It's Time

It’s Time

J.A.Waldvogel

I’ve been here before. It’s been a long, long time. It was where I learned to talk, walk, fight with my brothers, my first job, where I fell in love, we raised our family, he worked, got promoted, I worked, got promoted, we moved, we expanded, we’ve lived

I’ve been gone for a long time. I’ve been able to see the world, gamble some, hear stories of births, grandchildrens’ woes, brother’s death, all while journeying with my love. We’ve lived here, we’ve lived there. Every place is special, there is a reason for each place.

There is a time for everything, and the time has come to return. It’s not of my will. If it were of mine own, I’d prefer the heat, the safety, consistency, independence, all the good things we have once we’ve reached the age where we have no responsibility to anyone, but ourselves. I’d stay here, where everything is fine. I’d stay here just him and I. I want to stay here

However, they say I am no longer able to do it alone. They say I am not independent, safe, making the right decisions. They say we cannot be alone

In my mind, I scream at these children. I scream at this child. What good do they know? You are not me. You are not us. We are fully capable. We conquer this world together. We always have, we always will. We do it all. We don’t need you

But, you meddling children, saying this is what’s best. Best for who? Not for us.

The meddling children always take the easy way out. I feel like prisoners in my own home. We feel like prisoners in our own home. You come along and tell me “It’s time”. You don’t tell me when, “It’s time”. I tell you when it’s time. We tell you when it’s time. You rush us into this place that I have been before. You rush us into this place that we’ve been before. I want it to be on our own recognizance. I want it to be for our reasons. We want it to be for our reasons. But, no. You say we have to come back. What if I am not ready? What if I don’t want to

You children, meaning so well. You children, so proud, so smart. You children can go to hell. We are capable of doing this on our own. We don’t need you up in our business. We don’t need you

—

Mom, I miss you. I miss you. Everytime I leave, my entire being pulls away from me and stays with you. Everytime I arrive, get flashed with the pungent scent of your home that was always a castle to me, and silently work to get it back to acceptable floor, toilets, kitchen-space. Kiss you on the cheek, tell you how much I love you, take your pets outside to be relieved, all the while knowing I must leave you to go back to my home. I feel you wanted me to stop my life for you, to stay forever with you. Part of me wanted that.

Then, I become a cemented soul. Unable to make decisions on my own, wrecking my life because of the depth of love I have for you. Please, come home. Please, come home. God, I miss you

—

Having difficulty paying bills. Karen sees me as her knight. I am her knight in shining armor. I can do it all. I can’t do it all. My feet won’t move. They will move, but takes fifty minutes on the average to get from laying in my bed to edge of bed. Add on time to get from edge of bed to standing. My fingers barely write my signature. I’d say I am tired, but I’m not. I’d say I’m ready to throw in the towel, but I’m not. My wife sustains me. My wife believes in me. My wife sees my life continuing with no end. She hates our child for meddling. She hates the one taking us away from our castle to be near them. I understand why. I won’t fight anymore. It is time

—

Dad, I hurt so bad. It’s been four long years I”ve been afraid. Everytime you take a step forward, others watch bewildered as to why this man is walking in public into the neighborhood hardware store by himself. I watch these people and they barely see me, standing stoically next to my father. We go anywhere they want to go when I’m there. But, I can’t be there anymore. I’ve been there six times in the last year, I will have no money left to fend for myself if I continue to travel far and wide for you. Please, come home. Please, come home.

—

The pain an adult child goes through to watch a parent progressively decline, when all they see is superman up til then. It cannot match the pain of a friend standing and walking and caring beside their child dying of cancer over the course of their limited lifespan, but I will reach those feelings when I am able to. In this passage of time, I am allowing my heart to rest on the peace that they are coming home. I will not be there everyday. I will not hover. I will love them. I will take them to appointments, out to eat, out to the hardware store, help them to pay bills, kiss them on the cheek, tell them limitlessly that I love them.

—

They have not arrived home, yet, but in the coming months, when they do, my heart will be able to stop guessing, chasing, aching, wondering, anticipating, and will be able to rest, at least for a while. If I am selfish, I can feel proud that they have been able to live the full life they’ve lived, on their own accord, their own independence. Now, I feel comfortable in my selfishness. This was not too soon. I welcome you home with loving arms