got the time

this time of year is always busy for me, what with work and all. i took on an additional responsibility at work, helping plan the year end party (which we have at the end of january, since that's when the busiest time of the year is over, when you work with taxes and W2s, at least.)

anyway, after i typed my last post i got in the car and drove to wal-mart. en route, i called dan to let him know i'd be late. while on the phone, i got to witness a three-car accident. no one was hurt (except for a goose-egg on the offending driver, and a 10-year-old scared witless), although the cars involved were no doubt totaled.

the whole moment was so surreal--i can remember the first thought i had, after one car mangled another: "i've never seen an airbag go off before." metal crumpled like paper; cars swerved and brakes squealed. i stopped and gave my phone number to police, in case they would need a witness, and then went to wal-mart, and then went home.

it's odd when you see how fortunate you truly are. usually at intersections, when i need to make a left turn, i pull out far enough so that if the light turns red, i can still squeak through. the only reason that my car was not the folded bits of steel that the others were is because i was slow to react, and chatting with dan. a few more feet forward and it would have been my car, my body.

there have been many times in my life where i wanted to end it--it being my life--myself. by whatever means came to mind--i find i cannot type it here. there have been times that i have been so sick that i thought, "perhaps i am dying, right now." and i know that each step i take is another towards the inevitable, that i have only a certain amount of time allotted to this conglomeration of cells i call "me."

perhaps that accident was a reminder, in a strange way. a reminder that it is not entirely up to me--it is in the hands of the fates, of chance, of serendipity.

***

yesterday i had lunch with my sister; then we shopped and had dinner at her house, prepared by her husband. this morning i remember the topic of conversation, the one that shook me the most, at least, was my dad.

when i was a kid my dad had stock phrases that he kept in the wings. things like: "stop crying, or i'll give you something to cry about." or "if you had a brain cell, you'd be dangerous." for many years he's been much better--he doesn't stress out about everything, and he's much more open with his feelings.

lately, though, since he's been retired, he's been leaning back to being a powder keg again.

when my sister was talking about his behavior during their last visit, i realized that i was clamming up, inside. we talked a bit about how dad's attitude affected us when we were young, and about how we wished that he would see a therapist now. there's a lot on his mind; i know, because i think like my dad. he's probably worried about retirement, finances and his uncle paul, who just had a stroke; paul's the last of his generation, on my dad's side. dad's concerned with his brother, jed, who's in a care facility in palm springs, ca, after his own massive series of strokes. there's the entire country of vietnam, with all its memories, sitting in his head too. dad gets consumed by worry.

i've had a hard time coming to terms with the fear that i felt, when i was a kid. it was not the imminent threat of physical harm. it was the feeling of uncertainty around my father. i love my dad dearly, and he's a very, very good man. but his temper has always been shaky. i think of zeus, tossing lightning bolts around heaven, and i think of my father.

***

it has snowed, since my last post. and it's snowing this morning too, myriad white flakes drifting down.

i think of metal wrinkled like bedsheets. i think of that stab of fear i had, sitting in my sister's basement, hearing about my father's temper. i think about how they say you marry your father, or mother, whatever. i know that for many years our relationship, dan's and mine, was that same type--mental and emotional mines, planted below the surface, just waiting to be touched. lots of them were not even planted by us; they were planted by our parents, unknowingly.

i think about how much change has gone on, in the last few years: difficult, more difficult, most difficult. i think of the father and son, standing next to their rumpled cars; the son has pulled on a gray sweatshirt, stained with dark spots of cola. i hear the father say, we are safe.

i dislike comparing life to that car wreck, but in truth, it often seems that way. you survive the car wreck, or whatever disaster is on the menu, and then you take that moment and you file it away and you move forward. that father and son took something different away from that accident than i did, sitting in the periphery.

can i honestly say i am glad to have seen it? nope. can i say that i'm glad that my dad's got a bad temper? not really. can i say that i am happy about the way the last few years tossed me around, a fish between sharks? not especially.

can i say that i am glad to be here? today, yes. today i know dan will wake up and we will smile together, and he won't be afraid to share his emotions, doled out like small precious bits of treasure. or perhaps that is how i feel--that i can share my self with him again, and in that sharing, there is a strength that would not be here, had i not experienced what i have.

i haven't got all the time in the world; and yet i do.