While I Listen to Her
Talk About Her Son

Just her voice. Just her. Only her. Always her. Maybe, hopefully, forever. Her. Lucy. Sweet Lucy. Standing there, surrounded by the gray mist of her ambiguous world. The same mist that holds all the loneliness that I don't know. Can never know. For I am not her. I never will be her. Fortunately, there is one other thing I can say that I'm not. And that is bold enough to claim I know her pain. Know how it looks from the inside staring out. Feeling it around me so tight that it's like a second layer of skin. No, I'd never say that. Still, although I have never glimpsed that internal view. I am familiar with how things look while standing beside it. Because that is where I am. And it's where I want to be. What I lack in boldness, I make up for in attentiveness. I am observant. Yes, I observe. I've been doing it this whole time. She didn't even realize it. She was too distracted by my rambling to notice. But I have been. I've been watching. All kinds of pain. Passing through her body. And mind. And soul. Her sweet, kind soul. This agony. Thrown at her. Time and time again. As if the world were saying, "How much can we throw at her before she breaks?" Well, World, I'm happy to tell you: she hasn't yet. But I've watched you try. Oh, you made such a good try of it. I've watched that pain closing in on her. Like a lion circling ever-weakening prey. Pain of all shapes and sizes. Approaching at various trajectories. And velocities. Yet somehow she always managed to pivot so she was facing it. Always fought it. Head on. With unimaginable strength. And grace. Yes, how could I almost forget to mention grace? Grace that a ballerina would envy. As I listen to her, a disheartening fact dawns on me: she doesn't even know how strong she is. Because that gray mist has swallowed up all the mirrors. Preventing her from seeing herself. But I can. I can see her. I can see her clearly. Not even a single shadow dares to obstruct my view. Yes, my view. Mine. From beside her. Where I stand gladly. Willingly. Proudly. Where I will continue to stand. For as long as she allows me. I will stand here. And I will be honored to do so. I'm humbled to have been invited into her world. Yes, I entered it. I'm right here. Beside her. In the same obscured, gray reality. Not by circumstance. Not by chance. But by choice By my choice. I don't mind the darkness. I've spent many years. Walking alone inside my own. So strange to think how nothing pulled me out of it until I saw she needed help escaping from hers. A darkness that is deeper. More pronounced. Than any I've ever known. A darkness like the darkness of winter. Like the darkness I described to Erwin. The kind of darkness that seemed to have weight to it. The kind of darkness that could drag you down. And, like a shark in water, kill you if it weighed enough to render you immobile. I don't care how far ahead these shadows stretch. I don't care if the mist is so thick that we can't see the road beneath our feet. I don't care if it masks the fact that there is a cliff ahead of us. And how can I be so aloof? Well, that's easy: it's because my hand is in hers. And that's where it will stay. When we reach that cliff, I will walk over it with her. Yes, I will fall with her. But. I will rise with her too. Yes, I will rise. And maybe, just maybe, I will rise like the sun. Maybe I will burn away that mist. Maybe I will peel back some of the shadows. Maybe I will rejuvenate her from this constant state of exhaustion. I'm not saying I will save her. I am no one's savior. Not even my own. But maybe, just maybe, I can show her who she is. I can introduce her to herself. To this strong, brave woman that stands before me. Arms crossed. Brow furrowed. Looking at her son. With such great love. And sadness. She has so much of the former. But it's a constant fight to prevent it from being overtaken by the latter. And she's tired. So tired. No one should be this tired. No one should have to carry so much responsibility on their own. Especially when some of it was created with the help of someone else. But she does it. She does it morning, noon, and night. She does it without thanks. Without reward. She does it because it's what is right. She does it even though she knows the challenges she knocks down today will all be set right back up for her to face tomorrow. But she keeps knocking them down anyway. Because she knows the only alternative. To lay down and die. In other words. No alternative at all. There is a name for someone like her. A name she has earned. At least, she has in my eyes. My eyes that see her clearly. Clearer than I've ever seen anything or anyone else. I see her. It's time she saw that Lucy too. And I am just the one to show her. I will show her the archetype that she most closely resembles. She is not a streak of blue and red moving faster than a speeding bullet through the sky. She does traverse that empty space, yes. But not via flight. Via webbing. Always being shot somewhere just barely out of the frame. Or off-screen. Clinging to some mysterious unseen surface. She is more like him. Because he is not universally acclaimed either. His own aunt. For Christ's sake. His own aunt. Thinks he is a menace. But I will tell her what I learned long ago: even if the whole world is against you, it doesn't mean they are right. And I know it's a long shot. But maybe. Just maybe. Maybe if he has at least me. Standing beside her. Maybe that will be enough. This time my verbosity is not a curse. Because not only am I one of the few who took the time to see her, but I am one of the few who can articulate what he sees. And if it ever switches back, I'll be okay with it. Because it became a blessing long enough for me to say these things. Even if all these years of rambling were training me for just this one task. Even if that skill turns out to be useless beyond this moment, it will still be worth it. All the years of solitude. Of being told I talk too much. My interests are too obscure. Or how about the good old blunt, "Jesus H. Christ, will you just shut the fuck up already?" It will be worth it because I was able to say, "Hey, Lucy! Step right up! Look into my eyes. Just like Nico sang, 'I'll be your mirror. Reflect what you are.' Let me introduce you to yourself. I'm telling you, you won't regret it. Because you're going to love her." Followed by, in a whisper so low that even I barely register it's been said: "As do I. Yes. As do I." I will tell her all of this. Show her all of this. Because she deserves it. She deserves to hear it. To see it. And then sorrow seeps in when I realize all these things that I want to show her… they've been here. They've been here this whole fucking time! Laid out before her for years. Somehow she didn't see them. Another cruel irony, this. The fatigue made her miss them. Well, I'm here now. And I'm not tired. I will help her discover them. Not because I'm trying to charm her. Or score points. But because it's what's right. No one should know these truths better than her. I plan on setting that straight. On showing her all the mind-bogglingly beautiful, wondrous sights I've observed in the short time I've been here. Far more than I've ever seen. At any other point in my life. I will show her the beauty that lies just beyond the veil of that gray mist. She deserves. To know it fully. To see it fully. Or like good old Gordon Downie sang: Fully. Completely. Because this is her world. And if there is one thing in my life that proves I do have good luck sometimes, it's that she allowed me to be part of it.