Thursday, June 2, 2016
Somehow it made me remember the feeling when hitchhiking across the country -- standing on some straight-away in Wyoming or Nevada or Colorado or some place and seeing a tractor-trailer approach. The truck was visible, going 60, 70, 80 miles per hour or whatever. I never expected them to stop: It took some doing to get up to cruising speed and stopping for a hitchhiker was a move in the wrong direction. Generally, I just waited for the tractor-trailers to pass. Big and bulky and powerful and visible and, in the close-up-and-personal, surrounded by an invisible bubble of air. The trucks pushed the air in the front, disturbed the air to its sides and, once past, left a wake of emptiness. Whoosh ... gone ... silent ... no movement ... nothing left.
Circumstances gathered up my son this morning and I feel left in some silent wake. It does not occur to me to think that I too have been gathered up by circumstances: I am too busy with a small sense of loss and of missing my son. Perhaps one day I will become an adult, but today is not that day.