The Sunshine’s Gone

Dearest Rachel –

I don’t know how it came to be that I was waiting for you last night on what seemed to be the concourse at O’Hare airport; chalk it up, I suppose, to the usual dream logic. Most of the other aspects of our current reality seemed to apply, such as the fact that you had been gone for nearly four years and so forth, but the fact that you were coming home was more than cause enough to rush over to pick you up.

“Coming home”; now there’s a thought. I should have known – and, in my waking state, I realize well enough to state it here and now – how absurd that phrase is in this context. The fact of the matter is that you’re the one who’s actually “home,” and I’m the sojourner at the moment. The fact that I haven’t known any other home than this planet doesn’t negate that my stay here is as temporary (well, a little less so, since I’d already had a few years on you, and every day is another one more) as yours; your return, even if it were possible, wouldn’t actually be a case of coming home as it would be a visit from home. But again, it’s hard for me to wrap my head around this, even if I grasp it intellectually, because it’s the only place I’ve ever lived; I can’t imagine another, even as I accept the impermanence of this one.

I’ve no idea where you were flying in from, or why you were arriving at this terminus. It’s all dream logic at this point. All that mattered was that you were there, and I was so happy to see you after all this time.

I ran to you when I spotted you, and wrapped you up in the biggest embrace I could; I think you did likewise, but I couldn’t feel your arms. I told you how much I missed you, and how good it was to have you back. I pledged to you that everything could be the way it had been before you left – an absurd promise, as I’ve written nearly two million words by now about how so much has changed since your departure. A lot can happen in four years, honey, even if you only count the activities of the wider world; when you consider what’s happened personally, as I’ve been dealing with your absence, the thought that everything could just snap back to the way it was before is ludicrous. But such are the promises that lovers make to each other, and it’s not as if you gave me any pushback on my assertion, in any event.

In fact, I don’t recall what, if anything, you said to me amidst our reunion. I want to say you were as enthusiastic and affectionate in our mutual greeting as I remember you being in life, but in the light (can I call it that, when it’s still pitch black outside?) of day and consciousness, I couldn’t honestly say you were. Maybe you kept silent, as you knew where you were; to speak up, to speak your mind (because, given where you had been pulled from, who would be happy about that?), would have broken the spell cast by this dream, and we get so little time together now as it is.

As it was, it didn’t take long before that enchantment did wear off, and I found myself lying in bed, wondering how I’d come to be there, how it felt so real for that moment I was welcoming you back “home,” and how you would have taken (or not) to the changes that had been made that I promised you – in vain – could be undone for your sake. It felt very much like that old song…

The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping
I dreamt I held you in my arms
When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken
So I hung my head and cried

“You Are My Sunshine,” of disputed origin, but circa the late thirties

My grandmother used to sing this song as a lullaby; a strange one to sing a grandchild as, far from being her “only sunshine,” I was the fourth of five grandchildren – not that I ever considered that fact at the time. What I did think about was the circumstances behind the song; so many such melancholy love songs could be about a breakup and the aftermath, but this one felt so much more like the singer and the person being sung to had been separated by death – something exacerbated by the fact that I couldn’t imagine at the time of a love lost by any other means, and certainly not with family like my Grandma.

Needless to say, I hated the song, especially this particular verse, although I never said as much to her to that effect. What would have been the point?

And yet, here I am, pretty much living that song out on a surprisingly regular basis, honey – or maybe it’s not so surprising. The only difference is that I don’t cry when I wake up; I’ve gotten too accustomed to the reality I’ve been left with to do that. At most, all I do is tell you about the details, in hopes that you might hear and… I don’t know, be amused by it? In hindsight, it seems rather pathetic to do so, and yet, here I am, doing so all the same. I can’t help myself, perhaps because I think I’m helping myself by doing this. Am I?

While (if) you ponder this, honey, remember to keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m sure I’m going to need it.