For Mother

I tried to forget.
Tried rearranging my thoughts so you were expunged.
For it was too much.
No.
I wasn’t enough.
As past thoughts,
threatened to resurface.
I hid behind the facade I’d created.
but my reflection couldn’t…

Past Message

As much as I want to let it go, I must admit I can not.
The past is a part of me. It cries for my attention like that of a hungry child. It dances on the eve of my saddest memories. Even when I’ve convinced myself that I’m released from its grip, somehow it slithers back into my life. Like today.

The familiar notification icon appeared before me. I was eager to see who the message was from. But when I looked at the face, it was that of my sister… She had sent me a message.. Why? I felt the urge to protect myself rise. But instead found myself searching through her page. I gazed at images of her and my father. Her and my brother. Her and my Aunt and Mother. I looked at her picture again. Memories mixed with unhealthy emotions pushed their way to the forefront of my mind. Why did she insist on inconsistently messaging me? Like the pictures of her daughter…

I’d stared at the small stranger on my screen for hours, unsure on how to feel or react. Wasnt I supposed to feel something? A smile should have been on my face right? I was technically an Aunt…I guess. But I feared for the child. Would she suffer the same fate as I? Would she be doomed to my life? But what did my thoughts matter. The little one wasn’t my family. Family is more than technicalities and DNA. There is an undisputed bound. A mutual love and understanding. I’ve always lacked that with my relatives. So the baby remains a stranger in my inbox.

As does the subject of her new message. She explained that a person from my past was wondering about me in New York. Why? I’ve been gone 4 years and now that I’m making noise in the world you wonder about me? Why? What is the purpose of the inquisition? To satisfy the selfish need of knowing what you do not? Why can’t I live in peace?

But maybe it wouldnt matter if I wasnt so broken. I can feel me now, shattering into those familiar pieces. I’ve reassembled my heart too many times to count. I’m tired of the creeping sadness. Does it make me a monster to want to start a new? To leave them all behind. I just want my life to be mine. No more messages. No more calls. Gosh what is wrong with me?

All she did was message me, yet I can’t stop crying.

(Tomorrow I’ll write a happy post. Because I am overall happy and truly blessed. Its just the family stuff gets me down. Wish it didn’t)

Letters

Today I couldn’t sleep.

The hours ticked by quickly as if they were disguised as minutes. Restlessly, I wandered the internet. I thought of the future and planned a few ideas. I decided to check my email and a twitter message revealed itself. “Do you know that…?” The message listed 4 people that I may know who are on twitter. One randomly happened to be my mother. It woke up my curiosity and longing ache. I went on a searching spree. I typed her name in google and found her on every site. (literally)

But as I searched, never did I imagine that I’d find out in my quest, she’d been keeping up with me… My emotions knotted themselves within my chest. A video that a fellow poet made about me last year was posted on Youtube. She’d seen and liked it. (I have no clue she found it) But does that mean she searches for my name as I do hers? I stumbled across her blog. She wrote of my godfather Fred and stories of his amazing character. She spoke of work, her health, letters, and of me? She wrote that I was actively pursing my dream. Getting my Masters (um…lol) and that I’ve accomplished many creative projects as a student.

As I read, she talked more on letters. She expressed her love of them and asked where did the days of writing go. Mom has worked for the postal service for years, I always wondered what made her stay. I finally found out.

So tonight, I shall write her a letter. From now on she will always get a letter. Every month. Every year. I will write. She will know I care.

-wakeupmomo

Heart of Wreckage

This morning I discovered that my Mom was in a wreck….

Sadness and fear washed over me as I realized…she could be critically hurt, she could be dying, maybe even paralyzed…and I wouldn’t know. I found out about the wreck by viewing my sister’s facebook. Facebook, the only connection we have. For we don’t speak in person. Her pride and my sorrow wont allow the physical contact needed for I love you. No she and I are only internet related. So I’m left digging up information about those I love who don’t reciprocate it. Sad. She’s in another country and would know before me.

The right of being a daughter was never mine was it? I don’t even know how the accident happened or when. I can’t tell you if my Mom’s ok or not. What if she died…how would I know? What if my sister didn’t publicize it? I’d be lost. Can I even say I’d be as affected by it as everyone else who actually gets to hear her, see her, love her? I’ve missed my mother for years as if she was already gone or maybe as if I was already gone… I’m dead to the family right? Once she found out I wanted to write a book on my life, that was it. The  last straw. The thin threading holding us together was cut that easily. I’m already dead to my father. He tried to beat me to the point that death happened metaphorically. Maybe I’ll always have to wear frames. Find a way to need glasses permanently to hide my face, it looks just like her, but rounder. Loose the weight and becoming a spitting image of the person I’ve been chasing my whole life. Reaching but never grasping. Once we had some sort of relationship. No it wasn’t honest or that deep because the past was never discussed. I forgave her but she wont forgive herself and thus me.

Sadness cloaks me today. Wrapped tightly in its embrace, I don’t even feel like fighting it right now. It’s my only comfort. My companion since the first hit, the first smack, the nails digging into my ankle…sadness was there. What if I die tomorrow…how would she know? How would my dad know? I want to reach out now but I know I’m blocked. I wish it didn’t always hurt. I wasn’t always reminded that I’m alone. Born into something I cant claim as my own. What’s it like to be a daughter?…one day if I ever get the chance I’ll have to ask my sister.

Pray for my mother. I know she needs it.

wakeupmomo.

 

 

Laughter.

I realized how amazing it was before I could spell my name. It burst from my mother’s lips like an erupted volcano. The sound rang of happiness and purity. For when my mother laughed nothing else mattered; not the before, not the after, just the present. Her chuckle disrupted the silence, bold in its volume. Springing from its cage at strangers unaware of its power. My mother’s laughter made me forget the pain. It made her forget her worries. Laughter was our connection. In moments when I felt unloved, I aimed to find her guffaw. If I could get her to smile then there was still a chance for me in her heart. Me in her heart. Laughter was the start. Laughter was the key.

To me laughter meant love and with I could achieve anything, everything…even my father’s love. For when my father laughed, I laughed. I was reminded of saturday morning cartoons and my favorite movies, I could do nothing less than smile. In the dark moments, when I could only see the hate, I found myself trying to remember. Remember, the way my dad’s eyes lit up like ignited fireworks or the grin he made before his laughed bellowed out. The days of invincibility. When my father laughed, I was on top of the world and nothing else mattered…

But….I can’t even remember what his laugh sounds like now. Its been swept from my memory like wind of the changing seasons. I can only cling to the memories of my mother’s chuckle. The faces she makes when I’m making her laugh too much. I write this to remember. But I fear I will forget.

( I wonder if my laugh has been forgotten yet…)

wakeupmomo.

It’s the 4th….but I cried instead

I know today is 4th of July…and I’m supposed to be Happy and Celebrate but..I cried instead…

I thought my tears were random….till I realized it was a holiday. I think my heart and memories have timed themselves to these special times of the year…it sucks and it’s the only times when I’m hit with the pain of my past… Maybe one day I’ll write it out for you guys to know…but I’m not that bold yet.

But why the tears? Family… I want one so bad. A real functioning one. Mines is so messed up I don’t even consider them. It sometimes feels like a movie, My life. Like something I saw that happened to someone else. Not me. But then the holidays come and I know it was. Today I cried for my Dad. I wish he wasn’t the way he was. I think at one point I thought I could save him, from himself. I thought he’d listen to my warnings. And I think for a half a second of his life he did..then he realized he’s the villain and he and I aren’t to be friends.

But I miss his laugh. My Dad had a great laugh and he could make people laugh. He was always too vulgar and explicit with his comedy, but non the less he was funny. I remember on one of our seemingly normal nights. We were all playing cards. My ex Stepmother and I were on one team and My Dad and sister were on the other. This was the natural separation of the house. For my Dad and sister were always allies leaving me with the stepmom. She was a great partner until she betrayed me….but that was way after this game of cards. For this night I had a family. My Dad and sister lost of course. For spades is a game that I don’t play lightly and back then My ex stepmom and I would talk about life and play cards together most nights and talk about life. We knew each others motions and signals, so of course my Dad and sister had no chance.

The best part about that night was the laughter and hand jokes. My sister and I use to be in girl scouts. The girl scout symbol is 3 fingers together in the air. My sister’s hand for some odd reason could never accomplish this simple task. He fingers would curl and stay spaced out. I use to joke that when she tried it made her look handicapped. During the game I brought up this past knowledge and joked that’s why they lost, because my sister’s hands were weird. My Dad laughed loud and jovially. His belly moving as he did. Reminded me of santa clause for a split second….almost. But as he laughed my sister’s faced skewed up. She yelled “It’s yo fault! My hands are the same as yours”

He stopped laughing and chuckled “no they’re not” as he lifted up his hand and attempted the girl scout symbol. While still looking at my sister with a funny grin his hand too curled up with the 3 fingers spaced out in an awkward position. We all busted out laughing. He looked down to see his clawed hand.

I laughed hard that night and I felt like I could breathe for the first time in a while….It was one of the few times I felt loved and I loved him that night. I still love him…but from afar now. I cant afford to allow him in my life or near my goals. I fear the pain and destruction he’d bring. But I miss his laugh today and for once in a long time. I want my Daddy around.

But thats a dream 2 seconds away from being a nightmare…

Wakeupmomo.