Saturday, May 1, 2010
I went to work, hoping that things would be dynamic enough to demand attention and focus on some pressing task at hand. And for most of the day, fortune smiled on me -- I was so engaged in so many tasks, some with a genuine sense of immediacy, that April 30, 1976 did not haunt me all day.
Sure, it whispered a lot. And taunted me from time to time. My Pandora radio selected Carole King's Home Again. And damnit if I did not walk right into it.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever gonna make it home again, the tune begins. I know for many music is evocative. Today it was for me, I confess. That tune -- it was the first I heard in the car on my bad day. It was an 8-track of Tapestry so it looped through a couple of times.
Sometimes I wonder if it was planned -- those first few words cementing the fear that I would never see my parents again and the fellow who abducted me would be the last person I would ever see. The song sent me to wondering about him again and what was planned, what was spontaneous and why. Always there is why. I got lost for a time in why.
But fortune was smiling on me and there was another genuinely immediate demand on my time. And that gave me the opening I needed to focus on a task that was more than a distraction.
Focus and concentration helped. And when I got home, I jumped on the motorcycle. OK, I cautiously settled on it and worked at trying to relearn how to ride. In the yard...right turns only. Just getting it in gear was a challenge. But it was just what the day demanded -- intense concentration and oh, so many failures. At least the worst thing that could happen if I dumped was falling in dog shit I missed when I scanned the yard this week.
So now it is not my bad day anymore. It is May 1 -- May Day. It is not 1976 anymore. It is 2010.
It is 12:22 AM and I am here with the dogs and being dogged by Carole King singing sometimes she wonders if she's ever gonna make it home again.
34 years. And though I walk, breathe and live I have not yet made it home again.
I am still marking time by my bad day. April 30 is still my measure. It is 34 years since the day I got hurt. My world is still divided into before and after.
I am holding out hope that this year will be the healing year, the year my experiences fit together seamlessly and I can be whole again.
Maybe this is the year that the tune's final words are the ones that move me instead of the opening. Maybe Carole King's taunt of Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever gonna make it home again will transform into the comfort of I wanna be home again and feeling right.