Here’s how I live in the desert.
I begin each day by reaching out to the barren bed beside me. She’s still not there. But the perfume I sprayed on her pillow last night lingers. And the desert wind blows memories of her back to me which I nostalgically breathe in.
But memories are like mirages. They appear. They appeal. They attract. I allow my mind to wander towards them, but as I approach, they retreat.
And, so, I sigh. I sit up. I pray for strength. I sink my feet into the gritty sand and begin my trudge through another day here. Is the sand wearing me down or polishing me up? Hard to tell.
First stop: kitchen. Make lunches for four little people. This was something I thought I’d hate. The tedium. The banality. But strangely I enjoy it. I’m buoyed by the fact that this is me serving them. And if that is all I achieve today, then at least I can say “I’ve loved my kids”. All before 6:45am.
Time for breakfast, morning reading, and a coffee. Suse didn’t drink coffee. So no painful memories there. So far so good. But the sun hasn’t risen yet. And nor have the kids.
What lies ahead in the desert today?
Who knows.
I expect it will be much the same as yesterday. Parched. Barren. Empty. Not my environment so much—I seem to be surrounded by vitality and life. But none of it is the life I want. And, so, my spirit, my motivation, my will to live…that’s what is Parched. Barren. Empty.
But I do want to survive this desert. I want to believe there’s a sea at the end of all this sand. I just can’t see it yet. The desert dunes block the way. They suspend me in time and space. Exiled from a past I loved. Locked out of a future I long for.
But then the kids appear, and arid silence is broken as my fellow sojourners greet me with morning hugs and kisses. And that’s no mirage. That’s something real, tangible. And that’s something to live for. Life in the desert is propelled by them. They give me courage. They give me purpose. They provide an oasis to build out from.
And that’s largely how I live life in the desert. For them. The day will proceed. They’ll go to school. I’ll go to work. We’ll get some semblance of sustenance on the table later tonight.
And by the time the day is done, so too will I.
I’ll return to the barren bed.
Perfume on the pillow.
Praying my dreams, at least, might be filled with her presence.
That’s how I live in the desert.
