Sit with me.
You understand You’re second best. You won’t answer no matter what I say. There used to be someone who would answer.
My childhood bedroom was in the front of our little ranch house. My windows looked up the hill, where I could see the house far across the street, and the house light that was always left on all night.
Very soon after we moved to that house, when I would have been four years old, I woke up in the night to feel someone gently stroking my hand. Profound peace enveloped me. I half dozed in a state of deep comfort until I woke again, this time feeling that my hand had been let go, and my skin was cool where the warm touch had been.
I had not hear my companion move. No one had stood up or walked out of the room. They still had to be with me, whoever it was.
I called out, but there was no answer.
I tried to see who was there, but the dark of the room was impenetrable.
I decided to wait. Surely they would move, or speak, or take my hand again.
I lay absolutely still, gazing out the window at the distant lightpost. The light wavered and seemed to dance. I waited and waited. I wondered if I had been absently holding my own hand, and I tried to reposition both hands as they might have been, but I couldn’t figure out how. Nothing felt right.
Daylight slowly crept over the hill. The window panes lightened, and the inside of my room began to separate into deep shades of grey, and then lighter shadess, and then I could see all around me, and then I could clearly seen that I was alone. Had always been alone. I had to have been holding my own hand.
That’s You, the Holy One who is not there, and that’s me, holding on and doing my best to create comfort.
Sit with me for real.
October 14, 2020 COVID-19 Infections and Deaths