Dear Son,
Anytime you feel down or lost, please remember one thing.
Every difficulty, every challenge, every black moment-- every tear and every minute of suffering I experienced was worth it, because it brought me to you.
I can't change the choices I've made, can't take back any of my mistakes. Neither can you. But you can steer your ship toward safe harbor, and believe me son, you will make it there.
The most perfect moment of my entire life was this afternoon, sitting and holding you as you fell asleep. You were snuggled under my chin and happy to be close to me. I knew that someday you wouldn't want to cuddle me like that, and I was determined to appreciate every second of being with you. I realized then that there was nothing else I could possibly ask for. You make me so happy I think I could burst.
Life won't always be this amazing, my little one. I know that there are challenges ahead for me, because that is the nature of living. Hopefully with strength and your Daddy's companionship, I will weather them all. And anytime I feel down, I will look back on how I felt being with you, loving you, in this perfect moment.
I love you. You'll never know how much.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
My Sweet Boy
Dear Archer,
It's the day after your birthday, and I'm sitting here holding you at bedtime. You've had an ear infection this week, so it hurts for you to lie down. So I'm holding you as you snuggle up, with your head under my chin, and fall asleep clinging to my cheek. You just had a bath and your head smells sweet. It's pretty wonderful just sitting here, rocking you, listening to your little sighs. Sometimes you giggle in your sleep. That's pretty wonderful too.
As I sit here a thousand thoughts go through my head. When you grow up and have a child of your own, will you think of me as you rock him to sleep? Will you know how happy I was to sit there and rock you and be your safe warm place in that moment in time? If time is anything like it has been for me, these years will pass quickly, too quickly. You won't be my snuggly baby for long. Soon you'll have ideas of your own, you'll argue with me, I'll try to be as patient as I can with you, try not to lose my temper. I'm sure I'll fail. But I'll try.
I'll do my best to remember our journey we've had so far together. I'll remember how much I wished for you, every day. I'll think of the day that I discovered I was pregnant, and how my heart started beating fast and my vision became bright and watery as I looked down at that little sign that said you were coming to be with us. I'll think of the days that I wondered about how you were doing in there, and how happy I was when I could finally feel you, fluttering around inside me, your little kicks a constant reminder of your presence.
When it came time to give birth to you, I was scared, baby. I've never been more scared in my life. At first I thought I could handle it, but then it became painful and the hours dragged on and I knew I wasn't going to be able to get you out the usual way. They wheeled me into the operating room with your Daddy at my side, and I was crying and shaking and then I was terrified as they numbed my body for the operation. I was so, so scared. I was afraid I would feel it, or something would happen and I would die, right there, and never get to meet you.
But then something wonderful happened. I heard your voice, your cry. And all of sudden I wasn't a just me anymore. I didn't care about what was happening. I heard you and I wanted to see you, wanted to go to you and hold you and kiss you.
I saw them bring you over to the table and I told your Daddy to go and get you, because I couldn't. I wanted him to make sure you were okay. Of course you were, and soon they brought you over so I could see you too. You were wrinkled and wet and unhappy, but beautiful and all mine. I loved you even then, loved how in a single instant I forgot what it was like to be scared for myself, and instead I was just happy to see you.
Your Daddy and I have been so happy to watch you grow since then. Of course we've loved every small milestone you hit: when you recognized our faces, followed us with your eyes; when you smiled at my peek-a-boos, when you laughed at your Uncle Matt blowing raspberries on your tummy; when you reached for your block and finally managed a crawl; when you pulled yourself up to stand on me. Now you learn a million things a second-- just today you learned to blow kisses. This month you've learned to sign for more food, for Daddy, for Mommy, for water, and for "all done." You've started pushing furniture around. You like it when I put you on my back and pack you around like a little papoose. Your laugh is so perfect and sweet. You are a happy cheerful boy most of the time, and don't cry and carry on when you fall down just a little bit.
For now, everything is perfect. Even the worst days are just dirty diapers or crabby sleepy boys who want Momma to cuddle them. I know someday things will be much more complicated. You will see me and Daddy as we are, and realize we can't fix everything or even respond well to everything. You might get angry with me for not understanding the world as you do. I may even let you down or embarrass you sometimes.
But what really nags at me, what bothers me is thinking that you might not understand how wonderful you are. You might have people pick on you, or you might look in the mirror and not like what you see. That would absolutely break my heart, baby. Please know always how wonderful and perfect and wanted you are. You're the most wonderful thing I've ever made and there's nothing I'm more proud of. Please always be filled and protected by my love, as much as you can be.
There's a lot ahead of us, little one, and part of your journey will be made without me. I won't be able to fight your battles and I will send you into the world with as much help as I can muster and just have to hope that it's enough. You will take my love with you always and everywhere, and I hope that will be enough.
I love you so much my little one. No one in the world has ever been loved more than you are.
Happy Birthday, my sweet. I hope next year is even better than this one has been.
My love always,
Mommy
It's the day after your birthday, and I'm sitting here holding you at bedtime. You've had an ear infection this week, so it hurts for you to lie down. So I'm holding you as you snuggle up, with your head under my chin, and fall asleep clinging to my cheek. You just had a bath and your head smells sweet. It's pretty wonderful just sitting here, rocking you, listening to your little sighs. Sometimes you giggle in your sleep. That's pretty wonderful too.
As I sit here a thousand thoughts go through my head. When you grow up and have a child of your own, will you think of me as you rock him to sleep? Will you know how happy I was to sit there and rock you and be your safe warm place in that moment in time? If time is anything like it has been for me, these years will pass quickly, too quickly. You won't be my snuggly baby for long. Soon you'll have ideas of your own, you'll argue with me, I'll try to be as patient as I can with you, try not to lose my temper. I'm sure I'll fail. But I'll try.
I'll do my best to remember our journey we've had so far together. I'll remember how much I wished for you, every day. I'll think of the day that I discovered I was pregnant, and how my heart started beating fast and my vision became bright and watery as I looked down at that little sign that said you were coming to be with us. I'll think of the days that I wondered about how you were doing in there, and how happy I was when I could finally feel you, fluttering around inside me, your little kicks a constant reminder of your presence.
When it came time to give birth to you, I was scared, baby. I've never been more scared in my life. At first I thought I could handle it, but then it became painful and the hours dragged on and I knew I wasn't going to be able to get you out the usual way. They wheeled me into the operating room with your Daddy at my side, and I was crying and shaking and then I was terrified as they numbed my body for the operation. I was so, so scared. I was afraid I would feel it, or something would happen and I would die, right there, and never get to meet you.
But then something wonderful happened. I heard your voice, your cry. And all of sudden I wasn't a just me anymore. I didn't care about what was happening. I heard you and I wanted to see you, wanted to go to you and hold you and kiss you.
I saw them bring you over to the table and I told your Daddy to go and get you, because I couldn't. I wanted him to make sure you were okay. Of course you were, and soon they brought you over so I could see you too. You were wrinkled and wet and unhappy, but beautiful and all mine. I loved you even then, loved how in a single instant I forgot what it was like to be scared for myself, and instead I was just happy to see you.
Your Daddy and I have been so happy to watch you grow since then. Of course we've loved every small milestone you hit: when you recognized our faces, followed us with your eyes; when you smiled at my peek-a-boos, when you laughed at your Uncle Matt blowing raspberries on your tummy; when you reached for your block and finally managed a crawl; when you pulled yourself up to stand on me. Now you learn a million things a second-- just today you learned to blow kisses. This month you've learned to sign for more food, for Daddy, for Mommy, for water, and for "all done." You've started pushing furniture around. You like it when I put you on my back and pack you around like a little papoose. Your laugh is so perfect and sweet. You are a happy cheerful boy most of the time, and don't cry and carry on when you fall down just a little bit.
For now, everything is perfect. Even the worst days are just dirty diapers or crabby sleepy boys who want Momma to cuddle them. I know someday things will be much more complicated. You will see me and Daddy as we are, and realize we can't fix everything or even respond well to everything. You might get angry with me for not understanding the world as you do. I may even let you down or embarrass you sometimes.
But what really nags at me, what bothers me is thinking that you might not understand how wonderful you are. You might have people pick on you, or you might look in the mirror and not like what you see. That would absolutely break my heart, baby. Please know always how wonderful and perfect and wanted you are. You're the most wonderful thing I've ever made and there's nothing I'm more proud of. Please always be filled and protected by my love, as much as you can be.
There's a lot ahead of us, little one, and part of your journey will be made without me. I won't be able to fight your battles and I will send you into the world with as much help as I can muster and just have to hope that it's enough. You will take my love with you always and everywhere, and I hope that will be enough.
I love you so much my little one. No one in the world has ever been loved more than you are.
Happy Birthday, my sweet. I hope next year is even better than this one has been.
My love always,
Mommy
Monday, January 28, 2013
To Breathe
I wrote a poem once, probably the best poem I've ever written, about a girl who is underwater. She's sitting there, just below the surface, looking at everything through the cloudy, rippled lens of the water. Everything looks soft and pretty from her point of view, light and comfortable. It's beautiful.
But the point of the poem is that regardless of how pretty it is, she's still underwater. Which means she either has to come up and take a breath, face reality, or she's going to die. This has been a metaphor for my life for as long as I can remember. I've always felt like I haven't started fighting for air yet. Like I'm someone who is content to just float there until I die.
Fighting is hard. Fighting means coming up for air, breaking the surface and seeing things the way they actually are, rather than the way I'd like to see them. Seeing myself for my flaws, seeing that despite my insistence that I'm doing my best with my gifts, I am actually wasting them. I am actively wasting my time. I am filling it up with everything except my deepest desires, because it's easier and because I'm afraid.
What am I afraid of you may ask? The same thing I've always been afraid of. Failure. There's a line from the Joy Luck Club. She says, "What a shame, you fall down. No one push you." I always think of that when I start thinking these thoughts, start letting myself have a taste of reality. I'm afraid that I've talked myself up for so long, said I was a writer and then when I actually go to put words on the page I will suck. I have the thinnest skin for critique in my writing group. I clam up and get angry when people give me honest feedback. And it's because of my insecurity. My flagrant, pathetic insecurity.
Do I have the potential for greatness? This is a question I've always answered with a loud OF COURSE. I am great. But the thing that really scares me is that when all is said and done I will not measure up. I will be mediocre, at best. I know when writing is good and I know that mine is not on par right now. I don't have the magic I want to have. I am in the middle ground between recognizing what is good and knowing that for now, I don't cut it.
But I have to fail in order to succeed. I can't be afraid to suck because this writing, these experiences will lead me to enlightenment. I will practice until the hard work becomes a second nature to me, until the words flow like they do on those rare occasions when I'm inspired. I can't sit around and wait for the flighty bite of that inspiration. I've got to make it my work ethic. And I have to do it soon.
My self-worth is completely tied up in this. In my insecurity, in my fear of failure, in my paralyzing inability to even try.
I've got to get free of this somehow. It starts tonight. I'm sitting here, in front of this computer until I find the path. I need to know where I'm going with this book, my direction and make a map. I need to follow it to its end. And I need to move on.
Mostly I need to decide if I'm going to give this up or not. I feel like I would explode into a million pieces if I do. But I know that if I keep waiting, keep deferring my dream, it will be even worse. It will rot inside of me, and nothing good will be left.
Take a breath. Come see what it looks like in the sun.
But the point of the poem is that regardless of how pretty it is, she's still underwater. Which means she either has to come up and take a breath, face reality, or she's going to die. This has been a metaphor for my life for as long as I can remember. I've always felt like I haven't started fighting for air yet. Like I'm someone who is content to just float there until I die.
Fighting is hard. Fighting means coming up for air, breaking the surface and seeing things the way they actually are, rather than the way I'd like to see them. Seeing myself for my flaws, seeing that despite my insistence that I'm doing my best with my gifts, I am actually wasting them. I am actively wasting my time. I am filling it up with everything except my deepest desires, because it's easier and because I'm afraid.
What am I afraid of you may ask? The same thing I've always been afraid of. Failure. There's a line from the Joy Luck Club. She says, "What a shame, you fall down. No one push you." I always think of that when I start thinking these thoughts, start letting myself have a taste of reality. I'm afraid that I've talked myself up for so long, said I was a writer and then when I actually go to put words on the page I will suck. I have the thinnest skin for critique in my writing group. I clam up and get angry when people give me honest feedback. And it's because of my insecurity. My flagrant, pathetic insecurity.
Do I have the potential for greatness? This is a question I've always answered with a loud OF COURSE. I am great. But the thing that really scares me is that when all is said and done I will not measure up. I will be mediocre, at best. I know when writing is good and I know that mine is not on par right now. I don't have the magic I want to have. I am in the middle ground between recognizing what is good and knowing that for now, I don't cut it.
But I have to fail in order to succeed. I can't be afraid to suck because this writing, these experiences will lead me to enlightenment. I will practice until the hard work becomes a second nature to me, until the words flow like they do on those rare occasions when I'm inspired. I can't sit around and wait for the flighty bite of that inspiration. I've got to make it my work ethic. And I have to do it soon.
My self-worth is completely tied up in this. In my insecurity, in my fear of failure, in my paralyzing inability to even try.
I've got to get free of this somehow. It starts tonight. I'm sitting here, in front of this computer until I find the path. I need to know where I'm going with this book, my direction and make a map. I need to follow it to its end. And I need to move on.
Mostly I need to decide if I'm going to give this up or not. I feel like I would explode into a million pieces if I do. But I know that if I keep waiting, keep deferring my dream, it will be even worse. It will rot inside of me, and nothing good will be left.
Take a breath. Come see what it looks like in the sun.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
You're a God...and I Am Not
It's been a couple of weeks since those 20 beautiful little children and their seven teachers were killed in Connecticut, but I still haven't been able to reconcile myself with what happened. Like everyone else, I'm just trying to understand something that really there is no way to possibly understand. The killer is dead; we'll never know what strange thoughts went through his mind before he decided that kindergarteners deserved to die, or if there was anything we could have done to prevent it.
When something like this happens, everyone tries to cling to something meaningful because that's just what we do. Humans crave the comfort of arms around them, someone to tell them that everything's going to be okay. And I think sometimes these kinds of experiences really make people lean more heavily on their faith.
For me, I've been having something of a "crisis of faith" for some time now. Awhile back I came to the conclusion that I could never buy into the idea of being a sinful human that only Jesus could redeem, because I just don't believe that I am naturally evil. It always rang false to me, and not because I think I'm anything great either. I do believe that I'm capable of greatness, and for my own sanity I need to believe that no one can give it or take it away from me. Call that what you will.
But I think I've definitely come to one conclusion recently. There's no way there is a God. I don't care what you believe or what your religion says. There is absolutely no loving God that would let something like that happen. Either there is no God or the one we have sucks. There's really nothing else to say so I'll just leave you with this.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
The Fear
As quickly as I grasp it, it slips away. The Fear is constantly undulating, serpentine, through the hills and meadows of my mind. Where it goes the grass grows purple, and the sky is clouded with a thickness that is hard to breathe. Two glistening teeth curve out below its lip; it is a smile I know. I turn my face away.
The Fear is a void with clasping, clawing arms-- the graceless movements of an insect gathering its prey. Hastening it to fill it, I try everything I can think of: food, stories, idle thoughts. Anything I can do to keep from seeings its faceless form, terrifying in its emptiness. I run from it because I always have, I run from it because I am paralyzed and have always been.
Clarity comes in those quiet moments when there is no sound jar against my ears, and in those moments I gather what courage I can to face the Fear. In those moments I feel whole; I do not feel the pull of the void, the ceaseless and thoughtless need to fill it.
Peace comes, and then I feel it rush over me, a tide of people and feelings and thoughts and colors. It is my world; it can only exist where nothing has existed before. The Fear cannot quench it, cannot kill it, cannot force it away. I am full. I can succeed. My dreams are inspired and my hands are magic.
The Fear will not conquer me.
The Fear is a void with clasping, clawing arms-- the graceless movements of an insect gathering its prey. Hastening it to fill it, I try everything I can think of: food, stories, idle thoughts. Anything I can do to keep from seeings its faceless form, terrifying in its emptiness. I run from it because I always have, I run from it because I am paralyzed and have always been.
Clarity comes in those quiet moments when there is no sound jar against my ears, and in those moments I gather what courage I can to face the Fear. In those moments I feel whole; I do not feel the pull of the void, the ceaseless and thoughtless need to fill it.
Peace comes, and then I feel it rush over me, a tide of people and feelings and thoughts and colors. It is my world; it can only exist where nothing has existed before. The Fear cannot quench it, cannot kill it, cannot force it away. I am full. I can succeed. My dreams are inspired and my hands are magic.
The Fear will not conquer me.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
The Bottom Line
I get caught up sometimes in the different expectations and obligations that have pull on my time. In the end I need to remember one thing:
the most important thing to me is that I work, work my fucking ass off until my fingers bleed. I have words that need to get out. I have stories that need to be told. I have to be committed in a miserable and one-track way that defies all things and abandons all things. I need to be crazy in pursuit of my goals. I need to be committed to dig deep and find the true things inside of me that my characters crave; that my readers are entitled to. People need to hear me. I need to be heard.
That's the bottom line.
the most important thing to me is that I work, work my fucking ass off until my fingers bleed. I have words that need to get out. I have stories that need to be told. I have to be committed in a miserable and one-track way that defies all things and abandons all things. I need to be crazy in pursuit of my goals. I need to be committed to dig deep and find the true things inside of me that my characters crave; that my readers are entitled to. People need to hear me. I need to be heard.
That's the bottom line.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Love
Lately I've been feeling like a crybaby, because everything I see makes me teary. I should clarify, not everything, mostly just touching, beautiful, or amazing things are making me cry. The only problem is that I find a lot of things that fall into one of those three categories.
Part of me thinks that since I have started to feel the ticking of my internal baby clock, and as my body is pumped full of hormones I have fallen into some estrogen-induced happiness-coma in which I attempt to love as many things about the world as possible. Maybe there's something biological about it? It ruins it to overanalyze, but sometimes I wonder. It just seems unreasonable that one person could be as happy as I am, or in any way deserves to be. And yet, I am.
As I go about my day I am sometimes terrified that I don't deserve this, that the universe is fixing to serve me up a nasty slap in the face in the form of something horrible happening to me, some new kind of devastation that mirrors my current jubilance perfectly. Isn't it strange that I've grown up thinking that happiness is unattainable and that I don't deserve it? There's nothing in my upbringing to suggest this, so don't get the wrong idea. I just keep waiting for the arm to reach in and snatch back all the wonderful things I've been given.
But meanwhile, I've decided I'm going to enjoy it. It isn't part of me to give in to those feelings, to feel depressed, to let my fears diminish my appreciation for my life at all. So I feel sappy and lovey all the time, so what? What's wrong with telling all the people in your life how much they mean to you, or crying over the way a song makes you feel? I told my husband that all I wanted in our relationship was for him to always feel that he was loved, appreciated, and adored every day. So far, so good. I told him that when I die I don't want there to be any question in his or in anyone else's mind about how much I loved them. I did. I do. I love my friends and family in the way that you love something that you know you were lucky to get, and that you will be torn apart to see it go. I know that I am lucky, or blessed if you prefer that term, and I guess I will just take this time while it lasts to be in constant appreciation of it.
On that note, I cried watching this video today. It's lovely.
I hope when I am old, when my heart has been broken, when I have lost many of the things I today appreciate and love, I will still have the capacity for joy. Please don't let it die before I do.
Part of me thinks that since I have started to feel the ticking of my internal baby clock, and as my body is pumped full of hormones I have fallen into some estrogen-induced happiness-coma in which I attempt to love as many things about the world as possible. Maybe there's something biological about it? It ruins it to overanalyze, but sometimes I wonder. It just seems unreasonable that one person could be as happy as I am, or in any way deserves to be. And yet, I am.
As I go about my day I am sometimes terrified that I don't deserve this, that the universe is fixing to serve me up a nasty slap in the face in the form of something horrible happening to me, some new kind of devastation that mirrors my current jubilance perfectly. Isn't it strange that I've grown up thinking that happiness is unattainable and that I don't deserve it? There's nothing in my upbringing to suggest this, so don't get the wrong idea. I just keep waiting for the arm to reach in and snatch back all the wonderful things I've been given.
But meanwhile, I've decided I'm going to enjoy it. It isn't part of me to give in to those feelings, to feel depressed, to let my fears diminish my appreciation for my life at all. So I feel sappy and lovey all the time, so what? What's wrong with telling all the people in your life how much they mean to you, or crying over the way a song makes you feel? I told my husband that all I wanted in our relationship was for him to always feel that he was loved, appreciated, and adored every day. So far, so good. I told him that when I die I don't want there to be any question in his or in anyone else's mind about how much I loved them. I did. I do. I love my friends and family in the way that you love something that you know you were lucky to get, and that you will be torn apart to see it go. I know that I am lucky, or blessed if you prefer that term, and I guess I will just take this time while it lasts to be in constant appreciation of it.
On that note, I cried watching this video today. It's lovely.
I hope when I am old, when my heart has been broken, when I have lost many of the things I today appreciate and love, I will still have the capacity for joy. Please don't let it die before I do.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)