Holding Up The World

For six weeks I have watched my silver neck chain sit on the nightstand in my mother's guestroom.

For six weeks my ritual was the same. I would roll off the bed, literally, and be faced with the decision between jeans or khakis. Then, dutifully deciding on what I thought was best, I struggled to put on my pants with as little bending as possible. Next was the shirt - a collection of all button up shirts to make the task easier. Socks were a necessary evil - my mother's place is paradise with the floors paved cold. Then I could meaningfully take up my effects. Wallet in one pocket, phone and keys in the other. Tissue was an optional accessory; a house that had raised 3 children was amply able to handle any sniffle situation on its own. And then on with my glasses, and a moment's pause in honour of the silver chain which rested next to them.

It reminded me of my mother, and it made me feel successful. Contrary to its description, this chain was a liberation. When it was around my neck, it held me fast to who I was - who I am - on the inside. And before the surgery, I wore it every day.

But sacrifices had to be made, in the name of well-being, including the emotionally fashionable. My chain, when worn, lay right on top of the largest part of my chest incision. An incision that was open, and then was raw, and then was other things that are equally unpleasant. To ensure its proper healing, the chain must be left off. It would only serve to irritate.

I always knew how much I enjoyed that little trinket but, as the wisdom goes - knowing it's raining is different from being wet. I felt naked without it, in all the empty meanings of the cliche.

Two days ago, the incision had healed enough. I did not tell my mother, but I had been secretly giddy about this day. This was just as exciting as Christmas. The incision had turned into a bright red scar much earlier, but I wanted to be sure, and I wanted it to be the right time. No point in giving something meaning if you're not going to treat it as a symbol, after all. And so, after I got back from my follow up appointments and had been told it was time to return to a more normal life, I knew it was time for the silver chain.

I had a lengthy shower to make sure I was fresh. Clean clothes were required as well; the only-worn-twice ones were not good enough for this moment. I decided, after careful thought, to not shave. I looked manlier that way; worthier of the event. Then the chain was polished, made new again. Finally, with the morning sun washing across the street and flooding the windows, I put on my chain.

There was a subtle and delightful weight to it. A weight I had not noticed before - because, I suppose, I had always carried it. But now, emerging from this life of careful healing and awareness, the weight was obvious. There was a weight to being me.

I could only grin. Like Atlas carrying the world I dutifully carried my chain. This was the smallest and most important of the burdens I would have to shoulder in the coming months. Now, more than ever, I was aware of who I was becoming and who I wanted to be. And while I may not know every step of the journey, that weight reminds me that I am walking. I'm holding my own Becoming.

Silver and body-flesh red don't really look great, but I think they go very well together.

- Z