In the Works

It is almost never truly quiet.  Stop and listen and you'll hear a low buzz of electricity running through the lights, hum of distant traffic, dripping faucets, voices, or dogs barking.  The fan of this computer is making noise and now that I'm paying attention it will distract and annoy me.  Soon I'll forget about it and the sound will recede and join with the other sounds to be part of the background noise.  Until my attention is drawn back again.  That is how it works.

My father died when I was four, and he was 29.  Then Death itself became a Presence that took the place of my father's life.  It was always in the room making noise.  It was cracking its knuckles, breathing heavy, chewing with its mouth open, growling low and menacingly.  A nuisance at times--really who wants to be reminded of our mortality? And terrifying at others--I knew I was one parent away from being an orphan.  I could tune it out sometimes and even forget It was there.  But Death never really leaves and every once in a while my attention is drawn to it again.  That is how it works.