My son is in Dekalb visiting his father this week. I’m getting a lot done. I’ve made good use of my time, and am finally getting to things I should have done months ago. Yet strangely, I find all the ideas I’ve had swimming around in my head keeping me awake for the past week are now suddenly absent. I can’t seem to write. And this is unusual. I know a writer should be able to write regardless of her surroundings, regardless of what’s going on in her life. But then again, I aint gettin paid, and there are no deadlines to meet.
It occurred to me that since Elihu left, so has my desire to write. Tonight, when he called, I expressed this to him. I told him that without him here, without his energy in the house it just felt different. I had no ideas. They just weren’t coming. I told him I thought it was because it helped to have him around. “Me too” he said quietly. “I just don’t feel like doing anything when I’m away from you.” That wasn’t entirely true, as he’s had a few nice outings since he’s been there, and I do know he’s having a good time. But his voice sounded tiny, so much softer than usual. He went on, “without you it’s like I’m just stuck inside this dark body and I can’t see.” I waited for him to explain. “No one really hears me when I’m stuck in the dark”. Dear boy. What can I say but to tell him again that I love him, that my heart is always with him?
Are we too dependent upon each other? I don’t know. But I do know that life is a bit different when we’re apart.
The Hillhouse 