Silence

Odilon Redon - Le Silence

I've been walking around in a daze, it seems like, for days.

Days of daze.

After my post with all the free f words, I felt sort of bad. I wondered if my father had read it and whether he hated it. I wondered whether the lady who is going to interview me next week for a job read it and if so,
whether she thought I was not the sort for the job. I wondered whether I had gotten too upset about the insurance company not having any sense of urgency but doing what I think is systematic obfuscation. I wondered whether I have just had enough of all this and my tolerance has completely disappeared.

A well-meaning friend mentioned another friend whose daughter is on the autism spectrum. That child is hard, my friend said about the other friend's daughter. I mean, I know Sophie is hard, it's all hard, but at least she can't move around a lot. Then she mentioned that our friend, the mother of the child, always has a smile on her face. Now, I've spoken to this woman many times because she's dear to me, and she doesn't always have a smile in her voice. She has lots of despair and many tears -- perhaps less and fewer than I, though, so that comment stuck to me pretty much all day.

She always has a smile on her face.

I know my readers and I know that many of you are jumping to my defense right about now. I didn't spend much time chastising myself for not having a smile on my face very often, especially of late. I thought about the toll caring for Sophie has taken on me. I'm not sure when the tipping really happened -- perhaps around year ten? That other child is not eight years old, yet, so technically Sophie is twice her age. That's twice as many years of dealing. The smile, I admit, is rarer. I'm not sure why I feel pressure, the tiniest bit, I guess to be

stronger
more cheerful
less complaining
more tolerant
more accepting

but I do.

Days of daze. A daze of days.

Daze means both to stupefy (verb) and to be blinded by light.