Fear

I thought I knew what it was.
I mean, what it really was.
Looking back, I see that I was a fool and that I had very little understanding of the true meaning of the word.
I was a fool to think that the pounding in my chest and the wide-eyed, deer-in-head-lights look equaled fear.
I thought that the whole numb feeling in my limbs was a sign that I was truly afraid.
Afraid, for instance, to be alone in the dark, afraid of what it meant to have a step-parent, afraid of a sub-standard test grade and what consequences were in store when I would come home from school, afraid of being found out.
At the time, it seemed legitimate.
Now I know better.

Something I read brought the visuals back to me.
Reminded me of my fear of losing him - losing either one of them.
It once was a distant thought. Just out of my reach. Something I never thought I'd have to face.
But the fact that one day, he came so close to being gone, rocks me to my core.
The words I read - words belonging to someone else - brought back the images I thought I had somehow managed to forget.
How naive and egotistical of me to think that?
How could I possibly forget?

How could I, his mother, forget that I turned my back, or that I was that stupid, that I would take such a chance with something so precious?

Why on Earth would I think, for a second, that I would be able to block out of my mind the look on his face - the fear and desperation in his eyes?
Or worse yet - what he was probably thinking, during those water-filled moments.
Things like Why is it taking so long? When will she notice that I am submerged and come over and get me?
I imagine that those moments must have felt like an eternity to him.

Is that part of our mother-son bond now?
The fact that we both now know what fear really means?
If so, it is not a glowing testament on my part, as a mother.

I wonder if that is the day my creativity, my words, got left at the side of the pool?
Because looking back, I haven't been the same since that day.
I even feel silly saying that, because I - we - were blessed with a happy ending.
But the guilt, the images, the fear just won't go away.

Writing about this makes me feel guilty.
Self-absorbed
and even throw in a dash of
self-pity.

I feel like writing it out like this, makes it sound as if it is all about me, how I feel, how I can't shake the images that repeat themselves in my mind's eye. How terrified they make me feel. Even now that it has been almost 8 months ago...It's a vicious mental cycle I am in.
Shouldn't it be about him?

I guess I just want him to know I'm better than that horrific moment in our history.
I guess I just want to know I'm better than that horrific moment in our history.

Sad State of Affairs

It has been one month since I have posted anything.
One.Whole.Month.

And that's just posting.
Nevermind reading.
Reading a post?
What in blue blazes could that be?

I feel like I am letting you all down.
Like I have you on a yo-yo.
Such was not my intention.

But dial-up with a 22K connection?
Uh, fecking sucks. yes, I said fecking.
Reading with same said connection?
BRUTAL.

To be honest, I cannot even remember when the last time I signed on the computer here at home.
And this just touches on the computer issue.
Which is the major issue.
I mean, MAJOR.

I miss you all.
I do.
You too Phenom.
I got your email.
I'm here.
I'm alive and well.
I just cannot stomach the internet with a connection that moves slower than molasses in Canada in January.

I'm thinking of you all.
Missing you all.
And feeling much like a cavewoman.