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
21 Tuesday Oct 2014
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I’ve been taking my son to visit high schools. It’s been a disaster. I didn’t realize how hard it would hit that so much time has gone by. I remember swaddling and holding him in my arms when he was a baby. We all know how that goes. I haven’t even put all my children’s photos in albums yet. I kept putting it off thinking there was so much time. Now, when I try to arrange a few, I can’t even remember if they were three or four-years-old – seven or eight. Thankfully, they remember.
I confess – I’m a crier. I cried when my children took their first steps. I cried the first time that nursery school door closed behind them. I cried when they first boarded a yellow school bus. And the tears rolled the first time I went on a two-day business trip away from them. As I was packing, my son, three at the time, held up his beaten brown teddy that he never parted with. “Take it so you remember me mamma,” he said. Of course, I cried.
There are the sad tears and the happy tears – a distinction my children are much better at making now that they’re older. But one thing is constant with me. There are tears.
So here we are, my son and I, on a tour of a high school he is considering. Although he fiercely wanted to be apart from me, he stuck close in the crowd. Defying his actions though, he baited me. “You know mamma, after high school I’m gonna go to college and then get an apartment and live on my own. Not much time left to be with your baaabbbbyyyy.”
“Not worried,” I replied smiling. “You’ll always be my baaabbbyyy.” But his words danced in my mind as the tour guide’s words fell upon deaf ears. He was right. My little boy was growing up. I watched him walking in the crowd and pictured him walking the halls on his own. Putting his books in a locker. Hi-fiving his friends on the staircase. Trying to sit next to the pretty girl in class. No, there wasn’t much time left to be with my baby.
As the group began to ascend the stairs I pulled over to the side. JJ followed. “What’s the matter?” he asked. But he knew with one look at my face. “Oh no Maaaaaaaa,” he whined. “Not now. Not here.”
I didn’t want to cry. I just couldn’t help myself. “You started it with this I’m all grown up crap,” I quipped. “It’s your fault.” He hugged me and we both laughed. I dried my eyes, put on my sun glasses and we fell back into the crowd. But I spent the rest of the day on the verge.
When the tour was over I was elated. Time to go home where I can be his mother again. We had parked the car across a boulevard, one very long block down. Not wanting to walk to the corner to cross at the light, I stepped out between two cars and looked to my left. That’s when I noticed lights on top of the car I stood in front of. Thankfully they weren’t on. But the cops were watching. I would think that they were amused, either at my stupidity – or my gall. Immediately I backed up pushing my son to the sidewalk and said loudly pointing down the block, “We’re down that way.”
JJ knew exactly what was going on. “Smooth move mamma. About to lead your son across a four lane boulevard by jaywalking in front of a cop car. With the cops inside! Almost as good as the time you were parking and hit the traffic cop’s car.“ He ribbed me mercilessly. His laughter was contagious. I was in awe of my emerging adult child.
Yes, JJ and Lara are growing up and each stage of their lives has brought different aspects to enjoy about their evolving personalities. It’s just that sometimes it is a challenge for me to celebrate the changes while mourning their babydom. Although it won’t be tomorrow, time flies, and soon they will be spreading their own wings. I know that if I spend my time pining for their younger years, I’ll miss the stage they’re in now. But the mother in me wants to stop the clock. So I console myself with the knowledge that I am blessed to have them in my life with a front row seat, to watch them grow.
My daughter is a beautiful headstrong young lady with incredible musical talents. Although she doesn’t like to hear it, she’s looking more like me each day. She’s starting to claim my clothes – old and new – and they look much nicer on her than on me. She acts much like me too. She has a definite mischievous side. But her smile, that attracts and disarms, lights up her beautiful young face. My son is a sweet, smart, young man with a wonderful sense of humor and deep empathy. Each night he asks me to sit with him before he goes to sleep. The conversation starts with, “How was your day Mamma?” Then we talk about books he’s reading, how he feels about life, his friends and yes, girls.
Still, this not quite adult but no longer a child stage is quite the challenge for me. While I embrace the young adults my children have become – it’s hard for me to let go of their hands. So yes, I’ll allow myself one night to cry. Quite honestly I’m not sure if they’ll be happy tears or sad tears, because my cherubs are now full grown angels.
(c) SeptemberMom2014
12 Saturday Jul 2014
Posted in Lessons, Life, Love, Uncategorized
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I can still remember approaching that old beat up brown and tan Mercury Monarch. With its scratches and dents, 698XNJ would patiently wait for me, parked on 94th street under the old maple tree. Its motor running.
Inside it was warm on blustery New York winter days, cool on muggy summer afternoons and dry when the sky would cry. And there was you, smiling brightly as I pulled open its passenger door and jumped inside.
The aroma of freshly brewed java greeted me as you’d reach deep inside the crisp white bakery bag to hand me coffee – milk, no sugar. I’d hold the cup with both hands and sip slowly. Its warmth filled my body as I’d anticipate the black and white sugar cookies to follow.
For a few stolen hours every afternoon you’d be a child and I’d be a woman, as we’d lock out the world from inside our four door house. 698XNJ wouldn’t judge and didn’t care how others would view us. A silent accomplice to our love.
With an ashtray full of Marlboro and Tarrytown butts, 698XNJ would sweep us through the world in a protected environment. Part of the whole, yet apart from it all. Its aging tan leather seats would cradle us as we’d watch seasons change through two half moons on the windshield, speeding on parkways or just sitting at the airport watching planes in silence.
It wasn’t always silent. But 698XNJ would never tell. It would never spill our dreams to a world that would crush them with cold realities. It was tolerant of a relationship others would frown upon.
Sometimes our laughter would drown out its dashboard radio. Other times, when frustration consumed our thoughts, the sound of its gently purring motor would ease the deafening silence. Even when I’d slam its passenger door in anger, 698XNJ would return for me. Just as welcoming, just as understanding.
That old Mercury Monarch was there with us through it all. The good times, the bad. The beginning, the end. A good friend, a constant companion and trusted confident. 698XNJ was as much a part of our romance as you or I.
I’ve searched highways and interstates for 698XNJ. But Mercury Monarch’s are hard to find these days. And I’ve been in many other cars, but they’re just a means of transportation. If I’d only known that in no other car could I relive the emotions I experienced within the steel doors of 698XNJ, I might not have closed the door so quickly.
21 Saturday Jun 2014
Posted in Lessons, Life, Love, Uncategorized
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I think I’ve finally gotten over Father’s Day. It took a week and a good amount of wine, but I’m glad it’s over. At this age, and after the amount of therapy I’ve been through, you’d think I’d be past all this. But I’m not.
I’ve never been one for Father’s Day. I guess I feel like I’ve never had a ‘father.’ Sure there was the guy who lived with us, he put food on the table and a roof over our heads. I wasn’t abused and I believe – or try to believe – that he did his best. But his best wasn’t anything near what the little girl in me needed. While other children’s dads doted over them, my father never hid the fact that he believe other children were better, smarter, more well-behaved.
I’m well aware of how this affected my life. I spent early dating years with older men. Then I realized what I was doing, began praying that I’d never marry a man like my father and to this day I question my judgement. No surprise, I never married. Not even my children’s father. I like to tell myself that I just haven’t found ‘the one.’ But there are nights I lay awake wondering if maybe I’m just not good enough. Now, I’m old enough to know that I must take responsibility for my own life and move on. But it seems that no amount of therapy can change how I feel every Father’s Day.
So my Father’s Day tradition is much different from that of many other people. It starts in the card store while trying to find the perfect card. One that’s not thankful for the support, love or example my dad set for me. Tearfully I read card after card with Hallmark emotions I can’t relate to. If another customer catches my sniffle I casually brush it off by commenting how wonderful it is that writers can so beautifully describe the love we feel for our fathers. Then I continue my search through the cards till I find the perfect one for me. The one that just says, Happy Father’s Day.
I wasn’t always this way. Way back in the day when I was still clamoring for his acceptance, I wrote an article for a magazine with quotes from celebrities about their fathers. I closed it with a tribute to my own. I beautifully framed the piece and gave it to my father – sure it would be taken as the very special gift I intended it to be. It ended up in the garage before making its way to the garbage.
Facebook made it markedly worse this year. I should have known better than to log on last Sunday. My heart broke with every post I read that gushed about who was daddy’s little girl, who was the best father in the world and how special dads made their children feel. Then there were the photos. The father daughter dances at weddings. Fathers walking their precious little bundles down the aisle. And the sad remembrances about dads who had passed – and were so missed.
When my father passes, I’ll cry. Not because he’s gone. But because I’ll never have the chance to have the father I needed. The father I wanted. The one who made me feel special. The one who thought the sun rose and set on me. The one any little girl deserves.
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.
18 Tuesday Mar 2014
Posted in Life, Love, Uncategorized
There’s a stack of unchecked lottery tickets on my desk. Sometimes they sit there for months. Every now and then I uncover them when rifling through papers and for a few minutes I escape reality. I’m not driven by money or material things and I’m blessed with work that modestly supports myself and my children. But when my fingers sift through those tickets, my mind drifts to a place of opportunity, leisure – and dreams. A place where I wouldn’t have to give a second thought to the cost of my children’s education. A place where I could ditch my job and open an animal sanctuary. A place where business writing would be a thing of the past and I could wile away the hours exploring my creative side. It’s a fun place to go, even though I know the odds are stacked against me.
There’s a man in my life who is my lottery ticket. He’s like no one I’ve met in quite some time. Yet my overwhelming attraction has morphed into a playful email distraction. I can’t say I don’t want to know more about him – I do. But I’m guarded and fearful. As as long as I don’t ‘check the numbers’ I can maintain the status quo and escape every now and then into a bubble that hasn’t burst. I can keep my dreams alive. Not necessarily dreams of him. Dreams of what he represents. The possibilities. The unknown. The desire to believe that a kindred soul exists out there. Even though I know the odds are stacked against me.
Most of the time the arrangement works. Then there are other times. You see, I’m a dreamer but I’m a realist. The part of me that wants to feel like a teenager in love is constantly challenged by the woman who has been there – done that. I’m naturally drawn to ‘check the numbers,’ yet anticipate a negative outcome. So I retreat to protect a fantasy. The possibilities. The dreams. A reality that doesn’t exist. The winning lottery ticket.
18 Saturday Jan 2014
Posted in Lessons, Life, Love, Uncategorized
My son is home with me. My daughter is at her father’s. It’s not supposed to be this way, but it is.
Everyone told me not to say anything negative about my children’s father because soon enough, they’d see who he was on their own. I just didn’t think it would happen so soon. I also thought I’d be happy when they saw him for the narcissist he is. I was wrong. I had no idea how much it would hurt them, and me.
Rewind to the Christmas holiday. JJ and Lara were with their father for five days. On the third night they called me from his basement. My daughter was crying. She missed me. My son wanted to come home because he was lonely. The conversation with my son went like this:
JJ: I want to come home mamma.
Me: Why?
JJ: I’m bored.
Me: Where’s daddy?
JJ: Upstairs watching TV. He does that every night.
Me: Why don’t you just go upstairs and tell him you want to spend time with him?
JJ: He’s with Kathy [his wife].
Me: Why don’t you go watch TV with both of them?
JJ: They’ll tell me I can’t watch what they’re watching and send me to my room. He says he’s here for me and I want to believe him but I don’t feel like he is. He’s here for Kathy and his TV. Mamma, he doesn’t even know that Lara is down here crying.
Me: Bring him the phone I’ll talk to him.
JJ: No. You’ve done that before and he changes for a little while then goes back to normal and ignores us. It hurts too much. I don’t want to get hurt again.
Me: But JJ Christmas is in two days! Didn’t you ask Santa for an Xbox? You may get it there.
JJ: And if I do he’ll be like, “Hey kid, nice to see you. Now go play with your Xbox.”
Me: JJ, you play your games here all the time. What’s the difference?
JJ: You ask if I’ve had breakfast.
His insight stopped me in my tracks. But hearing my 11-year-old struggle to strategically protect himself from emotional pain brought tears to my eyes. He shouldn’t have to think like that at his age.
So yesterday when their dad came to my house to pick them up JJ said he was staying with me for the weekend. I knew he was trying to engage his dad to extract any amount of encouragement to go – but he didn’t get any. As his father left with Lara, I sat next to JJ on the stairs and my heart broke as he asked, “Do you think he left yet? Can you see if the car pulled away?” And finally, “I knew he wouldn’t come back for me. I have no father.”
JJ and I sat together on the stairs for a few minutes in silence as I searched for words to ease his soul.
“JJ, your father loves you very much. It’s just that different people have different capacities for love and the way they show that love. Sometimes people we love don’t show us love or love us back in the way we want to be loved. That doesn’t mean that they don’t love us – it just means they don’t know how.”
JJ’s head dropped on my shoulder as tears rolled down his face.
“You have a great capacity for love and that’s a beautiful thing,” I continued. “But that also means others will disappoint you when they don’t have that same capacity. So you need to know two things; #1, that doesn’t mean that they don’t love you – it’s just not the love you are capable of giving and want in return. And #2, never, never stifle the amount of love you can give because someone can’t give it back because when you find someone who can love you back the way you love them, it will be a beautiful thing.”
JJ buried his head in my chest and we both sat there and cried.
(c) 2014 SeptemberMom.com
13 Monday Jan 2014
Posted in Lessons, Life, Love, Uncategorized
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The dried purple roses on her black bedroom dresser held all her secrets. Privy to her most private moments, they’d seen and heard it all. The tears, the laughter, the angry words – the love.
There was the scrolled wrought iron music stand trellised with ivy in the corner and the antique rocking chair that had cradled her many a night. But there was something powerful about the discolored lavender bouquet whose leaves tightly engulfed the heart of each flower.
It was years before she’d seen the parallel.
“God damn it! Why are you doing this?!” he hissed, pulling back from her embrace. His fury overriding the yearning his body had for release.
“What are you talking about?” she responded, confused by his abrupt withdrawal.
“You were there. I saw it on your face – I felt it in your body. You were there and you just…..disconnected. Shit! You turned away from me and looked out the fucking window!”
Perched above her, his eyes bore through her. Instinctively she turned from him again. “You make it sound as if I don’t love having you inside me,” she responded defensively.
“You let me in but you won’t let go!” he demanded. “Why can’t you just let go?” he said, rolling off her and tossing his legs over the side of the bed. He sat there with his back to her.
“Is that what this is about?! You? Are you feeling insecure?”
“No. It’s about you. It’s about you keeping me at arms length,” he spit out grabbing his clothes off the floor.
He was right. She knew it. She’d had other lovers. Yet the vulnerability she allowed herself with them – she would not allow herself with him.
“Don’t go,” she said softly reaching for his arm.
His response was tinged with disgust. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want you to?” Gently she pulled him back to her body and they laid there in silence.
Stammering, her words broke the stillness. “I… I can’t….let go.”
“Bullshit. We both know you have with other men.”
Cursing herself for being honest about her previous encounters she responded slowly, “But they weren’t you. They didn’t matter.”
“Wait a minute,” he said shaking his head slowly in disbelief. “You’re saying that because you care about me – you’re keeping me at an emotional arms length physically?” For a moment he paused, then threw his hands up in frustration. “Listen to this – its crazy making! You’d rather let a disposable lover please you – than someone you say you care for?”
“I never said I wasn’t in need of intense therapy,” she responded, trying to lighten the moment. But his eyes, locked on hers, would allow no escape. “They can’t cut as deep. Or hurt as much. With you, I’ve more to lose.”
She felt his arm pull her close as his finger traced a tear down her cheek. “Then with me you’ve more to gain,” he said softly lowering her beneath him. “Let me in.”
The dried purple roses on her black bedroom dresser held all her secrets. They’d seen and heard it all. And in many ways, they were just like her.
They weren’t always lifeless….
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
September Mom 