What would you do?

23 09 2011

Every once in a while, I’ll buy a lottery ticket.

I’m not one of those people who spend oodles of cash and multitudes of time on the magic of numbers. I rarely give it a thought, other than if I, perchance, see that 6/49 sign listing the prize at something like $11 million, I’ll succumb to the urge and buy a $5 quick pick. No choosing the numbers myself; I let the computer do the work for me.

And then, my friends, for the next couple days I allow myself the absolutely insane luxury of fantasizing about winning that obnoxious amount of money.

Oh, I know I won’t win…. but. BUT. It’s still fun to fantasize. Much like I know I’ll never actually have a secret hot liaison with Daniel Craig in Paris…. it’s still fun to imagine I just might actually have that chance….

All my friends’ mortgages would be paid off. We’d all jet off to Bali for a week long yoga retreat. Shopping sprees in New York. A horse for my daughter. A trip down the Amazon for my son. Oh my gawd, I would have fun. I’d set up charities, I’d help out the poor and beaten-down. I’d live my life, I’d focus on writing more instead of working and doing laundry. I’d ski every day in the winter. I’d make sure my kids were set up for life.

And I would finally buy myself a pair of black patent peep-toed Christian Louboutin’s. I’d wear those bitches out.

When I find myself fantasizing about winning the money, I often wonder though…. IF I won. IF you won….. What would be your initial reaction? What would mine be? Screaming? Fainting? Standing there stunned with your mouth wide open? Perhaps it might be a good idea to find out at home, because I often wonder if I would shit my pants. And then faint. Not such a pretty picture down at the Superette where I buy my tickets. That would be a big ol’ clean up on aisle 5…..

The day comes when I check those numbers. And even though that weird flickery light of “what-if” hope is there, it’s never a big surprise to find out I didn’t win.

Then I crumple up the ticket, saying goodbye to those wonderful two days of fun, spending all my imaginary millions…. I get back to real life until the urge strikes me again to buy another ticket.


10 09 2011

I am lucky. I have my two children within reach of me right now.

Kienan’s mother does not.

Apart from the horror and sickening nausea inside my (and every other parent’s) stomach when I heard he went missing, there remains a terrible question in my heart.

What would I do?

What would you do?

If your child was found hurt and dead. Or if your child was found hurt and alive. Or if your child was never ever found again.

How do you move on? How do you carry forward? Is there ever laughter again? Joy? Gratitude? Kienan’s mom and dad are right now somewhere, waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Every time their phone rings, every knock on the door means hopes lifted and then dashed. How their hearts must ache; I cannot even fathom.

Would I need to be sedated? Allow some drug to blur my reality and numb my pain? Let an opiate course through my grieving veins, removing the terror, if only for a few minutes…. Perhaps I would become an addict. I would embrace the cloud of disfunction if only to distance myself from the fucking truth. This unknown unbearable truth.

Or perhaps, I think maybe I would rather know the truth, even if it was horrible. I would need a clear mind to deal with whatever comes my way. Even though it would never put to rest the constant wondering that rips the very soul apart, clarity itself is a drug. Perhaps like the mother of Michael Dunahee, missing now since 1991: twenty years now, his mother has waited. Wondered. Hoped. Grieved. Every day she must wake up and think “Maybe today”.

I desperately hope that Kienan is found. I wish that he will be unharmed. And that his mother and father get to smother him with countless kisses and hugs.

I fear they may not ever have that chance.

I fear their kisses when he returns may not be enough to heal the chasm of wounds.

But most of all, I fear the unknown. I fear the wondering and waiting, every second an agonizing millenia of emptiness.

Please please please let him come home. May he be safe. May he be sound. May he be unhurt in body, mind and spirit. May his parents pick him up and embrace him and never ever let him go.