Sunday 21 May 2000

Pic of the day: Sometimes the river seems so still, so shallow, so peaceful that you think you could cross it right there, and arrive at the other side unharmed. But I haven't seen anybody do it.

A too bright day

Another beautiful sunny Sunday. I relaxed, played games, cooked dinner, the usual stuff. It is nice to not need to go to work. Wrote a small essay. Fell asleep in front of my computer late in the afternoon. Woke from the phone. It was Sidsel, the wife of my brother who still lives back home on the farm. "You know I only call when your mother is ill" she started. Which is a pretty accurate description of our communications.

My mother had a bleeding in the brain and had been hospitalized today. At this point in time, the prevalent symptom seems to have been aphasia, loss of speech. The further development remains to be seen.

***

Now, in all honesty, my mother is in her late seventies. She has had diabetes since my childhood and cancer since my teens. That she's still alive as of this writing seems to me a miracle of biblical proportions. (And yes, I do pray for her and my earthly father pretty regularly, though I don't do anything else for them at all.) To say it as it was, I more or less considered my mother dead two decades ago. Eventually I stopped being surprised when she survived another calamity. Happy, yes, thankful, yes, but not surprised. Today, I don't know what to say.

I haven't seen my mother in several years. Somewhere between five and ten, I guess. I had - and have - no clue as to whether I'm going to see her again in this life. I was the youngest of us kids, and I moved out when I was 15. I visited the farm each summer during all my study years, that is to say, my teens. I have visited a few times later too, but less and less frequently. After my brother and his wife took over the house, I have barely set my feet there. This is not because I dislike my brother or his wife, who are both glorious people. I know my brother to be superior to me in almost every way: Physically, mentally and morally. I don't know his wife that well, but she seems a good human. (Great sense of humor, which may come in handy sometimes. Perhaps now.) But the place is theirs now, and their kids. I am a stranger now and forever more. This is the way of life.

My father has visited me a couple times in these 25 years, as have at least two of my brothers, if only briefly. When they were passing through anyway. As you see, it's not like anybody has been missing me. I doubt they do so today, either, which is a good thing. Running around missing people who have their own life is bad for your health. Even so, I appreciate them calling. I like to know approximately what goes on. It's not like they have a daily online diary I can read, or something. :)

Sidsel asked how things were going here. I said fine. Just fine. I was just awakened and my heart was hammering from the sudden transition from sleep to this message. Just fine. I wasn't lying. Very few things are not just fine compared to bleeding in the brain. Compared to losing your words when you are a genius, a thinker, a poet ... and a parent.

Thank you, I'm just fine.