The tumult and pressure seem to be worst at Christmas time.
This time last year I was thinking about my empty basement room at a friend's house. Wondering how I would pay them back for their kindness. I was arguing with J. constantly. Trying to win her back, knowing that it was a lost cause, and that I didn't even really care. I was already just going through the motions.
Go back nine years and October had bled into December. I was shiftless and hunting for something to lust after, because the only thing I wanted had gone. I was spending money I didn't have on J. just to get her. I wanted to sell out and join the ranks of the normal.
Go back another 15 years. I'm in PA with my mom. Weeping that I can't be with my dad for Christmas. She is trying to comfort me. And I don't care. That is when I stopped caring what she thought of what I did. That is when I became a story teller.
I would make intricate fantasies about my father coming to rescue me. Or my BMX launching into the sky like a jet so I could come back to CO. I would write and create and devise new and better ways to get my dad back. That was all I wanted.
And now...
I'm this single parent. Wondering what my children think of me. Wondering if I will be able to live up to what they need. Hoping beyond hope that I am. So I'm trying, hard, to embrace Christmas. But I want it to be simple. It doesn't need to be all shopping and gifts and chaos. I remember what I wanted. All I wanted was peace.
The peace of an ended relationship.
The peace of knowing where she was.
The peace of having my dad back.
Peace.
I'm hoping that my kids understand that I want them to have me. And the rest of their family. I hope they understand that I want them to fell loved, not isolated. I hope they understand that I will be there for them through everything. I hope that they understand love.
So we went to watch A Christmas Story.
And as I sit there holding b. and a. tears come.
Because I hope that the memories that they have of Christmas are the kind that make them love Christmas when they are my age.
Not the kind of memories that I have.
File under Virtue.
2 comments:
i hope your kids know a different type of Christmas then the kind you or i had growing up. i know what it means to ask mommy where daddy is and i know the look of anguish in mommy's eyes when she doesn't have a good answer. once again we are back to the question of marriage. til death do us part, that's how it is supposed to be and if it isn't it isn't marriage. once again we are on the brink of being something worth a damn. i hope we are worth a damn. i would bet on you.
I'm praying to almighty God everyday that I'm worth a damn.
Because if I'm not.
I'm lost.
We missed you on Saturday.
Much love Ja. Much love.
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