the sound of distance.

Four people sat down for dinner tonight.  I knew how the routine would go even before I closed my eyes for prayer, but I racked my brains for things to share with you nonetheless.  When I opened them again, it was like another wall had grown in the space between your place at the table and mine.  You had nothing to say to me, which was expected of course.  But you don’t even look at me.  I ate in silence.  It was deafening.

I walked into your study the other night, remember?  So I got to record today, a friend of mine returned the favor for all of the help I’ve given him, I said.  For how long? you had asked without looking up.  A few hours, I replied.  The silence started to creep over us so I changed the subject.  You weren’t that interested; you just chewed up your food and continued to stare at the screen.  You have no idea how much I detest how you’ve let that consume you.  You wouldn’t even be able to begin to imagine how much I would give for you to invest in me as much as you invest in your money.  But years and years of listening to you and not telling you how I really felt about it all has made me into a good actress.  I take the remains of your consumed dinner to the kitchen sink on my way out of your space.  Three minutes is better than none.  And this is the sound of distance.

I am reminded of the night I came home about a week before Christmas.  I was bold that evening and said some things to you that I had never said to you before.  Like how you weren’t there for us, how you were breaking promises all over again; how you weren’t loving her the right way and how you weren’t being the role model that he needs so much right now.  How you never cared about anything or anyone other than yourself, and how you were missing out on everything important right now.  The tears came unplanned but I didn’t care because I wanted you to see me for who I was and what I truly felt but you glared at me and commanded me to stop.  I did stop.  Just for you.  I felt like I was ten years older than I really was.

I’m bursting at the seams to tell you everything that’s been going on in my life.  I have so many questions, so many fears and uncertainties that I need to voice.  I don’t understand much about money and how to prepare to start living on my own.  I haven’t ever owned my own car and I definitely don’t know where to start if I ever want to buy one.  Do you know what my favorite color is?  Do you know what makes me laugh?  Am I a burden to you?  Am I a nuisance?  Doubt is probably the deadliest of all relationship-killers.  I hate doubting.  Yet it becomes so hard to avoid when efforts to love are met with absolutely nothing.

Tonight, we passed one another in the hallway going opposite directions without looking at one another.  You carrying your load and I carrying mine.  We each take our own load into our rooms and close the doors.  I thought families were supposed to help carry each other’s loads.  If so, then we’ve failed a thousand times.  Because after all, isn’t that what love is about?

Home has become for me a paradox of definition; a place of contradiction where I collide with those whom I have known my whole life.  Fighting with and believing in love can be so hard sometimes.  I want to give up so badly… but I know deep down that I won’t give up because God supplies me with just enough love to get through to him.  Especially for the times when I miss out on a perfect chance.

I don’t know why I wrote this.  Maybe one day I’ll have the guts to share this with you.  Maybe one day you’ll seize the chance to listen.  And on that day, maybe I’ll seize the chance to be courageous.  Until then, I’ll keep my hopes.

“…But hope that is seen is no hope at all.  Who hopes for what he already has?  But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.” — Romans 8:24-25