Wow, it's been so long since I've written anything here. I don't know that I've gone this long without writing something about the kids. I'm often inclined to summarize my life from the last post until now in the situations but I'm not going to today.
It's be a tough few weeks at home. On Friday, October, 4th, shortly before lunch at work, our producer gathered us and told us we wouldn't be starting the next episode the following Monday. He referred to it as a short "hiatus", a break so the network could decide the new direction the show would take. For a week we dangled in limbo, thinking we'd return to work the Tuesday after Columbus day but at 3pm that Friday, we were all called to say no, we were done.
It wasn't the best job but it's never easy to be out of work. I was offered another job but it doesn't start for over a month and a lot can happen between now and then so officially I'm unemployed.
There are perks to unplanned unemployment when you have kids. I've been able to share a lot more and do a lot more with them since my show got canned. But I've also been walking around in a fog, reliving my life last year, with the anxiety of not working mixing in with the grief. Because I lost my mother and that grief is never going away, instead it only gets deeper. I think on many levels my mother kept me grounded and now without her, I feel like I'm unraveling.
My mother was really all I had. She was the only person who cared about me whom I spoke to on a regular basis. I haven't, not once, picked up the phone to call her because I know she's gone. But I have held the phone on many occasions, wishing I could call some one, anyone.
As a freelancer, I've always seen myself as one step up from homeless. All that it will take to trigger a state of homelessness is a long stretch without work. When my mother was alive, I had her home as a fallback. I knew I always had a place to go to, a family to turn to if times got really bad. But now, my grandparents have been dead for more than two years, my father lives in a retirement community that doesn't allow kids. And if I dumped the kids on C's porch, my father and his wife still couldn't tolerate an interloper for too long. The extended family I had when my grandparents were alive don't think about me or my brother so I certainly don't imagine them providing a place of refuge. The one really close friend I had decided to pack up and move her family to Israel into a small settlement that wouldn't exactly make me feel welcome.
So it's just me out there with no backup. If I become sick, injured, weak, broken, I will quickly have no home.
For the most part, I feel pretty good and have the energy of some one much younger so I'm not too worried. But it's always there, whenever I see a homeless person, and I see plenty more of them now with this economy, that a few years from now, yeah, that's me.
My mother not only provided that safe feeling from homelessness, she also was the only adult who truly loved me. Without her, no one calls to see how I'm doing if they haven't heard from me. No one thinks about me unless I contact them first. I have gone from some one who really mattered to some one who's importance can only be measured on how much my kids need me. That's not nothing, of course, the kids, but I find myself wondering how long I can keep operating without an outlet for myself. I think of joining a local health club with a gym because swimming always makes me feel better but it's tough to spend more money when you're jobless. I try to drum up some interest from my friends and I do have plans tonight and another night next week but it's still disheartening when the plans are always originating with me. Being one's own cheerleader gets so tough after a while.
A lot is happening around me too. I have two friends going through marital splits. One happened very suddenly and only now is my friend really feeling the impact. My heart breaks for her as she has been with her husband longer than I've known her, and I've known her a long time. Another friend, who's marriage I believed to be rock solid, is also breaking down. I'm so far away from them physically and they keep themselves so busy, I've hardly spoken to her much but I feel terrible for them both and wish I could stop them from doing this to each other. At midlife, it seems a lot of friends are going through some major stuff so I can't fault anyone for not being there for me. And I do have some friends going through some great stuff right now which is wonderful, it's not all bad out there. Life is not easy, we know this. I think about my grandmother and how she lived through the depression. Then I realize she was young, as she got older her life got easier, at least workwise and finance wise.
I miss my grandmother, almost as much as my mother. Both women still serve as an inspiration to me. As long as they were alive, I always felt taken care of, loved, not in danger of being homeless.
Now, I just don't know.
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Thank you, My Eliza
My grandmother said the happiest day of her life was "giving birth to Frances. It was the only thing that was ever all mine."
I know exactly what she means. Of course I know that Eliza isn't all mine any more than my mother was all my grandmothers. My grandmother called my mom "the rebel" because she didn't like to clean, she didn't want to join the convent and she had to go and her father's skin instead of her mother's. The feelings of that child as being your complete possession eventually give way to the realization that this is a whole other person, working pretty damn hard to distance herself from you.
But ah those early years with the right kid, for a little while you have that great gift, that perfect love. Eliza is my perfect love.
My mother often described as the kid that was always walking up and down the street knocking on doors looking for some one to play with. I'm still kind of like that, a very lonely person who longs for a large family and chaos and people around me all the time. I gave birth to Eliza and suddenly I had that some one to play with.
Eliza and I were alone for marathon stretches of time, often 12-14 hours without relief. There were days when I truly feared I might go insane but then I didn't and then I realized I wouldn't knowing that was so freeing. She started smiling and adoring me, screaming and reaching for me starting at only six weeks. I am not exaggerating here. I remember the moment so clearly. I had a babysitter interviewing to come and help out for just a couple of hours a week. I told her a little about Eliza and handed Eliza to her. Eliza's head snapped towards me, her eyes widening, not in fear but almost in anger. She opened her mouth and let it be known that she was severely pissed off that I handed her off.
The babysitter calmed her down, I was impressed and I hired her. And Eliza was okay with her but that was it. For months, whenever anyone tried to hold her--my mother, C, my father--she screamed. Her scream often sounded like a fake cry. She wanted me and that was that. No one had ever loved me like that before.
I took her everywhere. The world was suddenly new and hopeful and as bright as the sun if you looked at it directly. Stumbling across a band at the South Street Seaport turned her into a whirling fireball of dance. A first taste of chocolate gelato brought back that forceful, pissed off wail for more. I walked for miles with her in the sling, her face turned up to smile at me and then peer over my shoulder to make goo goo eyes at some person behind me.
We took Mommy and me tumbling classes, music classes and playgroups. Every day was a celebration of our perfect love. When she got her first real cold, I must have sat with her for two to three days straight, only putting her down to go to the bathroom. She and I slept in the living room on the fold out couch together while her father snored away alone in the bedroom.
As the years passed, I tried to prepare myself for the inevitable turn, that moment when she wasn't so into me anymore. But the thing is, even now, with her entering third grade, it still hasn't happened. She still adores me and often when we're together it's still there, our hands entwined together, our perfect love.
Tonight we went to Summerfest, an annual music and fireworks festival along the water near my mother's house. She and I started going alone, my mom at home with baby Elena, and after the fireworks we'd go back to my mom's house and sleep. Tonight Elena came with us and we came home after the fireworks. It hurt knowing my mother's house was empty, remembering so many nights inside her house and hearing the fireworks and knowing that the house was dark and eerily quiet.
As I drove home, I thought of our first Summerfest. The band was a Bruce Springsteen tribute band and Eliza got a huge Spongebob ice cream treat. It was the messiest treat in the world. I'm a huge fan of the boss and being outside, listening to that music as the sun took it's sweet time setting; it didn't get better than that There have been many Summerfests after that one but it's the first one that sticks with me.
On the way home, we passed a park where the kids and I attended an Earth Day fair, maybe when Eliza was in Kindergarten. We passed the Point Boardwalk where we've gone almost every summer. So many afternoons watching Eliza run around at the park on the Bay near my mother's house. Watching her run alongside the hill at Twin Lights. Standing in the ocean one night, snapping photos of her and Elena running away from the waves, into the sunset.
I have loved her childhood so much, a childhood that's forever behind me. She's still a kid, she's still my loving kid, my Eliza but for how much longer? How many more Summerfests will she enjoy, being stuck with just me when she can go with friends? I finally knocked on the right door and got exactly the playmate I wanted and pretty soon she's going to move off and find some other people to play with, people who she thinks about more than me. My perfect love with be gone.
I honestly don't know how people cope with their children growing up. I guess other people have lives and have relationships outside their kids. I've always known it wasn't healthy to put all my eggs in one basket but no one, no one loves me like she does. With my mom gone, I often feel like Eliza is the only person in the world who loves me.
If you're wondering about Elena and feeling bad that I don't talk about her and me and a perfect love, it's not that I love Elena any less. Quite the contrary, sometimes I pick up Elena and feel a love surge through me so strongly, I feel like I just can't hold her tightly enough. But Elena pushes me away. She loves me and when she does give me one of her little hugs, I can't begin to describe how it feels to have those little arms around my neck. Elena loves me, but she is not so affectionate, she is not so adoring and has Eliza in between her and me. From day one, she was happy with whoever held her. She went through her period of wanting to be held all the time, sure, but she didn't care who was holding her. I like that about her, I like that independence.
And I like seeing it in Eliza, when she runs into friends and suddenly I'm invisible. I don't feel hurt, only happy that she seems to be relating to her peers in a healthy way.
But still, at night when I'm driving home from fireworks and the kids are sleeping in the back seat, I can mourn the small children years that are in my rearview mirror. And say thank you to my Eliza, for being such a wonderful, amazing, beautiful and most of all loving, girl.
I know exactly what she means. Of course I know that Eliza isn't all mine any more than my mother was all my grandmothers. My grandmother called my mom "the rebel" because she didn't like to clean, she didn't want to join the convent and she had to go and her father's skin instead of her mother's. The feelings of that child as being your complete possession eventually give way to the realization that this is a whole other person, working pretty damn hard to distance herself from you.
But ah those early years with the right kid, for a little while you have that great gift, that perfect love. Eliza is my perfect love.
My mother often described as the kid that was always walking up and down the street knocking on doors looking for some one to play with. I'm still kind of like that, a very lonely person who longs for a large family and chaos and people around me all the time. I gave birth to Eliza and suddenly I had that some one to play with.
Eliza and I were alone for marathon stretches of time, often 12-14 hours without relief. There were days when I truly feared I might go insane but then I didn't and then I realized I wouldn't knowing that was so freeing. She started smiling and adoring me, screaming and reaching for me starting at only six weeks. I am not exaggerating here. I remember the moment so clearly. I had a babysitter interviewing to come and help out for just a couple of hours a week. I told her a little about Eliza and handed Eliza to her. Eliza's head snapped towards me, her eyes widening, not in fear but almost in anger. She opened her mouth and let it be known that she was severely pissed off that I handed her off.
The babysitter calmed her down, I was impressed and I hired her. And Eliza was okay with her but that was it. For months, whenever anyone tried to hold her--my mother, C, my father--she screamed. Her scream often sounded like a fake cry. She wanted me and that was that. No one had ever loved me like that before.
I took her everywhere. The world was suddenly new and hopeful and as bright as the sun if you looked at it directly. Stumbling across a band at the South Street Seaport turned her into a whirling fireball of dance. A first taste of chocolate gelato brought back that forceful, pissed off wail for more. I walked for miles with her in the sling, her face turned up to smile at me and then peer over my shoulder to make goo goo eyes at some person behind me.
We took Mommy and me tumbling classes, music classes and playgroups. Every day was a celebration of our perfect love. When she got her first real cold, I must have sat with her for two to three days straight, only putting her down to go to the bathroom. She and I slept in the living room on the fold out couch together while her father snored away alone in the bedroom.
As the years passed, I tried to prepare myself for the inevitable turn, that moment when she wasn't so into me anymore. But the thing is, even now, with her entering third grade, it still hasn't happened. She still adores me and often when we're together it's still there, our hands entwined together, our perfect love.
Tonight we went to Summerfest, an annual music and fireworks festival along the water near my mother's house. She and I started going alone, my mom at home with baby Elena, and after the fireworks we'd go back to my mom's house and sleep. Tonight Elena came with us and we came home after the fireworks. It hurt knowing my mother's house was empty, remembering so many nights inside her house and hearing the fireworks and knowing that the house was dark and eerily quiet.
As I drove home, I thought of our first Summerfest. The band was a Bruce Springsteen tribute band and Eliza got a huge Spongebob ice cream treat. It was the messiest treat in the world. I'm a huge fan of the boss and being outside, listening to that music as the sun took it's sweet time setting; it didn't get better than that There have been many Summerfests after that one but it's the first one that sticks with me.
On the way home, we passed a park where the kids and I attended an Earth Day fair, maybe when Eliza was in Kindergarten. We passed the Point Boardwalk where we've gone almost every summer. So many afternoons watching Eliza run around at the park on the Bay near my mother's house. Watching her run alongside the hill at Twin Lights. Standing in the ocean one night, snapping photos of her and Elena running away from the waves, into the sunset.
I have loved her childhood so much, a childhood that's forever behind me. She's still a kid, she's still my loving kid, my Eliza but for how much longer? How many more Summerfests will she enjoy, being stuck with just me when she can go with friends? I finally knocked on the right door and got exactly the playmate I wanted and pretty soon she's going to move off and find some other people to play with, people who she thinks about more than me. My perfect love with be gone.
I honestly don't know how people cope with their children growing up. I guess other people have lives and have relationships outside their kids. I've always known it wasn't healthy to put all my eggs in one basket but no one, no one loves me like she does. With my mom gone, I often feel like Eliza is the only person in the world who loves me.
If you're wondering about Elena and feeling bad that I don't talk about her and me and a perfect love, it's not that I love Elena any less. Quite the contrary, sometimes I pick up Elena and feel a love surge through me so strongly, I feel like I just can't hold her tightly enough. But Elena pushes me away. She loves me and when she does give me one of her little hugs, I can't begin to describe how it feels to have those little arms around my neck. Elena loves me, but she is not so affectionate, she is not so adoring and has Eliza in between her and me. From day one, she was happy with whoever held her. She went through her period of wanting to be held all the time, sure, but she didn't care who was holding her. I like that about her, I like that independence.
And I like seeing it in Eliza, when she runs into friends and suddenly I'm invisible. I don't feel hurt, only happy that she seems to be relating to her peers in a healthy way.
But still, at night when I'm driving home from fireworks and the kids are sleeping in the back seat, I can mourn the small children years that are in my rearview mirror. And say thank you to my Eliza, for being such a wonderful, amazing, beautiful and most of all loving, girl.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
A Childhood of Magic
Some one once said how they'd love to relive the first year of her son's life all over again with exactly the same baby. As her son neared the age of one, she longed for a baby but not a new baby, just to go back and repeat every moment with her first baby. I loved when she said this so much because that was exactly how I felt as I watched Eliza's babyhood evaporate in front of my eyes. I would go back in a heartbeat and relive every moment of it, everything, even the bad stuff because truth be told, there wasn't much of that.
Another friend once said that a child is a chance for our happy ending. I certainly see so much of that in myself. My singing and dance dreams I'm trying to make happen for Eliza, whether she wants them or not. I have to step back sometimes and remind myself that it's her life, not mine and that it's up to her to choose her own course.
One thing I've really accomplished with my children is creating a world of magic. It's certainly not magical all the time. Today, the girls spent much of the day together in the playroom with Eliza's iPad or running around with lalaloopsies while I wasted a little too much time scrolling down my iPhone and fiendishly erasing emails. But still, we've had a wonderful summer. Wonderful days at amusement parks, water parks, dinner at our local hibachi grill where we watch the chef light a "volcano" (tower of onions) on fire. I put together a little play starring a group of Eliza's friends and turned it into one of the best parties Eliza's ever had. I took the girls to Storybook Land and surprised them with a hotel in Atlantic City and dinner at the Rainforest Cafe, a place they loved so much in San Francisco.
I've loved reading children's books so much with Eliza because we can open a book and enter into another world with a bake shop ghost, a sandcastle that turns into a real castle, a bed that flies over the hills of Tuscany. Reading those books with Eliza made me feel reborn into a world where anything was possible. That's childhood. The days are long but your imagination is the world. YOur body is quick and free and full of energy.
When C and I split up, I had no plan. I looked at the apartment we've happily lived in since 2009 and liked it so I took it. The landlady mentioned turning the den type room off the kitchen into a playroom and I took that idea and went with it. Painting a bright splashy pink that Eliza picked out that looks kind of like a bottle of Mr. Bubble, I'll never forget how happy Eliza was the first time afternoon she spent in there. We didn't have much furniture other then our beds and her plastic red table and chairs from Ikea but I'll never forget cooking our first dinner (pasta primavera) while Eliza sat on that red table and colored, humming happily. I stood over that stove listening to how happy she sounded and felt so relieved and powerful that I had been able to do this, get out of a bad relationship and give her another home that would make her happy. I don't remember where Elena was at this moment because she wasn't sleeping in a crib yet. Maybe she was asleep in the car seat on the floor somewhere or in the bassinet in my bedroom, but I'll never, ever forget standing over the stove as the fresh tomatoes cooked, listening to her hum in her happy little pink playroom, feeling like I was the best mom in the world.
Best mom, no, but I type this seated on the couch surrounded by Elena's little happy light up wands. That's all it takes to make her four year old body happy, light up wands. When they're happy, I feel so supremely content, like I've just scaled Mount Everest and found it to be easier then I thought. Elena is already four and Eliza is about to enter third grade--this world of magic is about to disappear and my ability to keep them as happy as they are will go away. But for now, the world is magic, just the spin of a music box at bedtime, a chocolate cake baked on a rainy day, these things are all they need to feel joy. Oh how I wish it could be this way forever.
Another friend once said that a child is a chance for our happy ending. I certainly see so much of that in myself. My singing and dance dreams I'm trying to make happen for Eliza, whether she wants them or not. I have to step back sometimes and remind myself that it's her life, not mine and that it's up to her to choose her own course.
One thing I've really accomplished with my children is creating a world of magic. It's certainly not magical all the time. Today, the girls spent much of the day together in the playroom with Eliza's iPad or running around with lalaloopsies while I wasted a little too much time scrolling down my iPhone and fiendishly erasing emails. But still, we've had a wonderful summer. Wonderful days at amusement parks, water parks, dinner at our local hibachi grill where we watch the chef light a "volcano" (tower of onions) on fire. I put together a little play starring a group of Eliza's friends and turned it into one of the best parties Eliza's ever had. I took the girls to Storybook Land and surprised them with a hotel in Atlantic City and dinner at the Rainforest Cafe, a place they loved so much in San Francisco.
I've loved reading children's books so much with Eliza because we can open a book and enter into another world with a bake shop ghost, a sandcastle that turns into a real castle, a bed that flies over the hills of Tuscany. Reading those books with Eliza made me feel reborn into a world where anything was possible. That's childhood. The days are long but your imagination is the world. YOur body is quick and free and full of energy.
When C and I split up, I had no plan. I looked at the apartment we've happily lived in since 2009 and liked it so I took it. The landlady mentioned turning the den type room off the kitchen into a playroom and I took that idea and went with it. Painting a bright splashy pink that Eliza picked out that looks kind of like a bottle of Mr. Bubble, I'll never forget how happy Eliza was the first time afternoon she spent in there. We didn't have much furniture other then our beds and her plastic red table and chairs from Ikea but I'll never forget cooking our first dinner (pasta primavera) while Eliza sat on that red table and colored, humming happily. I stood over that stove listening to how happy she sounded and felt so relieved and powerful that I had been able to do this, get out of a bad relationship and give her another home that would make her happy. I don't remember where Elena was at this moment because she wasn't sleeping in a crib yet. Maybe she was asleep in the car seat on the floor somewhere or in the bassinet in my bedroom, but I'll never, ever forget standing over the stove as the fresh tomatoes cooked, listening to her hum in her happy little pink playroom, feeling like I was the best mom in the world.
Best mom, no, but I type this seated on the couch surrounded by Elena's little happy light up wands. That's all it takes to make her four year old body happy, light up wands. When they're happy, I feel so supremely content, like I've just scaled Mount Everest and found it to be easier then I thought. Elena is already four and Eliza is about to enter third grade--this world of magic is about to disappear and my ability to keep them as happy as they are will go away. But for now, the world is magic, just the spin of a music box at bedtime, a chocolate cake baked on a rainy day, these things are all they need to feel joy. Oh how I wish it could be this way forever.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Mama Summer Love
Oh how lovely to look back two months ago when the summer was wide in front of us. Now I've got just two more weeks left at home with my girls before I start a new show. There will still be a few weekends left of summer but it's been so wonderful to be home for almost all of it. What a blessing to be offered a job at the end of June that didn't start until late August.
The days just stretched out in front of us and we have greatly enjoyed them. I signed Eliza up for multiple day camps and was able to be the one to take her to and from every one of them. I picked her up on the day she caught her first fish at marine science camp, I got to watch her at her music theater camp showcase, I got to watch her really bloom as a little dancer in her various week long dance camps.
We traveled only to Pittsburgh to visit Kennywood, the amusement park of my childhood, and place my mother's ashes in the grave of my grandparents. Because things don't often happen as planned, we didn't get to bury my mom during our trip but we did visit the grave and that seemed to comfort Eliza. Getting together with family in Pittsburgh and showing Eliza my grandparents' house and the park of my childhood made her very happy. The girls loved Kennywood and it was a sweet reunion with my college friend Sam and her daughter who we hadn't seen for two years.
And my mother's ashes, which had been misplaced during shipping, were finally recovered and resent to Pittsburgh. She will be buried this upcoming Wednesday. I won't be there to see it but my cousin and a friend of my mother's will be there. It only gets bigger, how much I miss my mom, but there is some comfort in laying her to rest with my grandparents. Eliza loved seeing what little family we have in Pittsburgh so we will return there, perhaps once a year or at least every other year. It was a good feeling, knowing the place that I'd visited so much during my childhood, would still remain something of a home for us even though my grandparents are gone and I only have two aging family members left there to visit. The history that was born there still continues and Kennywood still charms for the girls. And my college friend with her daughter who is only a year older than Eliza still lives two hours west of Pittsburgh and will come in to see us. So the trip was good on so many levels.
Life with my little Lena Loo has been more challenging. She is a delightful, funny, spirited child but she requires more patience. Sometimes I wonder if I just don't have as much patience as I once did or if she really is a more difficult child but there are entire days that are a wash because Elena doesn't want to do something. If she doesn't want to go to the beach, she won't allow us (us being me and Eliza) to put on her swimsuit, if she wants dessert she will throw one hell of a tantrum. It's often just easier to stay home and plop her in front of the TV because I don't feel like fighting with her.
I read something a woman read yesterday, about how she rarely goes out with her two year old and baby alone because it's so hard and I won't lie, I read it beaming with pride because that's all I've done. I moved into an apartment on my own when Elena was only three months old and Eliza was 3 1/2. And we went out every day, we did stuff all the time. We even went to the beach a few times which I'll admit was pretty tough with a baby that young. I remember nights on the beach with Elena strapped in the bjorn while Eliza and I waded at the ocean's edge. We'd then sit on the sand and Eliza would splash in the shallow water while Elena pushed up from her stomach on the sand, her eyes blazing as she looked at the ocean.
When I first realized I would leave C, a few people said they didn't think I could do it, be on my own with two small children. It has been extremely difficult and yet not nearly as hard as people thought. But I did it and would do it again in a heart beat. Moving here has given my girls a life at the beach, a great life that we'll sorely miss when we leave here. We've had summers of small parades through town, kid races at the beach, dance recitals right down the street, Christmas tree lightings across the street and movies on the beach.
Now it's time to start a new adventure. I signed my lease for one more year here but my rent has gone way up since we first moved in. Working in New York and living here without my mom has just proven too difficult. I'm so glad we moved here, so my girls could have those three years with my mother that we wouldn't have had if we lived two hours away from her. I am so grateful for those three years, especially for year 2010 which was the one year my mother was the most healthy. I couldn't quite move away this year, so I'm giving myself one more year before I start to look way out in Queens for a new place to call home.
But for now, I've got two more weeks with these wonderful, amazing and somewhat challenging girls. Today we're going to a nearby waterpark for a day of fun. I'm broke since I've not worked in so long but at least there's work looming. And life is good and I'm so lucky to have this life with my little girls. There are moments when I just don't think I can do this again but at the end of the day, every night I am filled with so much gratitude and love for these two wonderful girls and my happy little family.
The days just stretched out in front of us and we have greatly enjoyed them. I signed Eliza up for multiple day camps and was able to be the one to take her to and from every one of them. I picked her up on the day she caught her first fish at marine science camp, I got to watch her at her music theater camp showcase, I got to watch her really bloom as a little dancer in her various week long dance camps.
We traveled only to Pittsburgh to visit Kennywood, the amusement park of my childhood, and place my mother's ashes in the grave of my grandparents. Because things don't often happen as planned, we didn't get to bury my mom during our trip but we did visit the grave and that seemed to comfort Eliza. Getting together with family in Pittsburgh and showing Eliza my grandparents' house and the park of my childhood made her very happy. The girls loved Kennywood and it was a sweet reunion with my college friend Sam and her daughter who we hadn't seen for two years.
And my mother's ashes, which had been misplaced during shipping, were finally recovered and resent to Pittsburgh. She will be buried this upcoming Wednesday. I won't be there to see it but my cousin and a friend of my mother's will be there. It only gets bigger, how much I miss my mom, but there is some comfort in laying her to rest with my grandparents. Eliza loved seeing what little family we have in Pittsburgh so we will return there, perhaps once a year or at least every other year. It was a good feeling, knowing the place that I'd visited so much during my childhood, would still remain something of a home for us even though my grandparents are gone and I only have two aging family members left there to visit. The history that was born there still continues and Kennywood still charms for the girls. And my college friend with her daughter who is only a year older than Eliza still lives two hours west of Pittsburgh and will come in to see us. So the trip was good on so many levels.
Life with my little Lena Loo has been more challenging. She is a delightful, funny, spirited child but she requires more patience. Sometimes I wonder if I just don't have as much patience as I once did or if she really is a more difficult child but there are entire days that are a wash because Elena doesn't want to do something. If she doesn't want to go to the beach, she won't allow us (us being me and Eliza) to put on her swimsuit, if she wants dessert she will throw one hell of a tantrum. It's often just easier to stay home and plop her in front of the TV because I don't feel like fighting with her.
I read something a woman read yesterday, about how she rarely goes out with her two year old and baby alone because it's so hard and I won't lie, I read it beaming with pride because that's all I've done. I moved into an apartment on my own when Elena was only three months old and Eliza was 3 1/2. And we went out every day, we did stuff all the time. We even went to the beach a few times which I'll admit was pretty tough with a baby that young. I remember nights on the beach with Elena strapped in the bjorn while Eliza and I waded at the ocean's edge. We'd then sit on the sand and Eliza would splash in the shallow water while Elena pushed up from her stomach on the sand, her eyes blazing as she looked at the ocean.
When I first realized I would leave C, a few people said they didn't think I could do it, be on my own with two small children. It has been extremely difficult and yet not nearly as hard as people thought. But I did it and would do it again in a heart beat. Moving here has given my girls a life at the beach, a great life that we'll sorely miss when we leave here. We've had summers of small parades through town, kid races at the beach, dance recitals right down the street, Christmas tree lightings across the street and movies on the beach.
Now it's time to start a new adventure. I signed my lease for one more year here but my rent has gone way up since we first moved in. Working in New York and living here without my mom has just proven too difficult. I'm so glad we moved here, so my girls could have those three years with my mother that we wouldn't have had if we lived two hours away from her. I am so grateful for those three years, especially for year 2010 which was the one year my mother was the most healthy. I couldn't quite move away this year, so I'm giving myself one more year before I start to look way out in Queens for a new place to call home.
But for now, I've got two more weeks with these wonderful, amazing and somewhat challenging girls. Today we're going to a nearby waterpark for a day of fun. I'm broke since I've not worked in so long but at least there's work looming. And life is good and I'm so lucky to have this life with my little girls. There are moments when I just don't think I can do this again but at the end of the day, every night I am filled with so much gratitude and love for these two wonderful girls and my happy little family.
Friday, June 14, 2013
Recital days
Here are some photos from Eliza's fourth dance recital and Elena's first. This was our first time having to attend all four recitals, with Eliza drawing the Friday night, Saturday day slot and Elena pulling the Saturday night/Sunday matinee slot. I still have to upload more of Elena's photos from that wonderful weekend but here's what I have so far. Eliza's recital experience was stressful with a lot of quick costume and tight changes. But even with all the stress, she still got up on stage and performed with a huge smile on her face. She has really grown up. After a near meltdown, referring to herself as a failure because she couldn't change her tights fast enough, Eliza went back onstage and performed flawlessly. Elena's was just more fun. Elena didn't do much during any of the rehearsals but some how on stage she actually felt compelled to do the little steps. I'm not going to say she actually knew her dances or did more than half the steps but sitting in the audience with Eliza at my side, watching Elena's little white tights with white tap shoes and big yellow ribbons go up in the air when she did her little kicks was absolutely thrilling. It was truly wonderful to experience that first recital with my precious Eliza there to see it too. She was so excited to see her sister not just stand there I can't describe how it felt to share that joy with her. I am so in love with these girls.
Keeping today forever
I was never one of those live in the moment kind of people. Did I say the wrong thing to some one today? Did I make a big mistake at work? Would I be able to pay the rent on time? The only time I lived in the moment was the first 2-3 years of college and my first year or maybe three of motherhood.
It was wonderful, so many afternoons passed lying in my bed with a tiny, sleeping baby across my chest. I read short stories, New Yorker articles, anything I could easily hold and finish in the time of her naps. I have so many fond memories of those early few months with the satellite radio in the background and me and my girl, just chilling together alone.
I also cherished my weekly Mom and me meeting and the subsequent playgroup that grew from that. Friends I'd had prebaby shuffled to the background as my newfound love of Eliza tied me to other new mothers like superglue. Did you see she sat up today? Can you hear she's singing a song? Her first word was star. I swear, she said a whole sentence but the only word I could clearly make out was star.
Last night, out of the blue, I decided to read some of the old posts here and I couldn't believe how many things I could not recall at all. I'd completely forgotten about Eliza and her pretend lemonade. How one time she's happily told her father that she and I spent the day "cuddling" and "kissing ourselves." In the blur and intensity of that great first love, that real first love that I had for my firstborn, I really thought I'd managed to retain it all but I didn't. Had I not written these little things down, I'd still be left with those afternoons against the backdrop of satellite radio, but I wouldn't have had so many other things.
I often feel my little Elena gets the short end of the stick. It's not that I love her less than Eliza, but it wasn't the first time so it's a little less intense, a little more mellow, a little less devoured. I have no desire to sit on the floor and play games with her. At the playground, I get kind of bored and don't really want to play lemonade stand. I often get very frustrated by the fact that I often must beg Elena to come down the steps so we can get Eliza to school or dance class or piano lessons on time.
She often chooses those moments when it's time to go to play cute little games, to hide back at the top of the stairs and pretend she can't find her sweater. Another cute little trick is that she'll lie on the floor and start to snore so I'll think she's asleep. She's even got a smile on her face while she makes her little snoring noises. It's so cute and yet I don't have time for it. All she wants is to get some recognition for how clever she's being and I just want to scream at her to get down the steps. Her life has passed by in such a ridiculous blur, without those long afternoons of short stories and satellite radio and dance parties.
It was nice to read how bored I got with Eliza's lemonade parties because I realize it wasn't so much the difference between kids but how I approach parenting. While Eliza's first few years were spent largely with people around me, many of whom were sharing this great ride of being a new Mama to one child, most of my time spent with Elena was in isolation. There were no playgroups or gymnastic classes or music classes in her first three years. The first three years of Elena's life have been spent as the shadow child, the one who gets dragged to all the fun stuff her sister does while she crawls around on the floor in the background. A fantastic napper, Elena spent much of our solo time sleeping while I worked or dealt with other things. The solo trips to museums and parks just didn't happen with Elena as they had with Eliza. Some of that is just how it goes with the second kid. And some of it was my own response to so much isolation. While I often had friends to share my time with Eliza, with Elena I've been very lonely. I wonder if this happens frequently with the second kid as well. You are isolated by the fact that you're simply busier now and many of those people who surrounded you with the first kid are now juggling two and maybe three and just don't have the kind of time you had.
Or is it that you lose yourself in that first one, almost like you're drowning, but with the second you start to surface. Friends you adored before children start to move back into the foreground. Work or hobbies you had before children start to find their way back into your daily life. I know going back to work full time when Elena was only two felt awful, but then when I was at work, it was almost like I'd woken up from a kind of isolated slumber. I was suddenly around adults again, having conversations that didn't segue into Elmo's theme song. Going to the theater to see a play was suddenly so much more wonderful then I remembered. Spending time with a friend over a beer eating french fries without kids tugging on my sleeve was the best thing in the world.
I wondered, had I fallen out of love with my kids? I realize now I was simply struggling to find some kind of place to be me again. A new me with a life outside my kids, but still loving my kids.
Sadly, I still spend way too much time with the kids alone. I so wish I had some one, anyone, to share this journey with me because a less lonely me is a better mama. But even in that isolation and the depression that's set in since the onset of my mom's illness, I still manage to make at least a few great moments of each day with the kids.
Yesterday, I played little red riding hood with Elena. She strolled through the apartment clutching a tiny toy school filled with more toys and found me lying in bed, depressed again. "Grandma," she said, throwing her arms around me. "I'm little red riding hood."
And I went with it. Pretended to eat the food she'd brought in her little toy school house. Her face lit up, like watching me mime eating plastic carrots had to be better than Disney World. I was only half with her, still drifting back to the newspaper article I'd been reading when she found me but my half assed effort still pleased her. She says adorable things a lot of the time. I'm going to list a few now, just so I "keep" them.
"I'm building a new mama out of legos because Eliza gets all the love."
"I'm lonely. Come sit with me." At the lunch table. She has lunch before she goes to school and I tend to eat later and spend the time that she's eating lunch packing up her stuff for school but she has not problem telling me to join her.
"Can I have a butsy sandwich?"
"Mama! I pooped on the potty! Oh, what's that toothbrush doing in there?" yes, in her haste to get to the potty, Elena had some how managed to dislodge my expensive electric toothbrush from it's stand and it fell into the toilet. Sorry if this is TMI but it was funny.
There's so many more things but suddenly I can't remember them. I've spent a lot of time whining about what I've lost and I realized that this blog was always about writing down what I had.
And what I have is a lovely little family. At the end of the day, I am so very grateful.
It was wonderful, so many afternoons passed lying in my bed with a tiny, sleeping baby across my chest. I read short stories, New Yorker articles, anything I could easily hold and finish in the time of her naps. I have so many fond memories of those early few months with the satellite radio in the background and me and my girl, just chilling together alone.
I also cherished my weekly Mom and me meeting and the subsequent playgroup that grew from that. Friends I'd had prebaby shuffled to the background as my newfound love of Eliza tied me to other new mothers like superglue. Did you see she sat up today? Can you hear she's singing a song? Her first word was star. I swear, she said a whole sentence but the only word I could clearly make out was star.
Last night, out of the blue, I decided to read some of the old posts here and I couldn't believe how many things I could not recall at all. I'd completely forgotten about Eliza and her pretend lemonade. How one time she's happily told her father that she and I spent the day "cuddling" and "kissing ourselves." In the blur and intensity of that great first love, that real first love that I had for my firstborn, I really thought I'd managed to retain it all but I didn't. Had I not written these little things down, I'd still be left with those afternoons against the backdrop of satellite radio, but I wouldn't have had so many other things.
I often feel my little Elena gets the short end of the stick. It's not that I love her less than Eliza, but it wasn't the first time so it's a little less intense, a little more mellow, a little less devoured. I have no desire to sit on the floor and play games with her. At the playground, I get kind of bored and don't really want to play lemonade stand. I often get very frustrated by the fact that I often must beg Elena to come down the steps so we can get Eliza to school or dance class or piano lessons on time.
She often chooses those moments when it's time to go to play cute little games, to hide back at the top of the stairs and pretend she can't find her sweater. Another cute little trick is that she'll lie on the floor and start to snore so I'll think she's asleep. She's even got a smile on her face while she makes her little snoring noises. It's so cute and yet I don't have time for it. All she wants is to get some recognition for how clever she's being and I just want to scream at her to get down the steps. Her life has passed by in such a ridiculous blur, without those long afternoons of short stories and satellite radio and dance parties.
It was nice to read how bored I got with Eliza's lemonade parties because I realize it wasn't so much the difference between kids but how I approach parenting. While Eliza's first few years were spent largely with people around me, many of whom were sharing this great ride of being a new Mama to one child, most of my time spent with Elena was in isolation. There were no playgroups or gymnastic classes or music classes in her first three years. The first three years of Elena's life have been spent as the shadow child, the one who gets dragged to all the fun stuff her sister does while she crawls around on the floor in the background. A fantastic napper, Elena spent much of our solo time sleeping while I worked or dealt with other things. The solo trips to museums and parks just didn't happen with Elena as they had with Eliza. Some of that is just how it goes with the second kid. And some of it was my own response to so much isolation. While I often had friends to share my time with Eliza, with Elena I've been very lonely. I wonder if this happens frequently with the second kid as well. You are isolated by the fact that you're simply busier now and many of those people who surrounded you with the first kid are now juggling two and maybe three and just don't have the kind of time you had.
Or is it that you lose yourself in that first one, almost like you're drowning, but with the second you start to surface. Friends you adored before children start to move back into the foreground. Work or hobbies you had before children start to find their way back into your daily life. I know going back to work full time when Elena was only two felt awful, but then when I was at work, it was almost like I'd woken up from a kind of isolated slumber. I was suddenly around adults again, having conversations that didn't segue into Elmo's theme song. Going to the theater to see a play was suddenly so much more wonderful then I remembered. Spending time with a friend over a beer eating french fries without kids tugging on my sleeve was the best thing in the world.
I wondered, had I fallen out of love with my kids? I realize now I was simply struggling to find some kind of place to be me again. A new me with a life outside my kids, but still loving my kids.
Sadly, I still spend way too much time with the kids alone. I so wish I had some one, anyone, to share this journey with me because a less lonely me is a better mama. But even in that isolation and the depression that's set in since the onset of my mom's illness, I still manage to make at least a few great moments of each day with the kids.
Yesterday, I played little red riding hood with Elena. She strolled through the apartment clutching a tiny toy school filled with more toys and found me lying in bed, depressed again. "Grandma," she said, throwing her arms around me. "I'm little red riding hood."
And I went with it. Pretended to eat the food she'd brought in her little toy school house. Her face lit up, like watching me mime eating plastic carrots had to be better than Disney World. I was only half with her, still drifting back to the newspaper article I'd been reading when she found me but my half assed effort still pleased her. She says adorable things a lot of the time. I'm going to list a few now, just so I "keep" them.
"I'm building a new mama out of legos because Eliza gets all the love."
"I'm lonely. Come sit with me." At the lunch table. She has lunch before she goes to school and I tend to eat later and spend the time that she's eating lunch packing up her stuff for school but she has not problem telling me to join her.
"Can I have a butsy sandwich?"
"Mama! I pooped on the potty! Oh, what's that toothbrush doing in there?" yes, in her haste to get to the potty, Elena had some how managed to dislodge my expensive electric toothbrush from it's stand and it fell into the toilet. Sorry if this is TMI but it was funny.
There's so many more things but suddenly I can't remember them. I've spent a lot of time whining about what I've lost and I realized that this blog was always about writing down what I had.
And what I have is a lovely little family. At the end of the day, I am so very grateful.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Triplets
Yesterday morning was a glorious beach day. I went with my darling Elena before school, before it got too hot. I think my back got a tiny bit burned as this happens when you're a single mom, on the beach with an adorable four year old.
It was a busy day because both girls had tech rehearsal for the recital tonight. I ended up showering Elena at the beach, dropping her off at school, having lunch and then picking Elena up early for rehearsal. With no time to shower or change myself, I spent the day in my blue bathing suit with a dress overtop of it.
When rehearsal for both girls finally ended around 5:30, I peeled off my sweaty dress to cook dinner in my swimsuit. Eliza, still dressed in her light blue leotard, leaped around the house, excited for her recital the following night. I pointed to her leotard and then to my swimsuit and said, "Twins."
"Huh?" Eliza looked at me confused.
"We're twins." I pointed again to her blue leotard and to my swimsuit. My swimsuit is more of a bright turquoise and her leotard is more of a powder baby blue but here we both were, going about our business at home in our blue one pieces. In my world, that makes us twins.
Eliza grinned broadly. "Twins, I get it!" And we grabbed each other's hands.
Suddenly Elena barreled, grabbing at each of our hands.
"What about me?" she growled. "Not twins," she said, busting up our hands and demanding a circle. "Triplets."
I didn't even know that she was aware of that concept but there she was, my little one, demanding to be part of the pack. It's so fitting. There we were, the three of us, in our own little circle.
Triplets.
It was a busy day because both girls had tech rehearsal for the recital tonight. I ended up showering Elena at the beach, dropping her off at school, having lunch and then picking Elena up early for rehearsal. With no time to shower or change myself, I spent the day in my blue bathing suit with a dress overtop of it.
When rehearsal for both girls finally ended around 5:30, I peeled off my sweaty dress to cook dinner in my swimsuit. Eliza, still dressed in her light blue leotard, leaped around the house, excited for her recital the following night. I pointed to her leotard and then to my swimsuit and said, "Twins."
"Huh?" Eliza looked at me confused.
"We're twins." I pointed again to her blue leotard and to my swimsuit. My swimsuit is more of a bright turquoise and her leotard is more of a powder baby blue but here we both were, going about our business at home in our blue one pieces. In my world, that makes us twins.
Eliza grinned broadly. "Twins, I get it!" And we grabbed each other's hands.
Suddenly Elena barreled, grabbing at each of our hands.
"What about me?" she growled. "Not twins," she said, busting up our hands and demanding a circle. "Triplets."
I didn't even know that she was aware of that concept but there she was, my little one, demanding to be part of the pack. It's so fitting. There we were, the three of us, in our own little circle.
Triplets.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Trying
It's been a while. I don't really have much to say. Girls are great, most of the time. They fight a lot, sometimes to the point of driving me crazy. I don't have a lot of patience for the fighting. The loneliness of life without my mom and without work is often overwhelming.
Smash was officially axed on May 10th. We all guessed when we finished shooting in mid-March that we would not be back but it was still somewhat crushing to know we're really finished. That crew, in its entirety, will never be together again. From the director of photography to the second assistant camera to the first assistant director to the editors I will never work with a group I like as much as them again. I might work with some of them again but to have all of us, the entire band back together, it's not going to happen. Since Smash was not a success, the idea of a musical TV series is probably dead as well. So I'll probably never get to work that closely with a Broadway choreographer and composer again and let me tell you, it sucks.
I wish the job hadn't come at one of the hardest times in my life but then again, I'm grateful that it came when it did. Smash kept me going and when it ended I went to bed and really didn't want to get out of it. I spent my first weekend at home, lying in bed, hoping for the strength to get out. I took care of my girls and found joy in being with them but it was very difficult to get up each morning knowing that my mom was gone and my adult time was over.
I've gotten more into my routine at home with the girls and I've really enjoyed so many great times with them since Smash wrapped. But I'm sad in ways that aren't easily conveyed and a hypochondriac, not so much for myself but for everyone around me. Eliza had a headache yesterday and I was ready to rush to the emergency room. I saw my brother on Sunday and he was visibly uncomfortable due to stomach issues. Watching him grimace and suffer cramps made me wonder if I was destined to watch another loved one suffer the way I watched my mom.
When my grandmother's brother died, she said, "I don't have any family left." I assured Grams he had me, my cousins, her niece Patty, her husband. Now I completely understand what she meant. In a little over a year, I lost so many of the core people for my family that all that's left is my brother. I have my kids, I have my dad but my real family, the people I grew up loving and being shaped by, they're gone.
Today, I tried to take a nap while the girls were in school. I set my alarm to wake up at pickup time. But I couldn't sleep. Instead I lay there, trying to tell myself what my life was. I validated my life so much by telling myself how important I was to my mother. She wouldn't want to live without me. Without her, my life is a lot less valuable. Unemployed, unable to write much, what exactly is my life these days?
The kids need me and I'm good at taking care of them. So I lay in bed and told myself that this is my life now, to raise the girls, to be there for them, to do everything I can to shape them into fine, well-adjusted, hard working adults. Since I've been done with work, Eliza has started piano lessons and I've started to work with her more to improve her dancing and singing. I have tried to spend more fun time with Elena in the mornings before she goes to school, visiting the park, cuddling on the couch or reading books. This is important work and I'm happy to do it but it's so very lonely. My kids need me, they love me and caring for them refuels me but it doesn't buoy me the way my mother's voice did. A huge part of me is missing and probably always will be.
Smash was officially axed on May 10th. We all guessed when we finished shooting in mid-March that we would not be back but it was still somewhat crushing to know we're really finished. That crew, in its entirety, will never be together again. From the director of photography to the second assistant camera to the first assistant director to the editors I will never work with a group I like as much as them again. I might work with some of them again but to have all of us, the entire band back together, it's not going to happen. Since Smash was not a success, the idea of a musical TV series is probably dead as well. So I'll probably never get to work that closely with a Broadway choreographer and composer again and let me tell you, it sucks.
I wish the job hadn't come at one of the hardest times in my life but then again, I'm grateful that it came when it did. Smash kept me going and when it ended I went to bed and really didn't want to get out of it. I spent my first weekend at home, lying in bed, hoping for the strength to get out. I took care of my girls and found joy in being with them but it was very difficult to get up each morning knowing that my mom was gone and my adult time was over.
I've gotten more into my routine at home with the girls and I've really enjoyed so many great times with them since Smash wrapped. But I'm sad in ways that aren't easily conveyed and a hypochondriac, not so much for myself but for everyone around me. Eliza had a headache yesterday and I was ready to rush to the emergency room. I saw my brother on Sunday and he was visibly uncomfortable due to stomach issues. Watching him grimace and suffer cramps made me wonder if I was destined to watch another loved one suffer the way I watched my mom.
When my grandmother's brother died, she said, "I don't have any family left." I assured Grams he had me, my cousins, her niece Patty, her husband. Now I completely understand what she meant. In a little over a year, I lost so many of the core people for my family that all that's left is my brother. I have my kids, I have my dad but my real family, the people I grew up loving and being shaped by, they're gone.
Today, I tried to take a nap while the girls were in school. I set my alarm to wake up at pickup time. But I couldn't sleep. Instead I lay there, trying to tell myself what my life was. I validated my life so much by telling myself how important I was to my mother. She wouldn't want to live without me. Without her, my life is a lot less valuable. Unemployed, unable to write much, what exactly is my life these days?
The kids need me and I'm good at taking care of them. So I lay in bed and told myself that this is my life now, to raise the girls, to be there for them, to do everything I can to shape them into fine, well-adjusted, hard working adults. Since I've been done with work, Eliza has started piano lessons and I've started to work with her more to improve her dancing and singing. I have tried to spend more fun time with Elena in the mornings before she goes to school, visiting the park, cuddling on the couch or reading books. This is important work and I'm happy to do it but it's so very lonely. My kids need me, they love me and caring for them refuels me but it doesn't buoy me the way my mother's voice did. A huge part of me is missing and probably always will be.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Despair
I'm okay, as they say, hanging in there. But I'm not sure how much longer I can keep doing this. Trying to keep it all together and get everything that needs to get done is becoming too difficult for me. And trust me, I've cut myself a lot of slack. I don't care if my home is vacuumed or if every table surface is free of tiny piles of paper. I clean the bathroom as minimally as I can.
Being a working single mother is frying me. An actor I worked with on "Fringe" was raised by a single mother. She visited set when I was pregnant with Elena and I asked her what it was like being a single mother. Her children were both adults at the time and she said she was still recovering from her time as a single mom, that's how hard it was. I knew my relationship with C had headed south long ago, I knew what I probably faced. Believe me when I say I did everything, everything to avoid life as a single mother.
And still, here I am, not sure how I'm going to limp to the finish line on "Smash." And when "Smash" ends, how will I handle being home full-time? Completely isolated from my co-workers who've kept me going, who make me laugh, who make me feel like a person instead of just a mother. One one hand, I will finally be able to relax with the kids and fall into a comfortable routine. The mess that is my mother's estate can maybe begin to be sorted out.
But who's gonna take care of me? How will I face life now, completely alone?
Being a working single mother is frying me. An actor I worked with on "Fringe" was raised by a single mother. She visited set when I was pregnant with Elena and I asked her what it was like being a single mother. Her children were both adults at the time and she said she was still recovering from her time as a single mom, that's how hard it was. I knew my relationship with C had headed south long ago, I knew what I probably faced. Believe me when I say I did everything, everything to avoid life as a single mother.
And still, here I am, not sure how I'm going to limp to the finish line on "Smash." And when "Smash" ends, how will I handle being home full-time? Completely isolated from my co-workers who've kept me going, who make me laugh, who make me feel like a person instead of just a mother. One one hand, I will finally be able to relax with the kids and fall into a comfortable routine. The mess that is my mother's estate can maybe begin to be sorted out.
But who's gonna take care of me? How will I face life now, completely alone?
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Maybe Mama Reads This Blog
I can try to write this as I would write to my Mom but the thing is, my mother didn't read this blog when she was alive, she's certainly not going to read it now. My mother always said close friends should not discuss religion or politics because "I'm not going to change your mind and you're not going to change mine." I believe this to be true. When it comes to faith, to Heaven, we believe what we believe and while some one else's mind might be malleable, mine is not right now.
I would love to believe in an afterlife, in a place where my mother can see me and watch over us, enjoying our day to day lives. But in the words of a close friend, what kind of Heaven would that be, a place where we could see our loved ones and never be able to be with them? I'd never thought of it that way but I agree with this philosophy. My mother would be tortured to watch us and incapable of touching us. If she was so miserable in her last days on that hospital bed because she suddenly lacked the power to speak to me, she wouldn't be happy to watch her beloved granddaughter cry and ask for her and not be able to answer her back.
Maybe there's a place where all the pain my mother felt is gone and she's happily in a new body, running and skipping and enjoying a sudden ability to do deep knee bends. She could skitter across a flowery meadows drenched with sunlight beside her beloved Uncle Joe, her brother, her parents who she loved so much. She can't see us, no, but she'd be with people she loved so earnestly and desperately that she's happy. I want to believe this for her, I wish I completely believed this for her but I don't. I don't know where she is, if she's anywhere or if she's just left the world and all that remains of her are the ashes in a little box I keep under my bed until I make the trek to Pittsburgh to bury her ashes in the grave with my grandparents.
My friend Paula lost her mom suddenly when a passing truck mowed down her mother's car as she backed out of her driveway. A religious person, Paula waited for telltale signs that her mother watched her from "somewhere" and could still communicate with her. As time passed and nothing happened, Paula increasingly became angered by what she refers to as an "absolute silence." There was no communication, no coincidental signs that indicated her mother was still "with her." Her ability to be with her mom ended the day her mother died and there's been no connection since.
Paula wrote a spectacular essay about her mother's death entitled "Absolute Silence." It is hands down the best writing I've ever read on grief, and that includes the much praised book by Joan Didion. Right now, I'm right there with Paula, feeling nothing but sadness and an almost crushing hopelessness by my own absolute silence.
I certainly don't want to offend anyone who believes in Heaven or say "I'm right and you're not." That's not what this is about at all. I won't say I wish more than anything that I did believe in heaven because what I wish for more than anything is my mother, here with me. But I can't describe how much I would love to believe in a Heaven, in a world where my mother lives without pain, happily looking out for me and protecting me from unseen terrible forces. In her last days, as she was so visibly saddened by the realization that she was in fact leaving us, I tried to comfort her by saying, maybe there really was a Heaven and she'd get to be with the people she'd lost and missed so very much.
And maybe, I told her, since my mother always wanted to right any wrong she saw in my brother's and my own life, maybe she'd be able to do more for us in Heaven. Maybe from there she'd have an ability to really protect me and Billy in a way she couldn't from here on Earth. She always felt that her brother, shortly after he died, "told" her to get the mammogram that would detect her cancer while it was still stage one.
I want to believe all this, I really do. I want to feel that now her arms are around me, gripping me in a hug that will never fade. But thinking about this makes me cry. I now feel her weak right arm around me for the last hug she gave me, on my birthday. I sat on her hospital bed and lay my head against her chest and she managed to get that arm around me, an ability I didn't think she had anymore. The day before, they told me she would not open her eyes again but not only did she do that, there she was, putting her arm around me, hugging me. She couldn't really speak but I could feel it, running all the way through me, her love for me.
I can't feel it now. Some one said to me shortly before she died that love was stronger than death and that the love would always be there even if she didn't survive this. On my birthday, with her arm around me, with her eyes on me, I felt that love vibrate down my limbs like a pulse.
I don't feel it now and I want to, I want to so much.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
another boxed up Xmas
I'm too exhausted to write much. I ended up getting very sick with the flu or bronchitis or something that's made me pretty weak over much of the holidays. I managed to stumble through Christmas Eve and Christmas Day without canceling plans but a few days later had to beg their father to come get the girls because I was so weak I couldn't get out of bed. We did have as good a holiday as we could, considering I'm pretty depressed about my mother's death. My father stepped up to the plate and my brother seemed to have a very happy Christmas. Although I'm glad he was absolutely giddy with happiness, it would have been nice to see him at least ask about my mother.
It's all too much to talk about and after I spent the day saying goodbye to the Christmas season with our annual Three Kings Day celebration, I'm so spent after putting away all the Christmas decorations, I've no energy to write. My health has improved but I'm much weaker than I'm used to feeling. Some one told me that's normal, a person's immune system takes a big hit when they lose some one they're very close to. I spent a day or two in bed while the girls had fun at their dad's, wondering if I would live and if it even mattered. Without my mother, I felt like if something happened to me, it wouldn't really matter much to anyone. It's sad but true. Sure I have the girls and I have some good friends but let's face it, I'm pretty expendable to everyone but my kids and my mother.
It's a sobering reality but one I won't focus on too much. I just hope to continue to improve. I wonder if I'll ever feel like I used to healthwise or if this is my new normal. Tomorrow's my last day at home before I return to work. It was good to be home for two weeks.
I sure do miss my mom.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)