sitting here

In Lars and the Real Girl, there's a scene where these older women come to console Lars over the impending "death" of his real doll (bearing casseroles and their knitting projects) and he is visibly puzzled by their presence. "We came over to sit," says one of them. "That's what people do when tragedy strikes," says another. "They come over, and sit."

As I write this, I'm in the oddly-named Family Relaxation Room of the hospital waiting for J. to come out of surgery. More than a few people -- myself included, sometimes -- have wondered how it is I can support someone who has hurt me so badly over the past two weeks. There is the obvious: I know what it's like to come out of major surgery to an empty room and no idea when anyone you love will show up to hold your hand, reassure you that everything went well, and just smile and be there for you (it was easily 36 hours after I was really conscious after brain surgery that The Philosopher -- the father of my child! -- showed up).

But also: this is what people do for each other. They sit. And even though it's quite easy for me to get lost in and overwhelmed by all of the anger and disappointment and frustration and pain -- lots of pain! -- I feel about J. and the things he's done and said over the past two weeks, that not only won't help anyone, it would let someone down who I do love*, and in a not-small way. So, then: I'll stay, doing what it is that people do: sit. Namaste.

*Which, please note, is not the same thing as ignoring the obvious and getting back together with him.