xeryfyn's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A dream...come true I am thinking about getting milk because we have just run out. The night is clear and crisp. Fall is upon us but not int he typical blustery wintery white of common Edmonton autumns. it is actually a fall day, as in pictures or movies or dreams. I rummage through the shelves and see that I have just eaten the last of the instant oatmeal packages tat I usually have for breakfast. My honey is lounging on the couch, engrossed in some space channel, idly flipping during commercial breaks and entranced by the bluuish haze of the screen. I take a last look in the bathroom mirror at myself as I head out to the grocery store. An odd thing, as I do not generally care what I lok like at the grocery store. I feel my heart thumping in my chest, rhythmical and steady. At the grocery store I grab a box of oatmeal, distaining the peaches and cream variety in favour of the apples and cinnamon. Much more appetizing, I think to myself. On my way to the milk, I pass through the pharmacy and pause to pick up a home pregnancy test. I am not late and do not quite know why I am there. I am moving as though in slow motion or underwater or in a dream. Without blinking I pick up the milk, some bananas, and peruse some schmuky women's magazine like Cosmo. I head to the check-out thinking, "This is weird, this should feel weird" but it doesn't and I don't feel like doing anything but paying and going home. At home I break open the package in the bathroom. I have not told Dwayne and he is still watching his space program. Instead I take the test and watch it slowly develop two lines in the little indicator window. I leave the test on the side of the tub and walk out to the living room. I watch Hubble taking its last pictures of Mars and take Dwayne by the hand without a word. He is crossed between annoyance and concern, "What is it? Are you ok?" In the bathroom I point to the test which is still showing two solid pink lines. He stares "Why do we have a preganacy test? What is happening? What does it mean?" "It means we are having a baby!" I giggle and point, "See?" We snuggle on the couch and try to sort out what this new development will mean. It is frightening and exciting all at the same time. And through it all I just know I am blissfully happy and proud to be becoming a mother in this world that needs more innocence and things to treasure. 12:41 a.m. - 10/25/2001 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Blessings So, I feel obligated to myself and to the memory of a friend to explain the previous entry. About three years ago, I had a best friend. Only one. She was everything to me. And we were virtually inseperable. Her name was Susan. Together, and quite separately, as well, we befriended a girl named Sarah. Sarah was a bright and happy person who, as it turned out, was not as bright or as happy all the time as we had thought. In the summer of 1997, Sarah committed suicide. Susan was the one to tell me. I flew out to the coast to be with her as she was unable to fly home for the funeral. I thought that we had established our friendship enough that she would know, without my having to tell her all the time, that I needed her to be there for me during this difficult time. That despite the distance and the differences we had in grieving over Sarah's death, she was the most important part of my life. That September, when she arrived back in town, she told me that because we had grieved apart, becuase she felt that she was somehow at fault for not being at Sarah's funeral, and because I did not constantly remind her how much I needed her to be there, we could no longer be best friends. Indeed, we could no longer be friends. Period. If losing Sarah was hard, losing Susan was like dying a million excruciating deaths only to be revived every morning and dragged through another day. The previous March of that hellish year, I had written her a series of poems for he birthday. They were "Blessings". Reading over them after Sarah's death and the eventual death of our friendship was hard. No it was impossible. But now, entering our fourth year of separation, I am able to look at them and remember the friend I had and the wonderful memories that evoked this series. I have decided to branch the series out to include my own everyday blessings. 11:37 p.m. - 1/18/2001 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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