Mirrors have always fascinated me.
When a child, Mom and Dad (note the teamwork represented in my memory of facts) installed sliding mirror doors on our closets in all of the bedrooms in the house. I would sit in front of that sliding piece of vanity-inducing goodness for hours, often merely playing solitaire, a long-time favorite choice of personal entertainment. Or I would pretend to be a rock star.
This set-up proved most valuable when there were two teenage daughters in the house; instead of dominating the bathroom, our precious hair-care routine took place in our individual rooms.
My parents were so smart! However, the fact I could see my entire body when getting dressed did not assist me much in putting together ensembles that did not completely clash. After having taught those ages in a completely different culture than my own, I have come to decide that is a developmental stage, so-called color and pattern blindness and the desire to have one's own style not dictated to by anyone else.
That was Me.
I remember the night my maternal grandmother died. We got The Call at 2 a.m. and never went back to sleep. Nobody did. A major heart attack claimed my 62 year old Grandma in the middle of the night. (Yes, I am wearing red this coming Friday. Please join me.) I sat up the rest of the night, listening to the screaming anguish of my mother, my father making seemingly endless phone calls, lamp on, door cracked but not entirely closed (we had a no-closed door policy in my house; cracked was fine, no firm closure permitted), shuffling cards, listening to KTMT. Tears for Fears' song "Shout" must have been Billboard's #1 that week; it played all day long and every time I hear that song to this day I am carried back to that day when I sat in front of my mirror doors, playing Klondike or Four Aces or Clock or 13 pyramid...whatever...and watched myself cry and cry silent tears while Mom screamed the pain of her soul out. I was fourteen.
Mirrors later became an obsession. If there were anything into which I could catch a glance of my reflection, I would search it out to ensure hair was in place, the little make-up I wore was okay, nothing in my teeth; I had my secret checklist that would be fulfilled in car windows, oven doors and glass picture frames.
Undoing this vain practice has proved difficult. Even at an age in which I should now feel comfortable with who I am and how I represent myself to the world, I seek out my reflection constantly, same checklist in mind.
Perhaps I try to find something deeper, that little "spark" or detail that everyone else seems to see in me but that I cannot see in myself. If I look in enough mirrors, will that ever give me the opportunity to see me as others do?
Mirrors represent a constant search for a me that I, evidently, am not yet certain truly exists except through the eyes of others. What do mirrors represent for you?
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta llagrimas. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta llagrimas. Mostrar todas las entradas
domingo, 1 de febrero de 2009
miércoles, 17 de diciembre de 2008
at a loss
The always dreaded anniversary of Dad's death came and went. There are always lots of flashbacks, it's almost eerie how I feel that time-travel sensation going back to moments throughout the day, each year, of one of the worst days of my life.
But it passed. And rather well, so I thought.
Then the phone rang. Caller ID said it was my mother.
She never calls me, so I knew someone had died.
She had to put her cat to sleep today. Barely an adult, only a four year old cat, it had apparently been born with some disease whose name escapes me, but involves fluid collection around the lungs, and Mynnie couldn't fight any longer.
So, on the same day she had to pull the plug on her husband, nine years later, she had to hold her only life partner at this juncture as she died in my mother's arms.
When Mozee died, five years after Dad died, my mother was about destroyed. All involved were thrilled when, less than a month later, Mom found a new kitten to love and welcome into her home and her heart. Now Mom is stuck wondering why everything in her life turns bad.
I can tell her everything, how she gave that cat a better four years of life than most would have given her, that she did all she could, that Mynnie knew how loved she was...all things my mother knows but that make little difference in the pain that parts her heart right now.
And I can do nothing. I offered her a ticket here for Christmas; she declined saying she couldn't. I countered that she no longer had a cat to find care for; she said that they are expecting significant snow accumulations tomorrow (which, for Southern Oregon, is an event) and that she's not expecting the weather to be all that great. In fact, she's uncertain of her ability to make the 300 mile trek up the I-5 to see her brother during the Christmas holiday.
I sincerely hope she can make it. She needs a change of scenery.
So Princesita, Young Prince and I got onto the local florist in my hometown and sent her a bouquet of white tulips to hopefully brighten her home and her existence a bit tomorrow. I put the children to bed...
...and proceeded to just let the ache out. I thought my tears had been used up already this month, but I guess not yet.
I think we are all ready for December 2008 to be over.
But it passed. And rather well, so I thought.
Then the phone rang. Caller ID said it was my mother.
She never calls me, so I knew someone had died.
She had to put her cat to sleep today. Barely an adult, only a four year old cat, it had apparently been born with some disease whose name escapes me, but involves fluid collection around the lungs, and Mynnie couldn't fight any longer.
So, on the same day she had to pull the plug on her husband, nine years later, she had to hold her only life partner at this juncture as she died in my mother's arms.
When Mozee died, five years after Dad died, my mother was about destroyed. All involved were thrilled when, less than a month later, Mom found a new kitten to love and welcome into her home and her heart. Now Mom is stuck wondering why everything in her life turns bad.
I can tell her everything, how she gave that cat a better four years of life than most would have given her, that she did all she could, that Mynnie knew how loved she was...all things my mother knows but that make little difference in the pain that parts her heart right now.
And I can do nothing. I offered her a ticket here for Christmas; she declined saying she couldn't. I countered that she no longer had a cat to find care for; she said that they are expecting significant snow accumulations tomorrow (which, for Southern Oregon, is an event) and that she's not expecting the weather to be all that great. In fact, she's uncertain of her ability to make the 300 mile trek up the I-5 to see her brother during the Christmas holiday.
I sincerely hope she can make it. She needs a change of scenery.
So Princesita, Young Prince and I got onto the local florist in my hometown and sent her a bouquet of white tulips to hopefully brighten her home and her existence a bit tomorrow. I put the children to bed...
...and proceeded to just let the ache out. I thought my tears had been used up already this month, but I guess not yet.
I think we are all ready for December 2008 to be over.
viernes, 5 de diciembre de 2008
not much to say...
I know, write THAT in the record books. (grin)
I actually have a lot to say, but can't find the words right now. December is a hard month for me, made this year a bit more bitter with Ryan's death. It is hard for me to believe that, come the 17th, it will have been 9 years that Dad died--what seems like yesterday and yet still a lifetime ago. And the 15th makes 7 years that Ko-chan died. And the 30th makes 11 years that my surrogate grandmother died (she lived next door all my childhood life and thus filled that role in my life).
I focus on the lights on the tree, the music, the lights in my children's eyes and try not to let myself think about all I feel I have lost in December.
I try not to feel so cold, but that is hard for me right now. I take my moments of joy and cherish them, and they carry me through my moments of sadness and grief.
I miss hugs. Sometimes you just need someone to hold you, nothing more, and I haven't had that in a very, very long time. I pretend I'm just holding my children but I never really let them know that it is instead them holding me...it is not fair to them to know that kind of pressure at their young ages.
And that is that.
I actually have a lot to say, but can't find the words right now. December is a hard month for me, made this year a bit more bitter with Ryan's death. It is hard for me to believe that, come the 17th, it will have been 9 years that Dad died--what seems like yesterday and yet still a lifetime ago. And the 15th makes 7 years that Ko-chan died. And the 30th makes 11 years that my surrogate grandmother died (she lived next door all my childhood life and thus filled that role in my life).
I focus on the lights on the tree, the music, the lights in my children's eyes and try not to let myself think about all I feel I have lost in December.
I try not to feel so cold, but that is hard for me right now. I take my moments of joy and cherish them, and they carry me through my moments of sadness and grief.
I miss hugs. Sometimes you just need someone to hold you, nothing more, and I haven't had that in a very, very long time. I pretend I'm just holding my children but I never really let them know that it is instead them holding me...it is not fair to them to know that kind of pressure at their young ages.
And that is that.
miércoles, 3 de diciembre de 2008
Malawi, revisited yet again
Malawi has taken yet another friend.
He was a lifelong friend, one I went to school with from kindergarten all the way through graduation from high school. His father and my father taught together in the same school and educated each others' children.
Although I have many memories, one in particular stands out from Home Ec class in the 7th grade. He was the only of the testosterone set in the class and not only were we sewing machine partners (which was good as I was hopeless at threading the darned thing--he came to my rescue more than once!) but also cooking partners. He always teased me about how much syrup I needed to douse my geometrically-shaped pancakes in because they weren't otherwise edible!
We had fun.
Last I saw him was our 10 year reunion. He came right up to me and we stepped aside, apart from the rest of the group and had a wonderful talk, for a good 45 minutes or so, about life, travel and, most impressive, the fact that he was a missionary in Africa. I am personally not a missionary-minded person but have great respect for those who have such faith that go forth and spread word and, most importantly, good will to all in the world.
He and his family--a wife with three young girls aged 8, 6 and 3--were in Malawi. He was returning after delivering maize with a friend and was in an accident yesterday. He was killed in that accident. He was my age--36.
Today is a sad day. My soul aches for a world that has lost such a good man who had the will and the courage to spread so much love and goodness to places that so desperately need such gifts. Each tear I shed is filled with sadness for his family and yet with hope that his good deeds and example will be remembered and emulated by all who knew him.
He was a lifelong friend, one I went to school with from kindergarten all the way through graduation from high school. His father and my father taught together in the same school and educated each others' children.
Although I have many memories, one in particular stands out from Home Ec class in the 7th grade. He was the only of the testosterone set in the class and not only were we sewing machine partners (which was good as I was hopeless at threading the darned thing--he came to my rescue more than once!) but also cooking partners. He always teased me about how much syrup I needed to douse my geometrically-shaped pancakes in because they weren't otherwise edible!
We had fun.
Last I saw him was our 10 year reunion. He came right up to me and we stepped aside, apart from the rest of the group and had a wonderful talk, for a good 45 minutes or so, about life, travel and, most impressive, the fact that he was a missionary in Africa. I am personally not a missionary-minded person but have great respect for those who have such faith that go forth and spread word and, most importantly, good will to all in the world.
He and his family--a wife with three young girls aged 8, 6 and 3--were in Malawi. He was returning after delivering maize with a friend and was in an accident yesterday. He was killed in that accident. He was my age--36.
Today is a sad day. My soul aches for a world that has lost such a good man who had the will and the courage to spread so much love and goodness to places that so desperately need such gifts. Each tear I shed is filled with sadness for his family and yet with hope that his good deeds and example will be remembered and emulated by all who knew him.
lunes, 1 de diciembre de 2008
flirting
Dad's House wrote today on flirting and challenged us all to a "A Flirt A Day" contest.
Doesn't that sound like so much fun? Perhaps just the thing to draw us out of our winter hibernations, light a fire in our souls and bring some spontaneity and spark to our spirits.
To be honest, nothing makes me want to crawl deeper into my little cave even more.
I used to flirt, I used to have fun and enjoy my company with others, friends and strangers alike. Now, with a mortal fear that someone might read too much into a look, a word, a touch, I find it easier to live my life in my little contactless circle where I don't have to worry about having anything else further complicating my life.
There are external circumstances, of course, that affect these words. I have a hard time in December, I have a sore throat and am not feeling well (which doesn't happen often), the winter chill and short days affect me each year, and I have recently had a hard disagreement with a close friend that has yet to be resolved; these all create in me a great degree of insecurity and my self-confidence is just low right now.
So low that, reading Dad's post, I found myself in tears, wondering what in the world has happened to ME...the ME I used to be. My strength is gone and my resolve accounts for almost nothing.
*---*
Last night I read a Hans Christian Anderson tale I had never before read to my children. It was called "The Fir Tree". The gist of the story is that the fir tree in the forest was never content with how his life was while surrounded by the beauty of nature in the forest; he always wanted something more. It wasn't until he was chopped down, decorated, promptly discarded and chopped and burned that he realized how he had wished his life away. The last paragraph describing how each pop of his trunk in the fire was actually a sigh as he remembered various glorious scenes from his life that he never appreciated until it was all over.
My kids didn't understand why I cried at the end of the story. And I actually, for the first time, didn't feel like talking about it.
Doesn't that sound like so much fun? Perhaps just the thing to draw us out of our winter hibernations, light a fire in our souls and bring some spontaneity and spark to our spirits.
To be honest, nothing makes me want to crawl deeper into my little cave even more.
I used to flirt, I used to have fun and enjoy my company with others, friends and strangers alike. Now, with a mortal fear that someone might read too much into a look, a word, a touch, I find it easier to live my life in my little contactless circle where I don't have to worry about having anything else further complicating my life.
There are external circumstances, of course, that affect these words. I have a hard time in December, I have a sore throat and am not feeling well (which doesn't happen often), the winter chill and short days affect me each year, and I have recently had a hard disagreement with a close friend that has yet to be resolved; these all create in me a great degree of insecurity and my self-confidence is just low right now.
So low that, reading Dad's post, I found myself in tears, wondering what in the world has happened to ME...the ME I used to be. My strength is gone and my resolve accounts for almost nothing.
*---*
Last night I read a Hans Christian Anderson tale I had never before read to my children. It was called "The Fir Tree". The gist of the story is that the fir tree in the forest was never content with how his life was while surrounded by the beauty of nature in the forest; he always wanted something more. It wasn't until he was chopped down, decorated, promptly discarded and chopped and burned that he realized how he had wished his life away. The last paragraph describing how each pop of his trunk in the fire was actually a sigh as he remembered various glorious scenes from his life that he never appreciated until it was all over.
My kids didn't understand why I cried at the end of the story. And I actually, for the first time, didn't feel like talking about it.
domingo, 23 de noviembre de 2008
In Thanksgiving
This week we in the United States, as well as our citizens scattered throughout the world, celebrate Thanksgiving. Tradition calls for the turkey, cranberries, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie and a plethora of fattening delicacies that, as tradition also mandates, we are to enjoy guilt-free regardless of how we might later pay for such indulgences.
Albeit something I ought to practice more readily in my life, I also find myself forced to slow down and reflect on all I have to be thankful for. This is a hard time of year for me in that blood-line family is located so far away that it is pretty much impossible for holidays to be spent together. The cold, dark weather always draws me into hibernation mode. Heartache that is inevitable with the dark memories surrounding my father's death at Christmastime also seeks me out no matter how hard I might try to hide from it. Two close friends both have their fathers critically hospitalized right now, both as of this week; it seems that others are starting to catch up and, although I want to be able to do what I so needed from others when my father died, I am finding it emotionally impossible for me to do anything but pray for the well-being of all involved.
Perhaps selfish, but I just cannot put myself through the wrenching emotions it all causes deep in my soul. At least their fathers got to know their grandchildren, have relationships with them and see them grow into beautiful young people while developing adult relationships with their own children. Much like me and both my grandfathers, my children never knew their grandfather. He was days away from receiving his first retirement check when he died. The two fathers now hospitalized are much older and have lived a much more complete life. Yes, it is sad but they have also come much closer to living our socially-defined full cycle of life. Yes, I think it's unfair, because I am selfish. But I also recognize Life is unfair and there isn't anything I can do about that. It all just hits too close to home for me still. So I stay my distance.
Funny how strong we can convince ourselves we are, but when said strength is tried our weaknesses shine forth with greater force.
*---*
I spent the weekend completely engaged with the little monkeys! As my weekends are currently running a Friday-Saturday schedule with Sunday-Thursday students, I do the best I can to maximize our time together on Friday evening as soon as Princesita is home from school. This time spent together made me reflect actively on the deep gratitude I feel for so much in my life. This will be my serious list, due to the tone of the post. In a couple of days I will then post my not-so-serious Thanksgiving list when I have a bit less work and a bit more cranberries and stuffing on my mind.
What am I thankful for? No elaboration needed:
My beautiful children
My God
My friends
My garden
My family
My health
My home
My business
My students
My talents to make this happen for me
My opportunities
My cat
The food on my table
Enough money to live on
Warmth
Music
Love
Peace
My emotions
All of you, some who come and go and others who stay and 'virtually' complete my life
The most sincere of Thanksgiving wishes, warmth, blessings and love, from Mama Llama to YOU!
Albeit something I ought to practice more readily in my life, I also find myself forced to slow down and reflect on all I have to be thankful for. This is a hard time of year for me in that blood-line family is located so far away that it is pretty much impossible for holidays to be spent together. The cold, dark weather always draws me into hibernation mode. Heartache that is inevitable with the dark memories surrounding my father's death at Christmastime also seeks me out no matter how hard I might try to hide from it. Two close friends both have their fathers critically hospitalized right now, both as of this week; it seems that others are starting to catch up and, although I want to be able to do what I so needed from others when my father died, I am finding it emotionally impossible for me to do anything but pray for the well-being of all involved.
Perhaps selfish, but I just cannot put myself through the wrenching emotions it all causes deep in my soul. At least their fathers got to know their grandchildren, have relationships with them and see them grow into beautiful young people while developing adult relationships with their own children. Much like me and both my grandfathers, my children never knew their grandfather. He was days away from receiving his first retirement check when he died. The two fathers now hospitalized are much older and have lived a much more complete life. Yes, it is sad but they have also come much closer to living our socially-defined full cycle of life. Yes, I think it's unfair, because I am selfish. But I also recognize Life is unfair and there isn't anything I can do about that. It all just hits too close to home for me still. So I stay my distance.
Funny how strong we can convince ourselves we are, but when said strength is tried our weaknesses shine forth with greater force.
*---*
I spent the weekend completely engaged with the little monkeys! As my weekends are currently running a Friday-Saturday schedule with Sunday-Thursday students, I do the best I can to maximize our time together on Friday evening as soon as Princesita is home from school. This time spent together made me reflect actively on the deep gratitude I feel for so much in my life. This will be my serious list, due to the tone of the post. In a couple of days I will then post my not-so-serious Thanksgiving list when I have a bit less work and a bit more cranberries and stuffing on my mind.
What am I thankful for? No elaboration needed:
My beautiful children
My God
My friends
My garden
My family
My health
My home
My business
My students
My talents to make this happen for me
My opportunities
My cat
The food on my table
Enough money to live on
Warmth
Music
Love
Peace
My emotions
All of you, some who come and go and others who stay and 'virtually' complete my life
The most sincere of Thanksgiving wishes, warmth, blessings and love, from Mama Llama to YOU!
domingo, 5 de octubre de 2008
how not to cry?
I am uncertain as to how NOT to cry when my children leave to spend the day with their father.
It tears me, rips me, shreds my heart inside.
So I stand in the hot shower, hoping the tears will camoflauge into the water droplets.
Just to be able to enjoy that much more time with my children, should I just 'suck it up' and pretend we are one happy family again? Tell Him I am sorry for the strife I've caused. No, we will never sleep together again but maybe, just maybe I can live with a completely sexless life just to have my children around and make them feel they belong to a Whole.
I feel at the brink of making that sacrifice, just to not deal with this heartache. Can I be strong enough this time around so as to not enter into the downward spiral of an emotional breakdown again?
I don't know.
Is it worth a shot?
I don't know.
All I know is how empty I feel today, how I hid my tears from my children as they kissed me good-bye, how I sobbed behind the closed door. It isn't even 24 hours. Evidently my children are my everything; I cease to exist without them.
Now, to drown myself in a pool of lesson plans and preparations for the upcoming week.
It tears me, rips me, shreds my heart inside.
So I stand in the hot shower, hoping the tears will camoflauge into the water droplets.
Just to be able to enjoy that much more time with my children, should I just 'suck it up' and pretend we are one happy family again? Tell Him I am sorry for the strife I've caused. No, we will never sleep together again but maybe, just maybe I can live with a completely sexless life just to have my children around and make them feel they belong to a Whole.
I feel at the brink of making that sacrifice, just to not deal with this heartache. Can I be strong enough this time around so as to not enter into the downward spiral of an emotional breakdown again?
I don't know.
Is it worth a shot?
I don't know.
All I know is how empty I feel today, how I hid my tears from my children as they kissed me good-bye, how I sobbed behind the closed door. It isn't even 24 hours. Evidently my children are my everything; I cease to exist without them.
Now, to drown myself in a pool of lesson plans and preparations for the upcoming week.
viernes, 19 de septiembre de 2008
life is so damn short
La Princesita and I just finished watching the end of the Latin telenovela entitled Al diablo con los guapos. I had been interrupted while watching various key scenes in the duration of this particular soap opera and the children enjoy watching a show I can narrate a bit for them, although La Princesita is starting to understand some of what is being said.
Lots to talk about here...
Why on Earth do I let my children watch overreactive telenovela trash? Because I am finding this is a great entry into specific talks I need to have with them. They see drug/alcohol abuse, so we talk about those dangers. They see the "bad guys" smoking...only the "bad guys" seem to smoke. They see sex, and La Princesita asks me openly about it. Racism is a common theme, as are class issues and poverty. Instead of having to be the initiator of all these conversations, I can allow the show to initiate and then let the children come up with any questions they want to ask. Perfect.
The soap operas in Latin America last anywhere from a few months to a year and a half, max. So, much like a short story, it is easy to get emotionally invested in the life of the protagonists as character development and evolution is rapid, coming to closure in a decent amount of time. Then it is all over. Sometimes these come to a "happily ever after" conclusion. Others, like that of tonight, are surprising in the pure quantity of wet tissues they produce.
About 20 minutes into the final hour of tonight's finale, the "happily ever after" wedding occured and all were happy-happy-contentos-felices. It was lovely. Princesita giggled, saying that her eyes felt all wet. I told her it is natural to feel like you want to cry when you feel happy as well as when you are sad.
Commercial break. I wondered what was to come next.
The scenes, over the last half hour, jumped in time from after the wedding a few years, adding more, then more; the protagonist's mother died. Another mother died. It was not bad; it was peaceful, with loved ones surrounding. Children were born, the cycle of life was illustrated. Happiness, aging, and then the protagonist's father died--miserly and alone.
The final scene had Millie and Alejandro walking on the beach, the same beach upon which they first slept together--remember, the one with the perfectly fluttering white linen in the beach breeze silhouetted against a red sunset? Yeah. That one. This time, however, they were ancianos, a pair of lovers who had aged so much that they shook as they made their way in the treacherous sand. They stopped and looked at each other against the light of the sun, flashing back to that night they were first together, expressing their undying love for each other, how her eyes are the last thing he ever wants to see in his life, how he wants to die with her. Flash from past to present a few times. You can see their memories of that first night that sealed their destinies in the same envelope for the rest of their lives.
The kind of love I would die for. The kind of love I want to know. Life is too short...
At that I could not hold back the tears. Sure, it's fiction, but it's the beauty of the ideal that gets me.
The two of them made their way to the makeshift little cabana that still exists. Somehow there is a sofa there, under the sunshade. They sit and flashback to making love on the blanketed floor below their feet.
Flashback to present: elderly Alejandro has slumped down against ancient Millie. She puts her head down and they die there together.
Together. In peace and in love.
I don't think I've ever seen my Princesita sob so hard. At first I thought that perhaps this was too young to let her watch this--but I didn't know the show series would end this way.
Then I remembered that, when I was her age, I began to experience fear. She has been asking me about death lately, about what happens to bad souls vs. good souls when we die. Hard questions.
I tucked her into bed and kissed her tears. They continued flowing.
--Do you need to sleep in Mama's bed tonight?
She nods.
--Come.
I take her hand and lead her back to my king. She lies back on my pillows and cries.
--Do you want to talk about it?
She shakes her head.
--It's life, darling. We all get old.
"I don't want to get old. I am afraid to get old. I never want to grow up."
--If I hadn't grown up, I wouldn't have you now, you know.
Silent, sobs, shuddered breathing.
"I don't want to die. I'm afraid to die."
--So am I, love. I am, too. That's okay.
When I was young, I used to lay in my bed at night and cry myself to sleep, wondering if it would be as black and dark when I die as it was in my bedroom. I know how she feels--but never had a parent who would hold me through those nights. I was always "overreacting."
My baby girl sleeps with me tonight. She needs me. I need her, too.
Life is too damn short.
Lots to talk about here...
Why on Earth do I let my children watch overreactive telenovela trash? Because I am finding this is a great entry into specific talks I need to have with them. They see drug/alcohol abuse, so we talk about those dangers. They see the "bad guys" smoking...only the "bad guys" seem to smoke. They see sex, and La Princesita asks me openly about it. Racism is a common theme, as are class issues and poverty. Instead of having to be the initiator of all these conversations, I can allow the show to initiate and then let the children come up with any questions they want to ask. Perfect.
The soap operas in Latin America last anywhere from a few months to a year and a half, max. So, much like a short story, it is easy to get emotionally invested in the life of the protagonists as character development and evolution is rapid, coming to closure in a decent amount of time. Then it is all over. Sometimes these come to a "happily ever after" conclusion. Others, like that of tonight, are surprising in the pure quantity of wet tissues they produce.
About 20 minutes into the final hour of tonight's finale, the "happily ever after" wedding occured and all were happy-happy-contentos-felices. It was lovely. Princesita giggled, saying that her eyes felt all wet. I told her it is natural to feel like you want to cry when you feel happy as well as when you are sad.
Commercial break. I wondered what was to come next.
The scenes, over the last half hour, jumped in time from after the wedding a few years, adding more, then more; the protagonist's mother died. Another mother died. It was not bad; it was peaceful, with loved ones surrounding. Children were born, the cycle of life was illustrated. Happiness, aging, and then the protagonist's father died--miserly and alone.
The final scene had Millie and Alejandro walking on the beach, the same beach upon which they first slept together--remember, the one with the perfectly fluttering white linen in the beach breeze silhouetted against a red sunset? Yeah. That one. This time, however, they were ancianos, a pair of lovers who had aged so much that they shook as they made their way in the treacherous sand. They stopped and looked at each other against the light of the sun, flashing back to that night they were first together, expressing their undying love for each other, how her eyes are the last thing he ever wants to see in his life, how he wants to die with her. Flash from past to present a few times. You can see their memories of that first night that sealed their destinies in the same envelope for the rest of their lives.
The kind of love I would die for. The kind of love I want to know. Life is too short...
At that I could not hold back the tears. Sure, it's fiction, but it's the beauty of the ideal that gets me.
The two of them made their way to the makeshift little cabana that still exists. Somehow there is a sofa there, under the sunshade. They sit and flashback to making love on the blanketed floor below their feet.
Flashback to present: elderly Alejandro has slumped down against ancient Millie. She puts her head down and they die there together.
Together. In peace and in love.
I don't think I've ever seen my Princesita sob so hard. At first I thought that perhaps this was too young to let her watch this--but I didn't know the show series would end this way.
Then I remembered that, when I was her age, I began to experience fear. She has been asking me about death lately, about what happens to bad souls vs. good souls when we die. Hard questions.
I tucked her into bed and kissed her tears. They continued flowing.
--Do you need to sleep in Mama's bed tonight?
She nods.
--Come.
I take her hand and lead her back to my king. She lies back on my pillows and cries.
--Do you want to talk about it?
She shakes her head.
--It's life, darling. We all get old.
"I don't want to get old. I am afraid to get old. I never want to grow up."
--If I hadn't grown up, I wouldn't have you now, you know.
Silent, sobs, shuddered breathing.
"I don't want to die. I'm afraid to die."
--So am I, love. I am, too. That's okay.
When I was young, I used to lay in my bed at night and cry myself to sleep, wondering if it would be as black and dark when I die as it was in my bedroom. I know how she feels--but never had a parent who would hold me through those nights. I was always "overreacting."
My baby girl sleeps with me tonight. She needs me. I need her, too.
Life is too damn short.
domingo, 14 de septiembre de 2008
the lone box of raisins
Mama Llama failed her Princesita.
She was sent to the first grade on Friday with the belief that she would be purchasing herself some pizza. Her Friday "treat"...and Mama Llama's once a week treat of not having to pack lunch. Just a little perk.
It was talked about Thursday night after Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep was said. It was met with great enthusiasm, hugs, kisses and "Thank you, Mama!" So I assumed...
I have since learned that my darling princesita forgot.
Mama Llama, of course, also forgot to remind her on Friday morning.
And she thought that all I packed her for lunch was a tiny little box of raisins (for afternoon snacktime) and a bottle of water.
So all my baby girl had on Friday to eat was a lone box of raisins. "But Mama," she said, in an evident effort to dry my I Have Failed As A Mother tears, "I drank my entire bottle of water!"
Oh, darling little girl.
Whoever knew that one single box of raisins could bring a mother to her knees, humbling me so?
She was sent to the first grade on Friday with the belief that she would be purchasing herself some pizza. Her Friday "treat"...and Mama Llama's once a week treat of not having to pack lunch. Just a little perk.
It was talked about Thursday night after Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep was said. It was met with great enthusiasm, hugs, kisses and "Thank you, Mama!" So I assumed...
I have since learned that my darling princesita forgot.
Mama Llama, of course, also forgot to remind her on Friday morning.
And she thought that all I packed her for lunch was a tiny little box of raisins (for afternoon snacktime) and a bottle of water.
So all my baby girl had on Friday to eat was a lone box of raisins. "But Mama," she said, in an evident effort to dry my I Have Failed As A Mother tears, "I drank my entire bottle of water!"
Oh, darling little girl.
Whoever knew that one single box of raisins could bring a mother to her knees, humbling me so?
the great void
Oh Great Ones Who Know, please tell me:
How do you get over the immense void you feel when your children are with the other parent?
Such a part of me wants to be with them--such the joy and vibrance and life and love they bring to me and bring out in me. Yet at what cost? I am not happy when with them and with him at the same time. I cannot smile, I cannot have fun because I am too busy resenting the presence of the other--but I can still be with them and they can have both of us without feeling like they have to choose...
I don't mind being alone, except for the fact that, when I am alone I immerse myself in so much work that I forget to, oh, say, eat. Their presence keeps me on a schedule, keeps me healthy, keeps me in check.
During my God time this morning in my garden, we (God and I) had a little chat. We have lots of those little chats. I apologized for my rant during my God-garden time yesterday, during which I mowed the lawn in heavy humidity and warmth, cursing the fact that, on his days with the kids--or even without--he can sit on his ass and do nothing at all, all day long. I feel that, if we still have to share the house, I should not have to do all the upkeep of the house and grounds. I don't touch his room or his bathroom. He doesn't believe that he should ever have to use any elbow grease at all, and that machines will do what they were made to do, and in the end ruins clothing, doors, appliances, woodwork...you name it. I am not sure where he learned this mentality. And I am sick to death of using MY time to undo what he has done wrong--the story of our relationship, always trying to fix things, always trying to make things right.
That was my rant. I feel better today. It promises to be an even warmer day, but I had a restful sleep and got my hands in the Earth early this morning before it became too warm to bear. I need some new clothes for work for Fall, so I will consult now with the shopping gods and hopefully heed what they have to say...may the Sale Gods be with me as well.
How do you get over the immense void you feel when your children are with the other parent?
Such a part of me wants to be with them--such the joy and vibrance and life and love they bring to me and bring out in me. Yet at what cost? I am not happy when with them and with him at the same time. I cannot smile, I cannot have fun because I am too busy resenting the presence of the other--but I can still be with them and they can have both of us without feeling like they have to choose...
I don't mind being alone, except for the fact that, when I am alone I immerse myself in so much work that I forget to, oh, say, eat. Their presence keeps me on a schedule, keeps me healthy, keeps me in check.
During my God time this morning in my garden, we (God and I) had a little chat. We have lots of those little chats. I apologized for my rant during my God-garden time yesterday, during which I mowed the lawn in heavy humidity and warmth, cursing the fact that, on his days with the kids--or even without--he can sit on his ass and do nothing at all, all day long. I feel that, if we still have to share the house, I should not have to do all the upkeep of the house and grounds. I don't touch his room or his bathroom. He doesn't believe that he should ever have to use any elbow grease at all, and that machines will do what they were made to do, and in the end ruins clothing, doors, appliances, woodwork...you name it. I am not sure where he learned this mentality. And I am sick to death of using MY time to undo what he has done wrong--the story of our relationship, always trying to fix things, always trying to make things right.
That was my rant. I feel better today. It promises to be an even warmer day, but I had a restful sleep and got my hands in the Earth early this morning before it became too warm to bear. I need some new clothes for work for Fall, so I will consult now with the shopping gods and hopefully heed what they have to say...may the Sale Gods be with me as well.
sábado, 23 de agosto de 2008
five years ago
Today is Tiggy's birthday.
This fat, furry funball formed part of the family on Saturday, 23 August 2003. A month before, our other kitty cat had been hit by two cars in the middle of our street and we had to put him to sleep.
We went to the pet store where a pet rescue service was adopting out cats and dogs. We saw Tiggy and knew in that instant that He was to be Our New Cat.
I felt a funny feeling that day; I was between twelve and thirteen weeks pregnant and all of a sudden I felt a moisture where I didn't feel I should. I excused myself to go to the car to check on myself.
My panties were soaked with blood.
I panicked and told my husband that I needed to go to doc-in-a-box. So he dropped me off at urgent care, and called She-ra to come and be with me there as he took La Princesita and our new kitty home.
I was checked, told that my cervix was closed and that it could just be a freak thing. I was shaking uncontrollably and scared. Told to go to ER if I started passing clots.
Tigre was a wonderful distraction for most of the afternoon, but then I started to bleed more, so we got Princesita to a friend's house and I got to the hospital. I was a week away from my first midwife appointment.
It was then confirmed that I was miscarrying. I was given instructions to return to the hospital at 7 a.m. on Sunday the 24th for a D&C, but to come earlier if...
I labored through the night. A sleepless, horribly painful night--the worst pain I have ever known as I was laboring for no joyful reason--and Tigre came out of hiding and laid with me, comforting me all night long. He knew I needed him. That was our first bond.
By the time I got to the hospital I was bleeding heavily and, I later learned, was dilated fully. The doctor was not yet there, and I was told to wait in the waiting room. I paced when I could stand, and fell to the floor with blood flowing down my legs when I could no longer stand. I already had made it through one completely pain-medication free labor with my daughter in 21 hours of labor--but this was different. I was losing the baby. I couldn't even make it to the bathroom, and was thus subjected to the most humillating experience of my life, on my knees in the hospital waiting room, leaving a trail of blood, watching a laboring mother pacing and looking at me with such pity...
until finally somebody was called with a wheelchair and got me into prep. I was in a room with at least 10 other people, and they were dead silent as they listened to me cry and mourn over and over again, "My baby...my baby..."
Until they finally came and took me, and drugged me as I begged them to just take my pain away and make this nightmare end.
I awoke, tummy deflated, threw up and it was over.
Called my mother. This was the anniversary of her own mother's death, so of course it was all about her. Refused to fly out because she didn't want to be a part of a "community event." Blamed me for the miscarriage..."it's your fault being so far away from family, it's because of where you live."
My friends...my true friends...came to me and helped me. And I started teaching two days later as classes at the uni. began anew.
Five years have passed, and I still cannot tell that story without sobbing.
A year and one week to the day later, my baby boy was born.
And such is the circle of Life, heartbreak, tears, joy.
This fat, furry funball formed part of the family on Saturday, 23 August 2003. A month before, our other kitty cat had been hit by two cars in the middle of our street and we had to put him to sleep.
We went to the pet store where a pet rescue service was adopting out cats and dogs. We saw Tiggy and knew in that instant that He was to be Our New Cat.
I felt a funny feeling that day; I was between twelve and thirteen weeks pregnant and all of a sudden I felt a moisture where I didn't feel I should. I excused myself to go to the car to check on myself.
My panties were soaked with blood.
I panicked and told my husband that I needed to go to doc-in-a-box. So he dropped me off at urgent care, and called She-ra to come and be with me there as he took La Princesita and our new kitty home.
I was checked, told that my cervix was closed and that it could just be a freak thing. I was shaking uncontrollably and scared. Told to go to ER if I started passing clots.
Tigre was a wonderful distraction for most of the afternoon, but then I started to bleed more, so we got Princesita to a friend's house and I got to the hospital. I was a week away from my first midwife appointment.
It was then confirmed that I was miscarrying. I was given instructions to return to the hospital at 7 a.m. on Sunday the 24th for a D&C, but to come earlier if...
I labored through the night. A sleepless, horribly painful night--the worst pain I have ever known as I was laboring for no joyful reason--and Tigre came out of hiding and laid with me, comforting me all night long. He knew I needed him. That was our first bond.
By the time I got to the hospital I was bleeding heavily and, I later learned, was dilated fully. The doctor was not yet there, and I was told to wait in the waiting room. I paced when I could stand, and fell to the floor with blood flowing down my legs when I could no longer stand. I already had made it through one completely pain-medication free labor with my daughter in 21 hours of labor--but this was different. I was losing the baby. I couldn't even make it to the bathroom, and was thus subjected to the most humillating experience of my life, on my knees in the hospital waiting room, leaving a trail of blood, watching a laboring mother pacing and looking at me with such pity...
until finally somebody was called with a wheelchair and got me into prep. I was in a room with at least 10 other people, and they were dead silent as they listened to me cry and mourn over and over again, "My baby...my baby..."
Until they finally came and took me, and drugged me as I begged them to just take my pain away and make this nightmare end.
I awoke, tummy deflated, threw up and it was over.
Called my mother. This was the anniversary of her own mother's death, so of course it was all about her. Refused to fly out because she didn't want to be a part of a "community event." Blamed me for the miscarriage..."it's your fault being so far away from family, it's because of where you live."
My friends...my true friends...came to me and helped me. And I started teaching two days later as classes at the uni. began anew.
Five years have passed, and I still cannot tell that story without sobbing.
A year and one week to the day later, my baby boy was born.
And such is the circle of Life, heartbreak, tears, joy.
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