The other night the littlest you curled into me for a goodnight cuddle. You turned, looked up, put your tiny hand to my cheek, and I saw your bottom lip quiver. A slow wave seemed to flow down your delicate face, changing it from giggly and restless to quiet a serious and solemn affect. I pulled back and copied your expression, asking what was wrong.
"Mommy, I had a nightmare last night."
"Oh darling," pulling you closer, "That must have been scary. Why don't you tell Mommy all about it."
You settled into my arms, and looked at the wall and then I looked at the wall. You started to talk and then stopped, looked up at me. I caught your stare and said again "Tell me about your dream. It's OK."
"I dreamt you died," you paused, waiting for my reaction.
I tried again to mirror your expression and said, "That sounds like a very scary dream."
"It was Mommy."
"But I didn't die. I'm here with you right now and I am not going anywhere," and then I smiled.
I am not sure how you expected me to react but I think that you liked the fact that I didn't really react because that's when the talking began. You gave me all the sad details of the dream, details I won't go in to now. The gist was that I died saving you, but then you couldn't save me. You then began to say, "If this ever should happen in real life that you (pointing to me, your mother) should not...."
I interrupted at that point, "Of course I would as would any mother."
You began your protests louder and I smiled and calmed you and explained my reasoning.
It is that reasoning that I will write about today but while I write, I appreciate you won't read this till much later on in your own life. A life, whose shape and colour will change with every gained experience you collect and I hope that you collect many. Maybe, you will have your own little ones pulling at your sleeve, while your coffee gets cold, maybe you will only have the idea of them or maybe you will have chosen to not journey down that path. Whatever you decide is ok, if you are OK, which is the point of this blog. I know it is an old saying but it is so true live, love and laugh. Enjoy this life honestly, the way you want to because that is how I have enjoyed mine and it has made me happy with very little regrets.
Your beautiful life is precious, as is mine. I have had a wonderful life. Partly, because I have you, your sister, your father and even the hairy beast. A choice, not taken lightly and made after a great deal of adventure and exploration. I enjoy life, which of course, makes me want to live forever but, sadly, I can't and even more sadly, I can't control or anticipate that part of my destiny. For me Death would be the uninvited and unwanted guest to my party.
At 18, when my father died, I pictured Death as a bit of a jerk who goes around a room ending conversations, shutting books before they are fully read, just because he can. A power hungry pretentious bastard, who ignores the cries of others as he callously leads a soul away, as he did my father, as I screamed, as I cried, I pictured him walking on, his arm tangled through my father's soul and my father helplessly looking back at me as he faded into the growing distance.
You asked me if I cried when my father died. Yes, I did. I cried, I screamed, I beat my pillow, I beat the horn in the car, I ran and ran and ran, up mountains, down paths to be alone. I cuddled into my dog and cried into her fur. I released energy any way I could, which scared some and made them scatter and intrigued others who watched but didn't do much else. However, every so often, a friend would hold my hand and sit with me.
Death angered me and my anger was immeasurable, like a tsunami it crashed down on this earth, spreading, smashing, soaking through, everything that inhabits its world but eventually tsunami's recede, leaving the scattered pieces displayed. Anger is great and it can empower and release what torments but you can't stay angry forever. You need your energy to heal, life is waiting for you to reenter, to savour, to enjoy again. My screams turned, to singing, loudly, while I danced, in my room, in a car, at a friends, at a club. My running turned to exploration and adventure, at the end of those paths were the stories of the unfamiliar, which made my own book more of a page turner. The hands that I held were attached to many that I began to love, who taught me the power of touch, love and friendship.
What has made my life enjoyable I can't describe in a few paragraphs or in a few pages but I can tell you that I had a part in it. It didn't just happen. It never does, too much time is wasted for people who wait and let other's take charge or give them permission. I knew that there were magical things to be found and I wanted to find them.
I was brought up with one window, overlooking one world, wearing one outfit, using one voice and as you can tell in some of the other posts, that world didn't quite fit me. It gave me a restless, unsettled feeling. Probably, because that world was created by someone else for someone else, my parents, and it was meant to fit them. It wasn't hard to journey past the window's view, all I had to do was leave my home.
First stop was university, I was never much of a student, not very dedicated as I had been diagnosed with a learning difficulty, dyslexia, which I kept secret, swallowing a presumed ceiling and adapting to it. Painted in shame and wearing it like an overcoat, disguised, I slipped on to campus. I think that I went to university because my friends did, because in my neighbourhood it was the thing to do, because what was the alternative.
Learning felt different at university, there was an energy, and excitement, people finding themselves among a new independent status never afforded to them before and I joined in. They asked for my voice, encouraged me to question, to debate. I, no longer allowed to melt away into the back of the class, took form. I chose what I wanted to learn. I created my path. I asserted my power as a student and realised I had something to offer. I surrounded myself with books. There was a room in the library, with old journals, which I travelled through often. It was hidden treasure, so many secrets to unearth and behind each book, I saw men and women dedicating their lives to collecting this knowledge and they were talking to me, sharing their gift with me. I understood and still do understand how precious this is. Please remember the books that line our shelves. It is my world that I share with you. It has given me comfort, security, wonder and joy often.
Travel was next. My first real memorable journey was with your Bubbie, 9000 miles in six weeks, listening to Les Miserable on the CD over and over again, while we laughed that we were Thelma and Louise. It was a healing journey for us both individually and in our relationship. I hope to recreate that journey with both you girls and your dad someday. There is something spiritual that happens when you lay under miles of stars and watch a distant storm explode or stand at a mountain top, breathing in a different world than the one seen just a few hours before. And it happens again with the people you will meet in diners, in makeshift hot springs, at the bottom of a waterfall, who affect you and then move on. And then again in the moment, when the mother, whom hurt distanced you from, takes back your hand and you both gasp at the beauty that surrounds you.
This journey encouraged me to journey more. I often think of the song Another Suitcase in Another Hall, as for awhile I felt a bit nomadic. I met barefooted drummers who followed me home to tell me stories of their rhythmic life, danced too close to strangers because at that moment it meant something, travelled down dirt roads bridged over long rivers that people bathed in, I bathed in rivers too, under hidden waterfalls. Some of my greatest stories seemed to take place between sunrises and and then between sunsets. Time changed its pace for me, so that friendships could emerge, so that love could develop and I did love. So many beautiful types of love that I was able to experience. It was fun, and it was wild and it was never for nothing, even when it didn't last because love's purpose isn't always to last.
I wanted to share stories of my journey and celebrate that little scared girl who finally decided to discard the overcoat and join in with the party. Some listened with interest, some with polite tolerance and some simply mocked my joy. But they didn't tarnish my collected treasures because if you play to an audience you will always tailor yourself to fit their needs, which is futile and a waste of energy. When you stop playing to an audience and just play, life is brilliant.
I met your father on one of these journeys. Time decided to speed through our night, filled with latin music, cobblestone walls to sit on and hours of story telling. In a moment our friendship was born having no beginning nor ending. The sunrise I watched with him was by far the best and seemed to take away my need to find another sunrise. I was once told by a woman that we have to pick between a desire to have love or to have friendship. I am so happy she was wrong. Your father and I have both. I know that sometimes you will remember us fighting because we can sometimes be a bit strong-willed (please stop laughing) but that doesn't mean that we are not in love, nor does it mean that he is not my best friend. What it means, simply, is that sometimes we fight.
You see, we have a shared picture of what we want from life and what we want from this relationship, and we are achieving that together. During a moment, when we are tired, overwhelmed, hurt or frightened, that picture may fall into the background. However, when we stop, breathe and look back, we are reminded of the journey and of what we have created, together, and who we are because of it. It is like standing atop a mountain, to take it all in. I know that I have told you this before but I am going to say it again. A lifelong commitment is not just had because of love, it is not just had because of friendship but it is also had because of the acknowledgement of the beauty that emerges from keeping both dear.
I think I may have gotten it wrong all those years ago. Maybe Death isn't a bastard but the inevitable friend that holds us, soothes us, rocks us, as we cry. Maybe Death doesn't take us but instead merges with us, because he knows our life is special and our journey away from it far too arduous to bare alone.
