- Kahlil Gibron, The Prophet
Dear Ma,
I was thinking that it's odd that I feel compelled to write to you so much lately. You'd think that as more time passes, the less I'd feel like I need to do this. But I guess that's just one more thing about me that doesn't quite fit expectations. I guess I'm writing to you more, because it's a way for me to keep you close. It's been more than two and a half years, and some days, you feel so far away.
Your birthday is coming up. Already - for a couple of weeks - I've been in a mood about it. Cranky. Distracted. Unable to sleep. Unable to write (especially because I've been realizing that what I need to be writing right now is the part with Ramona and her mom....).
I was on the road all last week conducting site visits for work. Lots of time alone in the car to think. About you, about the misadventures (about the fact that they're going to end someday...probably about a year from now), about things I want to change in my life. When it all gets too heavy (and it does a lot), I try to go back to the list of things that bring me joy. I try to DO SOMETHING, because that always seems to help.
I started plotting the last of the misadventures. I've got Vermont all planned out, just need to find out when Em can come to do it with me. While site visiting up north, I figured out how I want to do Canada; I just hope I can make that one happen the way I want it to. I made a list of all the ones I want to do and the partners in awesome yet to be included. ...And then, like magic, I had some ideas about the book. (Not Ramona and her mom, surprisingly, but Ira and hers.)
Tonight, I made some paintings. It's part of what I've got planned for your birthday (to make it suck less for me and hopefully to bring a little light into the lives of some friends). I haven't painted in forever, and I forget why. A lot of the paints had dried out, so I didn't have a lot of colors to choose from. They aren't particularly amazing, but it was fun making them. I made a mess, and I didn't care. Not even a little. And for a few minutes there, joy. Joy in the midst of all the yuck that has been permeating for the last few weeks, that I'm sure will continue to permeate for weeks to come.
There's this line from an episode of Dollhouse that I've clung to since you died:
“You don't get past it. It just becomes a part of who you are.” The thing I didn't think about was how there are all these different parts of me -- for example, the part of me that likes to paint -- that sometimes fade into the background a bit, but sometimes stand so vividly front and center. Always part of me, but churning in unpredictable ways. And learning to live without a mom is like that, too. Some days -- probably even most days -- I feel like a real person who thinks and feels and wants to make the world a better place, who happens to also miss her mom. But other days, I feel your absence like a physical pain and there's no telling when or how things will shift again.
Today, I'm thankful that it seems to have gone the way of moving from physical pain to more of a deep longing. I'll take that.
Miss you, Ma.
Love, Tara
