Loss of Contact

When you read that title, what’s the first thing you think of? Maybe that it’s almost lunchtime, or how long that neighbor who keeps you up nights should be in prison. It could be the recommended ages for a board game, or how many pounds you should lose on that new diet. Three words and two numbers that can mean anything at all. For me, they are the number of months my mother has to live if her cancer treatment is unsuccessful, and I don’t know what to do.

It is a March,
Thursday morning;
my heart feels alive,
floating, like the pollen
on the wind.

I wonder what
life will be like
in a year, or more:
and then I recall
the secret

that was hidden,
but is no more:
life is what we
make of it, not
what we wait for

it to be.

With thanks to N.

It seems an inescapable fact of my life that, whenever I want something the most, it is both a. an inappropriate time to be wanting said thing the most and b. certain that, no matter what it is, I’m not getting it.

I’m pretty sure that “a” is foundational to the human condition.  But “b”. It makes me wonder. Am I doing something wrong? What is it that I’m missing?  I’d sure like to know.