On vacation, I catch disappointment on one’s face, melancholy on the other’s. Just Mom, this time. I can’t be the two particular people that they so desperately want to be waving to them on the bumper cars. One at a time, they seem to be figuring out. It will always be one or the other parent, never both, not really.
I want to write something of it down for safekeeping—something I can give to you, something to help you remember your courage when it’s slipped your mind in the future. Courage has a way of slipping after a few setbacks, a few hard knocks. No one’s fault. It’s just a difficult life, sometimes. I would tell you I wish I could protect you from life’s difficulties, you and your sister both, but in truth, I would be doing you no favors. You’ve already experienced more than your share of life’s bumps and losses so far, and in spite of this (and, I think, because of it), you are becoming yourself in beautiful fashion.
They delivered their card in bare feet.
Might be the best gift of all, and it wasn’t even for me.
Happy early Mother’s Day to all you glorious, exhausted, delirious, weepy, giddy, genuine mamas. You’re good enough, smart enough, and gosh darn it, I like you even if your kids don’t. Beyonce may sue me, but hellz, this one’s for you, Single Mamas. New anthem at Work It, Mom!
I smiled. I listened. I made conversation with the others. All the while, a stream of rationalizations rushed through my head: He was drunk, after all. He has problems, after all. He has a wife, after all. We have mutual friends, after all. I must be overreacting, after all. I’ll never see him again, after all.
And yet I would tell you that what I want to teach my daughters most of all is that intuition is an invaluable tool—a compass never, ever to be ignored. But how do I teach them that if I still can’t seem to do it myself?
My dearest Hattie Belle, These are difficult times for you and me. I know it’s hard to be six. I wish you knew how hard it is to be 39, with two daughters you love more than you love yourself. But you: You tell me that you are never getting married, and that you are [...]
Do all moms hate themselves a little bit is what she asks me. She has heard me arguing with my own mother, and I have said, Yes, I know, my life sucks, thank you (voices like bones scraping bones clean) You said a bad word about your life, is what she says. It is true, [...]
All of a sudden, we hear an odd sound: footsteps approaching, with another sound layered over top. Brushing. Hannah. She is brushing her teeth over again. By herself. With toothpaste.
Sophie and I sit up with a gasp and watch as the shadow of her little sister brushes its shadow mouth, calmly, without tears.
“Wow!” we say.
Our ABCs. For God’s sake, School, TAKE MY CHILDREN BACK. Can’t. Take. Much. More.
I cannot understand this pain. I cannot step into it, I cannot begin to know it. Why Amy and her husband were chosen to know this pain, I will never understand. One year without a beloved child is just the beginning of a life without a beloved child, and they will know this every day of their lives. There will be laughter, there will be other beloved children, but there will never be another Arden.