Know
Filed in Memoir :: February 15, 2012
February 14, 2003
I know I waited while dinner cooled, my thighs against the fabric of the dining room chairs. I know he said he was having a truck repaired.
But beyond those small details? I couldn’t know then any more than I can know now.
Even when he was alive, he wasn’t talking.
I used to wonder how to know more. I used to believe that if only I could know, then … Then what? Then I would know what to do.
My desire to know was a diversion, a distraction, leading only to delay and denial.
As things turned out, I knew what to do. I knew based on a source deeper than any empirical evidence I could ever gather.
“Trust your knowing, Angela,” a teacher used to tell me. “Trust your knowing.”
I did. I do.
Comments are closed