The fingers of the hands

My daughter writes:

I miss my father very much and now I know, no matter how bad it gets, he will not come. It hurts a lot. But in a way it was a relief. I was wondering if things got bad would him come. If I’m this unhappy, will he come. If I’m THIS unhappy will he find a way to let me back into his body, like that. I don’t have to wonder any more. Yesterday was the closest I ever want to come to crazy bad.

Ah, it is painful. But I too learned the same. If ever one had told me that a child of his would be on the brink of disaster and he would not come, I would have thought them gravely mistaken. But so it is. The warrior queen, with her experience of death, counsels that he may not have known. But I am not certain.

It offends me a little to be out-psychopathed. But then Jeanne says whatever my path, it is not psychopathy. I wonder if homicidal maniac is a better term. In that I continue to excel.

A long time ago San and I foresaw that this type of break might occur. We agreed that if so we would meet on the anniversary of the break, at 6 months and at a year. This will be on the 28th. Now I see he will be in Mississippi and in any case, he was likely not coming. I think I may still keep vigil, on our game, at night. Vigils are not only for those for whom we light the candle. Ahren has said he will sit with me.

It all nearly breaks me. With Avalon more safely ashore I swim again. Did he love me? Did he merely love an illusion? Was I deceived? Does he hear me? If he is in need, what is to be done? If he is not, how can he be thus? If we had disagreed and I had not been pregnant, I would have answers.

It is annoying to be so swayed by small things in the journal of the woman of measures. But then, I would not be San’s once-perhaps-beloved if I did not look for him. It will be a long time, likely forever, before I cease.

I dream. Last night I dreamt of Ludicrous, over and over. In my dream people said things were ludicrous. It was Ludacris who was playing. I stood in the room and said this into the microphone: ludicrous, ludicrous, ludicrous.

Then I sang a song of love so true it was ludicrous, overcoming every injury and failure. And the man in the shadows said ludicrous. But he had watched.



About Jenn

Find me on Twitter @JennGruden
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