I wish I were a drinking woman.

    But I cannot drink. More to the point, I don’t really want to…I don’t care much for the taste and it only makes me too sleepy to function. Sometimes, I almost wish that I could find my comfort as easily as those who do….but there is no comfort for me right now.

   Right now, I want to run and hide…bury myself deep where the fear, hurt, and worry cannot find me. I hate these days.

    I am the sister of the bride. This day is NOT about me. My only job is to dress nice and help her celebrate her day.

    As I sit here with curlers in my hair, I find myself fighting the urge to rip them out and go back to bed. I’m happy for her, but not for me. I remind myself that my emotion is selfish, but most humans are selfish on a very base level. It is all part of our instinct for survival. We might not like to think of ourselves that way…but it is how we are.

   Being happy for her is easy. Being happy for myself is not. Weddings tend to bring out the nosey in people. This is not my first wedding as a single person, so I know the drill. Everyone will congratulate the bride and groom…then the questions from family and friends will start.

   ‘When are you going to find that special someone and get married?’

   The bottom line is…I’m not.

   I know me. I know that I’m an outspoken neat-freak. I know that behind my brave front is a woman who is terrified because she knows that she could never live up to the expectations of any man. I know that I could never be worthy of the sort of love that brings about a steady boyfriend, much less a husband. I accept this for what it is. I was loved for who I am once, and he died. I have no expectation that it will ever happen again.

   How does one explain that in the face of well-meaning questions from family and friends? It is impossible…doing so would only cast a shadow over what should be a happy day. As selfish as I can be, even I wouldn’t do that to my sister.

   So I will allow the curlers to stay until I am ready to go. I will dress nicely and paste a bright smile on my face. I will go…and I will be happy for her.

   And when they ask (because they will), I will smile serenely and give them the same look of assurance that I give to my son when he is nervous as I tell them….

  Maybe Never.

arkmomy

    Have you ever done something that you wish you could take back? 

    Dear Daughter,

     I could tell you not to cry…but it would do no good because not only do you need to cry sometimes, but you deserve the freedom to do so.

    I have watched you grow from a small baby into a strong woman. I have watched you struggle…watched you fly…and watched you fall sometimes. How often have I bitten back the urge to wrap you within my protection so that you could never be hurt? But you had to hurt sometimes in order to become the woman that you are today…in order to deal with all of the things that life will toss your way.

    I know that there are things within you that only you can resolve. There are fears and hurts that nobody else can fix except for you. I wish that it could be different, but that is how things are.

    He has asked me for a link to your personal space. I will not give it to him. It hurts me to think that you cried when you found out that he had requested the information. I came to you for your permission because I know how personal your artwork is to you. I know how much of yourself you pour into your work. I would never share that without your approval…not to him.

    From the time that you first discovered the joys of drawing, you sought his approval. Unable to see beyond your subject choices to the talent and time that you poured into your work, he was often distant and sometimes unkind in his critique. I watched as your reluctance to show him your work increased over time. There was nothing else that I could do…this had to be between you and him. I wish that he could see what I see in you…maybe one day, he will.

   You have such talent, darling. My pride in you and the things that you create is boundless. I have seen you work for hours on your art. You are sometimes patient with your creations….and sometimes very impatient with what you see as the slightest flaw in your quest for perfection. I would watch you work and see perfection even as you erased and re-drew in your quest to make your work match the inner vision that only you could see. Do you have any idea how much patience that takes? Can you even begin to imagine how it made me smile to see you evolve from the small child who was totally absorbed in the colors to the adult artist who put everything that she had into all of her creations?

    On some levels, I was almost jealous. Having no talent of my own, I wondered how on earth you had found this inside of yourself. I can’t draw a straight line…you not only draw them, but you put them together in the most amazing of ways.

    Many years ago, I had a talk with him. I wanted so much for him to see you for the wonderful person that you are. I know that he loves you, but sometimes love means different things to different people. I wanted to believe that he would come to see that just because you aren’t exactly the timid little girly-girl that he’d hoped you would become didn’t mean that you weren’t perfect just the way that you are. I wanted him to appreciate you for the individual that you are…but it would seem that he didn’t hear me very well. I still hope that one day he will…but that is something that only he can control.

    The bottom line is…you ARE perfect.

    The beautiful, talented, smart, and strong woman that you have become makes me proud to have you for a daughter. I treasure the fact that you allow me to see your art because I know how much of yourself you pour into each and every piece of it. It breaks my heart to know that you were shocked to tears at the thought of him having access to it. It breaks my heart that I’m the one that had to send the request that made you cry.

    So go ahead and cry, hon. You deserve it. You’ve struggled so long with that relationship and it has been a very hard road for you to walk. I only wish that I could pull you close and help you through these times…but I cannot. I wish that I could protect you….shelter you…make it so that you never had to cry…but that is impossible.

   As you make your decision…please know this….

   No matter what you do….

   Or where you go.

   No matter what decisions you make….

   I love you.

   And I think that you are perfect…just the way that you are.

                                                                       Love, Mom

arkmomy

   What do you believe in?

   Is it God, Angels, Karma, Fate, or Luck?

   Whatever your choice, I have to believe that sometimes, there really is someone watching over me.

   I live just four miles from where I work. There are two routes that I use to go home each day. One route takes me down a busy boulevard called University….the other takes me through a nearby park. Unless I have errands to run one way or the other, my choice of route is fairly random.

    Three weeks or so ago, I decided to take the University route. When I arrived home, the news was showing scenes of a shooting that had occured at the intersection that I would have had to pass through had I gone through the park. Because I chose the University route, I had missed it completely.

   Today, I decided to go through the park. As I turned down the shady road, the radio issued a bulletin asking people to avoid University due to three rather large accidents…all of them on the route that I would have been on had I taken that road.

   So, I had to ask….is it God? Angels? Karma? Fate? …or just dumb luck?

   Working backwards…this is how I see it.

    I am not lucky….not even dumb lucky. I never win door prizes, drawings, or sweepstakes. The few times that I have played a lottery have produced only minor winnings of less than five dollars. My single journey to a casino resulted in leaving with no more than when I had arrived.

    I do not believe in fate. I believe that life becomes what we make of it…so scratch that one.

    Karma? Most of my friends will say that I am nice, generous, and have a big heart. A few have gone on to say that I’m so good that I’m gullible and get taken in quite easily by those with less than stellar motives. So, if karma means that we get back what we give, surely I would not be living in a run-down house and barely making ends meet. Scratch karma.

    God and the Angels seems to be my best bet at this juncture. After all, I do believe there is a God somewhere even if he is hard to see at times. It makes sense to follow that belief with the acknowledgement of Angels.

    I have friends who go to church religiously (no pun intended). Every time the door is open, they go. They pay tithes, sing, go to sunday school, and participate in church activities. I am not one of them. Having become quite disenchanted with organized religion, I limit my experience to belief, prayer, and the occasional efforts at reading the Bible.

    I refuse to ponder why God would watch over me considering that I’m not a ‘practicing’ Christian. Perhaps some things are just what they are…unexplainable.

    Whatever the reason, I’ve been kept from harm twice within the space of a month. While I can’t say for certain that this will continue, I can’t ignore the fact that I feel, for want of better terms, blessed…and even protected.

    So God…if you really are watching….thank you. Thank you for letting me come home safely to my son. I probably don’t deserve it…but it means the world to me.

 arkmomy