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| Heart cleaning. |
| 07.31.05 (11:03 pm) [edit] |
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I have so much to tell you... good, exciting, funny things... and I can't wait. But, ultimately, I had an overwhelming sense that this day had to be about remembering. I had to clear out the heaviness that weighed me down before I could tell you about the good things that are happening. Thank you for bearing with me.
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10 Comments
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| Five months, a letter, and an old story that made me cry. |
| 07.31.05 (10:32 pm) [edit] |
I don't necessarily understand the nature of matter, but, I hope that these words will somehow find their way to where you are.
In a few minutes it will be five months since you left here.
I'm doing ok, but, there are many things that are still painful. Sometimes I don't have an inkling of what is to come...what will be put into my path to make me think of you. I do know that, I still cannot walk into the GAP, see anything to do with Napoleon Dynamite, or listen to Coldplay. I carry the Nano-pet that I got you for Christmas on my keychain. Sometimes Craig and I will talk about how you screamed when you saw it because it reminded you of when you were little. Ali, you never even got to open it.
I would give anything to hold your hand, to fold your clothes and put them on your bed, to listen to your screaming boy music while I’m trying to sleep. I wish that I had opened your backpack today and found a paper with a ‘D’ marked in red. I would kiss the top of your head and make some brownies.
I would like to hear the door slam and your feet running up the stairs—even if it was past your curfew. I’d like to see you roll your eyes and shake your head as you walk away muttering, "momma, you are so weird."
I wouldn't mind hearing you and Megan screaming at each other. Fighting over the curling iron, the last fudge round, the Ron Jon sweatshirt, or the car keys.
I miss our morning lattes and our drives to the hospital. Even for that, I would give anything.
I wish for many things in vain and it is frustrating. There is no compromise with death.
I wish that I had a tape recorder so that I could hear your voice the day you got your driver’s license, the night you recited Shakespeare while under the influence of Morphine, and everything you uttered between your first word and your last breath.
It has been five months since you left us. Your shadow lingers around every corner and your voice still echoes in the rooms of this house and in the memories of all of the people whom you touched so deeply. Meanwhile, the world goes on and so do I… reluctantly, Ali. Somehow, I am able to laugh. I am able to work, to dream, to love and to hope for good things in the future. I don’t know how that is possible…perhaps because you taught me so much about living.
Sometimes, I think about how you used to pretend to run into car doors, or when you did that walk that made me have to cross my legs because I was laughing so hard. I think about our long talks at night in the dark quiet hospital rooms, or watching the same movie six times because the drugs would knock you out and you’d say… could we turn that on again?
These are some of the things that will heal the hole that is inside of me. There are scars that will be forever visible, but the way you lived your life will ultimately get me through the unspeakable pain of your death.
How did seventeen years go by so quickly? I torture myself trying to remember every minute that we were together. I’m so glad that I got to be a stay-at-home mom and watch you grow up.
When you and Meggie were little, I would read the book, "I love you forever" and I could never make it through without sobbing. Literally sobbing. You would both look at me very sweetly and someone would say, "It’s alright, mommy, you don’t have to finish if you don’t like it." Sometimes I wonder, did I have a sense of something to come or did I just love you that much?
Oh my sweet Ali, I really did love you that much. I still do.
Five months has passed Ali. Five months and no matter what happened yesterday, or what will happen in a thousand tomorrows, you will always be my little girl and I was blessed beyond imagination to be your mother.
I love you forever. I like you for always. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.
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18 Comments
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| Throwing up at Bloomingdale's and other tragic tales. |
| 07.25.05 (8:35 pm) [edit] |
Driving home from dinner last night, I saw two little girls, about two years apart, wearing identical outfits—flowing yellow blouses and white capri pants with shoes that wrapped around their ankles. It took me back many years to my own little girls and Christmas dresses from Bloomingdale’s.
Whenever there was a special occasion to buy for, I loved to go to Bloomingdale’s. They had frilly girl’s dresses and pretty shopping bags. I took Megan there when she was about to start Kindergarten. It was supposed to be a bonding experience… shopping for school clothes in Chicago. Unfortunately, Megan preferred FAO Schwartz and in an effort to disarm me and make her way back to the giant piano keys on the floor, threatened to throw up in the middle of my favorite store. I took her gently by the hand and led her to the bathroom where we had a come-to-Jesus talk in the stall.
Megan was formidable even at six.
Back then, I didn’t trust myself. I was very much into appearances and the approval of others who I didn’t necessarily respect but who seemed to have it much more together than I did. So, the house was always clean, the hair was always combed, we always had vegetables with our dinner…and Christmas dresses always matched.
Often I didn’t even believe in what I was saying, but, it sounded like something a good Christian mother living in suburbia should say. It’s funny, in a sad sort of way, to think about the energy that I expended performing the role of hypocrite for my children. I forced them to listen to Christian music, although personally I thought it was lame and I would sneak 70s rock when I had the chance. Despite their wishes and what I considered to be a significant personal sacrifice, I took them to see movies where dogs, cats and pigs could talk--nobody enjoyed it--but at least it was good clean fun and a dose of reality from which they could grasp valuable life lessons.
I was trying to protect them from reality when I should have been teaching them about independence, contentment and survival. It was like keeping the glass to the sliding door so clean that you injure yourself walking into it.
One day, I turned around and ran the other way.
I probably gave my children whiplash, the turnaround being so abrupt, but at least, I finally believed in what I was saying. When I made a rule, it was my rule. I knew why I made it and the reasons for making it were legitimate, not because I had to rule with an iron fist so everyone would know I was in charge. How many times had I said ‘no’ to something just because it was easier?
Ultimately, I made sure the hill was worth fighting for and let go of everything else. In the end, I believe that while they didn’t always agree with me, at least they respected me for being honest.
It is a shame that we feel the need to wear masks to hide our true selves. I think that God, being God, revels in our individuality. He created us to be unique… yet, we hide in the shadows of conformity—where it is safe, but, generally boring. We spend time competing when we could be creating and give up precious time testing the direction of the wind instead of testing the strength of our determination.
I’m sure that Megan and Ali would have liked to pick out their own Christmas dresses… ones that didn’t match. Luckily for them and despite my early efforts to the contrary, both of my daughters turned out to have a strong sense of who they were. Megan was no more interested in a fancy dress from Bloomingdale’s than I was in spending three hours in FAO Schwartz. In hindsight, I should have just let her throw up.
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10 Comments
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| Addendum... |
| 07.01.05 (8:01 pm) [edit] |
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It's 9:30... everyone has been here since 6 p.m. They just started a movie. What an amazing group of 17 year olds. It's been a very good thing and I'm honored that they would choose to spend a Friday night with me.
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6 Comments
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| The thin line between joy and pain. |
| 07.01.05 (12:50 pm) [edit] |
I’m home again. That is to say, I am back at my house for a couple of nights. Ali’s friends asked if they could have a pizza party here… to remember. So, the house will be filled with voices again, which is good, because the silence is deafening.
It is good and it is bad and I’m not sure which will be more painful, the roar of the deafening silence or the blinding glare of her absence amid the noise.
But, what is necessary is not always easy. For a couple of weeks it has seemed a little easier. It seemed easier until I unlocked the back door and felt a sudden rush of emotion that I could not identify.
It was the thin line between joy and pain.
Sometimes, I forget that she was so sick. I forget about having to lift her fragile body or having to give her juice through a sipper cup. I forget about how she had to give up parts of herself a little at a time and how we had to let her.
Today, I came across a CD case…a Christmas present. Inside, the music she loved and the mixes that she made, labeled with her handwriting and adorned with artwork. The ghosts of the life of a teenager.
This morning as I had my coffee on an overstuffed chair in the living room, I looked around, and it seemed strange that everything was neatly in place around me. Everything is, exactly as it was. But that seems so wrong. I feel as though I should scatter things, move them, hide them or at the very least, throw them.
I watch Megan and see her walking through life in the shadow of all of this pain. She is so beautiful and full of life, but, it is like there is a veil of sadness covering her face. I don’t even begin to know what is going on inside of her mind. There is only so much that you can say out loud. Only so much that can be expressed with words.
It is like we are standing together on a fault-line and the earth is splitting in two. Standing at the edge of starting over, but, one foot is permanently attached to the other side. We have many things to look forward to but, we have boulders attached to our shoes.
For every action that we take and every thought that we have, leading us in the direction of resuming some sort of normal life—there is a barrier that we have to get through. Like a sentry posted at every exit and every entrance. We are surrounded by ghosts and we cannot overcome them. We must simply learn to live with them.
On New Year’s Eve, we bought CoCo. My mom and sisters came up. We went to dinner and went bowling. She knew that she was dying… but, she went bowling. After she bowled a gutter ball, she came and sat next to me. I made a sad face and she said, "don’t feel sorry for me… try and beat me like you always would".
I think about the words from her journal and they echo in my heart. "This is so hard".
Ghosts. The thin line between joy and pain.
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10 Comments
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Grace, beauty, humor, strength.
Alison Haley Cloud
Nov. 16, 1987-March 1, 2005
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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
