Life, actually

I wanted to write about how everything continues, even when my own life is focused intently on one room in one building with one person. I wanted to write about how, even in the midst of (the beginning of) what is surely the most difficult thing I've had to do to date, life doesn't stop. I must remember to eat and move and care for myself, to honor my commitments. I wanted to write about that. We each are the protagonists in our own stories, I wanted to write about that. I wanted to write about all of it, how life goes on even when it is circling one spot in a very tight orbit. I wanted to write about that.

But what I find myself needing to write about is this: This is life, actually. This tight orbit, this person, this building, this room. Life is not what happens out there, beyond my care and concern for my beloved, it is what happens in every breath. Mine. His. I don't know if all of this sounds trite and worn, if it does please forgive me, it's just that right now, it's all I know. That this is life, my life, in this moment.

What I need to remember is that every moment is what life is about. It's about watching him sleep. It's about honoring my commitments  and telling stories at gigs, even if I don't know if I can do it. It's about helping others find their story. It's about the tears, the laughter, the anger, the untasted food, the intrusive questions, about Every Single Moment.

Even the hard ones, the ones that feel as though the rest of the world should stop and pay attention, dammit, something important is happening here! How can things like traffic lights and bills and other people holding hands still happen when everything in the world is orbiting this bed in this room in this hospital? Because that's what life is about. All of us caught in the dance, swinging by each other and interacting only for a moment. Everything. Every moment. Every story. Every breath.

In this moment, in this hospital room, with this man.

(c)2014 Laura S. Packer