On a loop

For the past few days...

I am 8 years old. And a few months (those few months are important when you're 8). Mom is really sick - she has cancer. She wears wigs all the time, because she doesn't have any hair. I remember the first time she went totally bald - the chemo made most of her hair fall out anyway, so she and dad went to the bathroom, closed the door, and a few minutes later both emerged. Mom had no hair at all. So, yeah, she doesn't. The wigs make her look old. Maybe everyone over 30 looks old when you're only 8.

So I'm eight years old. And my mom is leading my dad out the front door, her tiny 5-foot frame pulling all 6'4" of him toward the front door to leave. And he is crying, and saying, "I'm sorry" over and over. I don't know what is happening but I love my dad and I'm sad and scared. I know they fight a lot. Is this about that?

Later, when he is gone and mom is home, I beg her to tell me what happened. For the longest time, she won't tell me. She doesn't want to hurt me. She doesn't want to scare me. She doesn't want to destroy her little daddy's girl. But I persist, and she relents. And all of the sudden I am terrified of my dad. I can hardly believe he did those things, but my mom loves me, and she wouldn't lie to me, and I can tell by how sad she is and everything that has happened, that she is telling the truth.

Suddenly my feelings for my dad are a tornado. I love him but I fear him. Not in the way I usually do - not in the better behave, better show respect, better be good or you'll get in big trouble kind of way. No, I'm scared of him because he hurt my sisters, my best friends.

I don't see him again before we move from our home in Virginia to my grandmother's home in Illinois. Nobody tells me this, but we are moving there so that my grandmother can take care of me when mom dies. Nobody tells me mom is really going to die. Nobody tells me if I will ever see my dad again.

We start seeing a social worker. She asks if he ever touched me. She asks all kinds of questions that I don't really want to talk about. And I hate talking to her. I hate that she thinks my dad is a monster. I hate that we can't have real milk at Grandma's house, because she is poor and we get water mixed with powdered milk. I hate that everything is different here. And I hate missing my dad.

A few weeks after she dies, my dad calls. He wants to know how I am, how mom is. Nobody told him she died. None of the adults, the ones who are supposed to love and protect and care for me, told him. I have to tell him that his wife died. I have to hear him cry.

I am 8 years old.

I wish

That it could be my turn again. I know it might not ever be. I am constantly trying to be ok with that. I'm forgettable to the one(s) I want(ed), and seem to be attracting the ones I don't.

I want to be loved. I want to love. I'm good at it - I like having someone to love and care for and hold and screw and talk to.

But it seems so elusive, and the older I get, the less likely it seems it will be.

Moral weight

I'm reading this book right now - Big Brother. It was slow getting started (to me) but wow, it has made me think a LOT. In the book, a woman who lives with her husband and his two teenage children has a brother come for a lengthy visit.

The woman was once a caterer and is now a successful business owner, making pull-string dolls. Her family lives comfortably off the money she makes; money not made by any massive ambition but rather, mostly luck. She loves to cook and resents the health and fitness freak side of her husband, often taking it as an affront to her own 20-pound weight gain as well as her culinary expertise.

Enter the brother. Edison is a jazz musician who is between homes, and between gigs. Her husband is not happy that he's coming for an extended visit, and unhappier still when Edison shows up as an obese person nobody recognizes. He finally snaps and unloads on Edison, in front of the whole family. And Edison's response is that his weight is not a character flaw. He (rightly) points out that he's not a pedophile or thief or murderer.

That scene made me think a lot. I myself am overweight, and it's relatively new. I'm 42, and was fairly thin my whole life til my mid 30s (I am about 30-40 pounds heavier now than I was then, depending on the year). I can attribute this to a lot of things, but I've always felt it boils down to a lack of self control. I eat and drink too much, and don't move enough. Pretty simple. But I have often thought of it as a character flaw; after all, gluttony is a "sin," right? A lack of self discipline over something that seems like it should be simple almost seems juvenile.

Even so, the one thing Edison got wrong was that his being overweight didn't hurt anyone but himself. It hurt his sister to see him clearly not himself (at least, not the "himself" that she had known her whole life to this point). It hurt his brother-in-law because his immense appetite made messes in their home and left a dent in their budget. His weight broke a beloved, unique chair that his brother-in-law had made himself. And, if left long enough to cause health problems, it would cause both his sister and niece (both who loved him and enjoyed his company) immense emotional pain.

Of course obesity is not on the scale of jailable offenses. But to say it's a harmless thing gets it a bit wrong too. I don't know that my weight issues extend to the point of a "sin" because so far I can't see that it has a measurable effect on anyone else in my life. And to be fair, we all have some character flaws - to look at a man with 200 extra pounds and say he is worth less because of it, while being ok that our best friend regularly cheats on his wife...that is hypocritical. We all fall short, just in different ways.

So when I look at others who are very, very overweight, and see their bodies and not their personhood...it's just wrong. And clearly I am not in a position to judge, because I'm overweight too - just by a different degree.

Gonna be thinking about this one for awhile.

Please

Please wake up tomorrow.

Please wake up tomorrow

PLEASE WAKE UP TOMORROW.

This is my biggest fear after a day like today: that I will kiss your sweet head, and tell you goodnight, and it will be the last time I ever get to do it.

pleasewakeuptomorrow

"I'm an empath. I can't help it."

I say those words a lot. I don't know how to not take on the pain and stress of my loved ones myself.

Today I got a call from one of my employees, a young man we hired a little over a year ago. While he worked for us, I became somewhat close to him and his little family (he has a wife and two babies), so I consider him more than a coworker; he is a friend. I even had them over for Christmas dinner last year, as they didn't really have anyone here. He's such a good man, a good employee, and due to the nature of our work he's been moved from place to place.

I just found out that his contract was ending early - like, today. He knew it was coming and has been looking for work, but while he waits for his citizenship (he's a foreign national), it's been difficult.

I just like him so much and it makes me so sad. I know he's worried about taking care of his family, and how they will manage (especially after we moved him half way across the country to work for us, then moved him back). I know they will be ok, I am sure of it, but at the moment it just sucks and my heart hurts for him.

I sure hope he gets some good news soon.

Can't say it out loud

So I write it.

The thing is, I do care. About you. There. It's not a bunny boiler, stalker, obsessive thing. But I do care. It's a lot easier to NOT care, believe me - I've gotten pretty good at that. But I do, and I keep it in check because...

...because I live here, and you live there.
...because I've never met you in person (more on this later).
...because a good connection isn't always IT.
...because I keep hoping we'll each meet someone where the logistics are easier.
...because I think - maybe I even hope - your nights are sometimes spent with a lover.
...because no matter what, I think I'll always want you to be my friend.

I read a lot about whether you can truly know someone if you haven't met them in person. Some think you can't. I would argue the opposite. And furthermore, I think there are plenty of people we DO know in person, that we don't know as well as we think. One of my best friends in the entire world, I've never met in person. He's no less real or known to me than the people I see every day. He knows pretty much all my secrets. He knows what moves me, what I value, what I think. He often knows what I'll do next before I do. He knows me. And I know him. Never having been in the same physical place doesn't change that.

I fell in love with my 2nd husband online. Being in person with him was no different. I loved him before I ever held him. It happens. I think because of the way it ended, I'm reluctant now, but I am smart enough to know it wasn't the method of our introduction that caused the problems.

So I'll care about you, and it's ok if you do, or if you don't. But my heart's big, and it's strong.