Enough for one life

All this writing amounts to is an attempt to fill in the blanks. I don't get to see all of the pieces of the puzzle, I can't fit all realities in my grasp. What I cannot grasp, I simply make up. That effort amounts to this.

What is the real deal with my Mother's life? My brother's inner life? The nature of God? I don't know. I can't possibly. What I don't know, I fill in, page by page and blog by blog. That's my job. That's all of our jobs. Make stuff up and edit accordingly as the universe sees fit to provide new pieces. But new pieces often lead to whole new patterns of blanks that require some fictional tying together.

She's had cancer for the last 6 months - hasn't told us because she wasn't sure, not from the top of her head to the bottom of her souls - that she wanted to live. One more piece fills in much. Ah-ha, perhaps the withdrawl of people we care about stems not from some unknown offense or sudden dislike but out of the secrecy of their own struggles.

I suddenly feel relaxed, in the moment that I realize this. There are things I think I don't have and seem to have been missing. Suddenly I realize, so what? Maybe that task is for the next life? Maybe my only job for this round is to learn to approach relationships without a sense of need...not to fall into a system of trading wish fulfillments but to learn to give first. And let go.

That, it looks like, is going to have to be enough.