This is my letter to the world
that never wrote to me-
the simple news that Nature told
with tender majesty
Her message is committed
to hands I cannot see;
for love of her, sweet countrymen,
judge tenderly of me.
really only the last line applies. i used to find solace in emily dickinson, i used to believe there was something noble in solitude and isolation. but if she were here today i would be impatient, even enraged, at her timidity. i learned to hide, i learned to be ashamed. i learned that it was not okay to speak your own name in pride. I LEARNED TO BE QUIET. i learned to pretend i understood.
That's all over now.
Emily did not survive.
I survive.
But, surviving is not living.
What is the point without living?
I have a small box of gifts the children gave me. One is a heart, made of twisted twigs. I gave it to Belle once, as a trinket, rather than throw it away. Days later, she gave it back to me and said, Momma, you keep it. You keep the tangly heart.
Indeed.
So I have.
I am 41 years old. Now a single mom, like I always thought I would be. Only it isn't really how I thought it would be. I thought I would accept this, go on gracefully, quietly, take care of my children, be the anchor of the family. But I find myself, with my children, adrift. And I know that I do not, and did not ever, want to be in this life alone.
This is not home. This is not living. This is getting by.
I can hear the neighbors talking, sharing stories, laughing across the trees. My head pounds with thoughts I never share. To the few people who have reached out to me, I give the false me. The optimist, the can-do attitude, the bring-it-on I-can-handle-it face.
But really. Who WANTS to go through this life alone? I have lived through a childhood without family; a marriage without love; and only those who knew me years ago still hold out hope for me. Only those people who knew me as a child remember that I once was someone who expected great things of myself.
Tomorrow I will still be the mother taking care of three beautiful little people whom I can only hope will judge me tenderly. And know that everything is a choice.
Love doesn't choose you. You choose.
I chose love.
and from here, the path is hidden.
