I Must Confess

Update: This post is my attempt to poke fun at myself for tending to let my evil imagination take over when there are gaps in communication that are longer than I think they should be. All is well in my world really.

This post is for my favorite son, commonly known to the blog world as Gep. It is an open letter, more or less, containing confessions of things I can no longer hide.

Dear Gep,

Sitting here in the dark of the night, with only the lights on the Christmas tree to guide me through that dark, there are some things I must share with you. It is not good to keep secrets, they say, and I am finding it is eating me up, the hiding things from you. The plotting, the planning, the scheming. You see, we conspire, your sister and I, as we sit by the fire, we conspire.

We share secret worries of you, up there in the middle east, that part of the world being torn apart, being bombed by my country and others. You are not in the thick of things, thankfully. But you are close. And when you are silent, we worry, your sister and I. As we conspire by the fire, we worry. When you say you might not make it home for Christmas – but you always make it home for Christmas! – so why not this year? And then we do not hear from you, why are you silent? Why do we not hear words of reassurance, letting us know you are safe?

We conspire to worry. By the fire, we conspire. We have you in the tunnels of Tikrit, kidnapped by a terrorist. We have you captive in those tunnels, being waterboarded, tortured beyond imagination, as they try to gather from you the secrets of teaching the young.

Or maybe, in your zeal to capture on film (digital, of course) the Red Bull sailing contests, you have fallen into the sea from the Red Bull sailboat, and no one has noticed, being too intent on managing the sails to win the race. You have fallen into the sea, never to be retrieved again.

We conspire to face unafraid – yet we are afraid. Afraid you have been buried in the sand by those evil people, the people who cannot deal with your success as a teacher, a photographer, a world traveler. Your silence drives us mad. It drives us to conspire, as we sit by the fire. And we do not face unafraid.

And so, when your words appear in our email boxes, we sigh. We sigh in relief. We know now you are safe. You are not in the tunnels of Tikrit, or the seas off Muscat in the Strait of Hormuz, you are not being tortured, waterboarded, beaten in the hopes of retrieving your secrets for capturing your students, teaching them all they will need to know as they move into the next year of their studies. We know you are safe, only busy making changes to your life, getting things in order.

Now, at rest and in fear no longer, we still conspire, as we sit by the fire. “How do we get him home for Christmas? He is always home for Christmas.” We plot, we contrive, we hope.

We conspire. If only we really had a fire in front of which to conspire. But we can now face unafraid, those plans that we made – and we will walk in this winter wonderland. Unafraid. Knowing that if you are not here at Christmas with us, to conspire in front of the fire, you will be here in our hearts.

Love you, your mom and your sister (who has had no opportunity to defend herself in this confession).

About Carol

I'm me - nothing unusual, just me. Widowed, 2 grown children who are my best friends, 1 dog, retired, loving being retired. I am woman, I am strong.
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18 Responses to I Must Confess

  1. And, we will, in your absence, conspire to fill the house with photos of you. Those photos you love so much.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I was getting concerned at the start of your post, but thank goodness it had a good ending! I hope you work out a way to get him home for Christmas. ๐Ÿ˜Š

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Dawn says:

    Christmas can be whenever he comes home, regardless of the date. Meanwhile we will all hold the three of you in our hearts. Hugs.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Robin says:

    I, too, was concerned at the start of your post. So glad Gep is safe, and hope he comes home soon to celebrate life and Christmas with you.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. lakeafton says:

    I can feel your worry. I, too, have a son, who at one time left us worried for a long time, only to phone on Christmas Eve.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. I feel your worries, Carol. Having a child away in a place where we see danger lurking is a constant fear of parents- no matter how mature and independent our child is. Thankfully my daughter communicates regularly (I think daughter’s are better at that than sons). In 11 days she should be coming home. I hope your Gep, too, finds a way to come home. Stay strong.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Hi Carol, Is Gep still in Oman? I sent you an email with a link about Oman’s policy of peace. Hopefully it will reassure you. I really hope you can get him home for Christmas. xxx

    Like

    • Carol says:

      He is packing up getting ready to leave Oman now. I know it’s as safe a place to be as there is, but I always imagine worst case – reality goes out the window – when there is a longer period than I expect between communications. No matter where the person is. He was busy, I was carrying my black cloud around, all is well and this post essentially was me making fun of myself. I do appreciate your concern.

      Like

  8. LG says:

    Here’s wishing you a happy reunion, soon.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Dear Carol,
    You captured perfectly all the thoughts lurking in the back of my brain think when Eli is far away (as he always seems to be, off in Argentina and Turkey and now Mexico) and we don’t hear from him. I think both our sons are wise in the ways of the worlds they are living in, and walk as safely as they might in the city streets of America. But we are mothers and we love them, and worrying about them is part of the job description. Last year was our first Christmas without Eli at home, as they don’t celebrate Christmas in Turkey, but he came home in January for a wonderful visit. We expect him this year fro Christmas, and I must simply get used to not knowing what the coming year will bring. Wishing you and your chicks and the all the girls a wonderful holiday season.
    Warmly,
    Naomi

    Liked by 1 person

  10. Oh my gosh, I LOVE this post. ABSOLUTELY LOVE it!

    Liked by 1 person

  11. loisajay says:

    Sometimes we just have to say it–the worry that will never stop as long as you are a mom. I am so glad he is safe, Carol.

    Liked by 1 person

  12. Heather says:

    I fear my mom and my sister often have some reason to conspire by the fire. I suspect I communicate like a son sometimes. Except I communicate daily in pictures, so perhaps not. Adding my thoughts to yours in hopes to have your holidays filled with both children.

    Liked by 1 person

  13. Lisa says:

    I think your fears are completely rational…..being a mom and all! ๐Ÿ™‚ My imagination runs amuck all the time when my kids/grandbabykins are away from my sight. I love the way your wrote your thoughts here. Very poignant and moving. You captured the essence of being a mom perfectly.

    Liked by 1 person

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