This Time Warp Called "Living"

More and more, there are moments in my days in which I am certain I am living in two different time zones.  Not "Pacific" and "Central",  but "Yesterday" and "Today."  It's disorienting, to say the least.  And yet, I'm pretty sure this strange fence-walking sensation is just another indicator of being alive.

Take yesterday, mid afternoon.  Thanks to my occasional inability to read for details, I'd misinterpreted a text from my sister and concluded that a 30-ish year-old woman from my mom's place had died.  In the past several weeks, I've grown rather fond of Katie, who is pushy and enthusiastic in a refreshing kind of way.  The photo above is of her crashing my mom's recent birthday party--silly party hat and all--and I would have had it no other way.

So I spent the past 15 hours thinking this funny young woman who loves cartoon characters and pink things and ukeleles (you can see the pink neck of hers in the photo) had pulled away from the shores.  This morning, post walk, I finally read my sister's follow-up email clarifying that Katie is, in fact, still alive and kicking.

I do not regret the Katie-centered prayers I released on this morning's walk around the park.  Whatever her condition, she could use them. As could everyone, including my mom.

How many times in the last few months have I missed the mom that I am sitting right next to?  The classy, slightly aloof one who is resilient and smart, funny and observant?  The one who has a lifelong habit of not complaining, who once called me a few days after having a heart attack to mention it in passing.

"How are you, Jane?  Yes, we had a great time on the boat, but I am glad to be back home from the hospital.  Oh, I'd forgotten to tell you?"

This flood of flashbacks that comes with walking alongside someone who is working on her last chapter?  It is a strange and wonderful, confusing and discombobulating thing.

Always the middling fence walker, these days I'm trying to find the right mix of remembering and being present.  Of loving this very moment right in front of me while also missing the one from a family dinner in 1978 or fearing the ones that are yet to come.

You'll forgive me, then, if I keep pulling out the pocket calendar, trying to locate myself on this timeline that stretches both before and in front of me.  You'll forgive me if I keep thumbing through old photos, looking for how it is I got here, and who it is that has walked alongside me.