And She Smiled - a poem in remembrance

And she smiled.

She smiled a smile that I had never seen on her face before, an embarrassed smile, a smile with a blush, the blush of first love.

They played like puppies and cuddled like kittens, and she loved him.

She smiled, and she laughed, and she became a woman.

And he smiled.

He smiled while he loved her, adored her, and gave her his heart.

He pleased her with flowers and balloons, penguins and bears, love letters and turtles.

And they smiled, that smile of deep love.

They smiled, they loved, they swam, they explored, they danced, they slept, they drove, they played, they learned, they watched, they laughed, they called, they talked, they cared, they dreamed, they planned, they fought, they cried, and they parted.

But as they parted they smiled, looking into each others' eyes, a smile of hopeful love.

And she called me and said “Mom he died”.

And she cried.

We cried.

We cried for the loss of his smile, his voice, his laughter, his love for her.

We cried for the loss of their loving future.

I cried for the loss of her smile, the smile of first love, deep love, and hopeful love.

I cried for the loss of my daughter, the woman she had become, so happy in her love for him and his love for her.

I cried for the loss of the strength and the love of life he had given her.

And we remembered.

We remembered how he had made her smile, had made her laugh, had brought her out of her turtle’s shell.

We remembered how he had made her stronger, made her brighter.

We remembered his love, his laugh, his smile.

And we knew.

We knew he would want her to stay strong, stay bright, to be the woman he had helped her become, with his love, his laughter and his smile.

We knew he wouldn’t want her to lose what he had given her through his love.

And we knew he would want her to smile.

And she said “Mom he lived and we loved”.

And we smiled.

And now, again, she loves, and she smiles...

Learning to Let Go

"Don't you dare put another sticker up your nose!" or "Stop stuffing your orange peels between the couch cushions!" are commands not many of us ever imagine we'll have to utter, but we do because we are parents (or aunts and uncles).   And there are questions we don't think we should ever have to ask, like "Are you sure that was just a fart? Do you think you had better go check?" or "Why in the world would you spread chocolate pudding all over your sister's head?", but we do. Heavy sigh. 

Kids do things and say things that make adults shake their heads in wonderment.  Their little minds just view the world and process things differently than ours, and they haven't developed those social filters yet that keep them from blurting out their random thoughts or doing things which are not logical (to adults). As a result they say and do the funniest, cutest or just plain strangest things that make us adults say "Huh?", and sometimes "Duh" if we think about it for a moment and realize where they are coming from.

When my oldest daughter Stephanie, who was 2 1/2 when I gave birth to her sister, came to visit us in the hospital, I presented her with a new baby doll so she could take care of her own baby while I cared for baby Sara.  She loved her new baby and named her Andro Dandro without much thought.  She ogled over Sara for a minute then grabbed Andro Dandro, sat down in the big rocking chair, wrinkled her brow as she looked at the little plastic baby bottle (which she quickly set aside), pulled the eyelet hem of her purple dress up to her neck, placed the doll's face to her bare chest, then proudly "nursed" her like I was nursing Sara.  My sister-in-law pursed her lips and rolled her eyes, but I thought it was the cutest thing ever and it made perfect sense to me.

Stephanie was pretty verbal when she was little so I was able to get good insight into what she was thinking in that cute little overly-worried head of hers.  I could tell by her many questions she was always watching, listening, and thinking, thinking, thinking, worrying, worrying, worrying.  Her big brown eyes showed it.  But although she spoke early she didn't speak clearly when she asked me those revealing questions.  "Is it going to fundow, wain and whightning tonight?", she would ask me every night as I tucked her in. She wouldn't settle into bed until I reassured her it was not going to thunder, rain or lightening, and if it did I was there to keep her safe.

Oh, I just got it...Andro was really Andrew, or maybe Andrea! 

When she was 3 1/2 we planned to move to a larger house and I could tell the pending move worried her.  One day she asked in her whiny voice, "Why aw we moving to dat udow house, Mommy?"

"Because it's bigger," I replied.

She looked thoughtful for a moment then asked, "But wiw I stiw be abow to weach the doe-knobs?"

It still makes me laugh to think about the image she must have had of a "bigger house", with her looking up at a much too tall door and the door knob way out of reach, like a shrunken Alice in Wonderland. 

But this one I don't quite get. I remember once reading on my front porch while my girls, who were about 6 and 8 1/2 years old at the time, played together in the other room. They were being a little too quiet, other than giggles -- first both of them giggling, then just one of them -- so I knew something was up but I was too engrossed in my novel to get up and look.  A few minutes later Stephanie came to me snickering, with a Polaroid photo of her sister Sara staring wide-eyed at the camera and sitting on the floor, with her arms and legs tied tightly with a jump rope, and her mouth gagged. Stephanie had written on the bottom of the photo, "Wanted Dead or Alive". I calmly handed the snapshot back to her and said, "Why do you need a Wanted poster if you already have her?"

"Oh yeah," she replied, disappointed, but then she shrugged and started to turn, with an evil smile forming on her cute little mouth.  I listened closely to make sure she untied Sara, then went back to reading.

Sara was the philosopher when she was little and would say things that didn't make me question so much what she was thinking as much as what I was thinking.  Early on it was her habit to observe adults and then make comments on their behavior.  One time she listened as her father and I bickered because he had thrown my panty hose (this was a long time ago) in the wash with clothing that had Velcro closures (this was a long time ago) and they come out a mass of snags and runs. I couldn't believe he would be so stupid as to wash my pantyhose in the wash with those clothes; he couldn't believe I could be so petty about him washing them.  As we continued to squabble about it Sara followed me, pulling at my shirt, saying "Mommy, but Mommy...".  Finally I stopped and impatiently said, "Sara, what do you want?!"

She looked up at me with her big blue eyes and said "What's more important, a husband or pantyhose?"

A six year old's comment stopped me in my tracks and took my breath away.  Even now, 15 years later, when I or someone else bitches about something petty, I stop and think of those wise words.  "Out of the mouths of babes", as they say.

One time we were eating dinner and I said to my then husband, "Oh, I should probably tell you because I'm sure someone saw us and will tell you, and then you will wonder why I didn't say anything, but I ran into Brad in the parking lot of the grocery store and we talked awhile."

Right away Steph, in her worried tone piped in, "Brad, who is Brad?"

"My high school boyfriend," I replied.

Before her father could speak she quickly jumped back in, while throwing him a worried look, "But I thought he lived far away!"

"He does.  He's back in the area for a job interview."

"Oh great," said their dad, finally getting a turn to speak. "So I suppose you told him you hope he gets the job so you can see more of him?" he huffed and rolled his eyes.

Sara picked up on that one way too fast and said, as she was ready to take a bite of her hotdog, "See more of him, you mean like see his whacker?"

I thought their dad was going to choke on his hotdog.  "Sara, where did you ever hear that word?", I gasped, but the more we questioned her, and tried hard not to laugh about it, the more she said, eventually relating the hotdog she was eating to what she had heard from the boys at the babysitter's about "whackers".

My girls are now 21 and 23 and I miss their little girl voices and their funny ways all too much and all too often. I sure wish I could see those little faces again and hold their tiny bodies in my arms. I know I'm very fortunate to live with another little girl now, one who keeps me in stitches with her hilarious comments and actions, but often I can't help but be sad that my Sara and Stephanie are grown and on their own.  Sometimes when I'm with them I get a blurry glimpse of the adorable little girls they used to be, but mostly I get a clear view of the strong, beautiful women they are becoming. It's just part of being a parent -- putting all you have into raising your children up, then learning to let them go. It makes my heart hurt.

That Other Woman

Recently I have been wondering what they call that gap, that space that lies between the person that we are and the person we aspire to be.  I'm sure psychologists have a name for it but I don't know it yet.  I wonder too what they call the difference between how we perceive ourselves and how others perceive us. My daughter Sara said she learned about this topic in one of her psychology classes and she remembered those gaps relate somehow to depression, which I wasn't surprised to hear. It is funny how we can comprehend things or believe in things even when we don't know the proper names for them or understand the theories behind them.

Sometimes I feel that space between who I want to be and who I am is really small, just a tiny margin, but sometimes I am reminded the gap is huge and the woman I aspire to be is just a blurry mirage somewhere in the distance. The larger the gap the more I beat myself up for not doing what I feel I should be doing in order to become the woman I want to be: not walking enough, cooking more, spending enough time with the kids, saving enough money, doing more for others, being more patient, being more "successful" in my career, painting more, cleaning more, being more adventurous, traveling more -- and I never coupon, Zumba, knit, compost, garden, bake my own bread, run a 5k, etc., etc.  You know, all those things the other women on facebook do.

Some mornings I wake up and take stock of reality, or someone -- a friend, a co-worker, a spouse -- points out something that makes me realize my self-perception doesn't quite match the reality of my actions, and the width of that space is undeniable. It's difficult to realize that you are not what you thought you were, or that space between what you aspire to be and what you are is growing by leaps and bounds.  That is disillusionment.  We have an illusion of ourselves or life in general then realize what we believed isn't true. I think I understand why that would cause depression.

I know all too well you can't just hope to reach a goal, you have to do something to reach the goal -- you have to make a choice to move forward and make an effort to get there. But I am continually reminded that sometimes no matter how hard we try, no matter how much we plan, no matter how much we want it, sometimes things that are out of our control impact the outcome of our efforts.  We simply can't control everything and everyone around us.  We make choices, we make plans, we make a strong effort, but things happen or other people do things that we didn't anticipate. Sometimes our timing is off, or the universe's timing is off, or that greater force--or God--has other plans, and there is another delay in reaching our goal.

That delay often gets me anxious and frustrated. It makes me feel like I didn't try hard enough or I didn't want it bad enough.  It makes me feel like I failed...again.

Often, though, I am reminded that it's not reaching that long sought after goal or set of goals that brings me true happiness.  Really it's all the big and little surprises, the unexpected joys and sorrows, the obstacles and challenges--all the things I didn't plan and anticipate--that make life worth living.

When I least expect it, when I didn't have plans for it, a special person, or several special people, come into my life and give me a new purpose, one I never imagine existed before.  My priorities change. My plans change.  The outcome of all my efforts change and I feel a huge shift in how I feel about myself and my vision for my future. At first, and every once in a while, that shift feels really uncomfortable and I don't know how to deal with it; but, as it feels more comfortable (or maybe I am more accepting of the discomfort), more natural, I realize perhaps that woman I thought I should be, or I was trying to be, isn't at all the woman I am meant to be.