PeaceBang Family Terror Alert
My mom is planning to fly from New York to London on Tuesday.
She says she's going to go. She says she won't even need a tranquilizer.
I'M going to need the tranquilizer.
This is my mom, though.
She freaks out if I tell her I got into a man's car without doing a full background check, but she'll fly to London from New York knowing that a major terrorist plot to blow up planes flying between the two cities was just thwarted like twenty minutes ago.
I am currently reading Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking. I love the way she understands that extreme grief can be a kind of mental illness. I had never heard any intelligent person state that so matter-of-factly before, and I found it it to be a great comfort. I have myself, in times of extreme grief, felt my mind unhinge; almost observing it from someplace beyond myself. Didion reports the same phenomenon, and I will turn to her for solace the next time a big, killing loss comes along.
It is a fearful thing to love what death can touch. I don't know where I heard that -- it was part of an NPR report years ago on the death of a famous pair of spouses in history (Clover Adams and her husband? I don't remember), but the reporter used that quote. I have never forgotten it. I say it all the time to myself.
I am not going to draw a deep breath until Mom comes home safe.