Things that I don't want to forget
Sometimes, at night, when sleep eludes me, when the pain is just too much, I think about good memories. It helps. And, like a never ending string, I find that when I can grasp one, another slides through.
1) I remember that chilly day in April. I was in kindergarten. I had missed several days of school because I was sick with a chest cold. I had asthma when I was a kid. That meant that a chest cold could hang on for weeks. I remember sitting at the kitchen table and staring at my oatmeal. I remember my Dad sitting down next to me and taking my foot in his hands, retying my poorly tied shoe. And then, taking the next one and doing the same. I remember him holding out his arms and me climbing up into them and smelling his Dad smell, unique to him. Rubbing my cheek against his shirt like a cat, his chin grazing my head. We sat like that for a long time, looking out of the window out at the back yard. To this day, it is my safe place. The place where I can close my eyes and feel completely loved, completely wanted. A place where I know that I belong.
2) I remember the first time that someone told me that they loved me who wasn't a family member. It was not someone that I was sure that I loved back, but I did like them a lot. I remember that feeling of being kind of uncomfortable, but mostly all warm and flattered inside. Someone loved me. It just blew me away. I said that I loved them, too. I knew that it was a falsehood, but it was a kind falsehood and, in time, I did grow to love them, too.
3) I remember the first time that a teacher told me that I was a good writer. I was in fourth grade. Sister Julenta. She told my Mother at a parent-teacher conference that I was a gifted little writer. She didn't tell me this. I was just standing there and I heard it. My heart swelled and for the first time, I knew what it felt like to just believe something in my bones. I had always liked to write and always loved spelling. I felt as if writing came easily to me and I always felt as though I was good at it. But, to have it validated was a whole other thing. After that, I started listening to what I felt in my heart and for the most part, I have been pretty good at ferreting out my beliefs that way. If it felt so in my gut, I could usually count on it being true. At least for me. It was a gift.
4) I remember when my heart was broken. My Dad died when I was 10. My heart was broken that day. It was the worst day of my life and although I have had many, many bad days since then? That day was the gold standard for pain. I honestly thought that I could die from that lonely, hollow feeling. I sat in his rocking chair in his den with my hand over my heart, stunned that it was still beating. How could that be so? It has taken decades for me to heal, and I am not completely there yet. Finally, I realized that you never do heal. You just go on. You learn. Eventually, I began to see that I had gained something. Empathy. His death gave me empathy for those in pain. I knew intrinsically what that pain felt like and that made me able to reach out in a way that I could have never done if he hadn't died. And it also made me a little fearless. The worst thing in the world had already happened to me, so I knew that I could survive whatever came flying at me next. Cancer? That was something, yes. But, it wasn't Dad dying. If I could go back in time and make it NOT happen, keep him alive somehow, I would. But, I can't. So, I will learn from it. Grief is a journey and a lesson.
5) I remember countless acts of strangers. Our mail carrier, who brings our mail to our front door so that I don't have to walk to the end of the driveway to get it. The woman in Walgreens who saw that I was having trouble bending over to pick up the handful of change that I dropped and swooped down to retrieve my coins and help me put them in my change purse. The priest who sits next to me in chemo deliberately because he says he loves talking to me, that I put his brain to good use. Plus, he always brings root beer barrels.
"Believe it or not, a good Jesuit loves to talk to those with questions. It is the ones without questions who worry me. They aren't utilizing their brain pans properly. God loves a skeptic. Believe me!"
6) Sunsets. I never used to watch many sunsets. Too busy. Now, I make time for them. They are incredibly inspiring. I remember that one that was so pink and gold and I swear I saw a face peering out of it.
7) The witch inside of me. Some of us have one. Some of us don't. Those who don't will sometimes try and make you feel badly about it. Or they will scoff and roll their eyes, as if you are kind of slow witted. Ignore them. They're jealous. Or scared. Some of us have the glitter. It comes out in different forms. Some of us can feel it when something is about to happen. Some of us can slide inside a person's mind and walk around. Some of us are good radars for bad people. Some of us, not many, are all of those things. No, we can't turn you into a pig. We might wish that we could. You might deserve it. But, true glitterers are unable to hurt others and do not wish it. They just are. And another secret? We know who we are and we acknowledge each other. And I am so glad that you are here with me. Thank you.
8) Teachers who helped me. I do not know anyone who has had many bad teachers. There is always at least one teacher who made a difference in their lives. For me, it was Miss B. She was the first person in my life who saw who I really was. And accepted me. Not only saw me, but actually supported and liked me. She gave me books to read that were contraband. (On The Road, Animal Farm, Les Miserables) She told me to trust my heart, assured me that I had a worthy compass. Without her, I may have gotten to where I needed to be....but it would have been so much harder. It is only now that I am older that I realize that she took quite a risk by sharing those books with me. Her bravery makes ME want to be brave in turn. The world spins because of brave people who are willing to step out of their circles.
9) T. Always and forever. Even through those terrible years when we almost lost each other. I want to remember every last thing. Every Tomboy gig. Every study session, listening to Patti Smith. Every movie night. Every breakfast for dinner. Every drive for ice cream in the Summer. Every argument. Even the one when I threw a glass of ice water at your head. (You ducked successfully. Sorry, I was acting like a brat.) I want to remember every morning hello and every airport goodbye.
Things I do not want to forget. How could I? They are hardwired into me and a part of me.
Forever mine.
1) I remember that chilly day in April. I was in kindergarten. I had missed several days of school because I was sick with a chest cold. I had asthma when I was a kid. That meant that a chest cold could hang on for weeks. I remember sitting at the kitchen table and staring at my oatmeal. I remember my Dad sitting down next to me and taking my foot in his hands, retying my poorly tied shoe. And then, taking the next one and doing the same. I remember him holding out his arms and me climbing up into them and smelling his Dad smell, unique to him. Rubbing my cheek against his shirt like a cat, his chin grazing my head. We sat like that for a long time, looking out of the window out at the back yard. To this day, it is my safe place. The place where I can close my eyes and feel completely loved, completely wanted. A place where I know that I belong.
2) I remember the first time that someone told me that they loved me who wasn't a family member. It was not someone that I was sure that I loved back, but I did like them a lot. I remember that feeling of being kind of uncomfortable, but mostly all warm and flattered inside. Someone loved me. It just blew me away. I said that I loved them, too. I knew that it was a falsehood, but it was a kind falsehood and, in time, I did grow to love them, too.
3) I remember the first time that a teacher told me that I was a good writer. I was in fourth grade. Sister Julenta. She told my Mother at a parent-teacher conference that I was a gifted little writer. She didn't tell me this. I was just standing there and I heard it. My heart swelled and for the first time, I knew what it felt like to just believe something in my bones. I had always liked to write and always loved spelling. I felt as if writing came easily to me and I always felt as though I was good at it. But, to have it validated was a whole other thing. After that, I started listening to what I felt in my heart and for the most part, I have been pretty good at ferreting out my beliefs that way. If it felt so in my gut, I could usually count on it being true. At least for me. It was a gift.
4) I remember when my heart was broken. My Dad died when I was 10. My heart was broken that day. It was the worst day of my life and although I have had many, many bad days since then? That day was the gold standard for pain. I honestly thought that I could die from that lonely, hollow feeling. I sat in his rocking chair in his den with my hand over my heart, stunned that it was still beating. How could that be so? It has taken decades for me to heal, and I am not completely there yet. Finally, I realized that you never do heal. You just go on. You learn. Eventually, I began to see that I had gained something. Empathy. His death gave me empathy for those in pain. I knew intrinsically what that pain felt like and that made me able to reach out in a way that I could have never done if he hadn't died. And it also made me a little fearless. The worst thing in the world had already happened to me, so I knew that I could survive whatever came flying at me next. Cancer? That was something, yes. But, it wasn't Dad dying. If I could go back in time and make it NOT happen, keep him alive somehow, I would. But, I can't. So, I will learn from it. Grief is a journey and a lesson.
5) I remember countless acts of strangers. Our mail carrier, who brings our mail to our front door so that I don't have to walk to the end of the driveway to get it. The woman in Walgreens who saw that I was having trouble bending over to pick up the handful of change that I dropped and swooped down to retrieve my coins and help me put them in my change purse. The priest who sits next to me in chemo deliberately because he says he loves talking to me, that I put his brain to good use. Plus, he always brings root beer barrels.
"Believe it or not, a good Jesuit loves to talk to those with questions. It is the ones without questions who worry me. They aren't utilizing their brain pans properly. God loves a skeptic. Believe me!"
6) Sunsets. I never used to watch many sunsets. Too busy. Now, I make time for them. They are incredibly inspiring. I remember that one that was so pink and gold and I swear I saw a face peering out of it.
7) The witch inside of me. Some of us have one. Some of us don't. Those who don't will sometimes try and make you feel badly about it. Or they will scoff and roll their eyes, as if you are kind of slow witted. Ignore them. They're jealous. Or scared. Some of us have the glitter. It comes out in different forms. Some of us can feel it when something is about to happen. Some of us can slide inside a person's mind and walk around. Some of us are good radars for bad people. Some of us, not many, are all of those things. No, we can't turn you into a pig. We might wish that we could. You might deserve it. But, true glitterers are unable to hurt others and do not wish it. They just are. And another secret? We know who we are and we acknowledge each other. And I am so glad that you are here with me. Thank you.
8) Teachers who helped me. I do not know anyone who has had many bad teachers. There is always at least one teacher who made a difference in their lives. For me, it was Miss B. She was the first person in my life who saw who I really was. And accepted me. Not only saw me, but actually supported and liked me. She gave me books to read that were contraband. (On The Road, Animal Farm, Les Miserables) She told me to trust my heart, assured me that I had a worthy compass. Without her, I may have gotten to where I needed to be....but it would have been so much harder. It is only now that I am older that I realize that she took quite a risk by sharing those books with me. Her bravery makes ME want to be brave in turn. The world spins because of brave people who are willing to step out of their circles.
9) T. Always and forever. Even through those terrible years when we almost lost each other. I want to remember every last thing. Every Tomboy gig. Every study session, listening to Patti Smith. Every movie night. Every breakfast for dinner. Every drive for ice cream in the Summer. Every argument. Even the one when I threw a glass of ice water at your head. (You ducked successfully. Sorry, I was acting like a brat.) I want to remember every morning hello and every airport goodbye.
Things I do not want to forget. How could I? They are hardwired into me and a part of me.
Forever mine.
How is Shep?
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