You know, trust is a funny thing. It’s so fragile. It’s a priceless antique vase. One slip, one bump, one little shift of the foundation, and it shatters. A shower of glittering fragments. Sometimes your so concerned with keeping that vase in tact, so worried with losing it, that you forget the reason you have it in the first place. You forget to simply admire the beauty of it.
You don’t appreciate what you had until it’s gone.
Sure, you can try to repair it. Glue it back together. A long, painstaking experience. Each small piece a sharp and jagged reminder to your bloody fingers that you should have been more careful. At the end of which it still won’t be the same. It has lost all value. Sometimes we wonder if we should bother with putting it back together. We think we should just sweep it up and toss it away with this morning’s coffee grounds.
Trust is a funny thing.
I stood there, helpless. The white walls closing in around me. The clean smell of antiseptic clinging to my tongue as I gripped her chilled hand in mine. Despair. It was like a fog, and the harsh lights did nothing to dispel it. There were too many people in that tiny little white room, too many bodies, but everything was still, as if time itself were holding it’s breath. Waiting. Waiting for something. Waiting for permission. I squeezed her hand tighter, I tried to force one corner of my mouth into a sad smile, but I don’t think my muscles responded. Maybe they did, because a ripple moved through the room as she finally looked at me. The usual brilliance of her blue-green eyes were muted. Dimmed with shock and beneath it, pain. The grief, the loss, it choked me. I couldn’t breathe. She shook her head, closed her eyes again. She knew what I wanted to tell her, all the things I didn’t know how to say. I didn’t have to say them. A nurse moved close to her, pressed against the bed. I didn’t even hear the words. A moment passed. The hand in mine squeezed back and I watched as her eyes opened, tears leaked out. She nodded and the room around us erupted into activity. A frenzy impossible to follow. I stroked her temple, brushing the hair away from her face. I told her I loved her. I told her how strong she was. “My baby..” She whimpered as the doctor cut the cord. The fragile pink body was cleaned and wrapped in a blanket. Not even big enough for clothes. “I want to hold her..” Barely a whisper, but it was answered immediately as they placed the tiny infant in her mothers waiting hands.
I haven’t posted anything in a while. My life has been a little crazy lately. I hope to remedy this writing hiatus very soon. My apologies.
Envy, Pain, Betrayal, Anger, Jealousy,Hate.
All these feelings stir again. Awake in me something feral. Taints my vision red, paints my soul black.
Rip, tear, shred, break, crunch, scream, cry.
Bring me back from the brink of my madness.
In his dialogue The Symposium, Plato has Aristophanes present a story about soul mates. Aristophanes states that humans originally had four arms, four legs, and a single head made of two faces, but Zeus feared their power and split them all in half, condemning them to spend their lives searching for the other half to complete them.
Do you believe in Soul Mates?
My dearest sons,
I’m writing this so that you will understand. What I feel for you. How important you are to me. How important you are to the world. I hope and pray everyday by the time you are old enough to understand this that I will be able to tell you myself. My father wasn’t able to tell me. So I am leaving this. For you. Just in case it’s needed.
I love you. Know that. Above anything else, I love you so deeply, sometimes it hurts. Sometimes I just stare at you and I can’t believe how that love that be so entangled in my marrow, singing in my blood, branded on my heart, etched into my soul. It is unconditional. Nothing will stop it, erase it, or cause it to fade. Gay, straight, liberal, conservative, alcoholic, prostitute. I love you. You grow up to be a serial killer? Maybe that’s my fault, who knows, but I will still love you. Forever.
I might get mad sometimes. I’m not perfect. I might even scream, or cry, or curse. I might be disappointed with you if I know you didn’t do your best. You’re probably going to feel like you hate me sometimes. I promise I’ll always admit when I was wrong, and apologize. I promise I will try to be consistent, and structured, and you will have a curfew. I will make sure you do your homework, and I will find out when you lie. I promise I will always take care of you when you are sick, by making chicken soup or grilled cheese just the way you like it. I promise I won’t ever forget to tell you how much I love you, and I will always try to remember what it was like to be 16.
I promise you will always be able to tell me anything. But I can’t always promise just telling me the truth won’t get you in trouble, I can promise you will be in less trouble than if you lie. You will believe in Santa Claus, at least for a while. But I won’t ever lie to you when it’s important. I will strive to teach you everything I know. Even if you won’t listen, I’m going to try anyway.
I tried so hard to stay with your father. I wanted us to stay together. It was just something that could not be. It’s not your fault. Don’t ever blame yourself. I hope someday you will understand. Or maybe I hope you won’t ever have to. Just know that we both love you very much, and it’s better this way. Better for all of us.
You are amazing, wonderful, strong. I’m not going to tell you that you can be whatever you want, or become whatever you set your mind to. Life doesn’t always work out that way. I can tell you that if you want it bad enough, and you apply yourself, you are giving it your best shot. That’s all you can do. If it doesn’t work out. You didn’t fail. You tried, and that is more than most people ever do. Always have faith in yourself. Never forget that I always have faith in you, I am your number one fan, your biggest cheerleader, and I will always encourage you to follow your dreams.
If I could let go,
I’d be okay.
I’d be okay.