Alone

I am staggered at how easy it is to feel all alone in this world. I have developed a new network of friends. I have deepened old friendships. I am close to my extended family. I live inner-city. I am on social media. And despite all this there are days when I wonder if I still know anybody.

Those days are more common just after I have parted ways with my two boys. Yesterday was one of them. After a solid week of being with them over the school holidays, the contrast yesterday was tangible. I spent the day not wanting to be with anybody, or talk with anybody. My introvert needed some attention.

I think I am ready to be with people again today. Ready to remember that I am not alone.

Creation of memories

Today I will be creating some significant memories for my sons. Of course every day I am creating memories for them, but today will probably stick in their minds during their life.

I thank my dad for reminding me of this. We haven't actually talked about some of the memories the he has left me with, mostly great, some challenging. But having dinner with him last night he reminded me about what I have the ability to leave my boys with at significant moments in their lives.

So as much as I would love a moment like this to be about me and letting them know how I feel, I put that aside and focus on them, and how they feel, and what legacy I am leaving within them.

Memories washed away

I open the dishwasher as the kids are eating breakfast. We had people over for dinner the night before, and it is filled with dishes that are now clean. I start to unpack, first the bowls, and then the plates.

I pick up one of the plates and notice that it is a different shape to the others. I look at it, and a moment of familiarity rushes back to me. I have pulled this plate out of the dishwasher before. I have had this feeling of confusion and dread before. This plate was not always blank.

My son had once drawn a picture on this plate. Twice now. And twice it has been efficiently washed off by the dishwasher. It was the plate he drew on as one of the last things he did at kindergarten. Both times he drew a picture of all four members of his family, who now live across two houses.

I am devastated. The first time it was me that put the plate in the dishwasher. The second it was a well-meaning guest who somehow used the plate and put it into the dishwasher without me being aware.

I am devastated because today is mother's day, and day of remembering the family. I am devastated because the plate represented a memory my son has of a family together, a picture he said he would like us to put on the wall when we are all living together again.

I shed some tears, and wonder whether to tell him about it. I decided that it is better that he knows. Even if he is deeply disappointed, it is a good thing for him to feel, and I can apologise for my carelessness. 

I tell him. He seems to only vaguely remember it, and to care that it is gone even less.

I wonder then about losing that picture, and why it affected my so much and him so little. Perhaps it is because he is able to feel what he feels in the moment, and then move on to deal with the next moment without nostalgia. I seem to be still processing my grief, and my son's picture a trigger for nostalgia and a reminder of what is lost.

The wisdom of a few extra years.

While I have been going through a tough time recently, I seem to have gained an ability to see in older men the wisdom they have developed in living the years they have lived.

It is subtle, and I can't put my finger on what it is exactly. It is not what they say, but the humility and sensitivity with which they say it. You can tell that they have compassion, that they have faced some of their demons and lived to tell the tale.

Not all older me are like this. I am greatly encouraged by those who are, and luckily I count my dad as one of them.