The Location of Time and Space

The Location of Time and Space

We celebrated my son’s birthday at my house.

Just lunch.

My sons, one girlfriend, my dad, my husband, my mom and her husband, and me.

It wasn’t chaotic—just full enough.

My dad seemed okay, but not fully settled.

A little overwhelmed.

Quiet.

Staying close to me.

Not tracking everything—just enough to be there.

After, I dropped him off

and went to my son’s soccer game.

And something shifted.

A cool breeze moved across the field,

the sun hot on my face.

Out there, everything holds.

It’s high level—fast, precise, intense.

Endurance.

Vitality.

Bursts of power that actually go somewhere.

There are rules.

Cause and effect.

A whistle blows when something isn’t allowed to happen.

Things stop.

Reset.

Continue.

The world makes sense.

And I’m just watching.

I’m not holding anything together.

It’s happening on its own.

Alive.

The more my dad fades into himself,

the more I crave the location of time and space.

Something that holds.

Something that doesn’t shift underneath me.

Earlier, in the car, he said it felt strange

being in the passenger seat—

like he was experiencing the neighborhood for the first time

because he wasn’t the one driving.

He hasn’t driven in a year and a half.

But in that moment, it felt new to him.

Not wrong—just disorienting.

At the house, he said it felt like there were 30 or 50 people there.

There were eight.

At the grocery store, he kept asking

if it used to be an old A&P.

He hasn’t been to that store before.

We’re in South Carolina now.

But something in him was trying to place it

inside a memory that made sense.

I don’t correct him.

Because I can feel it—

he’s not really stating facts.

He’s trying to orient himself.

Trying to find something familiar

inside something that isn’t.

And I can’t argue with it anymore.

I can’t explain it away.

I can’t fix it.

I can’t disprove it.

There is no version of this

where he isn’t declining.

That realization doesn’t land once.

It comes in waves.

And each time,

something slips a little further out of my hands.

Something that can’t be held.

And still—

I’m moving him in.

For now, I drop him off

and I drive away

knowing he’s walking around

inside a world that doesn’t fully hold its shape—

and wondering what that feels like.

And then I sit with my own mind

doing what minds do—

trying to reconcile

the unreconcilable.