It's 5:17 a.m.
(Picture shown below is an authentic morning shot taken by me, but sadly not of the morning in question...I simply just love this photograph...the summer moon and me)
It’s 5:17 a.m.
There’s a strong wind pressing against our very sturdy, brick house. I have rolled over and I am lying
close to my husband because for the past few nights, I have been awake early and when this happens, I often spend that time reading passages of news on the internet, getting a leg up on work, shopping and the like. I am also lying close to him, not out of distress, but rather to mentally and physically embrace him. My thoughts are of how much I am truly his family now and how I desire him to know that I am also on his side, and that I have him, as much as he has me. I need him to know that he’s safe with me. That I will also protect him and continue to be that person to whom he may also come when he needs to recharge or seeks refuge. I’ve spent a decent portion of the morning performing an internal reassessment and he was high up on my list.
My thoughts then turn towards my four adult children in the states and I wonder how they are at this moment. They have been uncustomarily quiet as of late, and this, more and more. I am always concerned about their whereabouts and most all, their health and safety. A while back, I began to recognize the adult “drift”. This, I have also executed to the extreme, as I live seven hours ahead of my parents and my children, and my life schedule runs quite differently from their life schedule. I have huge gaps in communication with my parents now, for a myriad of reasons. I don’t force anything, but acknowledge what has occurred as it has organically occurred, and will consider what to do with this information, when it feels as if I should do something. Ever since I first moved from my home country in late July of 2019, to where I am now, this has been an interesting, new and peaceful way of looking at situations that can or could potentially become conflict or feel like conflict for me. My mother is a relatively prolific group texter, which is good. It is one way that I may keep my fingers on the pulse of my parent’s house. It’s how I may generally assess my parent’s safety between long phone calling intervals.
When I speak to my children, it is a cathartic moment usually for myself and the child involved each time, as now conversations are exceptionally meaningful due to distance, our ages and the content of the conversation. These conversations tend to last for hours, but are never exhausting or mundane.
The wind continues to blow, and I think about closing our storm window downstairs, as our two very beautiful ragdoll cats will be potentially concerned about the sound from outside and what this means for their safety. They always seem thankful when one of us appears and rescues them from whatever impending fate they believe is bearing down upon them. Everything is out to get them, is their story. I consider all of this as I let my mind wander around what it means to be safe…
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