tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26189631814496551242024-03-13T13:10:07.671-05:00A Little Left of LostLeft of Losthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02620640564652478176noreply@blogger.comBlogger480125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618963181449655124.post-48643164882025045112014-06-16T23:52:00.001-05:002014-06-16T23:52:38.476-05:00(Not) Gone away from me I sometimes wonder if I even know what it is to love.<br />
I think back to my childhood loves....the crooked smile, eyes shining when we caught sight of one another....<br />
the familiarity and feeling of <i>home,</i><br />
<i></i>the absent-minded awareness of his habits, like biting the skin around his nails...<br />
the vise around my chest when separated too long,<br />
that feeling of having my breath sucked and knocked out of me,<br />
as I gulped his scent all the same.<br />
<br />
I am moved by my memories<br />
at times,<br />
I stand frozen, folding my laundry,<br />
when the image of his crooked smile & shining eyes hit me,<br />
as if I just looked up and saw him standing there,<br />
again,<br />
as before,<br />
whispering hoarsely,<br />
"Hi".<br />
<br />
I think that I surely cannot know love,<br />
if it is now gone.<br />
<br />
I look for it elsewhere...<br />
I catch sight of it's fluttering<br />
in the wink of a man<br />
in the gentle squeeze of his hand...<br />
in the simple act of allowing me to rub my feet against his,<br />
in his voice in my ear<br />
in the words he sings<br />
when all his armor is protecting all of his<br />
scars.<br />
<br />
I find it on the edge of his dimples,<br />
hiding there,<br />
in his words,<br />
in my forgetting,<br />
when I squeeze my eyes tight & try to will it away,<br />
with all the tears I wish to wash it away,<br />
Yet.<br />
It shows it's face in his,<br />
eyes wide & innocent, though surely <i>not-</i><br />
playful & prodding,<br />
grazing the hardest parts of me,<br />
screaming,<br />
"<i><b>Yes, I am still here</b></i>!",<br />
Even when I refuse to seek it out.<br />
<br />
I hear it as I lie in this hammock alone,<br />
This bitter and silly and insanely insistent thing that will not die at the root,<br />
despite the leaves falling to the floor<br />
despite the drought<br />
despite the branches being pulled & pushed & torn<br />
from the winds of lies & life....<br />
love.<br />
<br />
I chase it,<br />
And it chases me.<br />
I cannot win for losing<br />
The best part of me.<br />
I don't want to see it,<br />
But I hold my breath as I seek it out,<br />
Through the ache it caused me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/324/0D53F4E34B7FAAB7CEE2586B84D9BCC6.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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long legs stretched out next to my short ones,<br />
skin brushing skin,<br />
your body heat making my blood hum.<br />
<br />
I think about glancing over my shoulder at you,<br />
your eyes smiling back at mine,<br />
your strong hand reaching out to brush my crazy hair away from my face.<br />
I turn my head--<br />
I see no one behind foolish tears.<br />
<br />
I think back to that first date, the way I wanted to reach across the table and put my hands on either side of your face.<br />
And I did.<br />
Your smile filled my palms, overflowing past my fingertips,<br />
spilling out, down my arms, onto the table,<br />
spreading across to my face.<br />
Your breath on the edge of my hand became the rhythm of my heart.<br />
Sometimes I wonder if it still is.<br />
<br />
Time stands still as it breezes by,<br />
leaving me on this couch,<br />
alone with my anger<br />
and disappointment<br />
and that shitty word used to describe your path and your words and that wool pulled over my eyes:<br />
"inaction".<br />
<br />
I fall asleep trying to write out the tangle of heartache smothering my words.<br />
I awaken with my chin on my collarbone,<br />
a sore spot in my neck, my pen on the floor, a blank journal page in my lap,<br />
the TV dark.<br />
The clock reads 2:57 am.<br />
Again.<br />
<br />
I used to hold my breath when you fell asleep, pushing my ear to your chest,<br />
counting your heartbeats.<br />
I used to believe that the weight of words would carry me into your arms,<br />
and keep me in your life.<br />
<br />
I wait to hear your voice again.<br />
I belittle myself for waiting,<br />
for wishing,<br />
for wanting.<br />
<br />
I curse my silly heart,<br />
and my smart mind.<br />
I sleep and drink and read and watch terrible TV on mute,<br />
but I still know what month it is, how many days have gone by<br />
since I last felt the sincere giddiness of sure love<br />
when you showed up at my door<br />
with an honest heart and an open smile<br />
and truth.<br />
<br />
I avoid babies<br />
and weddings<br />
and our favorite place to get over-served.<br />
<br />
I force myself to<br />
forget<br />
every<br />
fucking<br />
day<br />
the<br />
feeling<br />
of<br />
fullness<br />
and<br />
TRUE<br />
LOVE<br />
I<br />
felt.<br />
<br />
I remind myself that<br />
the lie wasn't mine,<br />
that the inaction wasn't my decision,<br />
that the<br />
frozen<br />
paused<br />
fear<br />
wasn't about<br />
ME.<br />
<br />
It wasn't about me.<br />
<br />
The fire within my gut<br />
screams louder than I wish to admit--<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Why wasn't it about me? </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Why wasn't I enough?</span></b><br />
<br />
I will smother all of this,<br />
and finish my book,<br />
and watch the NBA playoffs alone,<br />
and go out with friends,<br />
sipping tequila-- "chilled & dressed"<br />
and plan weekends and vacations and<br />
any dream I have had<br />
except for the one<br />
where<br />
you<br />
and<br />
I<br />
share this life<br />
until we are both wilted and wrinkled,<br />
your warm hand on my thigh,<br />
that sure love passing between<br />
your eyes<br />
and<br />
mine.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/324/0D53F4E34B7FAAB7CEE2586B84D9BCC6.png" style="background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border: 0px !important;" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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<br />
I annoy the shit out of myself. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to<i> care </i>that I am alone. I don't want to feel like I am a wasted asset, a "catch". I don't want to <i>care</i> that I feel I am wasted. I wish I didn't feel loneliness anymore. I know, cognitively, that I don't need another person to be happy. But emotionally, I <i>want to share my life with someone else. I don't want to be happy alone. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I don't want to care about wasted time. I don't want to feel like I wasted any time with the love I had for someone the past 15 months. I want to be able to walk away, head high, knowing I gave my all, did my best, and learned "valuable lessons".<br />
<br />
Yeah.<br />
<br />
I did.<br />
<br />
But I walked away feeling like a fool.<br />
<br />
A fool.<br />
<br />
And now I must lie in this bed alone, feeling full of foolishness, and empty at the same time.<br />
<br />
Yet, still full of love that I must smother, every morning when I wake up.<br />
It must be snuffed out, so that it doesn't annihilate me when it isn't returned ("do unto others", right?) or is used, or is abused, or is ignored, or is taken advantage of......<br />
<br />
So I smother it--I attempt to compartmentalize it: "Here-I loved this part of him at this time." or "There-I will remember my love for him at that time". I sort, stack, label, and store all these memories of him, of us, and I smother the shit out of all of it, so that when my girl asks me where he is, I don't sink in a heap of tears on the floor. I stand tall, with a fake smile plastered on my face (it's beginning to feel real...ish) and I pull the index card out of the box labeled "White Lies To Tell About The Man That Wasn't Man Enough To Be Who He Said He Would Be Or Who You Deserved" and I say "He has a lot going on in his life right now, so we can't expect him to be here for us".<br />
<br />
What kind of bullshit is that?<br />
<br />
I am still working on compartmentalizing the anger. Right now, it seems to be mixed in with memories, post it notes, dried flowers, fading photographs.<br />
<br />
Who knows a fool better than a fellow fool?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/324/0D53F4E34B7FAAB7CEE2586B84D9BCC6.png" style="background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border: 0px !important;" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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I am heavy with the internal battle of having no hope, but wishing for hope.<br />
I am heavy with the words you never said to me, the answers you never gave me, almost as much as all the shit you <i>did</i> say.<br />
I am heavy with pain, with tears, with frustration, with anger, with weary disgust with myself, with you, with the last year of my life, with the word and feeling of HOPE.<br />
<br />
I HOPED.<br />
Now I am just heavy.<br />
<br />
I feel the depression. If I'm honest (and fuck if I am, to a fault), I felt it creeping in months ago. I tried to hope it, grin & bear it, pray it away.<br />
But it didn't work. I knew it wouldn't.<br />
My mind knew that none of that shit was enough to stop this storm, this dark brooding cloud coming to hang out, hang over me, until...who knows?<br />
My mind knew that I would need to do more than smile, pray, step away from the situation that was weighing down on me.<br />
My mind knew I couldn't handle all the shit drama that I felt was filled with lies, after one lie.<br />
<br />
(ONE.LITTLE.LIE.<br />
You say.)<br />
<br />
My mind knew I would need to learn how to cope, how to take care of myself in the midst of something I could neither control nor accept.<br />
<br />
I failed at all of it. And I felt that cloud.<br />
<br />
It's here.<br />
<br />
I am in a fog at all times, a dull ache behind my eyes and in my jaw, an almost-ringing in my ears when the silence of 3am wakes me from a deep sleep. My eyes burn and water. My neck is tight, waiting for the next punch, the next day filled with your inaction and overflowing with your words that I USED to believe. The cold yet hot hole in the pit of my stomach, causing me to forget to eat or pay bills or seek the peace I so desperately needed for so long.<br />
<br />
I forget to take my makeup off at night. Why bother?<br />
I forget to write, to read, to care, to laugh, to have energy.<br />
<br />
Yet, somewhere within me, beneath the layers of fear and fog and sad and angry and numb and raw, I wish to have all of those things back, to do all of those things--<br />
<br />
I want to get up and feel the joy of the sunrise. I want to walk my dog or work out to exhaustion, and feel the ache in my muscles, in my bones. I want to leave my house, my couch, my bed. I want to try on new clothes, buy something that feels sexy, and flirt with someone.<br />
<br />
I want to have the strength to push through this fog, and move on.<br />
<br />
MOVE ON.<br />
<br />
But I can't. Not yet.<br />
(Why? Why? Why?)<br />
<br />
So I allow the fog, this storm cloud to stay. I grow comfortable in the shade of it's darkness. I spend far too much time arguing with myself about whether I am being too hard or not hard enough on myself right now. I spend too much time inside, isolated, away from friends and strangers alike, sad, heavy.<br />
<br />
I cry at ridiculously sweet things. Things that force me to remember the brevity of life. I cry when my daughter hugs me at night, a familiar worry creeping into and out of her eyes, reaching my center. I cry when I think of wasted time, of how much I miss HIM, of how much anger I have for him and that one lie that ruined what I thought we had.<br />
I cry when I think about this being never-ending. And then I think "What if it <i>does</i> end? What if it <i>does </i>get better? Then what? Will it last?"<br />
I cry because I am lonely. And alone. But I isolate myself as well. I don't know how to lift this fog, clear away this storm within me.<br />
I don't feel normal around others. Yet I know I need to be around people who really love me and care for me.<br />
I am slow around others. I feel my face growing used to my lips set in a stance of sadness.<br />
I feel like a fake, a fraud, so opposite from my usual, more relaxed and peaceful state of being.<br />
<br />
These non-smiles are heavy.<br />
These thoughts are heavy.<br />
<br />
When won't it be heavy?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/324/0D53F4E34B7FAAB7CEE2586B84D9BCC6.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Why do you always seem inevitable to me?"-Orange is the New Black</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
*****</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I re-read my old journals. From college, after college, pre- and post-divorce, pre-love, post-love. I scour the soft pages, worn from reading and writing, looking for the point in my heart where I began to realize that being alone might be my "inevitable". </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I don't see it.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Am I a fool? Am I missing something? I know they say hindsight is 20/20, but as I re-read my heart on these pages, I feel like I was always on this crash course towards something mind-blowing, awe-inspiring, nothing-short-of-amazing. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But maybe I am still a tad naive. Maybe that hasn't been torn out of me yet. Maybe I am living in a fantasy world.... too demented and bleached by a childhood of fairy tales, a youth of angst-filled music & happy-ending romantic comedies.....</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I want to believe these things, sugar-coated and sweet to the taste. That honesty is alive and well. That loyalty is a foundation to grow a relationship on. That trust is something to carry carefully in the palm of your hand, and once earned, won't be shoved in the pocket of your pants or to the back of your closet somewhere. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That all these things are strong enough, on both ends, to last a lifetime. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I want to reject the seed of doubt, the bitter pill growing in my stomach, that tells me in a quiet whisper (especially at 3am) that I was meant to be alone. That there is no one out there that will deal with my independent, intelligent, kind-hearted self. That I deserve to be broken down. That I am expecting too much. That I am ridiculously naive to have longing for my uncompromise-ables: honesty, loyalty, compassion, affection. That I should just wake up,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> grow up,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> give up. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And here's where my "I have hope" attitude would pipe up: "There's always hope" or "Of course you deserve the best and it's out there" or "Don't ever give up". </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And then the sad, broken, tattered, almost-bitter me says: "Shut the fuck up. Give it a rest. Just move on. You have an amazing child, an amazing career, your health, your own home. What the hell makes you think you deserve more? Just shut the hell up."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am exhausted by this. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Emotionally.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Intellectually.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Physically. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When is enough enough? When do I call it quits?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/324/0D53F4E34B7FAAB7CEE2586B84D9BCC6.png" style="border: 0px !important;" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Kris at Pretty All True always writes things that get my mind racing and my heart beating heavy and hard. One of her <a href="http://www.prettyalltrue.com/2013/07/a-small-bit-of-less/">posts</a> last week just made me ache, more so than I already was. It was so spot on! I felt anguish, frustration, fear, doubt, disappointment as I was reading it...all the things I have been feeling lately anyway. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Reading it made me feel less alone. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And then, this comment she left in response to someone's comment: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">" Some of us are less, because we believe ourselves to be less. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Subjective trumps objective, every time.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Every time."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Silly fear of mine. I've struggled with this for YEARS. This <i>less than</i>. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I can't really put my finger on when it began, the origin of my <i>less than. </i>Was it when I didn't get a part in the play freshman year of high school? Was it when I began to be talked about at school, made fun of, ridiculed? Was it when my then-boyfriend slept with someone else on my prom night? Was it when a friend chose drugs over me? </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Or was it later, when my now-ex-husband discussed our pending divorce <i>long before</i> we ever thought of divorce? Or was it when he chose work over time with myself and our daughter, for years? Or was it after the divorce?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I think maybe all those things laid the groundwork for this <i>less than. </i>I think this <i>less than</i> has followed me well into adulthood, gaining strength with other things like lack of self-confidence and fear. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So here I am. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Less than. </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Objectively, cognitively, I know I am not <i>less than. </i>I know that I am valuable and priceless and full of worth and power and strength. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But subjectively? Emotionally? Ah. Such bullshit.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I am <i>less than</i> at work in terms of priorities for my boss. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I am <i>less than </i>at home in terms of everyone else's drama.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I am <i>less than </i>in my relationship....less important than everything else, everyone else. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">No matter the objective, the words said....I still feel it. I still see it. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It is a terrible weakness to feel <i>less than....</i>to actually feel and say "I wish I was someone's first choice." </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I don't know why I feel this way. I don't know how it started. But damn if it isn't painful. Because this <i>less than </i>teams up with that doubt and that fear and it's a hell of a weight to carry alone, a hell of a storm to fight alone. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"I would attempt to capture</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">…what it feels like to be loved unconditionally...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">…what it is to know true contentment."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
~Nichole @ In These Small Moments<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As a child, unconditional love was my father's smile when he hugged and kissed me good night; the smell of my mother's perfume in the morning; my grandmother's vegatable garden in her backyard; waking up to find my little brother's thin warm body next to mine in bed, surrounded by all of his stuffed animals. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As a teen, unconditional love was sneaking out of my house to soothe my boyfriend after his father abused him; Friday night football games in the stands, cheering for my best friend; the smell of my secret crush's cologne and the twinkle in his eye as he called me "Dan"; lying on my driveway staring up at the stars, wishing for my future; a single kiss on a playground; a hand on the small of my back as I cried. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As a wife, unconditional love was home-cooked meals and lying on the couch all day Sunday watching TV under a blanket; compromises; forgiving despite the dread in the pit of my stomach; giving me courage when I didn't want it. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As a mother, unconditional love is "You are the best mom ever"; waking to her hand reaching for one of mine in her sleep; kisses on the forehead; sweet concern behind her frown as she asks if I am okay when she sees tears in my eyes; full-on belly laughs to the point of losing our breath. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As a social worker, unconditional love is a guiding hand, comforting words, and helping even though it hurts yourself to the point of tears and fatigue.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Unconditional love is ever-changing, growing and evolving, gaining strength and stature as the years go on. I am overwhelmed by the amount of love I have for my daughter, for the love I feel from a handful of friends that seem to know the exact time to reach out to me, for the surprise of true love in my boyfriend's eyes. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After the debacle of my separation and divorce, I was unsure of the definition of unconditional love. I had been trained by my ex husband to believe that all love had conditions, that surely I didn't deserve it unless I earned it, by his rules & standards. That it had an expiration date. I watched that love grow hard and then brittle and eventually disappear. And </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I let others tell me what unconditional love was. Their take on it, their twisted and sad way of justifying the lack of it in their lives. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I would be lying if I said that unconditional love was pain free. It sucks that this isn't the truth. Oh damn, how it hurts sometimes. Enough to bring me to my knees. It can be sharp and blunt, fierce and timid, brutal and lenient, comforting and lonely. And bad love doesn't always ruin good love, later. Not unless you let it. But then: it lifts me back up, comforts me, and carries me on. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am still learning, still experiencing. I feel the ebb and flow of it in my life, rocking me through both the good times and the bad. I still have fear, but I still have faith. I still play it safe, but I continue to take risks. I am fluid and solid, with the love I find, and the love that finds me. </span></div>
</div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;">*This post was inspired by <a href="http://inthesesmallmoments.com/2010/10/if-my-memory-should-ever-fail-me/">this post</a> by Nichole over at In these Small Moments. The quote at the top is directly from her post. I've had these words locked up inside, not knowing they existed until that sentence unlocked something.*</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>"I'm tired and twisted, barely breathing, buried in the dark...</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>A could've been.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Don't be concerned, that's just the power of a breaking heart....</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>How good am I at hiding it?..</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Take me off your worry list, it'll be better that way."</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">~Blue October</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My worries are a mile wide, </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ten feet long, </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As tall as the weeping willow in my neighbor's yard.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They drag me down, they slow me up,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But I never break; I always bend.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I got this. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">These worries were do-able, bearable, </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Before you.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was stifling, I was worn,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But I carried them and filed them neatly </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">in stacks on my dresser, </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">being sure to triage them when time was on my back as well. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There was a comfortable misery in my known unknowns. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was the person others would marvel at:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"How do you do it?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Smile. Grin. Bear it. Add another worry to the list. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Since you-</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">powerful, mind-blowing, earth-shattering peace, </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">smooth skin and strong hands-</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">my worries are heavier, </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">weighted down with tear-stained hopes,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">mingled with weeks of weary disgust at my weakness,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">wrapped in your hoodie I sleep with now that you are gone. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Who knew fear and loneliness were so powerful together?, </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Adding decades to the sadness under my eyes and drowning out the sound of your voice in my ear. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/324/0D53F4E34B7FAAB7CEE2586B84D9BCC6.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"HOPE-</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">how she had grown to hate the word. It was an insidious seed planted inside a person's soul, surviving covertly on little tending, then flowering so spectacularly that none could help but cherish it."</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">~Kate Morton, The Forgotten Garden</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That word resonates behind my eyeballs, bouncing around among all these damn words in my head: faith, love, strength, peace, perseverance, forgiveness, pain, ache, fear...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I found other things in that word-peace, comfort, strength- was able to carefully balance myself on the edge of it, and push forward. Or at least teeter slowly as I waited for my life to begin again. Even in the most painful of storms, it was my buoy, a bright light in many a dark nights. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">("If today I lose my hope, please remind me that your plans are better than my dream.")</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I can't single out the word, or feel it's power. It has very little pull right now. It's just another word, one I want to push away so I can curl up in a bulletproof ball in my bed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But it's like the weed growing wildly in the flowerbed in my backyard: insistent, obnoxious, overpowering, and disgustingly beautiful in all it's glory. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I want to turn my back on it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I cannot. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am not willing to ingest your hate, your negativity, your sadness. I will not. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am not willing to listen to your cruel words, or watch you hurt those I love. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I will pray for you, but I will not pity you. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I will protect myself and my loves from you, but I will not fall victim to your games. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Cut me down, but it's you who'll have further to fall</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i> Ghost town and haunted love </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Raise your voice, sticks and stones may break my bones...... </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> You shoot me down, but I won't fal</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">l</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><i> I am titanium</i></span></b></span></div>
<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
55 days ago, an ending and a beginning. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Before you can have a new beginning, you must make peace with the ending. Endings come before beginnings."</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First, the ending: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Silence. Aching. Anger. Rage. Biting the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. Crying until sleep. Sleeping until more tears. Shattered ideas of dreams. Unasked questions. Wrong paths. Short paths. Almost lovers. One night stands. Disgust. Loss. Loneliness. Fear. Knocking down. Debris. Re-building. Distrust. Mistrust. Deception. Desertion. Actions blinded by tears. Love washed away by lies. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wiped clean. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had grown to expect loneliness. I wasn't willing to settle, but I was. After three years-approximately 1096 days-my present became my past. My <i>now </i>became my <i>then. </i>My <i>this </i>became my <i>ending. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>A beginning. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A night that I didn't want to end, went by too quickly. I had wished for this night for so long. As a girl, wishing for that romantic comedy, no real <i>PERSON</i> in mind, just that persistent feeling that my <i>ONE</i> was out there somewhere, that I would find him. For nearly a month, I had ached for this night, with <i>HIM</i>, specifically. And finally, when it happened...it flew by. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But that moment. My beginning. It is forever etched on my heart, glowing just under the surface of my skin, touched by him. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sat at a table with him in a loud hole-in-the-wall restaurant. I grew lightheaded and dizzy when it hit me: <i>my beginning. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The thought resonated in my brain, bouncing behind my eyeballs, when he reached across the table and put his hand on my forearm: <i>my one.</i> My skin vibrated beneath the heat of his hand, and all the bullshit that is now <i>my ending</i> grew silent in my brain, and the silence was unbearably loud, but not as loud as the <i>peace</i> I felt within my heart. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>My beginning: </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ache. Comfort. Hope. Peace. Joy. Simple sleep. Dreams. Soft touches. Trust. No doubt. Fearless. Fullness. New paths. Smiles. Connected hearts. Eyes upward. Eyes forward. Respect. Honesty. Loyal. Shared future. Love. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He is my one. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I try to tell him this every day. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have had no doubt since that night.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And the bending of time?--55 days has flown by, but I feel as though I have loved him for 1000 years. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know that I was made for him, and he for me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Two months in our time is just the blinking of an eye, the sliding down of one grain of sand in an hourglass, in God's time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He is my beginning, and I am his. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My one. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yesterday it was her worrying about how she looked out in public since she was home sick from school. She looked fine, in shorts and a shirt, and I made some not-really-paying-attention comment along the lines of "You look beautiful no matter what". Her response: She started to shuffle and sing "I'm sexy and I know it", ending with "I work out, out, out..."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most of my pictures of her the past year or so have been ridiculously silly. I get smartass grins or hand gestures, and it always makes me laugh. Is she inappropriate at times? Oh, yes. Is it my fault? Probably. But the kid? She knows what to say, and when. And I LOVE that she has picked up one of the traits I love about myself: finding humor in shitty situations. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, today. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We run to Target for a pair of flip flops for her. She outgrew last summer's, and I have been calling them trip flops since that is all she does in them. I actually threw them in the recycling bin a couple of weeks ago, and kept putting off this damn task of trying on 1200 pairs of flip flops until she finds the pair <i>THAT FITS JUST RIGHT, IT IS TOO TIGHT, OH, I WANT IT TO BE SOFTER, MY FOOT FEELS FAT,THEY ARE TOO BIG, THEY ARE TOO SMALL, THEY ARE PERFECT BUT I WANT ANOTHER COLOR....omg. </i>OMG. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So. She's home sick again today, so we go. I don't know what I'm thinking. I am uber stressed with the closing on the house this week and moving this weekend and being deathly afraid of having enough money, so I already knew I had very little patience for.... (cueing the ASL sign) bullshit. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But anyway. She didn't find a pair of flip flops she liked. She explanation above. But that isn't the point here.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Walking through the baby section, we both point out various adorable infant outfits. "Awwww." "Look at this one!" "I love this!" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Blah blah blah.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My daughter knows me well enough to know I want more children. She also knows me well enough to know that it hurts to see people having babies and to even see cute little outfits. I don't <i>say </i>anything, but I don't need to. She just knows. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We walk on in silence, and I feel her hand find mine, her thumb rub softly on the top of my hand. I look down at her, looking up at me, broad smile shining. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Mom."<br />"Yes honey."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"When are you going to get a boyfriend?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Uh.....good question."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"You have been alone too long."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Who ARE you, kid?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Your daughter, who wants you to get a boyfriend."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Why?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Because I know you want more babies."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Yes, you are right, but it isn't that simple...."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Sure it is!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"......."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We walk out of the store in silence.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Mom."<br />"Yes...."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"When you have another baby...."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Yes....."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Could you have a black baby please?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"WHAT?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I couldn't stop laughing. I love this kid. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Mom, you always say they are beautiful, and I like their hair, so we both win!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Seriously. She is soooo mine. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">A source of comfort for some: a resting place of a loved one, a spot to visit, placing flowers on the headstone and losing time speaking to those gone from here. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">For others I know it is a place to fear. So many of us fear death (myself included, at times), so we can't handle to have it shoved in our faces, so loud, so cruel and final. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">But what about the final resting place of something so very integral to our lives? Where do you go to mourn the death of a marriage? There is no stone, nowhere to place flowers and fill the air with our apologies. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">For two years, I have felt this post brewing inside my soul. I have talked with close friends who have gone through divorce, and there are similarities. There's a sense of alone-ness, isolation, unforgiveness. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I mourned the death of my marriage by burying myself in my last 2 semesters of grad school. I sought comfort in my girl's face: her broad smile, her sparkling eyes, the never-ending affection in her words. I turned my back on the pain all day long, pushed the thoughts away, so I could keep putting one foot in front of the other. I smiled, I reassured everyone that I was okay as I bandaged their own wounds (mine gaping open, draining me of necessary energy). </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The day I moved out of my home, and into my mother's, my bed was the last thing moved. I vividly remember standing in the middle of my bedroom, empty except for the elliptical machine, a pile of his belongings on the floor, and that bed. I thought of all of the ridiculous things said about "the marriage bed", and how many nights I had spent alone in that bed. The space and silence in the room overwhelmed me. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I have mourned the death of my marriage in this bed. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It has been a comfort. It is where I long to go to cuddle my girl at night. It is where I curl up around the ball of fur that is Max in the dead of the night. I have cried here, slept, had nightmares and daydreams, died, lost sleep. It is where I have rehashed every conversation, every word, and where I cried for apologies unspoken. It is where I hide, when things get to be too much. It is where I have spent so many nights alone. It is where I have lost hope, begging and pleading for peace and touch. It is where I have cried myself to sleep, and prayed myself to sleep as well. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Over these 2 years, this bed has become MINE again. Not ours. It isn't ours anymore. I cannot fathom that this is the same bed I laid on with the man I was married to. I cannot fathom that this is the same bed where we whispered in the dark, hushed voices full of dreams and plans.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It is now MY BED. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">As I have grown to feel that my loneliness is MINE. My isolation MINE. My fear MINE. I have all these feelings and beliefs and truths and semi-truths tangled in these bed sheets with my bare legs, and I realize that this death is long over; the slate was wiped clean of this marriage. Yet, just like the death of a loved one, the grief never really goes away. It hangs, comes and goes, ebbs and flows, and there are little (or big, king-sized) reminders that bring it all back sometimes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I sit here tonight in the dark of my living room, surrounded by boxes. And again, I feel that terrible feeling of loneliness. It is so ridiculous. I am annoyed with myself for feeling this way. I am put out with my loneliness and my stupid heart's desire to share my life with someone. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We only live once, and I'm always saying that. And I see it every day at work: I love 60+ people who are at the end of their lives...time is growing small for them...and I enjoy their silliness, their sass, their crankiness....and I know damn well that my time will grow small soon too-my girl will soon be in 2nd grade, and then middle school, and then high school. I don't have forever, so I need to enjoy it! And I do, but.....</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I feel myself growing more lonely. Not desperate. Not crazy girl. Just...lonely. I have some wonderful friends, and a handful that will check on me or be there in 2 seconds if I say "Yes, I need you". Ah. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">But I don't say that very often. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">But we all know I'm not talking about friends. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I feel so ridiculous to say that I am lonely for a GOOD, HONEST, STRONG, KIND, GIVING MAN. Do they exist? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I feel like I have a shit ton to offer someone. I feel like I'm a catch. ( Have you <i>seen this???</i> *points at body*) (Kidding) I am not free of silly bullshit or imperfections, but I am good. And I just feel myself sitting here, wasting time for.... what? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">*shakes head* </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I need a vacation, people. Away from myself. </span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My mom and I put an offer on 4 houses. This last one stuck. We close May 3rd and start moving May 4th. Relieved and stressed and worried and tired. It's a beautiful home, but worried a bit about it not being big enough. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it's smaller than any of the other homes we put offers on. I'm sure it will be fine, and it's definitely larger than we have now. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">In the market for a new job. Feeling very unappreciated and dismissed. Not by the residents. They are fabulous. I love them. But by those above me. It feels fake. Does that make sense? Hmmm...I may need a post about this. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Did I mention that about a month ago a dumbass man hit my truck and DROVE OFF? Did I mention how I chased his ass, approximately 5 miles? Jerk-off had a suspended license. Yes, I know: "Did you call the police?" No. I'm a dumbass. I am a dumbass kind social worker that gave him the benefit of the doubt when he and his "boss" told me they would pay for it to get fixed, rather than involve the police and insurance companies. I am a dumbass. I.AM.A.DUMBASS. They stopped returning my calls. It happened on a Thursday and I called my insurance on Saturday. They won't return my insurance company's phone calls either. Shitheads. So I don't exactly have the extra cash to pay my deductible right now (See: buying a house), so I'm driving around with a busted tail light, a nice dent in my truck bed, and some fantastic ripple-like dents. Ugh. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I started playing dodgeball. The whole "If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball...". I am a fantastic dodger, but I am terrible at throwing them. I am also not competitive at all, so there's that. I enjoy the laughs though.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I am sick of the dating game. It is largely a GAME. Ugh. I am disgruntled about it. I am lonely and vulnerable and sick of both feelings. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Lastly, my ex had a baby with his girlfriend last Thursday. Yeah. I wish I could say that it doesn't make my list of "shit that has been going on in my life lately", but it does. Sadly, it affects a lot...my girl has mixed emotions and is struggling a bit. I know all kids have a mess of feelings when a sibling is born, but I know for a fact that it feels even more different when it is a half-sibling (I have one, although I have never thought of her as such). And when she is hurting, it hurts me. I want her to feel good about it, feel confident that her dad will love her just the same, be happy, and feel safe. I know I can't control for everything, but she is my priority and it makes me ache. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">So much more to write. So much more to say. But so tired. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Please come back. I will be writing more. Better. More. </span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/324/0D53F4E34B7FAAB7CEE2586B84D9BCC6.png" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-width: 0px !important; border-color: initial !important; border-image: initial !important; border-left-width: 0px !important; border-right-width: 0px !important; border-style: initial !important; border-top-width: 0px !important;" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">"Words mean nothing."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">He blurted it out in passing, talking of things surely meant to impress her. A tiny seed of worry sprouted as he continued speaking...speaking as though he had not just sucked the air out of her lungs. Words mean nothing?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">She had lived her entire life, so far, on the firm foundation of words: those that smoothly rolled off the tongue, those that stuck to the roof of the mouth like peanut butter toast, those that clung to the heart... </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">...When she was younger, she had such a thirst for other people's words: she read well above her age range, she listened to adults speak in church, at parties, at parks. As she grew up, she began to find her voice. She began to fill page after page in journal after journal with her own words, seeking peace between the lines. When she was lonely, scared, angry, lost, she sought words that would both soothe and transport.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">...And now he spoke three <i>words</i> that were supposed to change how she felt about <i>words</i>, about the core of her? No.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">She closed the book and laid back in the grass, staring up at thick clouds and bright sunshine. She was at a loss. Again. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">How do you defend something that is such a crucial part of yourself, without pushing away the first person that has wrestled his way into your core while your head was turned? </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/324/0D53F4E34B7FAAB7CEE2586B84D9BCC6.png" style="-webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px !important; border-color: initial !important; border-left-width: 0px !important; border-right-width: 0px !important; border-style: initial !important; border-top-width: 0px !important;" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> and a girl....</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Freshman math class, sideways glances, innocent smiles behind full brown eyes.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">A gorgeous man beneath all that he thought he'd be. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">A gorgeous woman beneath all she didn't want to be.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It didn't end the way they had hoped--</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> it never does. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Too much time apart, living lives so separate, different, but commonly painful, </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">smooth skin lost beneath scars with battered hearts on sleeves.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">A likely reunion, now shed of their teenaged awkward bodies--easier to taste and feel and </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> bite and bruise....</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I stood before you naked, all my scars shining by the light of your hallway,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And I saw the rawness and comfortable familiarity reflected in your eyes. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">You stood before me, in the shadows of your darkened room, </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">With outstretched arms, calling me home. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I let you touch me--the insides of my wrists--</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And I looked past your bloodshot eyes</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And your uneven breathing</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And your slurred speech</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I was desperate to connect the dots </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> and the broken ties</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> and fill the emptiness </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">in us both.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And I loved you,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> again,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Like I did then, </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> before.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">You won't admit to me</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> or you</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">That you are different, that there's a problem.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">You hold onto that image of you, of me, </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> of us,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">before we were both run over and pushed away and torn apart.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">For that, you will always be mine. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/324/0D53F4E34B7FAAB7CEE2586B84D9BCC6.png" style="-webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px !important; border-color: initial !important; border-left-width: 0px !important; border-right-width: 0px !important; border-style: initial !important; border-top-width: 0px !important;" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Why? Why? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And honey, if I told you the truth, I would ruin it for you. Ruin the dream you have in your sweet-scented head. Dreams of true love and blue skies and first kisses and long touches and hope. Ah, I was you, back then. And it was ruined for me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> So.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I cannot ruin it for you. I cannot bear the weight of your broken heart, your heavy hopelessness, if I tell you the truth.... that LOVE isn't always enough, that HOPE is sometimes a hopeless word, that FAITH is unbelievable, that WORDS, these things I have always hung so much on, sometimes don't have the strength to carry it all. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">NO. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Instead, I nod my head, return your full-face smiles, kiss your perky little nose, and let you take me by the hand--lead me down your path of full-moon sunshine. I will follow you anywhere, my lips smothering the bitter in my vocabulary. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/324/0D53F4E34B7FAAB7CEE2586B84D9BCC6.png" style="-webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px !important; border-color: initial !important; border-left-width: 0px !important; border-right-width: 0px !important; border-style: initial !important; border-top-width: 0px !important;" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">*****</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I wish I wasn't alone. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I wish it wasn't so hard to trust.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I wish I wasn't unsure and unsteady in love.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I wish for that romantic-comedy movie love story.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I wish he would touch me-light, fleeting, persistent, insistent-all at once.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I wish someone would ache for me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I wish I would see things reflected in his eyes, in spite of our fear, our pasts, our unbeaten paths. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I wish he would sweep me off my feet. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I wish we could heal together. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I wish for a day of lazy closeness- body heat, skin, and looks the only things between us. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I wish for a late night of endless conversation, rambling and incoherent, full of laughs and grand, knowing grins in the dark.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I wish for this feeling of "It feels good knowing you are thinking of me" to never end. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I wish for shared dreams, new dreams, hopeful wishes, and healed hearts.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I wish for the feeling of giddy silliness with him, that feeling I've only had with my girl the last two years. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I wish he were wishing about me, thinking about me, dreaming of me, waking up in the middle of the night to look at the alarm clock, counting down the hours until he sees me again.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I wish he would hold me as gently and as close to his chest as he does the tattered image of her. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">******</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">When I get to work, I park on the street. Just as I reach the sidewalk, a flash of copper catches my eye-an upturned penny, perfectly balanced on the edge of the curb. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I pick it up. </span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/324/0D53F4E34B7FAAB7CEE2586B84D9BCC6.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">You turned your back on me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I pulled you through (all the darkness in your mind)-</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">You pretended not to see.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I let you peel away all my layers-</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Watched you pick at the tender skin at my wrists and around my collarbone;</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I let you outshine me in every way-</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Yet you left me bleeding, exposed, alone.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">You tortured me with goodbye</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> and maybe</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> and now</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> and never</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> and "I don't know".</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I stood with my head held high</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">(you taught me to stand up for what I believed in)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">As you simply</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> and calmly</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Laid a battered life full of broken bullshit lies</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> in my outstretched hands....</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> and walked away.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Sleepless nights, tear-stained sheets-</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I spent too much time tossing and turning</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> and re-playing and re-writing and re-reading</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">12 years....</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">No matter the scene, it all ended the same.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Now-</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I no longer hear your voice, </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Or my tears</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Or misdirected thoughts leading me down your path.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I am free of pain,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">having secretly laid it all at your doorstep, </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> as you sleep in your bed of bullshit lies,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> with her in your weak arms. </span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/324/0D53F4E34B7FAAB7CEE2586B84D9BCC6.png" style="-webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px !important; border-color: initial !important; border-left-width: 0px !important; border-right-width: 0px !important; border-style: initial !important; border-top-width: 0px !important;" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/5YXVMCHG-Nk" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And then: </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;">....I wanna hear what you have to say about me<br />
Hear if you're gonna live without me<br />
I wanna hear what you want<br />
I remember december<br />
And I wanna hear what you have to say about me<br />
Hear if you're gonna live without me</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;">I wanna hear what you want</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;">What the hell do you want?....</span></div><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/mYPCYboEpmk?rel=0" width="420"></iframe><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I was in the hallway when I heard the coughing, followed by the crash of the tray. I turned around and entered the room. I spoke to the roommate, made sure he wasn't choking, and surveyed the damage. I began to clean up the large pieces of the mess, dumping them into a trashcan. As I leaned down by his bed to pick up a chunk of glass, his hand reached out and touched the top of my head. I was startled, as I hadn't even realized he was awake. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I looked up to see him staring down at my from the edge of his pillow. Eyes, yellow and red, one a blueish gray color from the cataract. Shiny, feverish, but alive, looking back into mine. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">"Hi, Mr. R. I didn't realize you were awake."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">His lips moved, but no sound emerged. He began blinking rapidly, touching his tongue to his upper lip, and still tapping my head with one hand. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I finished cleaning up what I could of the mess, and then sat on the edge of his bed, surveying the mess within his bed sheets. His body was mangled, losing the battle with arthritis. His skin was ashy, yet still beautiful blue-black mahogany beneath all those scars. He had no clothes, so it was easy to see that under the sheets, he was skin and bones, a slight skeleton. His hands and head seemed grossly out of proportion with the rest of his body. He had a full head of salt and pepper gray hair-a huge 'fro, in fact. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">He reached for my hand, and maintained eye contact. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">"Mr. R, is there something I can get you?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">His lips never stopped moving. I bent down, placing my ear near his mouth, straining to hear his words: </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">".....Need more..."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">"What do you need?" I began rearranging his sheets and his pillows and his bones. I moved his call light closer to his other hand. As I moved to re-adjust his neck, he placed his hand on my wrist, mid-stride. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">"...time....need more time...."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I stopped. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I am so silly sometimes. I am always <i>doing</i> and <i>helping </i>and <i>thinking </i>and <i>saving. </i>I forget sometimes, that I am not <i>listening. </i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">"What do you mean? More time? For...?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I placed my hands in my lap. He left his long fingers wrapped around my wrist. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">He began slowly tapping his thumb on the underside of my wrist. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I waited. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">He maintained eye contact.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I smiled. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Finally: </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">"....I don't know you.....but....I know <i>of </i>you.....I need more time.....to talk to you....."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">And then he fell asleep.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I sat for a few minutes, poised on the edge of his bed, holding my breath, waiting. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">He didn't stir. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I left the room confused. I was told he didn't talk, didn't respond to people, rarely responded to touch. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Later that afternoon, I went back by his room. He was seemingly in the same position, unchanged yet different. His eyes followed me as I walked across the room, towards his bed. I smiled and said hello. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">His response: "...did you hear?...that I don't talk?" </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I laughed out loud. Yes, that's indeed what I had heard. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Only once, in all the time I knew him, did he do this: He laughed. A gruff, throaty laugh, that I almost missed. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">*****</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I visited him daily. Sometimes he said only a handful of words, sometimes none, sometimes his mouth moved but his throat did not. But he always made eye contact, and I learned his facial expressions-the tiny nuances, the subtle changes in the planes of his cheekbones when he was in pain, the secrets among the creases around his eyes when he smiled. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">He grew sicker. Weaker. Thinner. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">He talked less. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">No one believed that he talked. He was dismissed by so many. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">He was homeless prior to landing in our facility. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I don't know his past life; he didn't speak of it. I learned later that he had been in the military. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">****</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">One morning he didn't respond to my voice, didn't make eye contact, didn't speak. I worried for him, as co-workers talked circles around me of who would take his bed when he was gone. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I spent an afternoon with him, in the darkness of his room, listening to the oxygen machine compete for breathing space. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I sat in a chair next to his bed, too afraid that I would somehow hurt him if I sat on the edge of his bed. I reached for his hand at times, rubbing lotion into the ashy lines. I brushed his hair, and leaned over, whispering in his ear, random things, for my sake, not his. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I stayed in his room long after I should have left for the day. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">When I said my goodbyes, there was no squeeze of the hand, no whisper on my wrist, no last words. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I got a call a few hours later, that he had passed. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I still feel bad that he essentially died alone. No family. No friends. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I think of him from time to time, and dream of his past, wishing he had spoken more. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">His words: "Need more time". They come to mind sometimes, and I smile, recalling his huge head of hair and his deep voice. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I roll those three words around in my mouth, twist them with my tongue, try them up and down and upside down. I learn to deal with the bitter taste they leave, waiting for them to grow sweet. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I have put those three words on my bulletin board at work. Until I figure out their meaning, they are a good reminder for me: slow down, breathe, stop, <i>listen. </i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><i>Need more time. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">I have read the book. It made me cry. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">And I love sad love stories. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Or I <i>did. </i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Now I just want to avoid them and the whirlwind of emotion that comes along with them. I want to climb into bed, pull my comfy blanket over my head, and curl up in a tight, shatter-proof ball. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">I started <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Time-Travelers-Wife-Audrey-Niffenegger/dp/015602943X">The Time Traveler's Wife</a> a year or so ago. I got so busy with grad school that I didn't finish it. I fully intended to so that I could watch the <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0452694/">movie</a> (looks fantastic), but now? Now I don't think I can. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">I bought the movie <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0431308/">PS I love you</a> for myself. I can't even open the damn DVD box. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">I saw <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1033575/">The Descendants</a> a couple of months ago. I was not aware of what it was about, apparently. But as soon as the main character found out his wife had been cheating on him, that heavy feeling started in my chest. All the emotions I had felt when my ex said he wanted a divorce? All back, stretching out with cold fingers to fill my body. It gave me little comfort to know that obviously others have felt all that I have felt the last 2 years, or at least similar things. I sat paused, barely breathing, during the entire movie. And I was silent for a good 2 hours after the movie was done. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Saw <a href="http://crazystupidlove.warnerbros.com/dvd/">Crazy Stupid Love</a> soon after. What the hell was I thinking? Another movie where I sat frozen, the only movement my tears sliding down my face, lying to rest on my collarbone. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">It's taken all this time for me to figure out that what I want so desperately is also what scares the shit out of me. One in the same. I am both drawn and repelled, a magnet with polar ends, constantly spinning out of control when pushed too closely towards the right field. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">I listen to music to calm myself. I read. I write. I tell myself over and over until I am hoarse, that it will be okay, go slow, leave the past behind, smile, breathe. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Breathe.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Sometimes I feel as though I am the only one dizzy with the spinning. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54487/324/0D53F4E34B7FAAB7CEE2586B84D9BCC6.png" style="background-color: transparent; border-width: 0px ! important;" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script type="text/javascript">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It figures my child would be just like me in this regard.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">She doesn't want to wake up in the mornings. She turns away from my voice, and shoves her head under a sea of blankets and stuffed animals. Sometimes she pulls the I-am-gonna-fake-you-out-and-pretend-I-can't-hear-you tactic. It's amazing she can keep a straight face at the silly things I whisper through her crazy curly hair. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"Hey Leroy."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Silence.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"Did you know it snowed last night?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Silence.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"School is cancelled."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Silence.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"Pull my finger."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">.......(inaudible giggle).......Silence.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Or, she wakes up immediately, barely cracking one eye open. She gives the best mean look, shoots fire through those long eyelashes. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And then: </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"5 more minutes, Mom."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"Go away, Mama."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"I'm cooooooold!" </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It takes all I have sometimes not to crawl back into bed with her, curl my body around hers, and breathe her in. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">She's growing so fast; I can barely lift her anymore. She rarely calls me Mama in her silly little way. I am Mom or Mother already. I look at her and I not only see the chubby face of my favorite toddler, but I see the gorgeous teen she will become. It is both breathtaking and heart wrenching at the same time. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'm waiting for a snow day to come, so I can curl up with her and sleep late (probably only 30 extra minutes, if I know her), while she still fits in the curve of my body perfectly. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
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