People love making plans. Dreaming can be fun, and looking ahead might be “the American pastime.” If not, it’s something that most of us do, like we’re guaranteed a future pregnant with certainty.
This weekend I read a story on the war that most of us have forgotten about in Afghanistan. I empathize with the soldiers and their sense that this war seems to lack a purpose or an end game. I also thought about those forced to live, waiting for a bomb to fall on their heads, or to having soldiers kick in the door under the guise of looking for “the enemy.” I’m pretty sure that for both the soldiers and the natives, planning for the future seems like a moot point. Life for them simply becomes an act of survival.
What Does the Future Hold?
I know a bit about what happens when one’s life gets flipped upside-down. One thing that goes away is the certainty (and a certain arrogance) that you actually control the ability to look out into the future. The present is affected, too. Then, there’s the tendency to hearken back to the past and the preference to “live” there.
A year ago last August, Mary and I were swimming in the details of perpetuating our son’s life. The problem with that is that Mark was gone and not coming back. But the Kafka-esque tasks of dealing with his house, tenants, and then or course, the logistics of actually selling it made for a summer that went by like a blur. This summer’s been different—not easy, but also with fewer urgent tasks to tend to, also.
Some of our friends know a little about what our lives have been like since Mark was killed at the start of 2017. People that ought to know (and care) seem too busy with the details of making plans for their own futures. I no longer care about them. Mary and I on the other hand try not to get too far ahead of ourselves. Living day-to-day and often, hour-to-hour is one of the results of losing an only son.
One of the myriad reasons we’ve managed to make it through 36 years of marriage and especially the past 19 months, is that we communicate with one another. We actually sit down across the table or room from one another (or have those “life” conversations in the middle of the night) while figuring out what to do next. It’s not particularly easy, but I’m glad Mary and I know how to talk to one another.
Just the other night, we were talking about our lease. We’ve loved living on a tidal cove for nearly two years. We’re re-upping for another 12 months. Being a renter forces us to have to look out further than we’re comfortable doing. Capitalism is kind of like that.
A year from now, we’ll be living somewhere else. Where, we’re not sure today. That’s too far for either of us to see right now.