Death By a Thousand Cuts

You are away, and I am again missing you, more than I should. The past week of your absence was tough on me, and I had to deal with so many little problems on top of my work stress, it felt like death by a thousand cuts. My worst suffering was a result of my son’s illness. He kept bouncing back briefly and then developing new ailments. The constant oscillation between relief and new despair bled my patience dry.

Meanwhile, your few text messages were all complaining about work stress and deadlines. You never had time to read my texts, you said. The texts I sent were mute cries for sympathy, that went unheard. I harbored resentment towards you, and envied your organized life where the biggest problem is missing a deadline. Those problems were mere footnotes to my deluge of daily worries. Of course, I do not hold a high-ranking office in my department, and will probably never aspire to one as long as my child needs care and supervision. Still, work is just one of the many balls I juggle. And it is the least important because if I drop it, there is always some other person to do the task. I am not indispensable at work, but I am the only one there to care for my child.

Yesterday he missed school again. I was despondent for the whole day, trying to keep up with what he ate, whether he took his cough medicine, whether he is resting, and whether he is being careful not to pass on any germs to the neighbor child he usually plays with. But when I finally went home, and for the first time in a week, my child received me without complaining, he looked almost normal.  I held him for a long long time, my heart a silent prayer of thanks. I texted you that he is now better, that I can finally breathe again. In a way I wanted to absolve you from any obligation you might have felt to ask about MY problems.

You gave a lukewarm -and belated- apology for your silence, maybe sensing the storm has passed. You told me that you were under so much stress, that an unfit person in your place would have had a heart attack. In an instant, all my resentment against you was forgotten and I felt the need to console and understand YOUR problems. My critical mind knows that this is a ploy men often use, and you are not above it yourself. I can tell that you garner a lot of support from the women around you. It is our nature, after all, to protect our kids, our parents, and our loved ones. This is perhaps why most personal assistants to high-ranking executives are mostly women. We can sincerely, and selflessly, dedicate ourselves to assisting others.

I absolve you again from the need to look after me. You are not my lover and as a friend you came too late. I will still be there for you offering a sympathetic ear and a virtual pat on your shoulder for a job well done or a crisis averted. I cannot help this, I did not choose caring about you and I would have changed it if I could. Your absence will always be one of the deeper cuts, but my need to give you support and be there for you is much greater than my need to receive anything from you.

In the meantime I will try to change things, and will keep trying to fall out of love or friendship with you, because clearly I deserve better.

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