emotion less


The idea of being emotionless was proposed to me a few weeks ago.  Emotionless?  Talk about void, empty and boring.  Who would want that?

However, this week brought me back to considering what would happen were we to wake up in a life that was without emotion.  Would we consider ourselves lucky to live in a world that was lacking feeling and void of personal sentiment? Hmmm. . .

Emotionless would have made the news of my still rapidly beating heart easier to swallow.  It would have enabled me to hear the diagnosis, contemplate surgery and opt for medicine without having anxiety induced accelerations on top of the already accentuated pounding of my heart.

Emotionless would have let me roll into bed , taken down by a stomach bug, without hating the world and wanting to die.  It would have let me just be sick instead of working myself into a frenzy and hauling ass to the drugstore for a pregnancy test.

Emotionless would allow me to stop worrying about Trevor.  It would allow me to move through the hours of my day in a zone without the pressure and need to remember every detail to share with him later.  Emotionless would mean that even though I took the time to remember the details, I wouldn’t feel guilty when I didn’t want to take the time to convey them.  It is exhausting – this job of being the keeper of all small details.

During the past two months and for the next seven, the details are what it is all about.  I am the keeper, the creator and the executor; the details of our lives not only need to be kept up with, they must then be shared with Trevor, because this is his life too – his kids, his house, his story.

And for this past week, it goes something like this:

I woke up sick on Sunday.  Took a long walk with the dogs.  Contemplated my inability to ask for help when I really need it.  I packed lunch boxes, fixed breakfasts, ran shoes to the bus stop, insisted on cooking stir fry for dinner, stayed sick for days,  worked,  treated a fever with Motrin, coordinated a teacher of the year celebration, graded essays, drank a real coke, gave baths, lotioned eczema.  I listened to complaints about  kids, husbands,  sex lives.  I tried to write but never found the time because I was taking two little people to the bathroom multiple times between 8:30 and midnight. I planned a trip for spring break.  I  went out to dinner.  Went to Medac.  Went to the pharmacy.  I scrubbed the house, cleaned two bathrooms, washed eight loads of laundry, vacuumed the car and sat in the sun.  I ran 30 miles.  I slept about 30 hours.  I agonized over the girls wanting Trevor.  I wished to be a better, more patient mom for my sick kids.  I watched some impromptu dance concerts and made a note to get the camera out next time.  I unloaded the dishwasher at least four times.  I baked a cake.

I lost track of everything else.

Tonight, I am just trying to remember Trevor; I am replaying what this house is like when he is here.  I am trying to remember the smallest details about him walking through the room, turning on the T.V.,  falling asleep on the couch.  I want to hear the door beep with his return from work and this week, I only hear the beep of the alarm when he left.  Every time the door closes I am reminded of the last minutes that we shared on that cold January morning.

It hasn’t really gotten any warmer.

And, it isn’t really getting any easier.

Only I am wondering if, in fact, the emotions are becoming less.  Moving away from the sad, tearful goodbye makes it easier to endure the late night quiet.  Everyday that passes is one day closer to Trevor’s return, but it is also one day further away from his presence here, with us.  And the further away he gets, the more fearful I am of forgetting the little nuances about him that make this family work.

I cannot turn off the emotion, I would risk turning off the details of my memories.  And in the game of  creating, remembering and reconstructing details, losing them is not an option.

So I remain emotional.

Bring on the crazy.


2 Responses to “emotion less”

  1. 1 Lynne Sanderson

    Emotions have always been difficult for me, Thank you for putting yours into such lovely, simple and honest words Amy. I remember when my husband was in Viet Nam, and how I occupied my time then. The waiting was long, and it was often difficult to fill all the hours, but the end results were worth it. Wish I was closer to you dear … just to unload the dishwasher some times 🙂

  2. 2 Lauri

    I love when you dance your beautiful words among the details, it paints such a clear picture of you and your home. And I love emotions. I am OK with the craziness that they bring because they also allow me to cry from some of the joys around me.

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