Looking For You

At a recent visit to my gynecologist, I took a picture of my doctor with his face between my knees.

photoThe flash from my camera phone surprised him and he looked up like he had been caught doing something indecent. Without bothering to pull out the warm space just inches from his chin, he asked, “Did you just take a picture of me?” Yeah. “Why?” Well, it’s not really you I was taking a picture of. It’s this moment. What I’m doing here.

 What I was doing there was opening my eyes. I was looking through the open window of my fertility and leaning over to take in the shrinking view. I believe there’s a soul out there who’s meant to pass through me, but they’re still too far away for me to see them clearly. Maybe it’s because the sun is still too bright, or the dark is still too thick, or maybe because there are too many cars and trees and buildings and flying saucers on the horizon hiding the face I’m looking for.

I haven’t been on any MS treatment for over three years now and all my blood work and scans are great. I eat pretty well, I take a good multivitamin (when I remember), and I keep myself in good shape, considering. The last couple of times I was there on a regular visit my doctor asked me what I was waiting for. I had changed the subject to something funny, but I knew what he meant. I knew he knew that I knew what he meant. I just didn’t have an answer.

I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted the perfect context to fall into my lap and make right everything that had previously gone wrong. I wanted to ignore that there is no perfect and no right time. But there is a life, somewhere, calling for me. I’m sure of it.

Nothing about my situation is perfect. It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that practically everything has gone wrong (broken home, garbage husband, etc). Sometimes I imagine that I’m destined to become Auntie Mame, trailing a gang of little loves behind me as I jangle my noisy bracelets off to some crazy adventure. But other times I wake up in the middle of the night with a name on my lips that I dare not say out loud. My heart pounds with such a fear of wanting and hoping that I can’t even whisper it.

I only mouth it, and I wonder if it hears me.

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