I sit here in stillness, thoughts passing through the empty rooms of my mind; just being. I notice the ticking of the clock on the wall. It’s loud. That’s why I like it. Sometimes, I lie down on the couch and just listen to the clock, ticking away the seconds, minutes, hours, of my stillness. There is another clock on the desk. I don’t always hear that one because it isn’t so loud, but once in a while the clocks become entrained and join forces to tick away life on Earth in unison. Something in me joins them. I close my eyes and feel my heart, my breathing, other subtle rhythms of my human body beginning to hum along, sway a little.
After a while I rise, I put on some music, I water plants, I pick up clutter, and sweep the dirt from my floor, and it all seems okay. I sit to write a long overdue letter of thanks for a precious gift from the heart of someone in my family and it isn’t okay any more. It hurts so much. It’s a profound, deep and sinking ache, this missing my daughter, but that doesn’t mean it’s not okay or that it won’t ever be okay again. Does it?
Drying my tears, I return to the couch and the song of time. I envision myself sitting alone in the middle of a theater where we once performed the story of our lives together. The props are fading and cracked after months of cold and rain. I can’t believe it’s over so soon. I can’t believe the story of Dannica is complete. Now what? Now that the show is over, what do I do now? I feel like a fading star floating aimlessly, just waiting to burn out; Grizabella the Glamour Cat, waiting to float up, up, up past the Jellicle moon.
New passion, new purpose, must live somewhere in me. They’re so hard to find; so hard to hold onto even when I do catch a glimpse. But until I find those things, I know that I, too, will fade and crack. Dannica was the sparkle and light… and the glitter and glam. She was the music and the laughter.
Now, She is the clouds and birds… and the sun on the water. She is every rainbow and in every beat of my heart; every tick of entrained clocks whispering to the beating of my heart that the show must go on. But the script is new and strange and I’m struggling to remember my lines. The cast has changed, they’re all wearing new masks and I don’t recognize them. They don’t recognize me. Part of me likes that just fine. It’s also frightening and lonely, sitting, waiting for the voice of the director, “Quiet on the set everyone! Quiet on the set… take two!”
I’d rather take five. I’m tired. The clocks continue to whisper, I’m beginning to hear them more often, “The story of Dannica is not complete. She lives on and will live on until you are complete; until everyone who knew and loved her is complete; until the trees nourished by her ashes are complete, until the earth itself is complete.”
Listen. Watch. Wait. Love. Know. My time will come. The clocks whisper this, too, and at that time, they will whisper to someone else.