He walks in, following an evening out with friends, dark circles under his eyes again. "I'm going over to dad's house tomorrow morning.".."mm-hmm, okay."...His father has made the doctor's appointment for him, something unusual since I usually do that but this time, have dropped the ball. We talk briefly. "You sound very distraught." he says. I laugh. Hollow, attempting cheer, closing the book and laying it to the side. "Could you turn on the fan for me?" I ask, lazy, sitting up to pet the cat.
It was a beautiful afternoon. None better. Lunch with mother and Dylan and Nat and Chuck and baby Flynn on my lap (Elliot, figgie). Followed by talk and tea in the living room, with feet up and a breeze blowing through the windows and figgie fussy and feeding *sigh*.
Nat and Chuck looked exhausted. You guys can go and I'll watch Flynn. "No, we have to go over to his (Chuck's) dad's house after this.".."Oh.(pause). well, you look exhausted, do you want to go back and lay down on my bed and take a nap?"..Chuck jumped at the chance, "No, we'll just use the guest bedroom, it has a t.v., we'll watch the Royal Tennenbaums and sleep." And so while they retreated to the 'guest' room,mother and I sat in the living room and visited, the little fig in my lap. Adorable. Sleeping.
Mother planned on leaving at two and was nearly out the door and to her car at that time. We had put the fig down on the king bed in the master bedroom. Plenty of room to not roll around. After saying goodbyes and tidying up the kitchen and sweeping off the patio, I retreated to the bedroom too and sat down, book in hand and was completely distracted by the smallest installment to our big, extended, multi-faceted family (uncles, aunts, cousins, step-cousins, step-grandparents, parents, great-grandparents, etc.).
He lay on one side, facing away from me. Star the cat was at my feet, insolently jealous and alternately indifferent. RonP, the white cat, was hovering, silent, under the bed.
Carefully, I turned figgie over, to face me. His little hands came up to his mouth. His long fingers brushed over his nose. He made the various sighs and sucking movements which newborns make in their sleep. His eyes fluttered, moving beneath closed lids. And rarely, there, the angel's grin, and dimples and a cleft in his chin. So perfect.
After the naps there was slow wakefulness followed by departure. And then, everyone was gone and things were quiet and no one was here to fill my time with talk and laughter and, well, just prescence. It was there and then, not immediately, but not long after that the ghosts from the past, the unanswered questions reared up, dark and horrible, demanding answers. But there are, it seems, no answers. It is not the same for everyone, but perhaps we each have our own gesthemane, that place of suffering through prayer where no one else can go.