17 Monday Apr 2023
Your sun is setting
Slowly lowering over the horizon
Entering the peaceful night
Where you will live eternally
A twinkling star on a black velvet canvas.
My heart is breaking
During this twilight transformation
Unable to stop the sky from dimming
Surrender begets transition
The night sky brings me comfort.
(c) 2023 SeptemberMom.com
11 Sunday May 2014
Posted in Lessons, Life, Love, Uncategorized
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I took my children to an amusement park today. They love the rides. The higher and faster – the better. I’m not one for ‘thrill’ rides. In fact, I’m not one for rides at all anymore. They terrify me. Even with my eyes closed, my heart races, I sweat and can’t catch my breath.
When JJ was a child I took him to Sesame Place in Pennsylvania. Although I hoped that seeing Ernie and Big Bird was enough, his eyes lit up when he saw the roller coaster. I hedged, he begged, I broke down. Reasoning with myself that the coaster wasn’t very high and if it’s safe enough for a 3-year-old it’s safe enough for me, I begrudgingly boarded.
We climbed in the car and I pulled him close to protect him from what I thought would frighten him. JJ wiggled away from my arms and grasped the bar holding us back. He was beaming with excitement and grinning from ear to ear. As the car slowly climbed I snuggled closer to him, sure he would want to cover his eyes and huddle when he realized we were headed down – fast. That moment never came…for him.
As most amusement parks do, a photo was taken when our car reached the top, seconds before the speedy decent. Now mind you, the ‘top’ wasn’t very high but you couldn’t tell from the photo. My arms were tightly clutching JJ and I was crying. His arms were tossed high in the air and he was smiling. I’ll never live that down.
This weekend I watched with both feet planted safety on the ground as JJ and Lara sped over tracks of hairpin turns and vertical drops on an adult roller coaster. I heard their joyful screams seconds before they came careening around the turn with arms flung high and bright smiles lighting up their faces.
I felt a deep contentment. There is nothing like the pleasure of seeing your child ecstatically happy. I was grateful, and amazed that such a simple experience could bring them such intense joyfulness. Nothing crowded their minds but the moment. And the moment – to them – was euphoric.
As they faded from view my thoughts turned bittersweet. I tried to remember when I’d felt that kind of joy. I couldn’t. I sifted through memories and mentally sorted through my life’s highs. But life’s lows rushed up to steal their thunder pulling me down – fast. I smiled to myself as I realized that even with feet planted firmly on the ground, I too was riding, my personal emotional roller coaster.
As my children rounded the corner for another pass, they were still screaming, arms still flung high and still enjoying the ride. Ascending slowly, they taunted me as they motioned that they were headed for the top and the inevitable decline. But their eyes were wide with anticipation and their faces alight with grins.
Their laughter and delighted screams were washed out by the coaster car as it thundered down and rounded the last turn. I stood there hoping they’d never lose their childhood ability to experience nothing but innocent happiness. But I realized that was a futile wish.
Much like the roller coaster, life is a series ups and downs, hairpin turns and quick stops. But what I could hope for was that they always enjoy the ride and continue to take the swift changes of direction with their arms held high and a smile on their face.
As the coaster cars rumbled to a screeching stop, I waited for them to rush off and wondered which ride we’d be headed for next. However, beaming with excitement, they ran to me and in unison bunny-hopped yelling, “Can we go on again?”
“Sure….go ahead,” I answered, thinking it would be good life practice for the ups and downs to come, and hoping one day they’d see the correlation.
30 Sunday Mar 2014
Posted in Lessons, Love, Uncategorized
I recently heard of three mothers who’ve left their husband – and children. One even left the state in which her ex-husband and three children live. Sacrilege!
Although it’s not acceptable, it almost seems natural, how easily fathers can separate themselves from their children’s lives. Sadly it’s the more-often-than-not experience. But it’s hard for me to grasp that a mother could do the same. Mothers are the nurturers, the comforters, the arms children seek to feel safe and loved. So I get judgmental – gasp! How can a mother leave her child? Leaving her husband is one thing. But her children?! What kind of woman does that?
When I get past my initial reaction, I take an honest tumble off my high horse. Although I don’t understand how a woman could leave her children – I can see why she would want to head for the hills and leave them in the valley. Parenting is hard.
As a single mom who left her ex, sometimes the guilt is crushing. More often than not I can’t sleep at night. My mind wanders, worries, is consumed with thoughts of my children. Will they be well-adjusted? Am I doing enough for them? Will they get the right education? Will they grow into self-sufficient adults with a healthy sense of right and wrong?
My waking hours aren’t much better. More often than not I’m exhausted from running kids here and there, caring for their every need, managing a house and working. My kids wear me down with constant bickering between themselves – and with me. Yea, those hills look pretty green. But I know me and I’ll be staying in the valley.
Does that make me a better mother? Not by a long-shot. I’ll admit, I fantasize about laying on a deserted beach, spending intimate evenings with a man, shopping for myself with no concern of a price tag. Some days I want to get in the car – and drive far, far away. Take an extended bath. Listen to the music I want to hear. Recapture the life I had before my existence revolved around my children. I’m not above the fantasy.
As it turns out, the men who are raising their children alone are doing amazing jobs. They are the mothers – and fathers – in their house. So I wonder, do the moms who left deserve a little more respect? Did they realize they could no longer handle their lives? Were they at a breaking point? Did they do their children a favor by leaving? Maybe they weren’t being selfish. Maybe they were overwhelmed.
Still my heart breaks for the children. Even if it was the right thing to do, it will be years before they understand. What’s unsettling to me is that I can understand it now.
27 Sunday Oct 2013
What happens when all goes quiet?
Those left behind find comfort
From thoughts of loved ones
Free from earthly shackles
In an undisturbed existence of tranquility
Bathed in light.
Ethereal images calm fears
And allow us to feel
We’re still loving the silent ones.
But when all goes quiet
Those left behind
Feel no freedom from the abandonment.
Memories scream unexpectedly
Jolting us back to reality.
There’s no harmony in the aftermath
No peace in the darkness
No light at daybreak.
Just unrequited love for the silent ones.
I thought I saw you today
While leaving the gym.
A woman sitting on the stairs
Had thick silver hair like yours.
From the back she looked just like you.
I had to remind myself you were gone
Then told myself you came to say goodbye.
© SeptemberMom 2013
04 Tuesday May 2010
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My closets are full of clothes. Most of them I don’t wear. I just work around them while fitting new items in on empty hangers. But every now and then I do an overhaul and pick through the clothes one by one to see which ones I can – and will – part with. It’s usually a very difficult experience, one during which I procrastinate endlessly.
“Why is it so hard?” ask friends who hear me complain. It’s not really about the time it takes for me to sift through the cottons, linens and wools, the florals, stripes and plaids; it’s about the memories of the stages of my life.
There are the clothes I’ve saved because I hoped one day I’d fit back into them. You know that semi-delusional outlook that by some miracle I’d lose weight as I aged. My college jeans. My harem pants in green, white and red, with the drawstring waist and buttoned ankles. The tight little dresses that looked great on a 25-year-old figure. And the ones that looked darn good on a 38-year-old figure. Now it would be a miracle if I could fit a straight jean dress over my child-bearing hips. So I’m left with the ability to outfit several different women – sizes 8, 10 and 12.
But those are the clothes I can usually part with – little by little. Each time I engage in the closet cleaning process I tenderly place a few items in a crisp brown paper bag for ‘someone less fortunate.’ But realistically, they’re for someone 45 pounds lighter. Through the process of selection there’s always a few I keep – just in case I drop a size, or two.
Then there are the clothes that I know I’ll never wear again. But they have sentimental value. The clothes that were gifts or belonged to someone else that ended up in my closet. And yes, those are a little more difficult to part with.
My communion dress. My first boyfriend’s green army shirt that he wore in Vietnam, with his name tag in its left pocket. The rust shirt I wore the day I first made love. My grandmother’s hand-made aprons that not only don’t fit me, but are falling apart after 60 years of hanging in closets. My mother’s sequined dress that she and I both wore in our twenties. And Sheila’s green cotton t-shirt which I keep folded in the back of my drawer. Each time I lift it, I hear her laughter in happier days – before she committed suicide.
Those clothes will stay with me forever. And one day when I’m gone, someone cleaning my closets will curiously give them a once-over, then toss them with no regard into a brown paper bag. But not me. Those clothes represent my life. The people I’ve loved. The people who’ve left. I don’t have the heart to bury them in a pile of trash.
They represent love. They deserve love.
(c) SeptemberMom 2013
September Mom 