The beyond-space of all this

The lump formed in the back of Esme’s throat. A holiday without her family. She twisted her fingers around the loose twisty-tie, lying abandoned on the counter from an earlier occurrence of toasting bread. 

Heavy tears pulled rivers of mascara down her cheeks. “It’s okay,” she coaxed herself, “just feel it.” 

Although it was just shy of October, and the perspective of clinging to hope still called temptingly to her, she steadily turned into the strong possibility of a shattered expectation. Flying may just not be in the cards, and this pandemic may not have been handled come December. 

Eyes closed, Esme folded the small wire tie into a thin ring around her thumb, her breath slowing into a practiced pattern of steady inhales. A holiday without her family. 

Like with many things in this time of great slowing, she had learned the importance of leaning into the discomfort, feeling the feelings and feeling them hard.

This go round would be no different. But once that had passed, the bubbling blunders of her bouts of unhappiness, and time proved true to its promise of always continuing on, she had come to discover, that on the other side of whatever all this was, there usually was some growth gain, a strengthening, a folded surprise embroidered in the borders. 

And as she pulled a final inhale, lifting her stiff lashes from their closed position, she twisted the small wire ring on her thumb, and wondered what would be in the beyond-space of all of this. 

-b 

September 28, 2020

Photo Credit: Anant Jain