n. a homesickness for a home you can’t return to
I was laying in my bed debating with myself about the concern of opening my eyes and taking in light when I heard the garbage trucks thrumming down the street, the sound of the excited engine advancing, falling quiet as it stopped to graze at the roadside, then sounding out again; its busy and rough song of existence. My radio alarm was set to CFNY and there was a Weakerthans song playing. A line about birthday cards being thrown away stuck to me, as my own mind opened up to the possibilities of the day. I wondered where all my birthday cards are now. They were probably in a state of disintegration deep down in the rank earthiness of some landfill in Niagara on the Lake, Ontario, or maybe had been eaten up and shat out by worms and bugs and now live in some Buddhist heaven, in the leaves of some 30 year old tree where that landfill once was. There was no recycling in mind then. Nature takes care of that on it’s own, does what it can. I thought about all the sentiment that was lost on me although now I do feel some remnant of that. I thought of my sons that no longer talk to me , how I had hoped that my thoughts would be enough, but of course they aren't. That sentiment has been lost through time, anger, denial and refusal and rejection.
I often have a dream about being underneath the dining room table in my parents’ living room when I was a kid and loving the warmth coming from that heating vent. That used to happen a lot in real life; my going under the dining room table for warmth. I was opening a Christmas present and the toy inside was one that I had always wanted. Do you think I can remember what that was now? All I remember is that feeling. Maybe the toy didn’t matter and the feeling was all that counted. I remember that warm cherry candy luminescence that came out from underneath that wrapping but I can't for the life of me remember what the toy was. I just know I have been hoping for that toy ever since and still haven't found it. All I had now is myself. 40 years later, Divorced twice, living in a small one room apartment, sharing a bathroom and a kitchen with 6 other men. I'm stoic with independence. I'm the only person I can rely on. I still have all my implements; my books, my computer, my painting accessories. I have summer and winter clothes. I have a somewhat steady job that pays for it all. I have everything I need, but I'm still laying here thinking about birthday cards that I had thrown away and Christmas presents in a dream I can barely remember.
