This is a moment I need to stop collecting my troubles like rocks I've gathered in my pockets. I need to release them so I'm coming here. Listen if you want.
Alhumdulillah, I'm fine. I am. Alhumdulillah.
There's a naughty boy (but not my little naughty boy). He's only mine for a few hours a day. I couldn't believe how he'd forget things he was supposed to bring to school. He wasn't prepared. I thought of how his mother could have taken better care of his needs. I judged. I made up a story of busy mornings and rushing out the door. I was wrong.
His mother is dying of cancer. He doesn't know. I know...now. I was wrong. I was in this wonderful position of helping and I don't know if all these weeks that I truly was helping him. I don't know if I was hurting him with prodding him and pushing him. It hurts me to think that I had a chance to be a light in his life and I was dim.
I didn't know.
Now I know. Now that I know better, I have to do better.
I called my own mother and I heard her concerns for her health from a million miles away. I'm not there. I'm not the person who can hold her together. No one is there for her. I tried to be that person before and I failed. I was hopeful so many times. I hear her fragility and her clinging to people she barely knows. I'm her only family yet I'm not able to be with her and she refuses to be with me.
And I think of my dreams of a family which somehow finds it's way to me, to Egypt and to Islam. I think and pray for a time of unity which I've never had. I think of my own aging. Who will be with me?
I pray for the life of the one child in my grasp. I pray for his safety. I was asleep when I got the phone call from his father. He is, for the first time since 2002, in Egypt with me---except we're married to different people and we're at odds.
He wants to take my son for a short trip right over the anniversary of the Egyptian Revolution. I can't reason with him----not half-asleep; not ever. He will not be reasoned with. He is relentless. His son is much the same.
Yet, he's MY son. He wears size 2 1/2 shoes not size 5. Those mammoth tennis shoes were sent to Egypt for a child that isn't here. He is the child many years in the future inshahallah. Why doesn't his father know the child he is now? Because that father made the choice to leave us and move backwards. Now he's gone so far backwards that he's back in Egypt with me.
It's a kind of crazy full circle; a heavy sphere of time, space, love and loss.
My current husband did everything he could to arrange the pick-up of the stuffed suitcase I
How did they get here? Rationally, I understand but I'm still a bit startled to see them out of place in this new setting.
How did The Bee Man of Orn make it on a plane? The Wild Things---did they swing over to Al-Haram on a vine? Could Little Bear have rocketed to Giza in his space helmet? There are so many books which were my friends and they came to be with me through some magic means.
When I see them...when I see the Fisher-Price Movie Viewer with Disney's Lonesome Ghosts...when I see the wooden bead necklace Mr. Boo made me the summer of 2011...it jumbles up my soul. It makes me yearn for the past and simple pleasures. It has me tearing up at this tender childhood I wanted and didn't have. It has me remembering how dear inantimate objects were to a lonely only.
It's time for me to sleep. I've cast away what I can tonight. I don't need to weigh myself down with what isn't mine. Sadness, worry, and fear could drown me if I let it. I won't let it. I will remain bouyant and find a way to float with the flow.