Life after love

I never imagined I'd be here--single again, after nearly five years with him. Nothing about THIS is what I dreamed of for my girl and me. I am so consumed with guilt, knowing how much this fucked up life is my creation. My selfish desire to be whole prompted this disaster.

People keep asking me if I'm having doubts. I should have never let it drag on for this long, allowing him to become so imbedded in our lives--regret, but not doubt. I look around my house, and there he is. In the albums, in the art on the walls, in the furniture, in the bed. He's everywhere. I wish I could erase him, but almost five years is a very long time, when she is only six. He has been in our skin since nearly the beginning of "us."

It would be easier if he were the villain in the story. I could tell you how horrible he was to and for us, and you would nod in sympathy. That's just not true, though. He loved [loves] us so sweetly. We were his world. He never fails to remind me that we were all he had. Twisting the knife.

I just couldn't do it any longer. I could no longer pretend it was working. I could no longer pretend I loved him. I was so tired. Tired of faking it, tired of trying, tired of forcing. Love shouldn't be an incessant struggled to...love. That can't be right.

Sometimes, "He loves me, and he's always kind" isn't enough to sustain a relationship. I wanted the dreams he represented--a family, a home, European vacations, stability, love, togetherness, completeness. The dreams and the everyday were so far apart, though.

I am so sure, and so unsettled. And so alone.

So I bought myself diamond earrings. They are tiny, and they were only $80 on clearance. They felt like something I could DO. Tell myself I'm worthy. Nobody ever thought I was worthy of
a precious stone. So I bought them for myself.

But I knew I'd never be convinced that I deserved them. A sad reminder that I may never be loved the way I need to be loved.

Letters to Klara: 4th Birthday

August 23, 2015

My Sweet Baby Girl,

I’ve been feeling quite nostalgic these days. Any time I see pictures of you as a baby, I miss those days. You’re anything but a baby, and my heart is aching for those days when you were so tiny. The reality that these days are fleeting is knocking me upside the head. I must remember to pause and be present. I must. Sigh. I just want to go grab you out of bed right now to snuggle you.

FOUR! You celebrated your birthday in style—pirate style. Nothing like a fun day celebrating the art of pillaging. You loved having your friends around to celebrate. We dug for treasure, visited a tattoo parlor, and created pirate names. You got so many wonderful gifts—many space, rock, or dinosaur themed. You’re seriously so cool.

You are so filled with wonder. You’re always asking questions and then saying, “We should look that up.” You tell me to ask the “girl in my phone” (Siri). We have a stack of books about dinosaurs and space that stay out in the living room, in case you need to check on something. Oh, man. I love this part of your personality—the part that won’t settle for an “I don’t know.” Don’t ever settle for mediocre answers. Keep seeking, little girl. The quest for knowledge and understanding will give you so much fulfillment. Trust me on this one.

You are always making something. It usually involves sparkly tape, stamps, post-it notes, and glitter glue. These days, you also like to write notes on your creations. You’re often asking, “How do you spell_____?” so you can write some words on your notes. You can write, "I [heart] mom" without any help.  I think that’s probably about all you need to know how to write :)

You are a rule-follower. You are not easily "corrupted" by mischievous friends and family members because you have a strong sense of right and wrong, and you want to do what is right. You often get a knowing face and say, "That wasn't good." I only wish your rule-following nature followed you to bedtime.

 

I’m becoming hyper aware of my habits and the way I talk to people, you included. You are constantly asking me why I do what I do and eat what I eat and say what I say. You are watching me. I hope you can look to me to help find the good and the right, but I know I have and will continue to fail you. This grieves me heart. I wish I could be the perfect mom for you because you deserve nothing less, but I’m so tired that some nights my voice gets sharp, and I just can’t give you the attention you need. I never want to be unkind to you, but I hope my failures are teaching you compassion and patience. I hope that my love outweighs all of my shortcomings.

I love that when I tell you you’re the best thing that ever happened to me or that I love you to the moon and back a million times, you say, “You say that so much. I already know.” That’s my plan. May you always know my love for you is so deep and so wide. The thing is, though, you will never know until you become a mama yourself. It’s a love that you have to know to know.

All my love,

Mama

Letters to Klara: Third Birthday

Dearest Klara,

Three feels like a big deal. You’re a big preschooler, not my baby. What am I saying? You’ll always be my baby! (Cue Mariah Carey.)

You are captivated by the magic of letters. You’re always asking, “What does that say?” “Who starts with that letter?” You’ve even started writing some letters. Letters are magic, Baby. I’m glad you know this already, and I hope you never lose your sense of letter wonder.

Your favorite game lately is “different names.” You’re always asking me (or anyone else who will play along) to “pretend to be….” If we accidentally go back to our real names (rather than Thomas, Rapunzel, Cat in the Hat, Woody, etc.), you quickly remind us that we have “different names.” I love to see the delight on your face when we play along in just the way you’d imagined.

I often hear “What’s your favorite…?” from the backseat of the car. You’ve asked me my favorite pile, favorite shirt, favorite seat, favorite letter, favorite cow, and favorite blueberry. Favorite cow, goofy girl? Give me a break. I often tell you that I don’t always have a favorite, that I like different things for different reasons, but you say, “You like them all, but if you choiced one, which one would you choice?” You really need to know our favorite everything. For sure? I know that you’re my favorite girl.

Speaking of favorites? You favorite song is “Three Little Birds.” You favorite color is “pink, purple, white, and yellow,” but sometimes just pink. Your favorite shoes are Lola’s hand-me-down red Saltwaters that are two sizes too big or your cowboy boots. Your favorite toy is your “guys.” Your favorite pastime is dressing up and dancing around the living room. You also love to have tea parties and to check people with your doctor’s kit.

We’ve had some rough days lately. You know what you want, and you often have a “good idea” for how we could do things your way instead of mine. I’m trying to give you room to grow, challenge, and become independent, but it’s difficult. Sometimes you just need to do what I say when I say it (authoritarian, much?).  I hope that’s a lesson you will learn, though. I don’t want you to ever lose your voice and your strong will, but sometimes we just need to go with the flow. I hope you will grow in discernment—knowing which time is which.

You continue to love your friends so deeply. I read you the guest list for your  birthday party, and the excitement was palpable as you declared, “So many friends are coming to my party!” Even when the time between visits is too long, your friends are often on your mind. You will ask questions about particular friends out of the blue. I like that you often wonder about them.

Please continue to notice the people around you. As you grow, I hope you will continue to wonder about your friends, know when people are upset, care about their favorite things, and want to make them comfortable in your presence. Notice them, Baby. Notice them.

A lot has changed in our relationship this year, as you grow to need space from your mama. What hasn’t changed, though? My unbelievably deep love for you. You’re my best girl, and you always will be. I’m so proud of you. I’m so glad I get to be your mama. So glad. Happy Birthday, Stinky Face. I love celebrating the anniversary of the best thing that ever happened to me.

All my love,

Mama

Immortality

A former student sent me this letter. Excuse me while I cry an ugly cry. I promise you, she's a much better woman than I am.

Dear Ms. McGowan,

           

            Now that graduation is just around the corner, I have found myself reflecting more and more on my journey to the crossroads of undergraduate life and the real world. This reflection has included thinking of all those who have helped me reach this place. Out of all the many amazing people who have crossed paths with me, I have thought about you the most. Being in your class has impacted me not only throughout high school but also throughout my college career. By being your student, you prepared me to be a better writer and you have prepared me for life.

            Walking into your classroom as a freshman, I was nervous I would not do well in high school. I was shy and quiet with a paralyzing fear of speaking in class. Had I not been in your class, I would have been sure to blossom into a lovely wallflower. However, I was blessed instead with a wonderful teacher who coaxed me out of my shell. Standing in front of the class, you exuded a genuine enthusiasm that is unfortunately so lacking in the education system. You gave me a warm smile whenever I walked into class early, your eyes sparkling with a true interest in what I had to say. As the trimester progressed, I slowly gained the confidence to speak up in class. I found my voice through my pen. My writing was a means for me to put my thoughts on paper and articulate what I could not say out loud. The feedback I received from you encouraged me to work even harder. The skills and knowledge I gained in your class helped me to tackle all my high school courses with the same confidence and tenacity.

            In addition to helping me find my voice, the most important lesson you taught me was not just how to write, but what writing can achieve. Learning to make grammar and syntax my allies rather than my foes, you made me realize how useful writing is to any field. I started to believe, (and still believe to this day), that a few well-woven words can change the world. Whenever I read a good book, I began paying attention to the style and what the author was trying to achieve through it. These skills were especially handy when I began to read Kafka and Kushner in college. I was fascinated by the social and political critiques made by writers in the genres of the absurd and the surreal. You inspired me to explore not only what words can do for me but also what I can do with words.

            From what I have learned from you, I hope to enter the medical field as a psychiatrist and use the power of language to educate others on autism. I hope that whoever comes across my writing as a medical professional will be inspired to action in the same way you have inspired me. I feel blessed that you have chosen teaching as a profession because, I am sure there are many more like me who have been touched by your gentle wisdom. Although it is a curious thought, I believe that becoming a teacher is the closest one can get to immortality. From the wisdom you have imparted, I will teach my children and students the same love for language that you have instilled in me. As a teacher, you have begun a legacy and, the amazing gift you have shared with me will now be shared with many others.

            I would like to thank you from the bottom of my heart for all you have done for me. You have my utmost gratitude for the lessons you have taught me inside your classroom and out. Now that I am graduating college in June, I will embark on a new journey. Although I am scared of the unknown, I have faith that all that you have taught me will help me to persist. You are a wonderful woman, a loving mother, and a true blessing. As time leads me (both willingly and unwillingly) by hand through the labyrinth of adulthood, I will try to live by all that you have taught me. Thank you for being my teacher.

This love.

I've waited a long time for this, this thing called love. I believed in it (sometimes only secretly). I knew it would change my life, but part of me never believed it would "happen" to me.

How long can one wait before giving up?

This has been the year of love. The year love took me by surprise and proved to me that it really is what makes life worth living.

I'm a mother and I'm a partner. I sigh in completion. Life feels full and good.

Love is true. And worth it. This, I now say in confidence.

Letters to Klara: 2nd Birthday

Dearest Klara Jean,

I walked into your room and woke you with the birthday song this morning. I had tears rolling down my cheeks as I sang to you because I was so overwhelmed with love for you, my sweet baby girl.  You sat right up and declared, “It’s my birthday! It’s so nice! Where my presents?” (So much for not raising a materialistic child!) You were so excited that I decided to let you open a present before we headed off for the day. Your excitement is contagious. How could anyone not smile when you do your crazy excited dance and scream?

I can’t decide what you’re most into these days. Trains? Horses? Toy Story? Books? Stickers? To be honest, there’s not much you don’t love, and your love is met with such a pure joy.  You are the best person to buy a gift for because you get so excited. I thought you were going to cry tears of joy over the polka dot shirt Yaya bought you at Costco the other day. The Woody doll Kiki and Jett got you (sorry Brandon and Violet)? It practically gave you a seizure.

You are so fiercely devoted to your little friends. You love “Chooch and Buggy,” Ava, “Nonie,” Jett, Violet, “Baby Gam,” Logan, Chandler, and Roman so, so much. When it’s been a while since you’ve seen them (or their mamas), you always ask about them. I feel that ache, too, Little Girl. We love and need our friends, and we’re not afraid to admit it. I hope you never forget to tell your friends how special they are to you. I know I don’t do it nearly enough.

You’re so emotional these days. (I wonder where you get that trait.) You cry when we part ways, when you don’t get your way, and when you (barely) get hurt. It tears my heart out when you cry as I leave—mostly because I feel the same way, wishing we could be together. You’re so sensitive. When I say, “Please don’t cry. It makes Mama sad,” you always respond with, “Make Mama sad? My happy. Make Mama happy” and quickly end your tears. You don’t want to cry if it’s going to hurt your mama.  I try not to guilt you into stopping your tears, but I also hate to see you cry.

I look back at your first birthday, and I can’t believe how much you’ve changed in a year. You talk non-stop, know your colors, can spell your name, know some letters and numbers, and are so very silly.  I can’t imagine how much you’ll continue to learn when you start preschool next week. You often speak in such grown-up ways saying things like, “Thanks, Mom!” and “Not sure.” You can re-tell many of your books, and spying on you while you “read” is one of my favorite pastimes. You’re growing so quickly, and, although I miss my tiny baby, I also love to watch you grow.

Your personality is magnetic. As you grow older, I hope you continue to draw people to you and use your influence for good. Be a bright light, Klara. Live up to that name of yours.

All my Love,

Mama

That dress.

I was in one of those discount stores. I'm not sure what possessed me to try it on--maybe the unbelievable price. I slipped into it in the communal dressing room, and I suddenly felt unbelievably sexy--like someone else. It was black, fitted, and short, but it was still classy. It hugged in all the right places and hid the ones I was most uncomfortable with. I bought it because I'm a dreamer and a romantic, and how often does a dress fit that perfectly? I had this notion that the new man in my life would take me out to a fancy dinner in the City, and I'd need to look the part. It turns out that never happened--in any of the four-ish years I saw him. He rarely took me out at all. The tags stayed on the dress, and the mere $30 I spent on it seemed like an utter waste on a foolish pipe dream. How did I believe I deserved that?

It was Friday afternoon, and I was packing for a weekend away with my new man--a man so different from the other. It was the weekend of my dreams: massages, Carmel, a drive along the coast, and a fancy dinner. I was daydreaming, thinking this weekend can't possibly live up to my expectations for it, when I pulled "that dress" out of the closet. I slipped it on to see if it would work, and it felt perfect. Perfect. I was going to get to wear that dress! As I laid it across my weekend bag, I felt a little flutter in my stomach. Are we sure this is my life?

We were driving down the coast, with the top down, in his car, marveling at the wonder of it all. Over and over the views were declared, "unreal/amazing/beautiful." I was lost in the views, and in the moment of being with this man who is making my dreams come true. For a moment, though, I smirked. I smirked not because I was overcome with love or the moment or the actualization of this perfect day, but because that dress was in the trunk, and, in a few short hours, I'd be walking into the restaurant on the arm of the man I love in that dress.

How did I not know I deserved this?