I Haven’t Told Mom

There are so many things to remember: I have lists that detail what needs doing, what needs bringing, who I need to contact, and at any given moment my unconscious mind busies itself with details. Since I made the decision to move to Bhutan there’s a thought that pops into my head every two or three days with a sort of panicked urgency—I haven’t told Mom—which is quickly followed by the mist of sadness that everyone who has lost their parents knows. Mom doesn’t know I’m off to Bhutan; she will never know. But my mind sometimes imagines she is aware of my plan; that somewhere far off where the perished and lost loved ones occasionally view the lives of those they left behind, my mother is sitting in a darkened cosmic cinema watching while I attend to all that needs attending to, and she’s thinking to herself, “garsh… isn’t that something.”

One day long ago my Mom confided in me some little worries she carried in regard to each of my sisters. At the end of it I asked her: What do you worry over for me? And I was surprised by the answer: “I never worry about you. Since you were little I always knew that you would be alright.” So, sometimes, when little doubts arise and catch me unaware, I try to remember my Mom and the off-hand and casual confidence she bore into me.