i gave up my seat on the chinatown bus to a woman with a baby in her arms and a small child by her side. she was going to have the older child sit alone, next to me, when i made the offer to move so they could all sit together.
the baby she held was all bundled up in blankets it took me a minute to realize what it was she had in her arms. during the trip, the baby cried off and on, and she held the bundle of blankets and rocked her body against the seat to comfort it. it was a very ordinary gesture in a very ordinary scenario. i really noticed the tiny voice crying and the way she tried to calm the voice down. i thought to myself about the baby photos i was looking through last week. the way my mom held me. my dad too in these photos. i thought of all that care, all that time that happened before i could remember it. i thought how now i am so big, old, so far from being a baby anyone would hold if it cried. the thought started as 'i'll never be a little baby like that again' and turned into 'i am no longer anyone's child' it was a heavy lonely realization i had sitting behind that woman. i am a grandchild, i am a friend, i am housemate--the list continues. but i will never be anyone's child. it feels like such a sudden shift. i suppose there is no way it could've happened gradually. i just wonder how long it will take for this to be as normal as the past 30 years of being a kid, both a daughter and later a son. will it be another 30 years? will i become enough other things-some sort of professional holding a title, a long term partner with someone else, someone in a child's life--that it won't feel so hard to no longer be anyone's child in the world.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
losing things
i think i've lost your mandala bracelet. i've been wearing it just about everyday since i found it next to your empty chair. i feel careless. i'm terrible with jewelry, i take things off and set them down without even realizing i am doing so. i like wearing it, even though it pinches me at times and i end up putting it into my pocket.
it makes me think about a talk we had years ago, way before you were sick and i probably thought you would live to be a really old lady.
we had lots of talks about reincarnation and after life and things like this. we were talking one day about ways of communicating from 'the beyond' so we would know the other was still there.
we chatted for a while and came up with that you would help me find things i've lost. this is something you did all the time for me. somehow i would lose something and look for it forever and you'd walk into the room and find it in seconds. even when i wasn't living at home, over the phone you'd have a suggestion for me of where to look and were almost always right.
i can't find this bracelet anywhere. the past few weeks i've been losing everything. i have even tried asking you for your help, hoping an object will just appear in my path and i can feel a little closer to you. none of this has happened. i'm not sure what this means about our agreement, or where you are, or anything. i want so badly to feel connected to you. i don't know where you are and if any of my words or wishes can be heard by you.
it makes me think about a talk we had years ago, way before you were sick and i probably thought you would live to be a really old lady.
we had lots of talks about reincarnation and after life and things like this. we were talking one day about ways of communicating from 'the beyond' so we would know the other was still there.
we chatted for a while and came up with that you would help me find things i've lost. this is something you did all the time for me. somehow i would lose something and look for it forever and you'd walk into the room and find it in seconds. even when i wasn't living at home, over the phone you'd have a suggestion for me of where to look and were almost always right.
i can't find this bracelet anywhere. the past few weeks i've been losing everything. i have even tried asking you for your help, hoping an object will just appear in my path and i can feel a little closer to you. none of this has happened. i'm not sure what this means about our agreement, or where you are, or anything. i want so badly to feel connected to you. i don't know where you are and if any of my words or wishes can be heard by you.
Monday, January 12, 2009
12-29-08
my grandmother said something funny today while we were playing yet another game of poker.
"i've never heard that before" i said
"i got if from your mom" she answered. '"she used to always say' with my luck, when my ship comes in, i'll be at the airport"
"i've never heard that before" i said
"i got if from your mom" she answered. '"she used to always say' with my luck, when my ship comes in, i'll be at the airport"
Christmas
i woke up christmas day morning in an empty house. well, empty of people. all night one of the cats slept with me, which was very comforting.
the elvis presley song 'blue christmas' is in my head, like someone put it on the record player as soon as my eyes opened up.
the elvis presley song 'blue christmas' is in my head, like someone put it on the record player as soon as my eyes opened up.
christmas eve
christmas eve:
i plugged the tree in while i wrapped presents. it was after midnight. the neighbors had a very loud party. there were colored lights pouring out onto the street like their living room was a disco. i heard a d.j. talking in spanish over salsa music for maybe 2 hours. a big pre-christmas party, i guess.
i had just retuned home to feed the cats and wrap gifts and attempt to pack. i went down to newark, de, which is where i spent the majority of christmases in my life. not to see my mom, but i passed the neighborhood that was home for almost 15 years. about a minute up the road from where my mom once lived is where the haines have a house. i've never spent any holidays with them. they knew my mom for about 25 years, almost as long as i knew her. they've known me that long as well. their home is very cozy. when i arrived they'd just opened a big bay window in their living room to let out some of the heat from the wood stove they had going. a big, natural tree stood in the center of the room, covered in ornaments. rose, the mom of the family, had been giving her 2 daughters ornaments every year, a tradition my mom started when i was maybe a teenager. right now i've no idea where any of the ornaments are. chances are they got carefully packed up and put into storage when my mom cleaned out my room in preparation for them selling the house that i used to go home to. this is before she got sick, when they were getting ready to fully relocate to maryland last summer.
at the haines i ate dinner with them and played christmas carols out of big books of music. there was singing, not me, i play the flute. the one daughter, elizabeth made cookies from cookie dough---mom and i used to do this. they smell the same as they did when i was 8 years old. i guess holidays are a way to organize memories from your life---rituals act as mile markers. my memory is terrible otherwise. but here i am thinking of all these things that happened on repeat every winter--cookies, tree ( though it changed from real to plastic at some point in my teens ) the ornaments that i made in first grade mixed in with nicer ones mom collected over the years.
they were so very nice to me. they don't act like it's the family plus one, they act like i've always been there. i guess it helps they've known me so long, and i have spent a lot of time at their house---even if most of that time was 15 years ago and before. the two daughters, whom i grew up with, looked like how i remember, only taller and more like women than girls. but they still laugh the same, act goofy and treat me like nothing has changed in all this time. this is comforting. not too much lately has felt familiar.
i wonder what it's like to grow up in a family like theirs--it's really all 4 of them, every year for the holidays? and it's always been like that? and they all get along pretty well. it seems pretty amazing, how relaxed it all is, and how sweet they are to each other while still very much doing their own thing. i'm glad to know families like this exist. they come together and share music, play with the dogs and cats. seems like a good balance of things.
they encourage me to stay and stay.
"you have to go back tonight?" they say
i plugged the tree in while i wrapped presents. it was after midnight. the neighbors had a very loud party. there were colored lights pouring out onto the street like their living room was a disco. i heard a d.j. talking in spanish over salsa music for maybe 2 hours. a big pre-christmas party, i guess.
i had just retuned home to feed the cats and wrap gifts and attempt to pack. i went down to newark, de, which is where i spent the majority of christmases in my life. not to see my mom, but i passed the neighborhood that was home for almost 15 years. about a minute up the road from where my mom once lived is where the haines have a house. i've never spent any holidays with them. they knew my mom for about 25 years, almost as long as i knew her. they've known me that long as well. their home is very cozy. when i arrived they'd just opened a big bay window in their living room to let out some of the heat from the wood stove they had going. a big, natural tree stood in the center of the room, covered in ornaments. rose, the mom of the family, had been giving her 2 daughters ornaments every year, a tradition my mom started when i was maybe a teenager. right now i've no idea where any of the ornaments are. chances are they got carefully packed up and put into storage when my mom cleaned out my room in preparation for them selling the house that i used to go home to. this is before she got sick, when they were getting ready to fully relocate to maryland last summer.
at the haines i ate dinner with them and played christmas carols out of big books of music. there was singing, not me, i play the flute. the one daughter, elizabeth made cookies from cookie dough---mom and i used to do this. they smell the same as they did when i was 8 years old. i guess holidays are a way to organize memories from your life---rituals act as mile markers. my memory is terrible otherwise. but here i am thinking of all these things that happened on repeat every winter--cookies, tree ( though it changed from real to plastic at some point in my teens ) the ornaments that i made in first grade mixed in with nicer ones mom collected over the years.
they were so very nice to me. they don't act like it's the family plus one, they act like i've always been there. i guess it helps they've known me so long, and i have spent a lot of time at their house---even if most of that time was 15 years ago and before. the two daughters, whom i grew up with, looked like how i remember, only taller and more like women than girls. but they still laugh the same, act goofy and treat me like nothing has changed in all this time. this is comforting. not too much lately has felt familiar.
i wonder what it's like to grow up in a family like theirs--it's really all 4 of them, every year for the holidays? and it's always been like that? and they all get along pretty well. it seems pretty amazing, how relaxed it all is, and how sweet they are to each other while still very much doing their own thing. i'm glad to know families like this exist. they come together and share music, play with the dogs and cats. seems like a good balance of things.
they encourage me to stay and stay.
"you have to go back tonight?" they say
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