I had a dream last night that Joseph, my husband, Desmond, my son and I, went to see an art show. It was in a building where the artists worked too. The walls were covered with small paintings on canvas, in odd shapes. Sort of like the pizza dough I rolled out last night for dinner... All paintings of faces, mostly in blues.
There were maybe 3 artists, all women. Three rooms of paintings. At some point, I realized that my mother was one of the artists. I can't remember all of the dream now. I think I was happy to see her and she was happy to see me too, which is not common in my dreams about her. I think we hugged each other and I held onto her for a while. And I wanted her to come home with me. She wouldn't come. She didn't want to come with me. I was so hurt and frustrated. I cried and carried on. I insisted on her letting me look at her face. "Let me look at your face!" I yelled. And the image that stays with me now is me holding her hair away from her face and staring at her face, her skin, the shape of her bones under her skin, the pores in her skin, the peach fuzz. But it did not look like her. She looked different than I remembered and I felt so sad. Why had she been here all along and why hadn't she looked for me? Why didn't she want to be with me now?
There is something about her dying that is the same in my brain as her leaving. Why did she leave me? Why doesn't she come back? Where did she go? What would it be like if she did come back? What would my life be like if she had never left?
My life is split almost into halves, 21 years with her and 17 years without her. The life I lived before is so far from the life I live now. I live in a different place. No-one here knew her, not even my husband. It is almost like she never was. Like I made her up. And even more like I am living a second life. I feel so disconnected from the Sarah I was before.
I have been thinking a lot about lost love. People I have loved intensely that are not really a part of my life. I have been talking a lot with my high school boyfriend, who was a big part of my life then. It connects me to that person I was in a way. And it kicks up all and every speck of feeling I have about someone leaving and not coming back.
You might say, Sarah, your mom is dead, she can't come back. I know that. What I don't know is why I don't feel her presence in my life more. I have tried, I have not tried, I have begged, I have let go, I have gotten real close, I have given it lots of room. I believe there may be a way to feel her closer to me. And because of that, part of me believes that she does not want to be close to me.
My father is alive and lives in Florida. I do not know why he doesn't want to live near me. He could, if he wanted to. He has a life there. He's been there since I was 16 years old. But he could come back if he wanted to. He doesn't want to. I wish he did.
I am having a hard time understanding why people who love each other don't want to be near each other. And I have been angry for days on end.
I went to Los Angeles to visit my high school boyfriend last month. It was wonderful and terrible. He was my best friend. He is still a good friend. I did not expect him to come home with me. Or to want to come home with me, since I am married. It was so nice to be with my old friend and feel connected to a part of an older version of me, the one that had her mother, before this terrible thing happened, the one who had a life in front of her, full of potential and not a care in the world about how it would all turn out, it was going to turn out just fine, and her mother would be part of it. I hated to let that feeling go. It was like stepping in and out of time. It was like having a dream that my mother is awake and it is good and then waking up and she is dead and it is terrible.
And I think to myself, I should have looked at his face more when I was there, in Los Angeles. I did not pay attention. I miss my friend, I miss my old self, I miss my mother more than anyone should have to miss anything, I miss my father, I miss being young. And as I miss these old things, these things that I can't have, these things that are far away in time and space and spirit, I am missing this moment. It takes me away from my life I am living today. And that breaks my heart some more. I know my three year old will be four soon and someday a grown man and I will be so angry I did not spend more time looking at his face. Paying attention to his every detail. I am so busy digging through the mud of what I don't have, that I want, that I miss what I do have. And I do not know how to be in both places at once. I do not know how to integrate my life "before" and my life "after".
I suppose there have been times in my life when I could. This is always up and down. On and off. Sometimes it is all mostly fine. And sometimes it is so far from fine. A lot of the time I flop around somewhere in the middle.
I don't have answers. I do have questions. I could fill a book with questions.
There were maybe 3 artists, all women. Three rooms of paintings. At some point, I realized that my mother was one of the artists. I can't remember all of the dream now. I think I was happy to see her and she was happy to see me too, which is not common in my dreams about her. I think we hugged each other and I held onto her for a while. And I wanted her to come home with me. She wouldn't come. She didn't want to come with me. I was so hurt and frustrated. I cried and carried on. I insisted on her letting me look at her face. "Let me look at your face!" I yelled. And the image that stays with me now is me holding her hair away from her face and staring at her face, her skin, the shape of her bones under her skin, the pores in her skin, the peach fuzz. But it did not look like her. She looked different than I remembered and I felt so sad. Why had she been here all along and why hadn't she looked for me? Why didn't she want to be with me now?
There is something about her dying that is the same in my brain as her leaving. Why did she leave me? Why doesn't she come back? Where did she go? What would it be like if she did come back? What would my life be like if she had never left?
My life is split almost into halves, 21 years with her and 17 years without her. The life I lived before is so far from the life I live now. I live in a different place. No-one here knew her, not even my husband. It is almost like she never was. Like I made her up. And even more like I am living a second life. I feel so disconnected from the Sarah I was before.
I have been thinking a lot about lost love. People I have loved intensely that are not really a part of my life. I have been talking a lot with my high school boyfriend, who was a big part of my life then. It connects me to that person I was in a way. And it kicks up all and every speck of feeling I have about someone leaving and not coming back.
You might say, Sarah, your mom is dead, she can't come back. I know that. What I don't know is why I don't feel her presence in my life more. I have tried, I have not tried, I have begged, I have let go, I have gotten real close, I have given it lots of room. I believe there may be a way to feel her closer to me. And because of that, part of me believes that she does not want to be close to me.
My father is alive and lives in Florida. I do not know why he doesn't want to live near me. He could, if he wanted to. He has a life there. He's been there since I was 16 years old. But he could come back if he wanted to. He doesn't want to. I wish he did.
I am having a hard time understanding why people who love each other don't want to be near each other. And I have been angry for days on end.
I went to Los Angeles to visit my high school boyfriend last month. It was wonderful and terrible. He was my best friend. He is still a good friend. I did not expect him to come home with me. Or to want to come home with me, since I am married. It was so nice to be with my old friend and feel connected to a part of an older version of me, the one that had her mother, before this terrible thing happened, the one who had a life in front of her, full of potential and not a care in the world about how it would all turn out, it was going to turn out just fine, and her mother would be part of it. I hated to let that feeling go. It was like stepping in and out of time. It was like having a dream that my mother is awake and it is good and then waking up and she is dead and it is terrible.
And I think to myself, I should have looked at his face more when I was there, in Los Angeles. I did not pay attention. I miss my friend, I miss my old self, I miss my mother more than anyone should have to miss anything, I miss my father, I miss being young. And as I miss these old things, these things that I can't have, these things that are far away in time and space and spirit, I am missing this moment. It takes me away from my life I am living today. And that breaks my heart some more. I know my three year old will be four soon and someday a grown man and I will be so angry I did not spend more time looking at his face. Paying attention to his every detail. I am so busy digging through the mud of what I don't have, that I want, that I miss what I do have. And I do not know how to be in both places at once. I do not know how to integrate my life "before" and my life "after".
I suppose there have been times in my life when I could. This is always up and down. On and off. Sometimes it is all mostly fine. And sometimes it is so far from fine. A lot of the time I flop around somewhere in the middle.
I don't have answers. I do have questions. I could fill a book with questions.
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