window seats

I've been sick since Thursday the 16th- that's 2 weeks.  A hollowing, waxy wave that's been rolling around in my body.  It steals my voice at least once a day, stuffs-up my chest, clogs my head, and dulls my want for food. 

It hit Beach late last week.  She was out for 3 days. Teammates and coworkers rise and fall with it. It's attacking the whole country.

The windows on the high speed train bulleting up the track of life are framed with the thoughts found on long rides and within extended illness.  They are the pauses where I can see.  Pauses of perspective. 

But through this one I have been running.  Too busy to rest.  Too busy to look around. I worked sick.  I ran kids here to there.  I cooked and cleaned and 'gym-mom-ed'.

Slowly the sickness is lifting. I had moments yesterday when I almost felt well.  Returning within the haze of 2 weeks worth of fever dreaming is the memory of the only window I remember seeing the view from in the whole damn month of January.  Something has to change.

All I have for mental scenery are the slick painted lines trickling down the interstate as we clipped by in BC's truck, heading home from Las Vegas.  The feeling behind it, I am going home- I want to go home.


On Thursday Beach flies to Colorado.  We are sending her to compete.  We are trusting her to the care of her team.  I am crossing my fingers she won't get sick.  Crossing my fingers I get her to the airport on time.  Crossing my fingers her comp leotard, out for repair, returns in time to go with her. Crossing my fingers that whether or not she lands it, that she finds a way to make peace with the vault that she believes is too big for her. 

Sending Beach off to Colorado with barely enough time to leave work and get her off proves to me I have done something wrong.  My train is running so far off course I can't see the ground anymore. It is time to really come home.  To cut out the extras and the people pleasing and the worrying about things that I can't control. I am crossing my fingers that I find a way to make that happen.

I am crossing my fingers that at some point along the way she gets a window seat.