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

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

March 10, 2010

Dear Sleep,

We are battling again. I don't like this.

We fight way to often. Can't we just get along? You wore me out completely while I was pregnant by being so elusive. It really wasn't fair. I slept more after my son was born that I did while pregnant with him. Where did you go in those moments when I needed you most?

You came back with a vengeance after I had him. I remember coming home from the hospital, about a week after Hunter was born and laying in bed. I used to be so hot under the covers that I'd sleep with them completely kicked off, in little to no clothes. I remember sleeping in socks, long pants and a long sleeved shirt, under three blankets and still feeling cold. I laid on my back, it was the only position I could really do that wouldn't aggravate my healing c-section. I was still in some pain, so took a low grade pain killer and you came swiftly to me. You were like a lover returning from war and your embrace was warm and so welcoming. I stayed with you for hours, in a deep and soothing sleep.

That was the best sleep I had had in years.

Last night was close to the worst. Every noise, ever smell, every touch from the body next to me sent you further and further away. I hate that. All my old tricks to find you really didn't do anything, and here I am, hours before my bed time, ready to just go to sleep.

I think its time to pull out the old tricks. I'm going to put fresh, clean sheets on the bed. They were just washed today and smell so lovely. After that, I am going to have a shower with some new soothing body wash that I got (it's a cucumber scent, I think that should be relaxing). Then I will put on some fresh sleeping clothes, check on the baby and go to bed.

I will capture you tonight, I'm sure of it.

Soon to be together.. with desire.

Love,
ALY

Happy Birthday, Ted

February 18, 2010

Ted,

Happy Birthday, Bastard.

Only with you could I start a letter this way and know that you'll find as much humor in it as I do.

Really, Happy Birthday brother.

I feel awful. First of all I am a day late on this well wish. Your birthday was yesterday. I knew this in the back of my mind yet, somehow, I got distracted and my lack of desire to touch my computer has really hampered my ability to keep in touch and keep myself up to date with these things. Facebook reminds me of birthdays, events and the like, but little good it does me if I don't look at it, right?

My job all day requires me to stare at a computer. I go through these phases where the last thing I want to do when I get home is look at another computer screen. Fuck it, I say. I'm getting older and my eyes get tired.

I also feel bad because I would have loved to have called but I've been lazy and always forget to add your phone number into my cell phone after you call. I'm a horrible friend at times. I get so wrapped up in my desire for solitude that when these moments come, where I want to reach out to people, I've almost made it impossible for me to reach them.

This is going to be short, maybe sweet. It's late for me. Fighting a cold here and sleep has been evasive. I need to go to bed soon and try to get a good sleep in. My mornings are very busy these days and a good rest is required. I get up at six and then after getting myself cleaned and dressed, I move on to the baby. I love the extra time with him in the morning (now I get to see him before I leave for work, unlike before) but it means about half an hour less of sleep.

I miss you, I love you. I owe you a better letter than this...

I will write one. I promise.

Until then, be strong, my brother.

Congrats on another year...

Love,
A.L.Y

Dear Mr. J.D. Salinger

February 7, 2010

Mr. J. D. Salinger,

We've had a torrid relationship, haven't we? You, Sir, were my first great love, my first great obsession. To this very day, you sit above me at my writing desk, looking down at my from the shelf above my monitor. Good relationships, like ours, last until the bitter end and then some.

I felt a little twinge at the news of your passing. Wasn't anyone standing in the rye to catch you as you ran past? Where was your dear Holden? Was he sitting, depressed, on a subway platform? Was he drinking coffee at a table, thinking how he just doesn't give a goddamn care enough to leave the house and actually go to the field of rye to save you?

My first introduction to you was when I was at the tender and impressionable age of 17. High School, the golden years as we are to refer to them. I had a major project to do in my English class, one that would be worth a big chunk of my grade and I was lost without an idea in the world. My teacher suggested "The Cather in the Rye." He told me to read it, to see if I liked it and if it did, he suggested I make a study guide for the book. He handed me a small, hardcover edition of the book. It was very new, with a somewhat out of place rainbow in the top left hand corner of the cover. The text with the title was black, thick and strong. I wasn't looking forward to reading it. I think the only thing that made me read the book was the fact that I had no other leads for this project. I laid in my bed at the end of the day and opened the book, making the promise to myself to just get through the first chapter and then make a decision tomorrow.

Mr. Salinger, I stayed up all night reading that damn book. I almost finished it over night. I was instantly drawn in and enraptured with it.

For a good eight months, I loved your book, Mr. Salinger. I read, and re-read and re-read again. I became a clone of Holden and even started to talk like him, saying goddamn all the time. I took that book with me everywhere and would open it to read passages I had marked, pages I had memorized. I was obsessed.

I feel in love with Holden, which many people may find a complete oddity. Holden - the cold and frustrated young boy. Holden, the depressed and soulful. I feel in love with him because I was so like him. Our pain mirrored each other and I never thought I would find a man as perfect for me as Holden.

The project was easy. How could you not find the time or inspiration to write about something or someone you desire, with your whole body. I was so smitten. I spent my evenings at home, after my project was done, turning your lovely book into a full stage production. I wrote the script by hand, copying your exact words, you very dialogue. I wrote "The Catcher in the Rye" along side you and understood it even more than I thought I could.

You could imagine my pain when I present the script to the schools drama department as was told I had a cold chance in hell of having the play produced - ever. My drama teacher, who loved the script, told me more about you and your desire to keep Holden tightly under your wing. I cursed you, wished you let your baby grow up and leave the nest. I cursed you. I could not understand how you could not want to share Holden with the world.

I put you away. I stuck "The Catcher in the Rye" up in my book shelf and left it there. I buried the script I wrote away in filing cabinet.

These things, these reminders of you, stayed with me through three moves and its only now, years and years later that I wonder about them. "The Catcher in the Rye" was re-read recently, maybe three or so years ago? But where is the script? I wouldn't have thrown it out, I wouldn't have. I haven't seen in in years. I was angry with you, but I don't think I could have throw it away. Could I?

It's only now, years later, that I understand your connection with Holden. I wouldn't have wanted to let him go into the world either. He's to pure of heart to survive the onslaught that would have come around him. I realize this now, as an adult. My obsession made me blind and for that, I ask forgiveness. I was to young and stupid to understand. I was too in love and too obsessed to see beyond my rose colored glasses.

It's clear to me now.

Rest well, Mr. Salinger.

Regards,
A.L.Y

Dear Gin

January 31, 2010

Dear Gin,

I curse you.

I love you.

I hate the fact that I love you this much.

I think you have been angry at me for not being around as often as I used to be.

I'm sorry.

No need to take it out on me in this way.

The headache I had this morning from my night in your intoxicating embrace was enough.

Why the second, worse round?

I know I haven't been around as much as you would have liked.

I haven't been around as much as I'd have liked.

Forgive me.

You are sweet on my lips. I made love to you last night.

And like a women scorned, I am in pain.

Damn you, Gin.

Till we meet again, in some random bar, in some strangers house, in a familiar setting, know this:

I love you but I don't love your wrath.

Regards,
Penny Lane

Dear Hunter

January 30, 2010

Dear Hunter,

It's early on a Saturday evening. The apartment is quiet, save for some trashy reality TV show making noise in the background. You father is sleeping in the bedroom and you are not here. Earlier today we took you to visit your grandparents. You are going to be spending the night with them while your father and I go out tonight.

I have a gig. I'm going to be spinning some tunes at this event/fundraiser for the Winnipeg Ska and Reggae Festival called "The Ladies of the Winnipeg Ska and Reggae Festival" - original, huh? Trust me, the name was not my idea. I'll be DJ'ing along with three other ladies tonight, and for once I'm actually happy to be going first. I usually hate being stuck with the opening slot but ska and reggae, surprisingly, is not my favorite nor my strength. I enjoy the music, I play some of it on my radio show and I have been on the ska and reggae festival's organizing committee since day one but I really don't know how comfortable I feel with spinning a whole set of the stuff. It will be interesting.

We miss you. Your dad and I got home, had some food and while sitting on the sofa watching TV, we both noticed how quiet it was.

"I miss Hunter." I said. Your dad said he did too. I started to wonder what you were doing with your grandparents and figured that they were probably sitting you down at the table, helping you feed yourself some dinner. Your at that age now where you constantly want to feed yourself, but you lack the corodination to do it efficiently and without a huge mess. I know the only way you will learn is to do it so I deal with the mess you make of yourself. Besides, I packed soap and towels for you so grandma will probably give you a bath before bed.

On my desk, next to me is a picture you drew at day care this week. Well, more like a piece of paper that you scribbled all over with markers. Child, you have changed me so much. I used to look at these horrible 'pictures' people had on their refrigerators or hanging in their cubicals at work and wonder why on earth someone would not only save, but cherish something so, well, worthless? Its not what the picture is, I suppose. You made this, you created it and found joy in the process and as your mother, I am so proud of you and of this scrap of paper. I want to hang it up somewhere, but I first have to remember to date the back of it.

Hunter, age 13 months. January 2010.

Done. Next step will be to tack it up on the refrigerator.

I'm excited about picking you up tomorrow afternoon. I do feel guilty about leaving you with your grandparents overnight but this way your father and I can both go out and have a good time. We don't really get to do that very much. I know you'll understand. We will be back to see you around noon tomorrow, and we'll have lunch together with grandma and grandpa.

It's cold. I'm wearing a t-shirt and wish I had a sweater. I should be getting myself ready for tonight, but really, I'm feeling lazy and most of the work has been completed anyway. I keep thinking of you, so that is why I'm writing this.

I love you, Hunter.

I suppose it goes without saying, but I want to scream it from the roof tops. Seeing the world through your eyes is incredible. I mean, I never found sneezing funny until you came around. Now I find myself making these rediculious fake sneeze in the hope that you'll laugh, just a little, at it. You have given me new eyes to see the world and they are incredible.

I should get a move on. I need to pluck my eyebrowns and its hard to do when your home. Also want to iron some clothes. Again, hard to do when you are home.

I want to kiss you good night, so at eight PM, when you will be laid down to sleep, I am going to close my eyes and imagine me, kissing you.

Night, my sweet son.

See you tomorrow,

Love,
Mom

Welcome

Welcome to My Unmailed letters, a blog which will feature letters of all sorts. Mostly, these letters will be to people I know and have personal relationships with, but letters will also be written to people I wish I knew, or people who are fictional.

This is an experiment for me. I find letter writing theraputic and rewarding. It doesn't matter if these letters will be read by their intended audience. What does matter is that they are from the heart and important.

I will try to have at least one new letter a week. This is my goal.

Thank you for joining me on this journey of discovery and letter writing.

It is a lost art, indeed.

With love,
Penny Lane