Facebook has reminded me that I have not posted an update of
Segev for 41 days. What is there to post about, I wonder. A moment’s smile? A
distant dream? While this blog is merely an empty echo with the occasional instinctual
spasm of pride and hope.
What I have to report is that pain and stupor have become my
son’s mainstay. That pneumonia is not measured by the number of recurring events but
rather as a constant permutation; either mild, our 'staved', or ‘severe’. Presently, once again it is severe and
intravenous antibiotics are little more than a bet placed on the roulette
wheel. So it might surprise you then to note, in the following paragraph, that I
do not feel weighed down by the future, even if the ‘F’-word, Futility, creeps
ever closer to the entrance of my vocabulary. I honestly did not believe, with the experiences
of this past year, to see my son alive in 2015. But on to the next paragraph:
Those grand vistas, as seen in the Lord of the Rings films,
where strong willed individuals traverse a dangerous mountain pass, encompasses
the dramatic image of a mythic journey many of us can relate to. As I am standing on the precipitous trail, I am
afforded no sense of ease or assurance as bits of rock and gravel are shuffled
over the edge and disappear into a seemingly endless abyss. I can’t recall the
feelings along the long way I’ve traveled; only images remain whose
veracity is constantly called into question. Their relevance at any rate, equally dubious. Up ahead lies the meandering
path that may lead to false peaks and I am certain I do not want to climb any
higher, because the mountain top is not my goal. Who, indeed, can say that
scaling that mountain would be an achievement worth boasting of. And the truth
is, of course, that the precipice, the path and the summit are all one, because
it is in each step we take that we define our experience as a journey. Where it
will lead is not known, (and so I do not know why I am here) but as I gingerly
traverse the precarious causeway I know it will lead to decisions that define
the place of both ‘good’ and ‘bad’ in my life, embracing the mythical nature of
this journey.
Life can have a vengeful sweetness to it, as I prefer to see
it, rather than a conglomeration of unfortunate elements that demean, lay waste
to our beliefs and leave us in ruin. I’ve only realized this recently when I
heard the following words, uttered by no one, echo in my head; “You have not
let down your son.”
I can’t overstate how strong the feeling was that
accompanied hearing those words, not of accomplishment or relief, but of
confidence. Not a personal confidence mind you, as though henceforth all my
decisions would necessarily be the right ones. Rather a sense of proportion
borne of that natural sequence of events which have seen my rage, against the
physical deterioration my son has suffered since birth, placed on that path
high in the mountains, breathing rarefied air, understanding that the summit is
not my goal, the abyss is not to be feared and the path is only as important as
each moment that I am alive with my traveling companions.
And as a reward for your dutiful reading, a moment of bliss:
May the path bring you to a high mountain meadow, and deep peace.
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