More Radical Acceptance of Reality

I’ve always wondered why beauticians seem to wind up putting their breasts right in my face.  Now, as I contort my body to keep from suffocating Jim in my bosom, I get it. To cut his hair would be easier if his head was situated to the right or left of center, but that would make him look very odd.  I step around my son, trying to reach to shave the crown of his skull, watching the chestnut clumps fall around my feet and between my toes.  On tiptoe I buzz away, doing my part to get him ready to go back to his unit.  I cannot refuse to help him, but I feel anxious enough to want to toss a few locks over my shoulder for luck.

A day later, tufts of hair remain on the rug around the dining room chair, and I cannot bring myself to vacuum it away. It is evidence that I am this soldier’s mother.  I allow myself to think it sucks that he is going back to Afghanistan but that’s as far as I will allow myself to go. I refuse to think in sad, dramatic terms about this deployment.  I tell myself I will not scoop up a bit of hair and sleep with it under my pillow as a talisman against bad luck.  I will not sit on the sofa, bury my head in the coat I gave him for Christmas and cry.  Okay, maybe for just a minute, I will indulge my emotions, but that’s it.  After all, I promised myself this leaving would be different. I have been practicing.

Just a year ago, there was no end to the anxiety and self-torture I inflicted on myself.  I convinced myself that Jim joined the National Guard just because I told him to pitch in around the house or move out.  I memorized every small scar on his hands in case I ever have to identify his remains.  I tried to prepare myself for the loss of my son by forcing myself to imagine it over and over again.  I did not know then that there is no way to prepare for any the agonies I fear might come to pass. And in the meantime, the pain of the imagining is as real as it can be.  I robbed myself of the present while experiencing loss that might never happen, over and over again.

Today, I imagine him on a plane, safe and sound, listening to his mp3 player and thinking about the adventures he had over the last 2 weeks.  His will be the first new stories to reach his unit in months.  He will entertain and bring fresh perspective.  He will continue to do what he is best at, shooting at the bad guys and living in the present.

I vow to do the same.  Well, except for the shooting part, that is.