Monday

By TAD BARTIMUS

"What's that funny smell? Is the house on fire?" I asked, sitting up in bed. It was a burned-out light switch that forced my husband to finish shaving in the dark.

I didn't need to ask what day it was.

Mondays are when the earth jerks itself back to attention after the weekend. Mondays exist to remind us we don't lead orderly lives and that we have to roll with the punches.

"What's that funny smell? Is the car on fire?" I yelled down to my husband, who was lost in a cloud of black exhaust as he started the car. I phoned the garage that had just serviced the Jeep. "Oh yeah, we break those oil gauges all the time," said the manager. "Bring it back and we'll try again." Try again?

Remember when we were kids in school and loved being sick on Mondays? We could scrunch back down in bed, pull the covers over our heads and luxuriate in our misery.

I was not sick this Monday when, without warning, our 22-year-old tomcat presented me with a dead rat as I walked barefoot. You can guess the rest.

After supper, when the worst should have been over, the telephone rang: "I'll come right away," my husband said. Turning to me, he confirmed what I'd suspected: "Mom's dying."

Searching through garment bags for his dark suit, I reflected on how little control we have over our lives. Calendars, day planners and Palm Pilots are an illusion; even as we make entries, we know we may not keep them. The trick is to imagine ourselves walking across a room full of ball bearings and remaining loose and limber enough to stay on our feet.

Watching the late-night television news, I realized that difficult lesson was ahead for the thousands of young wives and husbands now saying tearful farewells to their soldier spouses departing for the Persian Gulf. Over and over, I heard those being left behind say, "I don't know what I will do when you're gone."

When we're young we can't imagine how to get through months of Mondays because we've never had to do it. But step-by-step, we feel our way through the room full of ball bearings. We survive a few falls. Eventually, we make it to the other side. The older we get the less shocked we are by our Mondays, because we've honed coping skills on previous ones.

Military dependants now being left behind will figure out how to fix their leaking toilet, where to take the dog to get neutered, and who's the best mechanic in town. They will discover they are persistent, resourceful and talented -- so much so that what now seem like insurmountable mountains will soon turn into easily conquered molehills.

John Milton wrote in 1655, "They also serve who only stand and wait." It's only partly true; military wives, parents and children never just stand and wait for their soldiers to come home. They press on, doing what needs to be done to hold their family together.

Because I have a lot of Mondays behind me, I got the light switch and the car repaired, the rat disposed of and the dark suit packed. Now, like all who are left behind, it's time to stand and wait. My mother-in-law will die on her terms, in her time, but no matter what day she decides to leave us, it will feel like Monday.

© 2003 The Women Syndicate

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