Yellow Belly

I am a coward.

Bit strange me saying that as I have never been known to back down from a fight, even stepping up for someone else at times. And one of my most useful (and most used) mantras is : "Feel the fear and do it anyway" (thank you Susan Jeffers). I'm forever telling my kids that it's ok to be nervous, that butterflies in the tummy can be good, and the true definition of bravery is being scared of something but having a go regardless- the ol' "get over it, get on with it" mentality.

But today I am a coward.

Too afraid and uncertain of how to act, what to say, that instead I'm keeping quiet.

Not that I'm not worried my silence will send the wrong message. It's just, I don't know what message to send.

So  I sit.

And send none.

And then fret that my fear will take too long and I'll miss the chance to say anything at all.

Here's my dilemna: two people are in two different hospitals, neither of them near, both fighting for their lives. It's been a while since I had an actual conversation with either of them and now the clock is ticking. Fast.

What do you say to someone you once had no trouble filling hours talking to? How do you express the feelings you yourself can't even clearly understand?

And when is the right time, when time is running out?

I've previously pondered the dynamics of human relationships that get waylaid by life. Friendships that are interrupted by the very act of living. Some you can pick up where you left off- if only the chance comes up. And I've philosophised before about the family connections that get cut off by word or deed - or both- from one party or the other. But the human animal is a funny creature- one that relies heavily on "later"...until it's too late.

So, coward that I am, and desperate to not have the final memories be bad ones or sad ones, I haven't actually spoken to either of these people, who were once so dear to me. I've sent balloons to one, SMSed the other, and left a slightly cringe-worthy message on the machine of the mother of my friend, I was so tongue-tied at the time.

Me, the one who they say was born talking (if family mythology can be believed). Me, who could allegedly talk under water with a mouth full of marbles (an untested rumour). Me, who has been known to get paid to speak for a living.  Me, who is sadly, strangely, silent now.

I simply cannot find the words. Nor trust my voice not to break.

A coward indeed.

And I am so afraid that when I find my courage, it'll be just too late to say anything at all.

Jx

©2012