Archive | January, 2015

January 22nd Again

22 Jan

Despite the circumstances, I am noting this day: January 22nd. The day I chose to mark my rebirth. It was on this day, exactly two years ago, that I stopped grieving BD’s sudden departure. That I realized that BD’s leaving did not break up my family, that my son and I were an entire, complete unit, and that we didn’t need him to live with us in order to complete us.

M stood there beside me, cheering me on, coming over to cook comfort food and drink and talk, reminding me how much love I already had in my life, enough to fill up all the cracks that BD had left in my heart. Other friends were there too. I was blessed, and am blessed to have a close circle of friends who stand by me at times like this.

That was a loss. This is a loss. Is it strange or inappropriate to compare the two? I guess so. The loss of my family as I’d dreamed that it would be. The loss of a friendship that I always imagined would last a lifetime.

If she were here, I bet she would remember the date, even though probably I’d only mentioned it to her a couple of times. She’s celebrate it with me. She’d cheer me on. She’d tell me I’m strong (she always said that, and it wasn’t always true, but I accepted the vote of confidence.) She’d tell me that like before, I will eventually stop grieving. I will remember the good. I will be happy again.

But at this very moment it doesn’t feel like I will ever stop missing her, that I will ever stop grieving, that I will ever accept her loss.

Sleep well. Sweet Dreams. I love you.

17 Jan

I sat beside you, and looked at your eyes, almost entirely closed, and listened for a while to your heavy, steady breathing. I said, “It’s me.” And I thought I could feel you breathing more heavilly, and I imagined that you could hear me.

“I’ve been thinking about you. And not sad thoughts, happy thoughts. You are constantly in my mind. Everything reminds me of you. Things I eat and wonder if you would approve. Clinking glasses with friends and looking them straight in the eye, as you would. A song you like on the radio. A stupid thing someone says that deserves an eye-roll. You are present in my thougts, in my everyday life.

I wanted you to know that I’m OK. We’re all OK. You don’t have to worry about us. We’re taking good care of eachother. Even your father. Even your brother. They’ll be OK. They have people they love taking care of them. And J, she’s going to be OK too. E and I will look after her, I promise.

And I’m OK. I got the divorce agreement and it’s fair. I know you were worried for me.

I hope you’re sleeping well, and having sweet dreams, and remembering all the wonderful places you’ve visited, and all the delicous foods you’ve tasted, and all the people who love you, and always will.

It was a gift to have you in all of our lives.”

I paused and closed my eyes.

“And I’m going to read that book by Terry Prachett you recommended, Small Gods. E gave it to me. It’s about time I got to know Terry Prachett.”

I was silent for about ten minutes. And I imagined that your breathing became slower. And I was certain you couldn’t hear me any longer. I said, “Sleep well. Sweet dreams. I love you.”

And a couple of hours later I got the call.

And you were gone.

3 am Insecurity

2 Jan

I point out that he says ‘fun’ a lot. Like, that I’m fun. That the date was fun. That its was fun spending the night together.

He laughs and said, “because it is”.

And I say, “OK. I’m not going to push it.”

But then it’s dark, and we’re spooning, and it feels possible to say more.

“I’m asking because, a while ago, I asked you what you wanted out of life. And you said: a good relationship with my girls. To be happy. To have fun. And it made me think.”

“You have a good memory.”

“I remember because I was surprised that you didn’t say a relationship, or love.”

“Well…” Pause. “You know, my breakup is still recent. I feel like I just got out of a relationship, and it wasn’t a good one. I’m still celebrating being out. It’s way too soon for me to think about a new relationship.” Pause. “I mean, this is a relationship, you and I. That came out wrong. I mean getting married again, or living together. I’m not sure I want that.”

“I’m not sure I want that either.” I say. “But when I stroll in the park with my boy, and I see a couple having a picnic or playing with their children, it makes me wish to have someone to share family moments with. It makes me wish that someday, my family will not just be my boy and I.”

“I get that. I think some day I will want that too.”

“There are different models today. It’s hard for me to think about living with someone again. Maybe it’ll happen some day, maybe not. Maybe having pancakes for breakfast on a Saturday morning, and drinking coffee as the kids play, is the type of family I’ll have in the future.”

“That sounds nice, actually. That sounds really nice.”

Quiet. I close my eyes and begin drifting away.

“Come here.” He kisses me, running his hand through my hair. “This is really good.”

“I think so too.”

Quiet.

“Am I freaking you out with this talk?”

“No.”

Quiet.

“I just got out of a very painful breakup. There are scars, you know? I need to let them heal before I can think about letting someone new so deeply into my life.”

“I get that. I talk about things sometimes, because I have a vision of the things that I want. But I will be very, very careful before my son meets anyone I’m seeing. It’s not something I will take lightly or want to do any time soon.”

“Of course.”

“But listen, regardless of marriage, or living together, or saturday morning pancakes, or whatever… I am developing feelings for you. That’s just the way it is with me. It’s how I work.”

Quiet.

“Now hold me, I’m feeling exposed and vulnerable.” We laugh. He holds me.

“This really is good, zayka.” He says, and kisses me. “You don’t have to worry or be nervous about it. It’s good.”

“You were talking before about scars. You have yours. Well, I have mine.”

“What are yours?”

“To be into someone, and not know that all along he’s not into me. To be blissfully ignorant. That’s my scar.”

Now he is holdning my shoulders, and looking straight into my eyes. “Listen, I think you’re amazing. I’m so happy with you. I like your personality. I like talking to you. I’m attracted to you. I want to get to know you more. I want to spend time with you.”

“Thank you.” I say. It feels like all I can ask for.

“Now you hold me. I’m feeling exposed and vulnerable.” We laugh, holding one another in the darkness. And for a moment everything seems to be in its right place.

Neither Here Nor There

1 Jan

It was Sunday that I said goodbye to her. Not really goodbye, only almost, because she is still here, but will have no visitors. I miss her so badly. I want to grieve her loss. But she is not really fully gone. Sleepy, under the influence of vast quantities of morphine (vast enough, I keep hoping), she’s neither here nor there, and so are the people who love her. If she were gone, there’d be a funeral, I’d be skipping work to sit at home and cry, people would ask me “how’s your friend” and I’d whisper she’s gone and break down. It would feel OK to break down. It would feel a duty to break down. It would feel respectful to break down. 

It does not feel OK. It does not feel a duty. It does not feel respectful. It feels like weakness. It feels like an inconvenience to everyone who’s counting on me to keep a stiff upper lip. 

December 31st. Class field trip to the dessert. Seventy rowdy children screaming and shouting with joy. I put on my happiest face. I made it thought the day heroically. Got back in the evening and picked my Boy up from the babysitter’s. Supermarket (because milk and eggs still need to be bought). Shower (because, you know). Bed time stories, back patting. I sat in my dirty kitchen eating pasta and thought about 2014. Jesus Christ, what a year.

Here’s a recap: I don’t need no man. Maybe I do. Getting back together with BD. Breaking up with BD. Getting used to M’s cancer and its routines. Deciding to move. Meeting A  and chatting for two weeks. Moving. Sleeping with A on first date. Dating. Boyfriend. I love you? Potty-training. Talking! New Day care. Becoming beighbors with one of my closest friends. End of the school year, report cards & play. Cancer getting worse. Three magical days in Budapest. Breaking up with A. War. Sirens, shelters, hooking up with BD. Trying to get back together. Surgery. Montessori training. Writing Papers. Trying to break up with BD. Promotion. More Sirens. Trying to break up with BD. War over. New school year. Excitement. Exhaustion. Breaking up with BD. Liberation. Wanting to date. Cancer getting worse. Meeting a guy. Magical evening playing music at the park. Rushing too quickly to like him. Getting disappointed. Cancer getting worse. Attempting to date. Cancer getting way, way worse. Lonely. Depressed. Hitting rock bottom. Morning after pill. Wanting to never date again. Cancer steadily getting worse. Talking to boys online and scaring them off by telling them my friend is dying. Meeting a man who doesn’t scare easy. First date. Second date. First kiss. Fuck you cancer. Third date. Fourth date. Sex. Fifth date. Boyfriend. Telling M all about him. This can’t be the end of you. I love you. Freaking out. Pulling myself together. I love him. Freaking out. Pulling myself together. Hospice. Fuck-shit-stack. Parent teacher conferences. I can’t, I can’t, I must, I will. Seeing M every day. Saying goodbye. Saying goodbye again. This time goodbye for real. Falling apart. Pulling myself together. No more visits. Missing M like crazy. Allowing D to comfort me. Knowing she’s still with us. Falling apart. Not able to pull myself together.

Limbo is a bad place for me to be. It’s a bad place for anyone, but me especially. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.