Disillusioned

I’m missing something. That’s why I keep trying to make contact with you, old friend. In the still moments of my days, I start to panic, casting around for something to engage me...a book, a song, something to learn, something to do, because I feel adrift. I think you know what I mean. Something about losing my mom a couple of years ago set something in motion, some chain of reasoning I couldn’t stop, and it left me with no god, no father, no mother, no connection to my past, no sense that I am connected at all, to anyone but my kids, and sometimes my spouse. It isn’t grief, nor is it some cynical or depressive pose. I don’t feel sad, I just feel very compact and a bit too light, like an astronaut without a mother ship. I float, see? I am a little too aware of how alone we all are, really, too aware of how fragile and brief it all is, and I don’t know what to do. This isn’t what I thought mid-life would be like. I thought the way I’d feel about my husband and kids would be similar to the depth, the all encompassing immersion I felt in the family of my childhood. It wasn’t all good. I remember inventing a father for myself, and cramming my brief encounters with my real fuck-up drunk of a dad into that ill-fitting mold. It fit, then, and I didn’t call him anything but dad. I loved him. I remember my mother, her love and her need and her never ending ill health. I always feared that she would leave, but I never really thought she would. I remember my magical grandmother. I thought I could carry her magic forward in my own life. It’s harder than it looks. I remember god. I remember being moved to tears by the certainty that some larger than life parent figure would always love me and guide me. I remember myself, all talent and faith and possibility. I actually thought I was special, arrogance of a youth that lasted way too long, apparently. So what do you do when you finally understand? Pick up and carry on? Is that it? Is there no way to make the present feel as convincingly solid and real as the past? Even the past has lost its solidity, like a play after you’ve watched the set come down and the actors come out without their makeup and costumes. I guess I’m disillusioned.