Year of Magical Thinking - or SHEER TERROR

Sheer terror might describe how I felt a bit before the show started on Saturday at 2pm. I was going to be trapped in a theater, in not so comfortable seats, for one hour and 45 minutes with no intermission, listening to someone go on about what it felt like when their spouse died. I was truly having an anxiety attack. I wasn't sure I could do it.

But let me set the whole thing up, because, man, this day was a pretty big doozy!

I was having a very lovely Saturday morning. I slept in late and then Mikal and I went to Starbucks (they have nice chairs to relax in) and we read the newspaper, had hot chocolate, did the cross word puzzle (well, attempted anyway), and generally had a lovely morning.

When we got to my house after our morning, I decided to check my mail (this is actually pretty unusual for me on a Saturday morning). I can't even remember why I decided to do this. But I did. . . And I had a shock when I saw an email from my mother. It was about my grandmother. She was ill and probably wasn't going to last more than a few days.

I went into a tizzy and Mikal didn't understand why. So, I explained and then spent the next hour trying to figure out when, how, and how much I could get to Wisconsin. I basically found out that if I left Sunday evening and came back on Wednesday (remember, Hall is coming for Alistair's anniversary. . . ), I could get it for a reasonable price. So, all there was to do was wait. And I had a play to go to. . .

Mikal said, "really, you still want to go?" I mean, I paid for the tickets, we had the time, I didn't have anything else to do except wait to get on a plane the next NIGHT, so yes, I still wanted to go. . . I had been crying all week (Ted Kennedy dying really had me all up in an emotional state too because of all the politics of using his death to get things done - disgusting!) and now I was crying because of my grandmother.

So we went.

I think surreal is probably the best way to describe the whole part before play started. We had tickets to on stage left (or house right). But in doing that, apparently we have to walk by the wall of (is there any way to describe this????). . . The wall of . . . Goodbyes.

I look at the wall, I read the wall, I absorb the wall, then I walk past the wall (without remembering Mikal being there) to my seat. The next fifteen minutes are pure terror. I think, "I can't do this", "what am I doing????", "this isn't fair to Mikal", "I can't do this", "what am I doing", well, you get the idea. I feel like those kids that have the knee taping affliction and I think I actually have this affliction for a bit before the show starts.

Part of the scariness of this play is that there is no intermission, so there is NO WAY to escape without making a bit of a scene (you know, everyone sees you leave).

Then the lights dim, the music starts, the sound of the ocean begins. . . And then her voice. And what is the first thing she says?

“This happened on December 30, 2003. That may seem a while ago but it wont when it happens to you. And it will happen. The details will be different, but it will happen to you. That’s what I’m here to tell you,”

And I understand. ..

I feel relief. . .

She knows. . .

It is understood. . .

"Okay", I say, " I can do this, I know why I'm doing this - and Mikal gets it."

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. . .

The play is really enjoyable. And as we leave, on the wall of goodbyes, I write "ASR because that's all you'd allow". The only people that need to understand that are me and ASR.

You aren't alone (really even when you think you are).