So now that the sun is shining and the cloud of grey seems to have lifted from its permanent place over the UK, I find myself feeling a little melancholy. How strange to long for sunshine and then be a little surprised when it shows up. It was a hard week for us. One of my husband's friends from high school was killed in a plane crash - the one that went down in Buffalo - and he's been taking it, well, exactly as one expects to take it. Hard. You reconsider your life when faced with death. Am I doing what I should be doing? Am I living up to my potential? What is my potential? Should I have done (insert list of potential life choices) instead of (insert list of life choices actually made) and would it have made a difference? Hard to say on all counts. In the same week, I found out that one of my high school classmates died. The paranoid superstition within me says, "ohhhhh crap, bad things come in threes, please let it be over...." but it doesn't feel like that. When I think about it, it feels nothing. Numb. I was not close with either of these people who died, but when I contemplate their seemingly senseless deaths at incredibly young ages, it makes me want to get on a plane and fly home and see my grandmother and my aunts and uncles and cousins and even my crazy parents and my reclusive brother. It makes me want to call everyone I've lost touch with, just to make sure they're okay. One of my high school boyfriends turned up in a dream the other night - he hasn't spoken to me in ten years, but there he was, in my subconscious, and I awoke with this panic. It's irrational, I know it is. And my sweet husband petted my arm and told me to go back to sleep, because that's just how great he is, but I confess I'm still going through that mental list of, "wow, I haven't spoken to them in forEVER, I wonder how they're doing." Facebook is the devil and only enables this kind of morbid curiosity, so I'm trying to keep it to a minimum.
It's not the same for my husband. He had a relationship with his friend who died, he had personal memories and photos and a friendship to think about. I have these snippets from high school, passing conversations, vague remembrances, and a generally warm feeling about the person who has died, a well of sadness for his family, and this little voice in my head that says, "why on earth are you gallivanting around the planet doing this silly opera business instead of sitting at home with your family?"
Separation is an ongoing theme for me. Meeting new people, living with strangers, coming home to my husband and the dog and my friends in Boston. Packing, repacking, unpacking. Wash, rinse, repeat. And along the way, some things do get left behind. But how do we choose what to take with us as we go forward? How do we sift through the everyday and the pedantic and the frivolous and hold on to the dear and precious?
Call your parents. Better yet, call mine, will you? They're crazy, but I'll keep them just the same.
