Now I'm waiting, waiting to find out whether Aunt Gwen can take visitors in the next day or two. Chances are I'll be coming back this way soon--visit or no visit, certainly for another memorial service.
Uncle Raymond's death is still a surprise to me. But mainly it just feels like he left. Aunt Gwen's death feels like the natural next thing, though I don't want it. Anyone that in love acts together with their spouse, right? But I hope her death just feels like her leaving. I don't know yet.
