These are the things they never tell you about adulthood. Like, how terrifying the mundane details are when it comes to your parents.
I have a recurring dream, one of the hypothetical sort. How much are last minute airfares? How much do funerals cost? What kind of speech is appropriate at a wake? What happens to the parent who's left behind -- how long do they have? Do they have to move in with me?
It becomes harder to ignore, these thoughts that gather dust in the empty spaces. It's much easier to complain, to want: a higher salary, more travel time, more friends. It's easier to get frenzied about things that don't mean much, things that are superficially changeable. Look for a new job, book a vacation, go to a bar. Those are things that I know how to do, and by comparison, they're inconsequential.
Witnessing the slow descent of Mom and Dad into the twilight of their years? That's consequential. Cells deteriorate, systems break down and voices falter. My heart cracks from a million memories each time I see them, to see the faltering logic and shortening of breaths and the fear --- their fears of the gray unknown translated into the familiar old paradigms of lectures and complaints.
I try not to think about it. It's these moments that words revel in their power. The kind of words that my brain conjure leads to more words, like honey flowing over a comb, they drip and give form to unspeakable truths that I'm not fully grown to face.
The spaces between
It becomes harder to ignore, these thoughts that gather dust in the empty spaces. It's much easier to complain, to want: a higher salary, more travel time, more friends.
