Life has been off since G. was admitted to the hospital. Plans have been thrown up into the air and every action has been based on the next test, the next surgery, etc. But amidst all this strange uncertainty, I’ve caught glimpses of solitude.
Most parents of young children know the ever-presence of their son or daughter. Since Baby A was born I can count the amount of times that I have been separated from him. As I was making my dinner tonight at my mom and G.’s home (awaiting word from the hospital and caring for their dog), it hit me. I’m alone. It is one of those rare occassions where I am by myself.
In adverently, I’m almost living a scene out of the book “Three Junes” by Julia Glass. One of the characters gets a hotel room on a regular basis so that she can be alone and read a book. Basically, she steals away from her children, her responsibilities and her spouse. While I’m sitting at this computer in my mom’s den, I miss my child, my husband and my kitties. I still have my responsilibities. But for a fleeting moment tonight, I felt that G.’s illness had stolen me away to a place where I could do anything I wanted without interruption of responsibility or courtesy or attention.
Maybe I’ll go read.