October 30, 2010
Dear W,
Today has been less than perfect, that's for sure. I'm not feeling myself today, I haven't been from the first moment I woke up. I probably should have better communicated that, but it seems like things were too far gone to go back to that and let you know.
What happened today? How did things get so carried away? We reached the peak of the mountain and instead of us starting the climb back down to normality, things just leveled at the climax and that is where we've been stuck, all day.
I do feel we've calmed - both of us, since this morning. I'm still hurt, but I not as worked up as I was. I'm not sure what got me going. Why was I so stressed out over those little errands?
I think life in general is just stressing me out these days. I feel stretched way to thin, I feel like I work very hard and get no where. I feel detached. After this week, I will be taking a break from things and will be taking it easy. I am promising myself this and hope it works out.
Tomorrow is Halloween. The day is going to be busy. I hope it will also be better.
I love you
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Apples, Cinnamon, Sugar, Flour, Butter
Dear S,
I made Apple Crisp last night. I've always found the process soothing. It's simple, I usually have the ingredients hanging around and I feel something incredible every time I make it. Apple crisp will always remind me of you.
I was young when things weren't that wonderful for you, but I remember it clearly. I was working my first job, I was 16. Sometimes, the memories are so clear of the events in your life at the time that I wonder if they really belong to me or if they are second hand - I saw them somewhere, a movie or something and imposed myself on them. I think hard and long and always come to the conclusion that no, these are false memories, they are true and they are mine.
It was hard for me when you were in the crisis center. The tension at home was excruciating and beyond my coping skills at that time. I took every work shift I was offered at that time. I didn't want to be in the house, but out doing something that distracted me from the fact that you weren't around and you were in a safe place because you needed a safe place. That scared me more than anything. I mean in moments of pure agony I think of you and wonder how you had to feel to want to destroy yourself so completely.
Visiting you there were highlights for me. The house was peaceful and I remember doing a big jig-saw puzzle with you one day. I also remember you telling me that you made Apple Crisp the night before. You marveled at how easy it was and how wonderful it tasted and with a huge smile, I remember you saying you would probably make another dish of it that night.
When you came home from the crisis center, our house was full of the scent of fresh Apple Crisp. I suppose the act was therapeutic for you, or maybe you just craved the homey taste of the dish. I really don't know because I never asked you. Why did you always want to make Apple Crisp in those first weeks at home?
When I start to peel the apples, when I mix the flour, brown sugar and butter together and dash it with cinnamon to make the top crumble, I always think of you. I miss you, I'm proud of you and I love you.
Love,
A
I made Apple Crisp last night. I've always found the process soothing. It's simple, I usually have the ingredients hanging around and I feel something incredible every time I make it. Apple crisp will always remind me of you.
I was young when things weren't that wonderful for you, but I remember it clearly. I was working my first job, I was 16. Sometimes, the memories are so clear of the events in your life at the time that I wonder if they really belong to me or if they are second hand - I saw them somewhere, a movie or something and imposed myself on them. I think hard and long and always come to the conclusion that no, these are false memories, they are true and they are mine.
It was hard for me when you were in the crisis center. The tension at home was excruciating and beyond my coping skills at that time. I took every work shift I was offered at that time. I didn't want to be in the house, but out doing something that distracted me from the fact that you weren't around and you were in a safe place because you needed a safe place. That scared me more than anything. I mean in moments of pure agony I think of you and wonder how you had to feel to want to destroy yourself so completely.
Visiting you there were highlights for me. The house was peaceful and I remember doing a big jig-saw puzzle with you one day. I also remember you telling me that you made Apple Crisp the night before. You marveled at how easy it was and how wonderful it tasted and with a huge smile, I remember you saying you would probably make another dish of it that night.
When you came home from the crisis center, our house was full of the scent of fresh Apple Crisp. I suppose the act was therapeutic for you, or maybe you just craved the homey taste of the dish. I really don't know because I never asked you. Why did you always want to make Apple Crisp in those first weeks at home?
When I start to peel the apples, when I mix the flour, brown sugar and butter together and dash it with cinnamon to make the top crumble, I always think of you. I miss you, I'm proud of you and I love you.
Love,
A
Monday, August 23, 2010
Me, Myself and I
To myself,
Ten years ago you were 21. Think hard, what was I doing back then?
-I was in University, getting close to finishing my arts degree. I think this was the year I was in my advanced creative writing class. I had a huge crush on the strange bald funny man (funny how that hasn't changed) who sat next to me. I remember driving him home a few times after class and will never forget the day he came to class wearing a sparkly 70s style T-Shirt that said "Worlds Greatest Grandma" on it. GRANDMA. He killed me, and had I met him when I was 26 or older, I would have slept with him.
-I was a drinker. I was getting away from the weed at this time and moving more towards the bottle. Both were still pretty prevalent in my life, but the drink was winning, for sure.
-I started spending my Saturday nights at Loaded Club, a mod themed night in the dark and gross looking upstairs of the Collective, which is now an American Apparel store, which I refuse to set foot in. I have issues supporting anyone whose adverts look like child porn.
-I was seriously getting involved in Buddhism. I was learning the eight fold path and studying a lot on my own.
-I was changing. I was still living at home, but not for much longer. A few years after this, I moved in with my sister, which didn't last too long. Soon after this I moved into my first apartment by myself. I miss that place. Sure it verged on ghetto but I adored it.
I never thought life would be like this ten years after the fact. Amazing how things can change. I never pictured myself tied down, with a partner and a child, but here I am.
Amazing how things have changed. The best I feel is when my child is happy. How crazy is that? I was so selfish at 21. Ten years later, my biggest joy is sneaking into my son's bedroom at night to watch him sleep.
I never thought I'd be here and I am slowly learning to enjoy this. I'm a good mother, at times. I provide for my family, I fucking bake. Sonja was right, I AM Martha Stewart.
So where will I be in ten years? What will my life be like at 41? Will it be much different? Kiddo will be a 'tween,' thought I am sure by then they will have some other crazy name for it. What kind of Mother will I be? I want to ensure I'm calm, that I'm respected by my son, but also loved. I want to be his friend, his confidant and his security. I will be his law. Trust me, this kid will have to work hard to get any thing past me.
So this is a promise to myself to stay on the right track. Don't fall prey to things that can damage you. Stay true and focused and express true love to all, at all times. My family will survive.
Love,
Me.
Ten years ago you were 21. Think hard, what was I doing back then?
-I was in University, getting close to finishing my arts degree. I think this was the year I was in my advanced creative writing class. I had a huge crush on the strange bald funny man (funny how that hasn't changed) who sat next to me. I remember driving him home a few times after class and will never forget the day he came to class wearing a sparkly 70s style T-Shirt that said "Worlds Greatest Grandma" on it. GRANDMA. He killed me, and had I met him when I was 26 or older, I would have slept with him.
-I was a drinker. I was getting away from the weed at this time and moving more towards the bottle. Both were still pretty prevalent in my life, but the drink was winning, for sure.
-I started spending my Saturday nights at Loaded Club, a mod themed night in the dark and gross looking upstairs of the Collective, which is now an American Apparel store, which I refuse to set foot in. I have issues supporting anyone whose adverts look like child porn.
-I was seriously getting involved in Buddhism. I was learning the eight fold path and studying a lot on my own.
-I was changing. I was still living at home, but not for much longer. A few years after this, I moved in with my sister, which didn't last too long. Soon after this I moved into my first apartment by myself. I miss that place. Sure it verged on ghetto but I adored it.
I never thought life would be like this ten years after the fact. Amazing how things can change. I never pictured myself tied down, with a partner and a child, but here I am.
Amazing how things have changed. The best I feel is when my child is happy. How crazy is that? I was so selfish at 21. Ten years later, my biggest joy is sneaking into my son's bedroom at night to watch him sleep.
I never thought I'd be here and I am slowly learning to enjoy this. I'm a good mother, at times. I provide for my family, I fucking bake. Sonja was right, I AM Martha Stewart.
So where will I be in ten years? What will my life be like at 41? Will it be much different? Kiddo will be a 'tween,' thought I am sure by then they will have some other crazy name for it. What kind of Mother will I be? I want to ensure I'm calm, that I'm respected by my son, but also loved. I want to be his friend, his confidant and his security. I will be his law. Trust me, this kid will have to work hard to get any thing past me.
So this is a promise to myself to stay on the right track. Don't fall prey to things that can damage you. Stay true and focused and express true love to all, at all times. My family will survive.
Love,
Me.
Monday, June 28, 2010
The Muse
Brother T,
I'm watching you, on a cold but sunny day, skipping rocks. The date stamp on the video is this past April. April - it was cold, wasn't it? But it was also beautiful in April.
I was never able to skip rocks. I always wanted to but something about the motion just doesn't mesh with me. I grew up in the country, but never spent time at the lake or around any body of water. I think its something you need to learn young, that you have to start training your body and mind at from a small age. I'm to old to learn to skip rocks.
Now your making cake. I remember that cake. I remember, as intoxicated as I was, that you asked me to take the first piece. I still have it, sitting on a shelf in my bedroom. My piece of birthday cake from arts birthday.
Those videos seem so long ago. They are what, five years ago? It's been a lifetime since then, I think.
We've had a crazy relationship, one that baffles me but also one that I value. We both know this. This city hasn't been the same since you moved away, since I became a mother, since life changed everything about who we both were back then.
It's fine, really. It's a progression. I was young then, when I first met you. I felt beyond my years, I know I acted like I was far more that I was. What the heck did I know? I was 26 years old then and I thought I knew it all. I knew nothing, nothing at all.
It pains me now, at times, to look back and see my naive personality. I knew much but I haven't lived. When I first met you, I was started to live this crazy, young adult life. It went beyond my time with you and went on until my son was born only a year and a half ago.
I wish I often had the Bates Book. I debate asking you to send it back so I can read it, work on it, get creative with it and then send it back to you. You pushed me creatively and that damn book showed me I could do these things, I could be an 'artist' of sorts, that I could provoke people and make them think.
Art is subjective, for someone like me. I don't feel I'm 'good' at it. I can't draw, I don't paint, I am unable to play any musical instrument and my writing, as of late, has been weak at best. I lack motivation. But when I had you in my life, it was a constant. I never doubted my artistic outputs and I pushed myself so fucking hard.
What now? What's happened? I use my son as an excuse as to why I don't write as much as I should. What is my excuse for that writing being crappy once I do finally take the time to sit down and pound something out? I'm at fault, really, for being so out of practice. I made a pact to myself a while ago to write EVERY day, to carry my journal around with me always, like I used to. Do you think I have done that once since I made the pact?
I keep re-making that pact, telling myself to just get on the wagon again, start over. Bring that journal with me everywhere. Take the time to write in it, or to blog, or to create something written. To be truthful, I'm removed from the art world. I'm still here, I'm lurking. My 'fame' has kept me in some circles, has allowed me to do things and go places that I need, but I'm not putting anything out there anymore and I need to change that.
Sure, you would argue my show is a creative outlet, but to me, I've even let that slide a bit at times. I'm in a constant state of adjustment these days.
Fuck it. I need to regress a little bit, retake my writing vow and remember how much I created when I first met you. I always felt this need to bring something artist and created to the table whenever I saw you, but I also knew if I didn't bring it, or if I was lacking in anyway, you would never make me feel bad about it.
Remember that night you wanted to take those swords out on the king street and have me film you swinging them around outside the Pub? As drunk as I was, common sense kicked in and I said no way. You never made me feel like a goody-two-shoes, or anything less than your equal. For that I love you.
I miss you, Brother.
ALY
I'm watching you, on a cold but sunny day, skipping rocks. The date stamp on the video is this past April. April - it was cold, wasn't it? But it was also beautiful in April.
I was never able to skip rocks. I always wanted to but something about the motion just doesn't mesh with me. I grew up in the country, but never spent time at the lake or around any body of water. I think its something you need to learn young, that you have to start training your body and mind at from a small age. I'm to old to learn to skip rocks.
Now your making cake. I remember that cake. I remember, as intoxicated as I was, that you asked me to take the first piece. I still have it, sitting on a shelf in my bedroom. My piece of birthday cake from arts birthday.
Those videos seem so long ago. They are what, five years ago? It's been a lifetime since then, I think.
We've had a crazy relationship, one that baffles me but also one that I value. We both know this. This city hasn't been the same since you moved away, since I became a mother, since life changed everything about who we both were back then.
It's fine, really. It's a progression. I was young then, when I first met you. I felt beyond my years, I know I acted like I was far more that I was. What the heck did I know? I was 26 years old then and I thought I knew it all. I knew nothing, nothing at all.
It pains me now, at times, to look back and see my naive personality. I knew much but I haven't lived. When I first met you, I was started to live this crazy, young adult life. It went beyond my time with you and went on until my son was born only a year and a half ago.
I wish I often had the Bates Book. I debate asking you to send it back so I can read it, work on it, get creative with it and then send it back to you. You pushed me creatively and that damn book showed me I could do these things, I could be an 'artist' of sorts, that I could provoke people and make them think.
Art is subjective, for someone like me. I don't feel I'm 'good' at it. I can't draw, I don't paint, I am unable to play any musical instrument and my writing, as of late, has been weak at best. I lack motivation. But when I had you in my life, it was a constant. I never doubted my artistic outputs and I pushed myself so fucking hard.
What now? What's happened? I use my son as an excuse as to why I don't write as much as I should. What is my excuse for that writing being crappy once I do finally take the time to sit down and pound something out? I'm at fault, really, for being so out of practice. I made a pact to myself a while ago to write EVERY day, to carry my journal around with me always, like I used to. Do you think I have done that once since I made the pact?
I keep re-making that pact, telling myself to just get on the wagon again, start over. Bring that journal with me everywhere. Take the time to write in it, or to blog, or to create something written. To be truthful, I'm removed from the art world. I'm still here, I'm lurking. My 'fame' has kept me in some circles, has allowed me to do things and go places that I need, but I'm not putting anything out there anymore and I need to change that.
Sure, you would argue my show is a creative outlet, but to me, I've even let that slide a bit at times. I'm in a constant state of adjustment these days.
Fuck it. I need to regress a little bit, retake my writing vow and remember how much I created when I first met you. I always felt this need to bring something artist and created to the table whenever I saw you, but I also knew if I didn't bring it, or if I was lacking in anyway, you would never make me feel bad about it.
Remember that night you wanted to take those swords out on the king street and have me film you swinging them around outside the Pub? As drunk as I was, common sense kicked in and I said no way. You never made me feel like a goody-two-shoes, or anything less than your equal. For that I love you.
I miss you, Brother.
ALY
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Love's Labour Lost
Dear C,
I was kicking myself the other day. I was feeling lonely, depressed, unloved and for the first time in about five or six years, I wanted to read your letters. I felt even worse when I realized I couldn't do that. I had gotten rid of all the evidence of you - of us.
Did I ever tell you what I did with them?
I don't remember what happened between us that made me do it, but I do know we had some sort of discussion, were talking about something and I got angry with you. I was hurt and very upset. I started to drink the bottle of red wine that was in my kitchen, and when that was done, I started in on the Gin. I drank while I stared at the box I had put all your letters in. There was a good handful in there, including the one you wrote on the back of a paper place mat in some cheap dinner. They were all there; the love letters, the hate letters, the kiss and make up letters, the toss me aside letters. I kept them all and carried them with me all this time.
I carried you with me all this time. I got my first letter from you when I was 15 years old. I'm now 31. I think I was about 27 when I got rid of them. Twenty-seven. That means I had been holding on to all those letters for over ten years. That's a long time to be lost in those words. That's a long time to constantly carry someone with you.
Regardless, I drank the gin and in a quick fit of some sort, I decided I was done holding on to our relationship. I don't know what happened. Maybe I was just tired of it, or maybe I thought it was your turn to carry it on. Whatever it was, I decided I need to be rid of those letters, and fast.
I wanted to burn them. I remember closing my eyes and seeing the fire licking the air around me as they turned to ash. I wanted to burn them.
I was drunk, but not drunk enough to realize that I should be somewhat careful about this. I took all the letters and dumped them into the kitchen sink. I grabbed the matchbox next to the sink and paused.
Maybe common sense kicked in. I don't think so, because common sense would have told me to take them out of the sink, just package them back up and hide them in the back of the closet. Don't be rash.
No, part of my common sense was telling me that maybe fire wasn't the best bet. I was drunk. What happened if the fire got out of control? Would I be able to mute it? I didn't think I could so I grabbed all the letters, shoved them back in the box and put on my shoes.
It was late, I remember. Dark outside and the weather was beautiful. I wasn't wearing a jacket. I'm thinking it was probably near the end of summer? Maybe early September? I walked along the river to the Osbourn bridge. It wasn't too far, about a ten minute walk. It didn't sober me up. At one point, close to the bridge, I was confronted by a group of young men, probably a little younger than I was. They were skateboarding around the river walk. I heard one make a comment regarding me to his buddies - something derogatory. I pretended to ignore them, kept to my path and walked by quickly. I did decided, however, to take a slightly different path home. One that would avoid them.
When I got to the bridge, I didn't think. I didn't pause. I held the box over the ledge and opened it and shook the letters out. As soon as they left the box and floated down, I remember being filled with some sort of feeling of relief, of great relief. When I saw them land in the middle of the river, laying there and not sinking down, I started to feel some pangs of regret.
Was it wrong of me to do it? Now there is no written record of us. But was there ever really an 'us' to have a written record of? You were my tragic flaw for so long that disposing of the one concrete thing about our relationship freed me.
But did I want to be freed? I used to wonder about that. Why do I still think of you, or what you are doing? Why do I often wish our paths would cross?
It's silly to think these things. It's silly for me to remember the way you made me feel, and the things you inadvertently taught me about love.
One day, I will share these things with you.. one day.
ALY
I was kicking myself the other day. I was feeling lonely, depressed, unloved and for the first time in about five or six years, I wanted to read your letters. I felt even worse when I realized I couldn't do that. I had gotten rid of all the evidence of you - of us.
Did I ever tell you what I did with them?
I don't remember what happened between us that made me do it, but I do know we had some sort of discussion, were talking about something and I got angry with you. I was hurt and very upset. I started to drink the bottle of red wine that was in my kitchen, and when that was done, I started in on the Gin. I drank while I stared at the box I had put all your letters in. There was a good handful in there, including the one you wrote on the back of a paper place mat in some cheap dinner. They were all there; the love letters, the hate letters, the kiss and make up letters, the toss me aside letters. I kept them all and carried them with me all this time.
I carried you with me all this time. I got my first letter from you when I was 15 years old. I'm now 31. I think I was about 27 when I got rid of them. Twenty-seven. That means I had been holding on to all those letters for over ten years. That's a long time to be lost in those words. That's a long time to constantly carry someone with you.
Regardless, I drank the gin and in a quick fit of some sort, I decided I was done holding on to our relationship. I don't know what happened. Maybe I was just tired of it, or maybe I thought it was your turn to carry it on. Whatever it was, I decided I need to be rid of those letters, and fast.
I wanted to burn them. I remember closing my eyes and seeing the fire licking the air around me as they turned to ash. I wanted to burn them.
I was drunk, but not drunk enough to realize that I should be somewhat careful about this. I took all the letters and dumped them into the kitchen sink. I grabbed the matchbox next to the sink and paused.
Maybe common sense kicked in. I don't think so, because common sense would have told me to take them out of the sink, just package them back up and hide them in the back of the closet. Don't be rash.
No, part of my common sense was telling me that maybe fire wasn't the best bet. I was drunk. What happened if the fire got out of control? Would I be able to mute it? I didn't think I could so I grabbed all the letters, shoved them back in the box and put on my shoes.
It was late, I remember. Dark outside and the weather was beautiful. I wasn't wearing a jacket. I'm thinking it was probably near the end of summer? Maybe early September? I walked along the river to the Osbourn bridge. It wasn't too far, about a ten minute walk. It didn't sober me up. At one point, close to the bridge, I was confronted by a group of young men, probably a little younger than I was. They were skateboarding around the river walk. I heard one make a comment regarding me to his buddies - something derogatory. I pretended to ignore them, kept to my path and walked by quickly. I did decided, however, to take a slightly different path home. One that would avoid them.
When I got to the bridge, I didn't think. I didn't pause. I held the box over the ledge and opened it and shook the letters out. As soon as they left the box and floated down, I remember being filled with some sort of feeling of relief, of great relief. When I saw them land in the middle of the river, laying there and not sinking down, I started to feel some pangs of regret.
Was it wrong of me to do it? Now there is no written record of us. But was there ever really an 'us' to have a written record of? You were my tragic flaw for so long that disposing of the one concrete thing about our relationship freed me.
But did I want to be freed? I used to wonder about that. Why do I still think of you, or what you are doing? Why do I often wish our paths would cross?
It's silly to think these things. It's silly for me to remember the way you made me feel, and the things you inadvertently taught me about love.
One day, I will share these things with you.. one day.
ALY
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
This is motherhood
April 13, 2010
Mom,
Thank you. I don't think I've said that enough and I don't think I can say it enough.
Thank you for everything. For your calm strength and for your moments of vicious anger. Thank you.
Yesterday I had an experience that has finally, in a way, made me see the vast job that motherhood is. I knew what I was in for when H was born a year and a half ago, but yesterday it all became to real for me.
It really came to me yesterday while I was in emergency with H. I was alone with him, keeping him company on the little bed they had given him, behind our curtain in the busy emergency ward when a nurse came and told me that she would be taking H to get some X-rays done. I picked him up and he hugged me so tightly, mom. I rubbed his back, I could tell he was upset. I rubbed his back like you rubbed my back when I would get upset. You still do this and I love it, I never want you to stop doing it. We walked into the room and there were two other nurses there, both very nice ladies, soft spoken. They seemed to ready to prepare me for something awful - their tone, the way they seemed to walk on egg-shells around H and I. One of the nurses came up and told me that in order to get a X ray of a young child, that they would have to place him in this device that would hold him still. She warned me that it looked awful and that he would most likely cry, but wanted me to know that it wouldn't hurt him and it would all be over soon.
They put one of those heavy X ray covers on me and I watched as two nurses carefully placed H on this small, bicycle like seat. He looked over at me and started to cry. As they held up his hands and encircled his body in the clear plastic, he started to howl and sob. In the back of my head, I heard your voice, telling me that when I am calm, H would be calm and when I am upset, H would be upset. I did my best not to cry as I watched my poor boy in that contraption, but he just looked so sad, so dejected and so upset by the situation that I too, started to cry.
I quickly composed myself, leaned down and told him what a good boy he was and that it would all be over soon and he could have a big hug and that I was so proud of him. I told him all these things as calm and comforting as I could. I wish it would have stopped him from crying, just soothed him enough, but he wasn't ready for that. As soon as they opened the plastic around his body, he reached for me and I pulled him from the device and hugged him. Again, those tiny arms wrapped tightly around me and we hugged each other, my hand rubbing his back.
By the time we were getting ready to leave the X Ray room, he stopped sobbing. The nurses gave him two stickers for being brave - one with a dog, one with a cat, but both with the caption "I WAS BRAVE." He played with the stickers and looked so happy.
As I stayed there with him, waiting for a doctor to come back to see us, I felt angry and upset and confused and concerned. My son wasn't feeling well, my son was having issues and I could only do so much to clam him, to keep him comfortable. I never want him to be in a state like that again and I never want to feel that hopeless with him again.
But, I thought, this is the curse of motherhood. I brought this beautiful being into the world and forever we will be bound to each other on such a crazy level. I sense him and I smell him on me even when he's not around. This mother bond is intense, and crazy and beautiful all at the same time and I felt it so strongly last night and I felt the hopelessness it can make you feel when you can't do anything to help, when you can fix what is wrong.
So thank you for being the strong women that I needed you to be in those moments. The moments when I was too young to tell you what was wrong, but you comforted me. The moments when I fell down and hurt myself and you where there to clean me up and kiss me better. Thank you for the moments when I said words to intentionally hurt you and you still kissed and hugged me the next day.
Thank you.
Love,
ALY
Mom,
Thank you. I don't think I've said that enough and I don't think I can say it enough.
Thank you for everything. For your calm strength and for your moments of vicious anger. Thank you.
Yesterday I had an experience that has finally, in a way, made me see the vast job that motherhood is. I knew what I was in for when H was born a year and a half ago, but yesterday it all became to real for me.
It really came to me yesterday while I was in emergency with H. I was alone with him, keeping him company on the little bed they had given him, behind our curtain in the busy emergency ward when a nurse came and told me that she would be taking H to get some X-rays done. I picked him up and he hugged me so tightly, mom. I rubbed his back, I could tell he was upset. I rubbed his back like you rubbed my back when I would get upset. You still do this and I love it, I never want you to stop doing it. We walked into the room and there were two other nurses there, both very nice ladies, soft spoken. They seemed to ready to prepare me for something awful - their tone, the way they seemed to walk on egg-shells around H and I. One of the nurses came up and told me that in order to get a X ray of a young child, that they would have to place him in this device that would hold him still. She warned me that it looked awful and that he would most likely cry, but wanted me to know that it wouldn't hurt him and it would all be over soon.
They put one of those heavy X ray covers on me and I watched as two nurses carefully placed H on this small, bicycle like seat. He looked over at me and started to cry. As they held up his hands and encircled his body in the clear plastic, he started to howl and sob. In the back of my head, I heard your voice, telling me that when I am calm, H would be calm and when I am upset, H would be upset. I did my best not to cry as I watched my poor boy in that contraption, but he just looked so sad, so dejected and so upset by the situation that I too, started to cry.
I quickly composed myself, leaned down and told him what a good boy he was and that it would all be over soon and he could have a big hug and that I was so proud of him. I told him all these things as calm and comforting as I could. I wish it would have stopped him from crying, just soothed him enough, but he wasn't ready for that. As soon as they opened the plastic around his body, he reached for me and I pulled him from the device and hugged him. Again, those tiny arms wrapped tightly around me and we hugged each other, my hand rubbing his back.
By the time we were getting ready to leave the X Ray room, he stopped sobbing. The nurses gave him two stickers for being brave - one with a dog, one with a cat, but both with the caption "I WAS BRAVE." He played with the stickers and looked so happy.
As I stayed there with him, waiting for a doctor to come back to see us, I felt angry and upset and confused and concerned. My son wasn't feeling well, my son was having issues and I could only do so much to clam him, to keep him comfortable. I never want him to be in a state like that again and I never want to feel that hopeless with him again.
But, I thought, this is the curse of motherhood. I brought this beautiful being into the world and forever we will be bound to each other on such a crazy level. I sense him and I smell him on me even when he's not around. This mother bond is intense, and crazy and beautiful all at the same time and I felt it so strongly last night and I felt the hopelessness it can make you feel when you can't do anything to help, when you can fix what is wrong.
So thank you for being the strong women that I needed you to be in those moments. The moments when I was too young to tell you what was wrong, but you comforted me. The moments when I fell down and hurt myself and you where there to clean me up and kiss me better. Thank you for the moments when I said words to intentionally hurt you and you still kissed and hugged me the next day.
Thank you.
Love,
ALY
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