Tonight our auntie helper has gone home and for the first time since our second was born, we are a nuclear unit, the four of us, alone in the house together. Tonight I also found out that I will begin teaching again a week from Monday, not in July sometime. And of course it’s the day before Father’s Day.
Hanging in the air is the increasing sense that a particular epoch in my life has passed, that it ended today and with the first part of this summer. It is an epoch that began with the birth of my daughter in October 2010 and has continued, end time and quality unclear, until tonight. Embedded in this epoch have been the most deeply meaningful and most deeply troubling moments in my life—and they are likely always to remain so.
I don’t understand the nature of the change or the essence of the epoch. It feels, however, as though a particular stage of my life, a particular form of my parenthood and my growing, has finished—and that what comes tomorrow is new.
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I feel as though I am about to board some form of transportation that is to carry me to a new life in a faraway, yet near by virtue of fame, place. New England, perhaps, or Panama, or the Polynesian islands. I don’t know. It’s a particularly strange sensation. I can liken it most closely to the feeling of graduating from university for the first time, but for the fact that you’ve had time to prepare for that event and know more or less what its meaning, purpose, and nature are, as well as the general form of what’s to come next.
Here I have only the sunlight falling across my desk and two infancies’ worth of clutter, accumulation, and memory to provide hints of any kind.
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I am caught between sudden and unexpected waves of weariness and apprehension and a kind of relief and optimism.
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Tomorrow is Sunday, the 17th of June, 2012.