No news.
I look for him on every street corner, slow down when I see someone waking down the street, I check out every beggar on the side of the road.
I’ve driven past the places I know where the homeless gather and talked myself out of wandering through .. at least so far.
There's a low hum of panic running through me that I can’t quell. I can’t take a full breath, my chest feels constricted. My stomach is constantly upset, heart pounding, I’ve barely eaten. Rationally I know that’s all anxiety,, I’ve been there before and I know the symptoms.
The more time that passes with no word, the more my highs and lows alternate. No word means that he’s not dead, that he’s taken off to get some space and I’ll hear from him soon. Alternately no word means that he is dead and his body just hasn’t been found yet.
It’s a torturous place to be, all while I’m trying to function, continuing to plod through life, trying to do my normal things, because if I give in to the despair I will collapse.
And then randomly I feel like I t’s cruel, so effing cruel that life just moves inexorably forward without regard for this wretchedness I’m living in right now, mindless of the despair and why doesn’t everything just stop till my son is found? Why is the world ignoring this momentous, terrible thing that is happening in my life?
Rationally I know that’s ridiculous, but in the wee hours of the morning when the despair threatens to overwhelm me, I feel like I’m going insane.
Today is the birthday of one of my grandchildren. I will wrap the gifts, take time from work to go to lunch with them, perhaps fund a little bit of shopping. I will act normal and wish this lovely, newly minted 12 year old the best birthday ever.
Then I’ll finish out my work day, come home, and cry in Ron’s arms, again.