Trouble sleeping tonight. Always trouble sleeping.
On my headboard I have two photos of G taped there that I have been staring at for awhile.
One is of him on the swings. His last week here, I would spend hours with him at the playground. We’d watch the stars come up. I’d point them out to him and he would stare at them in amazement. All the while I pushed him back and forth on the swing. We’d stay until his bed time, sometimes after. The stars would truly shine in his eyes as he looked on as I pointed out the different constellations in the sky, and whether he truly understood me at all, it only mattered that he was smiling… and that made me smile.
The other picture of G is of him running, playing. His hair was a bit longer, but you still could see the smile he had, even with the sun at his back, embracing him. He ran as if of some vital importance, but his only goal was to come give me a hug. I miss that the most. It was always the first thing he did in the morning when he first woke up, and before he went to bed. And so we played, hugged and ran in the sun. The sun was warm, inviting and felt so good.
But we are celebrating something that is gone. Light from the sun takes eight minutes to reach us. If the sun was to suddenly turn off, we wouldn’t know for eight minutes. For eight minutes, we would continue to run… laugh… smile… play. Not knowing that darkness was ahead.
For eight weeks last fall, I laughed, smiled and played not knowing how dark things would become.
Sixteen years ago, I buried my father. I remember when I was young, he would take my brother and me to the museums. Every Sunday rain or shine. Our usual destinations were the Museums of Science & Industry and the Planetarium. This probably explains my lifelong curiosity for learning, passion for the sciences and finding solace under the stars. I used to excel at the honors science and math courses in school, but to his dismay never followed up in a field relating to it… I think when he left; I lost my inspiration for things that reminded me of him.
This time last year, I was planning several large projects. Things that would free me in a way to balance work, family and love. I never had the chance to see it happen, as eight weeks went by and they said goodbye.
A couple of the projects I still launched nonetheless. Something to keep me busy… keep my mind busy. Perhaps just something to do. But it’s so hard to work at something when the original intention isn’t there anymore.
What’s the purpose of it then?
I’ve struggled with this the hardest for the past few weeks. Maybe I’m waiting for my eight minutes to be up before my light goes out. Maybe I’m waiting for the stars to come out and remind me that sometimes it takes more than eight minutes to reach us.