Coffee
Nothing
else waits for her. Not the alarm
attached firmly to her wrist that rips her from sleep at 5:00 each morning and
sends her pounding heart into her throat.
Not the vague sense of nausea as she debates the prism of ways she could
handle various disputes at work nor the finality of having to deal with
them. Not the bound up angst of 75
teenage bodies waiting in their desks at school each day looking to her for
direction. Nor her own small children with
their endless demands for attention both adorable and exhausting: disarming
smiles, sibling arguments, late night glasses of water, the thousand and one tiny
decisions, bumped heads, stubbed toes, and small rebellions.
When
she closes her eyes she can still see the determined face of her daughter
learning to swim last summer, feeling the responsibility of knowing she can’t
look away even for a second as her youngest pushes off the wall even though the
water calls her to glide on her back eyes to the vast summer blue sky or
stretch her arms out in a powerful stroke, bubbles massaging her face under
water all gurgles, the world muffled somewhere on the surface. Then she flashes to the panic of her son
resisting the freedom of a bicycle without training wheels, all sobs and
furrowed brow, knowing she can’t let go of his bike no matter how much she
wants to. Even the joy of watching them
learn the stride of a horse under them, reining the powerful animal to the left
and the right. Trot 2 beats, lope
3. Even then she can’t seem to pull her
eyes from watching their hypnotizing rhythm, all new and unfolding. She doesn’t want to miss anything.
But
this moment, this is stolen time, their sleepy little eyes are still dreaming,
having quietly crawled into their king-size bed when they thought she was
sleeping. They are still cuddled safe
and warm against their father’s side allowing her to sneak tip-toe to the
kitchen and breathe in the space around her, reveling in the luxurious feeling
of her lungs filling with air and consciously exhaling the to-do lists on the
other side of that first cup of coffee.
Gone
are the days of diaper changes and a limp breast still hanging loose from her
sleep shirt after the first morning feeding, as she stumbled one foot sloppily
thrown in front of the other down the hall groggy but reeled to the kitchen by
the enticing call and guilty pleasure of a sip of caffeine with time for it to
run its course through her veins before the next feeding. That sense of her body no longer being her
own but rather transformed into a vehicle for someone else’s survival never
quite left her. There is only a faint
memory of eating and drinking just for herself, for pleasure or boredom,
deciding what to consume based entirely on her own needs and desires.
Even
now she still hasn’t quite shaken the feeling that her body is somehow not
fully hers, though she is starting to see the outline of it slowly curving back
out like a statue released from stone.
She finally fits in the clothes that remind her of herself again and she
is genuinely surprised to recognize the reflection she occasionally catches in a
mirror or a passing window pane.
But
her life remains frustratingly out of reach.
There are so many variables before she can even run out the door for a
jog or get together for some much needed communion of wine with friends. The barrier of her skin is no longer the
border it once was. She is not sure if
it will ever fully come back, her sense of I
having melted indistinguishably into a we. Even when they are not swirling about her
legs at a party, she catches herself including them like a phantom limb as she
bids farewell thanking the host for inviting
us. She still struggles to
rediscover where she fits in these whirlwind days as she squints into the
blinding light that has just started beaconing her into the second half of life.
With
the gurgle of percolating water promising a warm ritual in just minutes, she eagerly
lights a candle and grabs her journal with a deep yearning for a few moments of
solitude, a quiet meditation, even five minutes before the day sweeps in. Exhaling as she snuggles into the receptive
comfort of the sofa, she opens to the first page as if it were a sacred text,
running her finger down the blank page like a prayer.
Then
out of the darkness a familiar shape takes form rubbing sleepy eyes and
stepping into the lamp light: “Good morning, Mami!” And with those sweet words life presses play
and the seconds begin to click by like the clip clop of a horse. Breakfasts to make, lunches to prepare, lessons
to plan. The pressure of the day rises suddenly
to the surface, bubbling in her chest like carbonated water. Inhaling together they fall into a carefully
choreographed dance moving through all the micro moments that launch them into
their day as directives begin to flow unbidden from her mouth: brush your
teeth, get dressed, eat up, don’t forget your backpack! She grabs her water bottle and work computer,
feels the weight of it strain the muscles in her neck. Shuffling her son out the door as the sound
of the garage door hums, she glances at the clock, still time to catch the bus,
a small victory… then out of the corner of her eye, she sees the groggy
softness of her daughter woken by the commotion and her heart skips. Will it be a sweet hug goodbye and a touching
wave or the suction cup cling that requires a desperate call to wake her father
from his sleep and peel her little warm frame off of her own now tense body as
she drags herself into the day? She
remembers to breathe as she kneels down and indulges in a tight squeeze from
her daughter’s small but powerful arms. Allows
herself a moment of surrender. But the
clock looms large.
Now
they are officially late. She braces
herself for tears as she severs herself with a firm but loving goodbye hiding
her own salty tears as she rushes her eldest out the door. Again the decrees tumble out of her
mouth. Quick! Belt on?
Buckle up! Shoes on? Jacket?
She pulls out into the still dark morning. Her four year old’s gut wrenching cry still
rings in her ears, rattling her heart off beat.
The empty feeling in her belly from those lost 5 minutes extracting her
daughter from her side makes her feel ungrounded, dizzy. Her knuckles are white on the steering wheel
and her shoulders tight between her ears as she visualizes the bus pulling away
before she can get there. A list of today’s
expectations dribble out of her waking mind.
The crisp blank page of her journal already a faint memory. It is then that she remembers longingly the
methodical crunch of the coffee grounds and the steaming cup of coffee she left
sitting on the counter.
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