Just when I thought I had all the reins gathered safely into my fists, one would slip free, fluttering in the wind just out of grasp. To retrieve it, I would have to let go of the rest.
Just when I thought I had all the reins gathered safely into my fists, one would slip free, fluttering in the wind just out of grasp. To retrieve it, I would have to let go of the rest.
I tried grabbing it in my teeth. In my toes. Trying to time each flutter so that when it blew toward me I could grab it with my fists, already full of the other reins, and somehow wiggle it back into my hands. But it never came near enough. It always flopped tantalizing just out of reach.
On days when I handed the reins to someone else, I spent my time running back and forth in front of a long shelf, trying to get my collection of crystal ducks lined up in a neat row. Every time I would have them almost set, one would tip over, fall off the shelf, knocking another astray as it toppled to earth. Beaks would break off, wings snap. Out would come the glue and I would carefully make the repair. I could always see the thin layer of white adhesive inside the clear glass of the figure.
Then Lady Death came to visit. I woke up, reached for the reins, and fell back on my bed, head spinning. Carefully I dragged myself out to the living room, leaving the reins scattered behind me as I lay on the couch, crying with fear. The Lady stayed for three days then left me.
She next visited one day when I was trying to pretend I didn't have bronchitis and make myself go to work. That day she gestured offhandedly at the shelf and it collapsed, spilling ducks on the floor into a pile of splintered glass. I left work on a stretcher and did not go back for three weeks.
Now She has come again. This time I sense Her approach. I look at my hands. Years spent clutching the reins tightly have worn grooves in my fingers. I glance at the shelf. Ducks, more glue than glass, stand in an almost perfect line, the last one askew, marring the symmatry.
I know why she has come. I have not learned the lesson. I have not let go of absolutely everything. I still try to control my body and my life. I have not learned the lesson. But She is patient, and she is thorough.
Copyright 1997