Partial – Events within an uncertain time line

par•tial

Pronunciation: \ pahr-shuh l \
Function: adjective
Etymology: Late Latin partiālis incomplete
Date: 1375–1425

1. being such in part only; not total or general; incomplete: partial blindness; a partial payment of a debt.
2. biased or prejudiced in favor of a person, group, side, etc., over another, as in a controversy: a partial witness.
3. pertaining to or affecting a part.
4. being a part; component; constituent.


In her book “The Year of Magical Thinking” Joan Didion takes, what I had thought when reading it, an extraordinary amount of time discussing the time line of her husband’s death. The event itself is crystal clear, but the time line – what day he said what; the exact time the paramedics arrived and left; who came to the house and when. All of these structural details were fragmented while being punctuated with the numbing details of the actual events.

In looking back at January and February 2010 I now understand why she fought so hard to place events within a temporal structure. The fear of not remembering is greater than remembering.

I can no longer tie every event to a day or a time. Some inevitably bring their own dates, but others blur. I am not sure if I went to Eugene between New Years and the MLK weekend. I don’t believe so. I am not sure if it was in between these two times or during the week I stayed in Eugene that David asked why I came when I knew he was drinking. I told him it was because I had been with him for years when he was drinking, but during those years I did not have Al Anon. This time I would be his friend but have my own recovery.

It was about 9 p.m. when I arrived late that Friday night of MLK week. I had talked to him a little more than two hours earlier. He was clearly drunk. He had not been returning my calls, but this night he picked up. He said I could come.

The house was dark when I arrived. I had a key to the house, something he had given me years before. He was in bed and very, very drunk. I woke him, told him I was there, and set to get my things from the car. He stayed in his room as I fixed up the couch. Twenty minutes or so later he came charging from the room. He had not heard me come back from my car and he was convinced I was in some danger. He did not see me but stumbled to the door to rescue me. It was with confusion, that after I called to him several times, he realized I was in the house and safe.

His fear for my safety turned to fear that I would reject him. I would not. He fell asleep as I held him. He fell asleep as I prayed. And the next morning while he slept, I would leave and attend the first of many Al Anon meetings that week.

What Worked for Me Today
Getting up, getting dressed and going out to breakfast.
Feeling.

Minutia
Crescent Cafe
526 Northeast 3rd Street, McMinnville, OR 97128-6213 (503) 435-2655 ‎