Last year we spent Friday underneath Friday night lights. Saturday morning we rolled up to the football field adorned in our red and gold ready to cheer on tiny Titans. As soon as that game was over we shifted to red and black to cheer on our DAWGS. We being 4 of us.
This year looked a little different.
There are no more Friday night lights.
There are no more tiny Titans.
One of WE was at the game as a student of the University. The other WE was off doing big boy things. That left 2.
We became US. Just the 2 of us. Every weekend.
Our lives look a little different now and we are trying to figure it out.
Figuring it out involves a lot of food and glitter. And sprinkles. I glitter. She sprinkles.
My little girl has become my big girl. On top of our lives looking different we are navigating a shift from little girl to pre-teen. She’s adjusting to a life that she doesn’t understand. Entertaining a little one is vastly different from entertaining a pre-teen. I have also lost my touch a bit. I was better at keeping a little one busy in my younger days. But I try. She tries.
Saturday she made breakfast. With sprinkles.
We made plans to watch the BIG game. Chautercie boards are the HOT new trend so we ate our French toast sticks (with candy pieces on top) and made plans for a food board.
We shared an important right of passage—-I introduced her to Pinterest. And as a true daughter of mine she was enthralled.
Living in a college town makes game days tricky so we headed out early to stock up on supplies. We weren’t early enough. There were already fans out and about all hyped up and ready to tailgate. Bulldog tattoos on faces, red and black outfits and all kinds of fan paraphernalia. There was even a pick up truck full of frat boys riding around with a keg and a tv. At 10am.
There was lots of energy. The grocery store was popping—mainly in the beer and chip aisles, the parking lot was hopping with people headed in to get chips and beer and the roads were packed with people heading to campus. Once upon a time we would have been part of that. Not this time.
We got what we needed and scurried home.
It wasn’t long before we were already bored. It felt like the rest of the world was packing up to tailgate and we were home, ticketless, with no plans.
So we did what we do when we are bored.
Paint and glitter. I painted and glittered.
Pre-teen girl painted her face. She likes make-up. I like glitter. She’s not old enough to wear make-up outside the house but since we weren’t going anywhere I allowed it.
Close to game time we met up in the kitchen to make our board. It was fun. She was so excited. I was excited that, even in my tired old age, I’d managed to excite my girl. We made gluten-free bread. Not because we don’t eat gluten but because we were enchanted with the promise of “bread that taste like cookie dough”.
Spoiler alert—-gluten free, 4 ingredient bread does NOT taste like cookie dough and is not worth the price of cashew butter.
I checked my phone more than I should have to see if my big girl had texted from her tailgate. She hadn’t. And that was okay. She was off having fun and living the life. Big guy busted into the house, grabbed a change of clothes and darted back out. He was home for 3 minutes total. It was back to the 2 of us.
So…we made fancy drinks and giggled a bit and settled in to watch the game.
Only to discover we didn’t get the channel.
Talk about all dressed up and no place to go.
We looked at each other. And laughed.
My mantle was done so I was out of things to paint. She was made up and dressed in fancy clothes. We had a tray full of food, fancy drinks and nothing to do.
At first I thought I was failing Saturday’s. But then I stopped. She was happy today. Despite skein setbacks she was happy today. It showed by her smile; was witty and funny and smiling. And that was enough. I had her with me and she was perfectly content.
She looked at me. I looked at her. I shrugged. She shrugged. “Hey Alexa-what’s the score of the game?” we asked. Always helpful, Alexa provided it. And that became our Saturday. Snacking on a tray full of food, keeping up with the score on the tablet and us watching our own devices in between score updates.
Game day. Our team was a little smaller, our cheering looked a little different but we still managed to make our own game day.
And to our delight we got a picture from the big girl FROM THE ACTUAL GAME!
As a single parent you know all too well the pain of the PHONE CALL. There is always a call that leaves your little one hurt, sad, angry, confused or conflicted. You watch (without trying to listen) shoulders droop, smiles fade and eyes lower. Answers become one word. “Where are you?” Or “why can’t I see you?” Or “oh…you are going there….” And you know.
You know that a hug is going to be needed.
You know you can’t ask what was said. So…you stumble through. Questions are asked that you can’t answer. Opinions are formed but you try and refrain from sharing those because it’s not your place.
The phone hangs up.
Sad eyes catch yours and beg for something you don’t understand from across the room.
Will they come to you? Will they retreat to a quiet place alone? Will they be angry? If they are, how will you handle it? If they cry what will you do? Better yet…what CAN you do?
It’s not you they are mad at but you are the only one there. The only one present. The only one they feel safe with. Which means whatever they feel as they hang up the phone will be directed at you. You might not have caused the emotion but you are damn sure the one that’s got to help them navigate what they feel.
They press that red button and slowly lower the phone to their lap. And you wait. Not breathing. Not speaking. Just waiting.
One of the hardest parts of single parenting is after the hang up.
Managing the hang up sucks.
I should have a better word but I don’t.
Managing the hang up sends your emotions swirling. The hang up causes old hurt, new pain and bitter disappointments.
The moment after the hang up leaves is raw. It’s unscripted and unpredictable. It’s ugly and hard and takes every ounce of energy you possess just to survive it sometimes.
You never stop being a divorced parent.
A single parent never, ever gets to stop managing the ‘hang up’.
You can’t stop the calls. Though at times it is tempting. You can’t prepare your little one for the call. Though you try any advice about the call, about the effects of the call or helpful hints about future calls will not be appreciated.
The one person you thought would love your child as fiercely as you do will disappoint you. Worse yet, they will disappoint THEM.
No matter what led to the divorce you believe that they will do right by the little one-the innocent one in the situation. But then the ‘hang up’ happens and you realize you were wrong about that too.
The truths, my truths, I learned after the ‘hang-up? Here they are:
Single parenting never gets easier.
Out of sight-out of mind should never be a parenting philosophy.
I can’t fix her hurt. I have to try and teach her how to manage the hurt, the disappointment and the feelings she can’t even name. And I have to do this without having any feelings of my own.
Pretending there isn’t a problem doesn’t mean there isn’t a problem.
Feelings of helplessness make it hard to breath.
It’s not a child’s job to make an adult feel better about their choices. It’s an adults job to help a child navigate complicated and complex feelings.
Parenting is a full time, all-in job that you don’t get to run from. Parenting is ugly and hard and messy; parenting is also amazing, rewarding and incredible. But you have to have one to get the other. If you aren’t willing to do the hard part you’ll never experience the wonder of being your child’s ‘person’.
You can’t put lipstick on a pig.
Children learn as much by watching what you do as they do by listening to what you say.
Actions DO speak louder than words.
The saddest words in the English language are empty “I love you” said by a child in a questioning tone.
There is nothing as heart wrenching as seeing a single tear roll down the face of a little cheek. Until you realize that nothing you say, nothing you can do to stop the next one…or the one after that…or the one after that…
Having a child collapse into your arms because they feel safe there means you’ve done something right.
It never ends.
A parent is responsible for helping a child understand their perceptions. It’s our job! It’s not the other way around.
Hey—-guess what…children can go on vacation with more than one parent. Really, they can.
If you ask your child 10 questions and get a single word answer with every one you need to try harder.
Feelings of abandonment have lasting effects.
Tween years aren’t easy. But it’s part of the job. The reward….a really cool relationship when the tween years are over. But you have to put in the time to get there.
Parenting is being involved. It’s showing up. It’s doctors visits and teacher conferences. It’s school plays and morning drop off. It’s impromptu adventures. Parenting can be as loud as “clean your room”, “YAY”, “Stop!”and as quiet as “I’ve got you”, “I an proud of you” and “it’s going to be okay”. Whether loud or soft each part of parenting teaches them something.
If you parent part-time or ‘as needed’ you aren’t doing it right.
Karma is a bitch. She’s patient. She’s careful and she’s unpredictable but she’s a bitch. A relentless bitch.
Be. The. Adult.
You can’t make someone care. You can’t.
The one thing you thought would never happen…inevitably happens.
Raw disappointment takes a while to scab over.
If you don’t get a response the kid doesn’t know what to say. Or how to say what they want to say. Or they don’t trust you enough to say what they want to say.
Kids just want to love you. That’s it. In fact they love and believe and trust naturally. You don’t even have to earn it. It’s there. You just have to nurture it. And hang onto it. And accept all they are offering.
It’s like life took one look at me being UP… relaxed, and happy on the heels of my trip to paradise and said, “Hold my beer and watch this.”
Friday my little one made no less than 20 FaceTime calls to me while at work. “Please come get me momma, please!” She was spending the week at her dads but she wasn’t happy. Forget that….she was miserable. I’d encourage her all week to be brave, be happy, be sweet and to try really hard. Hearing “I don’t belong here,” changed the game.
I tried to talk her out of it. I tried to talk to her dad. I attempted to get her and her dad together so we could all talk this thru. The saying 3 is company and 4 is a crowd described that failed attempt. I was the only one interested who seemed to get that me coming to get her was a really, really big deal and shouldn’t be done without a lot of thought. No matter what I said she wasn’t retreating from her desire to come home. Her tears broke my heart. Her words that she finally found to describe how she felt crushed my soul.
I tried. I did absolutely everything I could to help mend fences. As awkward as it was, as hard as it was and despite my own personal angst—I tried. Her dads response was “WE” followed by permission to come and get her. Broken hearted for my girl I made my way to her.
It was Friday. It was at the end of the day. I had to go thru Atlanta and up the other side of Georgia. I left a little after 6p. I got there at almost 10p. A large soda and an oatmeal cream pie for dinner; I stopped only for a quick bathroom break.
I arrived and was met on the sidewalk with more bad news. My girl had taken some of the girlfriends daughters make up.
I greeted my girl and made apologies for that behavior all at the same time. She walked by me and dejectedly got into the car leaving me on the sidewalk to defend her.
I didn’t defend that behavior. I apologized for it.
But I did try and defend her in general. “I am her advocate, I am her voice,” I explained. I went on to try and explain how her perceptions as an 11 year old might not be reality for them but they were reality for her.
It was a civil exchange.
It was also unproductive.
I understood how she felt alone because I’d never felt as alone and as defeated as I did there on that sidewalk.
The Friday before Fathers Day at 10:20p I drove my crying daughter away from her father and the home he was staying at that she didn’t feel a part of.
I didn’t let her see me cry with her. It was a little bit before she raised her head from the stuffed animal she’d been hugging. “Could we get something to eat? I didn’t feel like eating today and I am hungry.”
A few minute stop and we were back on the road armed with snacks and drinks that I hoped we keep me awake and alert on our trek back to our side of the world.
“MOM! The front door was open and the back door was too!” Mid highway I got an hysterical, frantic call from my daughter. She’d gotten home to an empty house with an unlocked front door and a back door standing open. A door I knew I’d locked. “I looked all over and nothings gone but I am FREAKING OUT.” She was sobbing. My littlest one was crying and I was 2 hours away.
“Where his your brother?” When she told me he was at the shop where he worked tinkering with his truck I cursed.
I’d felt helpless to help my little girl and now I felt helpless to help my big one. “Get in your car and go there. I will stay on the phone,”. Ohhhh….ohhhh….‘Kay…she hiccuped and did as she was told.
15 minutes later I got a text that she was there and was okay.
30 minutes later as I was zooming 80 miles an hour down an Atlanta interstate my dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree. The SERVICE ENGINE SOON light lit up the brightest of them all. This time it was me who called my girl panicked. “I need you to google this code—NOW,” I told her. The owners manual was sitting on the counter at home. It had somehow fallen out of the car and into the driveway during a rainstorm. I knew I’d need it so I’d laid it out hoping it would dry. Now I needed it and didn’t have it.
My heart was racing, my heart beating out of my chest and my sweaty palms gripped the steering wheel so hard my fingers began to numb while I waited. In my mind the engine was exploding, the wheels were going off, the doors were going to fly open….any number of horrors.
“It’s okay Mom, it’s okay,” my big girl assured me. “That code just means you have to get it serviced and an oil change but you an make it home.”
Now I turned my attention back to my little girl. We were playing a game. A game she played with her counselor to try and put a name to the emotions she was feeling. She’s not often able to articulate her feelings on her own. Hell, I was a grown ass woman and I was having trouble articulating how I was feeling. Expecting her to be able to do so was ridiculous. But I keep trying. I got words like ‘disappointed’ and ‘angry’ and ‘sad’.
“Mom, I have to be at work at 8a. I have to go home but I am scared,” came the call a few minutes later. I was still too far way to be of help. “Put your brother on the phone.” I then gave very clear instructions to her older brother to go put away his ‘toys’ and take his scared sister home. “Call me when you get there.”
I kept driving. I kept talking. I tried to keep her talking.
20 minutes later I got a call from my girl, “I am home. Liam and I checked everywhere….nothings moved or taken and everything is here.”
Liam is the boyfriend….NOT the brother. I asked where the brother was. He wanted to stay and work on his truck was NOT the answer I wanted to hear but it’s the one she gave me.
I have been on the road for 5 hours and still had miles to go. I’d not had dinner. I’d had to have a conversation about my daughter with another woman. I’d spent hours trying to console. I had a check engine light on. One daughter was scared, the other sad. Needless to say I was NOT in a good mood.
It was NOT the night to mess with me.
I called him.
“Your scared sister is an an empty house and her boyfriend…NOT HER BROTHER…IS WITH HER?” It was a rhetorical questions. “You sent your sister to a house after she came home to find the doors open while you stayed and PLAYED with your truck?” He sputtered that she was just freaking out over nothing. “YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!” I lost it. “When I tell you to do something that involves the safety of your sisters is it NON-NEGOTIABLE. NON-NEGOTIABLE.” Not finished I pulled out the big guns. “Can you imagine your grandpa EVER allowing me or his wife to go into a house like that?” He admitted that would never have happened. I continued to tirade until I was certain he understood the error of his ways.
“You were mad,” my little one said from the darkness when I hung up the phone. “Are you okay?”
I wasn’t okay. I was lost in waves of hurt that I couldn’t explain to her. It was dark save the glow off the check engine light so I am hopeful she didn’t see the tear that ran down my check.
I am good I told her. I was lying.
“Someone could use an arm hug,” she said leaning over and hugging my arm. I agreed that was exactly what I needed and kissed the top of her head.
We spent the rest of the ride talking about happy things and vowing to each other that we’d wake up and have a happy day together. I let her know how very much I was looking forward to spending the day with her.
I got home at 12:45a. The girl and her beau met us in the driveway. I checked the house, tucked in the baby girl and sent the boyfriend home and allowed the big girl to lock her door.
This morning, true to our word, we got up committed to being busy and thinking happy thoughts. Only once did she bring up the night before, “Do you think I made the right decision?” She asked. “Do you?” I asked her right back. She nodded. “Strong girls have to make hard decisions sometimes.” I added.
Antiquing. That was her idea for our day. It was rainy and stormy and there was nothing to be done outside. When she meant antiquing she meant to go to Monroe, Georgia where old cotton mills were home to vendors of all sorts. Including her favorite booth that sold boy and girl grab bags. Her favorite ice cream store was there too.
“Let’s do it!” And off we went to find some fun.
We searched hi and low for the grab bag vendor. Nothing. To her dismay she learned that the vendor that sold her beloved grab bags was no longer in business. One thing. She wanted one thing.
Back in the car the key wouldn’t turn the ignition. I tried all I knew and it wouldn’t budge. So I turned it off and just sat for a minute. This can’t be happening I thought to myself. But it was.
Eventually the key turned.
We tried other stores, we found the ice cream and made our way back to Athens to buy some red/white/blue shirts for the upcoming week of camp.
When I asked her what was for dinner she was enthusiastic. “Let’s see what The Fresh Market has!” We love the little dinner kits they have. It pleased me that she wanted to get something we could ‘make’ together. I walked her thru how to find the specials on my phone. “YES!” She pumped her arm in victory when she read the family dinner special for the week. “It’s crab cake sandwiches!!!” The 2 of us love crab cakes, the others not so much. Since she and I would be home alone tonight it was the perfect dinner. “Oh yeah. High five me mom. We are having crab cake for dinner.”
The big girl had been surprised by her fella with tickets to the Braves game. Site of their first ever date. She was so excited. They’d be gone for dinner.
I don’t know where the boy would be for dinner. Evidentially he didn’t have much to say to me after my tirade last night.
It was the perfect night for a crab cake sandwich dinner. It was the perfect meal for her to ‘help’ with. And I loved how excited she was.
So we hit the store and bought the special. Micheal’s was right next door so we went over and I allowed her to get a little crafting kit. She was grounded from screens for her behavior with the make up but I was still working on keeping her smiling so a craft it was.
As I paid for the crafts I noticed my little purse was unzipped. It was a little zipper purse attached to a large ring that you could slip over your wrist. Meaning the wallet sort of swung with you as you walked. An open zipper and a swinging wallet aren’t a good combination. My credit card was gone. I thought of the miles we’d traveled and the stores we’d walked.
I had to call and report the card as lost/stolen. I also had to explain why a lost credit card was a big deal.
Big girl called. The rain prevented the baseball game. They were all dressed up and no where to go. She was so disappointed. I threw out some date ideas but none were very enticing.
We made it home. Alone. Lonely.
Country songs talk a lot about love. And loving. Antique malls are full of couples spending rainy days together. Ice cream stores are good places to go on a date. “I love us” and “Always kiss me goodnight” seemed to have been embroidered, painted or written on something in every booth we’d entered during the day. The little big meal serves 4. We were 2.
The day seemed intent on reminding me I was alone.
At home the little one was unaware of my preoccupations. She merrily opened her little craft kit while I started dinner. Making a little panda pillow was much more fun then helping in the kitchen. There wasn’t a lot to do with the crab cakes, corn on the cob and fruit anyway. So I threw some oil into the pan and turned on the stove. I was unpacking some of our bargains at the same time so I wasn’t paying much attention.
While the crab cakes cooked I ran and changed into my lounging pants. Passing the washer/dryer I took out the dryer load and moved the ones in the washer. You know…multitasking as moms tend to do.
Smoke welcomed me back into the kitchen.
The eye was up to high and the crab cakes were now the size, shape and consistency of hockey pucks. The dinner she was so looking forward to was a disaster. The dinner she was so excited about was ruined.
We ate it anyway.
She finished her craft project.
The big girl came home early because there wasn’t anything to do.
A week ago I was in Belize with sun on my face the wind in my hair and the sand under my feet.
If you are a child of the 80’s you are humming along after reading that title. Chanel your inner Journey. Sing the sound. Out loud. It makes you feel good…
As the song goes….Don’t stop belizing—hold onto that feelin’
Speaking of journey…..haha….see what I did that.
During our Belize studies (and the studying we did reading the travel magazine while waiting in lines in custom) we heard about something called the Secret Beach.
Getting there required a 45minute golf cart ride along the island. If you’ve read anything about my traveling experience you know that motorized vehicles aren’t my strong suit.Read here for the moped debacle . Nonetheless, I was willing to try again.
“Are we going to have another moped story?” Liam asked as we piled in our rented golf cart and prepared to follow the hand written map to our destination. A map I must confess included such directions as “when the map ends turn right” and “4 miles down a dirt road.”
We took off. Through the streets of San Pedro we went. We passed bikes, more of the open air boutiques I described yesterday and shanties. The roads may have been paved with good intentions but that was all about all the paving that had. Potholes the size of a small car were prevalent. There were several times I did the whole use-my-arm-as-a-seatbelt to prevent Kinsley from hitting the dash. On more then one bumpy occasion I had to turn around to be sure Liam was still perched on the back seat.
In San Pedro fast food consisted of folding tables and pots and pans full of homemade food sitting haphazardly either on or just beside the road. We passed those too. “Co-Co nuts….fresh co-co-nuts,” barkers called out, “we’ve got rum!” They would add to entice passerby’s to stop.
Block after block we found abandoned constructions sites. Hotels half built. Homes with the skeleton of a 2nd story only barely completed. Several of the properties looked as if the crew had simply walked away one day and never returned. I’d love to know the stories behind the empty ruins that appeared to have meant to be luxury hotels or lavish homes.
Large iguanas sunned themselves on porches. Single palm trees stood sentry in empty lots. The further we went out the more space there became between the crumbling structures. Soon there were handmade signs proclaiming a BAR or a YOGA retreat.
As instructed we got to what appeared to be the end of the island and turned off onto a dirt road. Water began to appear. Marshy, low lands with salt water rivers popping up here and there. It was the only indication we were headed in the right direction.
After a very bumpy 45 minutes we saw a sign pointing toward the Secret Beach. We drove a little more and out of the desolate land popped an oasis. A cheerful man saw us and waved us over. “You are here! Welcome to the Secret Beach. Come. Come.” We parked where he directed and looked ahead.
Palm trees swayed. Music played. Bright blue water laid out as far as we could see. A huge bar was off the the left. Blue cushioned lounge chairs stood ready and waiting. Further out a water playground waited for little ones to play upon. A pier and a thatched pavilion overlooked the turquoise water.
I giggled in glee. Actually giggled. I was so freaking excited. It was paradise. Absolute paradise. Any stress left in my body faded away and I was as suddenly as relaxed and happy as I had ever, ever been.
We spent the morning sipping on cocktails and exploring the clear, cool waters of the sea. The sea was so salty it held you up. All you had to do was kick up your feet and you could float for hours while the water lapped over you.
The secret beach was made up of 3-4 little areas each with their own bar and delights. One had swings in the ocean. Another had little boats you could rent. yet another was a full scale restaurant and bar. This restaurant was unique in that the tables were IN THE WATER. You swam up to your table and a fully dressed water waded over and took your order. While you waited on your food you snorkled around the table seeing sea horses, needle nose fish, tarpon and shiny silvery fish that swam around your feet waiting for you to drop your chip into the water. If you weren’t a snorkeler you could play beer bong in the center of the tables. If tables weren’t your thing you could rent a tube, tie it up to the table and eat and drink floating all around. “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond played while the patrons sang along. Boats pulled right up to the pier where people debarked and swam over to tables.
How. Cool. Is. That? I mean seriously HOW COOL IS THAT?
We stayed in paradise all day.
The kids snorkled and I napped.
I napped and the kids snorkled.
We took pictures. In the same order that Kinsley had already established: Me, her, she and I, she and Liam, Liam and then all of us.
We bought souvenirs from 2 little girls with a table set up. Their mother was Guatemalan and handmade purses. They made more of the ever present bracelets and beaded items. Carved wood pieces made of local wood. A lady walked around offering to braid your hair Island style. They offered their wares, they didn’t nag or pester. There very presence added to the festive, fun, party atmosphere of the little beach there at the end of the world.
I could have stayed forever but the clouds darkened and the sun began to fade. We rushed to our golf cart as the skies opened up and rain began to fall.
The rain barely lasted long enough for us to get damp. But we’d spent the day in paradise and it was time to head back.
Midway down the barely marked road I suddenly realized the absurdity of the situation. Here I was on a rented golf cart, miles away from the safety of our resort. I had only a crudely drawn map to show me the way. I had 2 teens in tow. Our phones didn’t work.
About the time I started nervously laughing at the whole situation the gold cart went dead. I laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed while the teens looked at me like I’d lost my mind. I barely had time to panic when my smart girl realized that the severe bumps in the road had caused the golf carts lever to pop into neutral. Moments later we were back on the road.
It was an adventure within our adventure.
On the way back we stopped at a Co-Co nut stand to let Liam buy a non-alcoholic coconut—straight off the tree. He sat like a toddler with a Capri Sun sipping coconut water right out of the fruit. He might have enjoyed it more had I not hit the worlds largest pot hole that sent him and the coconut flying. Any liquid he had remaining was soon splashed all over him when I, intent of capturing a picture of the surroundings, veered a little too far off the road and almost hit a bike. I don’t believe I was all that close but my dramatic daughter grabbed the wheel and jerked us to the other side of the road.
Words were exchanged. But lets not dwell on that.
Once we were safe and sound back at our little hut I was quite proud of myself. I felt brave. I felt like I’d created memory within a memory that made the whole trip even more faceted then even I had imagined.
At first I started writing this as one long blog. But each time as I typed I realized as I wrote I was re-living the moments. I wanted to prolong by Belize feelings so I decided to write about my trip in a series…prolonging the joy I felt on our journey.
So here is part two.
As I stated, the first BEST decision I made was employing Global Escapes to help plan our adventure. Before we left we got a complete packet of information to help make the most of our trip. Everything we needed to know was provided. I knew the projected weather. I had packing tips. I know the Belizean currency was 2X the American dollar and I knew that most places took dollars and accepted by beloved debit card. I also had a listing of favorite restaurants near me.
The food at Ramon’s Village was scrumptious. The resort restaurant, Pineapple’s, offered delicious breakfast, easy lunches and elevated dinner options. We didn’t need to leave the resort to get good food. But, thanks to Tiffany at Global Escapes I knew there were other options within walking distance.
So we set out to find Iguana Juan’s. To my delight our traveling buddy donned a flamingo shirt for our jaunt. He looked so handsome and excited. My girl put on one of her flouncy tops purchased especially for the trip. All gussied up as my mama would say, we set out on foot. The restaurant was a few blocks from our tropical hut.
Walking the streets was another layer of our adventure. I felt completely safe walking along the streets. Golf carts zoomed all around us. People smiled. Buildings were run down but brightly colored. Banners for Belikin Beer were everywhere—it was obvious Belize was proud of their beer and encouraged everyone to partake. Tucked into nooks were what I can only call Bodegas. Inside you could get souvenirs, liquor and everything in between. Clothes hung from rafters and fences—a yard sale in the USA…a boutique in San Pedro. The village was very obviously poor. But proud.
Fathers rode bikes with toddlers perched on their hips. Mothers bounced mopeds on sidewalks while their young sons ran into doorways and returned with bags of food. There were no Chick-Fil-A’s. Takeaway food seemed to be doled out from doorways that were barely, if at all,marked in any way as a business. An ice cream vendor pushed an old fashioned cart peddling nice, cold treats. He had an old bell in his hand that he rang as he walked. At one point he stopped and knocked on the window of a barber shop. Adults and little ones ran out and purchased what I assume was a popsicle.
It was quaint. It was familiar but foreign all at the same time.
At Iguna Juan’s we walked up a set of stairs and into an open room. Only 3 other dinners were inside. A rotund little man greeted us like family and told us to sit wherever we wanted. There was a thin balcony adorned with small tables meant for 2. He noticed us looking that way and urged us to pull up a seat and sit where we had a view of the street.
He asked if we were visiting and was delighted when we told him that we were and that our travel agent had recommended the restaurant. “We have great hamburgers, try our hamburgers, it’s what we are known for.”
So we did.
The drinking age in Belize is 18 so my graduates were able to order a daiquiri. The only downside of our resort was that it sold non-alcoholic smoothies along with beer and wine. No liquor. As accommodating as they were they were quick to urge you to visit a supermercado to buy some local rum to add to your smoothie. My young companions weren’t the beer or wine type so this was their first experience ordering a REAL drink.
They ordered their little daiquiris while I ordered the special Carnita. A tropical twist on a margarita. It was to be the perfect companion to my teriyaki burger with spicy pineapple salsa garnish.
Our host was also the bartender and the waiter. He might have even been Juan. I don’t know. He certainly was a one man show. He ooozed happiness and just being around him made me smile.
While we sipped and waited we took in the sites from our second story balcony seat. Directly opposite us was obviously a home. The door was propped open, I assume, to allow the breeze to blow in. A 2 liter bottle of coke sat on a table draped in plastic. The male of the house sat half in, half out of the doorway smoking. The grandmother ran in and out busily doing chores of some sort. In the small window of the first floor I made eye contact and smiled at a woman who was rinsing chicken parts in a green plastic bowl. I am not sure she had running water. I can’t say if she was prepping in a restaurant or cooking for a large family. Either are possible. Beside her was what appeared to be a bar. A man sat on a stool and talked on a cell phone the entire time we were there.
A young man strolled up the street carrying the fastest baby I’d ever seen. She wore a tropical little dress and had bright yellow sunglasses perched on her fat little cheeks.
It was all so normal but do different all at the same time. I could have sat there all day just watching and observing the lives of the villagers.
But soon, on island time, our food was delivered.
The burgers did no disappoint. They were HUGE. The teriyaki touch made a familiar burger exotic and tropical. The fresh pineapple salsa….oh my….it took every ounce of me to not lick the bowl. AMAZING. Liams potato’s had Belize spice added so they were tangy and pungent and downright delicious. I can’t tell you what the bun was made of but damn was it good.
All checks came with 2 amounts: the BZ or Belizean amount and the American dollar amount. You chose which version you paid. It wasn’t complicated but it was exciting. With the Belizean currency being twice the American dollar you felt like you were getting everything at 50% off! I love a good sale and every time I signed a check I felt like I was winning.
After lunch we wondered along different streets toward the sea. Beside a humble abode there would be a placard announcing a business of sorts. Tiny souvenir stores were tucked here and there. Inside were inexpensive t-shirts and artifacts of all sorts.
A reminder of the pandemic…everyone wore masks. Even on their bikes. A few stores were closed. The fresh air art market was only going to be open a few days versus all week. Hand sanitizer which I suspect was simply water in most cases sat outside most stores. The people didn’t seem fearful or panicked, just taking precautions. I felt safe and felt protected.
A little further down, right off the street there was a brightly painted park. SAN PEDRO letters stood against the concrete play area. It was an ideal photo spot.
Underneath the letters and the playscapes families sat having picnics out of little baggies of food.
The people of San Pedro always seem to be relaxed and lazing about. The adults sit and watch as children run up to tourist holding handfuls of brightly colored bracelets. “Para mi escuela” they chant holding up the bracelets and allowing their big, brown eyes to coerce you to buy. If you say NO they run away with no more effort. If you say YES they excitedly help you pick out the best of the bunch. The little urchins take American dollars or Belize money and they are quite adept at telling you their prices in either demonization.
The whole area is, in a word, charming.
Later that evening we sat at the Tiki hut sipping on our non-alcoholic smoothies and playing checkers with beer caps.
San Pedro is laid back and chill. You don’t feel rushed to do anything. Everything moves at an island pace. Sitting and watching the ocean, reading in hammocks by the sea, listening the the bamboo wind chimes out side the little gift shop…none of it seems like a waste of time. There aren’t a million other things you feel like you need to be doing to make the most of your vacation days. That’s part of the charm of the island.
Each night we tucked in early. At first the teens balked but quickly realized there wasn’t anything else that they needed to be doing. We played all day and, at night, we tucked in and relaxed in a different way.
The huts didn’t have TVs. They did have refrigerators so we visited a local store and bought sodas and snacks and yes, some local liquor. At night the younger ones played on their phones or wrestled about. They popped open sodas and watched crime documentaries on their tiny phones while I read.
That may sound boring to some but it was priceless to me. I got to be a part of my girls relationship with her beau—which is absolutely adorable. I got to relax and recharge and rest…something I didn’t realize how much I needed until I did it.
Many people looked at me like I’d lost my mind when I said I was traveling with my girl and her guy. But he makes her happy. Hell, he makes me happy. He’s a delight to be around. For over a year he’s been part of our family. Sharing this experience with him made it all the more special. Bless his heart…he was even a good sport when my girl made us take pictures in this order: her, him, them, me, her, she and I and then all of us. “Just in case we ever break up I want you to still have pictures to remember the trip,” she explained. He loves her and is patient with all of her realistic and frank explanations of things. Lord love him.
Every vacation has it’s own pace; it’s own vibe. Our pace on San Pedro was slow, relaxed and easy. The vibe was exciting but chill. I hadn’t known what to expect. I’d been a little nervous about having bored teens. But, like everything else in Belize, I found the pace just what I needed.
Being in Belize was just taking a deep, deep breath and I loved it.
After weeks of scouring the internet trying to plan a monumental graduation trip for my big girl I threw in the towel and called Tiffany at Global Escapes.
Best. Decision. Ever.
I had a rather lofty list:
1. The trip needs to require the use of a passport.
2. The trip needs to involve an ocean.
3. The trip needs to need memorable and special.
4. The trip needs to have a bucket list worthy item on it.
5. Oh, and I have a budget.
To my surprise and delight she didn’t hang up on me. She didn’t even groan aloud. I am sure she wanted to.
Soon I had a choice….A CHOICE…of trips that met my demands.
I chose Belize.
Second. Best. Decision. Ever.
I hadn’t verbalized by other wish list items: it must appeal to an 18 year old, I need it to be incredible so she knows how much I appreciate her help this past year, this trip needs to be as amazing as she is and it would be great if it offered mama a chance to relax as well.
Days before the trip I got a nicely packaged itinerary. Every detail was planned. Everything was thought of and thought thru…FOR ME.
That alone was a treat.
The direct flight to Belize was easy. Even with the slight mechanical issue that delayed our departure I was relaxed and excited. Mask were required for the entire flight….a reminder of the world we still live in.
When the large jet landed we made our way outside to the tarmac. Confession time: I’ve never seen the movie Casablanca. But, for reasons I can’t explain, I felt like the heroine of that movie as the coastal heat washed over me.
Customs was easy. Our COVID vaccination cards got us fast tracked. I quickly learned that island pace is different from my normal pace but it was okay. Everyone was smiling and friendly and there was no angst because of any language barriers.
It wasn’t long before we were sipping a Belizean beer (and soda) waiting on out 13 minute flight to our final destination. The little airport was quaint. The beer booth was happy with my American dollars and the bright colors and festive atmosphere already had been feeling relaxed.
In our tiny plane with Kinsley sitting in the co-pilot seat we flew toward San Pedro. The clouds were white, the water below were shades of blue I’d never seen and the greenery was lush and exotic. Though still traveling, our vacation had started.
At the airport we were greeted by a handsome, smiling porter. He welcomed us to his island, hefted our bags and helped us into a waiting golf cart.
Golf carts were everywhere! There weren’t really lanes—just room for golf carts going in different directions in some sort of understood pattern. It was controlled chaos. I barely had time to take in the bright colored but well worn store fronts before the golf cart we were in skirted to the left onto a sandy path.
We were mere blocks from the airport but we’d been swept into a different world.
Wide, white, sandy paths. Lush green tropical forest creating a canopy on all sides. Birds sang. Hibiscus flowers bloomed. A warm breeze took away the heat. We had arrived in paradise: Ramon’s Village.
It was everything I wanted and more than I had imagined. Our room was in a thatched hut. The front doors opened to our own little slice of the forest. The ceilings were varnished wood native to the island. The air was cold, as cold as we could stand. It was, in a word: heaven.
Exploring only confirmed my diagnosis. Hammocks hung under thatched roofs right beside the sea. The pool was blue and wined around lush bushes and tall trees. The wind blew the palms making them rustle so that they created an almost melodic soundtrack as we examined the restaurant, the boats and the dock sitting atop perfectly clear, hauntingly blue water.
That first day we snorkeled, swam, read books in the hammocks and allowed ourselves to be totally and completely taken care of.
Thanks to Tiffany at Global Escapes our perfect vacation was laid out ideally. Our first day we relaxed and explored and delighted at each new thing we found.
The next morning we awoke with the first of our bucket list items: snorkeling a live coral reef and swimming with sharks. I can’t lie. I was nervous. I’ve snorkled once when I visited the manatees. I can’t say I was good at it. I wasn’t sure how well I would do in the middle of the sea.
Ramon’s Village is primarily a diving resort. Large groups of divers of all ages and sizes tested equipment, geared up and talked of the excursions they had taken and would be taking that day. The travelers visited the guides like family. There were hugs and shouts of recognition as they got ready. Some talked English, some talked Spanish and many spoke a combination of both. It was exotic without being intimidating.
While we waited we sipped on Fanta Pineapple and cold cokes out of thick glass bottles. The Belize version of the popular soft drinks even tasted like a vacation: similar enough to be comforting but different enough to be exciting.
Joshua, our guide, greeted us with helped us to our boat. He was gorgeous. Skin the color of the most perfect latte. Soft brown hair curly hair and a quick smile that made me feel instantly relaxed and safe.
The Hol Chan Marine reserve wasn’t far from our village. The coral reefs surrounding San Pedro kept the sea at bay so that the waters inside the reef had movement without the up and down, up and down movement of the open sea. The waters were deep blue or brilliant turquoise depending on the depths.
Joshua gave some brief instructions and we took to the water. It was me, my girl and her guy. Our own private tour. Within seconds of putting on my goggles I was blown away. Fan Coral waved back and forth as if welcoming us. Bright, tropical fish swam all around us-not the least bit shy around us humans. A large turtle chomped on sea grass right below me. A large ray played beside us, eels weaved in and out of large brain coral. There were colors I’d never seen, shapes I didn’t know existed. It was alive and moving and I got to watch it all. The high levels of salt made it so you floated without effort so that nothing distracted you from just being there, in the middle of an underwater playground. Liam was brave enough to dive deep and swim through an underwater cavern like a native snorkler.
The snorkeling experience was enough. But there was still adventure to be had. We got back on the boat and went a few feet to the next phase. There the guides explained that this area of the reef was where fisherman had always come to clean their fish. Sharks became accustomed to the sound of boat motors and immediately gathered when a boat arrived in anticipation of being feed with the fisherman’s scraps. The guides would chum the water on one side of the boat and we would gently slide into the water on the other side. From there we would observe the sharks.
True to their word, the boat stopped and immediately 10 or 12 sharks began circling the boat. Some were small, some were not. Nurse sharks as long as 8 feet swam right below us! I should have been scared. I wasn’t. I was intrigued and excited and could hardly wait to be in the water with what I was sure to be a bucket list experience.
By the time I was in the water there were over 30 sharks swarming around the chum being thrown in the water. Their powerful tails whipped around as they fought to get in the feeding frenzy. Others swam silently from behind to join in the fray. Hauntingly empty eyes caught mine, skin like sandpaper scrapped my arms as they swam close enough to brush against me. I couldn’t look away. I could hardly keep my snorkel in my mouth because I was smiling so broadly and kept saying “this is incredible, this is incredible, this is incredible” even though no one could hear me.
Eventually the sharks tired of the chum and one by one wandered off into the blue of the sea.
It was only the start of our adventure but it was already move than I could have imagined
One lesson learned: the underwater camera suggested is a MUST. I made the mistake of being cheap and NOT spending the $30 needed to get one at the dive shop.
On the way back to shore Joshua, perched high atop the driving panel of the boat started laughing and pointing at me. “I just saw your hat. It’s funny!” In Spanish he translated my hat to the captain of the boat. I SURVIVED THE QUARANTINE OF 2020! it read.
In this perfect place surrounded by so much beauty and wonder I had forgotten that for a year or more the world had shut down in a pandemic that impacted even those here in paradise. The reminder made the sun feel warmer, the wind feel more refreshing. The many, many blues of the water below us seemed bluer and all the sights I’d seen under the water seemed more vivid. What we were doing now seemed unattainable just months before. But after a year of hard, hard work, long hours, emotional toils and fear we were here….in Belize…having experiences liked I’d never dreamt possible.
Across the boat my daughter was smiling happily at her beau. She was beautiful. She was radiant. Her year had not been easy. She’d had to become a teacher, a sister, a surrogate mother all while navigating her own emotions over all that COVID had taken from her. Amongst all the challenges she had survived. No…she had THRIVED.
I wanted to give her a trip to celebrate all of that. I wanted to celebrate her, her accomplishments, her bravery and her spirit. I wanted a trip that made her smile and that would make her smile for years after it was over. I’d hoped to give her an experience-an adventure and a glimpse into the world that awaited her.
We were early into our trip but I was already certain that our Belize adventure was going to deliver all that I had wanted.
I can’t go back and change anything in my life…nor would I…because every single step and misstep got me here, to this moment, where I am celebrating my amazing daughter.
I don’t want my girl to never have a misstep. Some of those missteps made me the person I am today. I want her to hurt a little so she values the happiness on the other side of hurt a little more.
I don’t want anything handed to her. The pride felt after working to obtain what you want is too valuable.
Other things I want her to know:
I’ve pushed your entire life telling you work first, play later. It’s my mistake that I never told you to have fun. Don’t take it all too seriously. Your quick wit and infectious laugh are proof that you have fun in your soul. Let it out more! Embrace the silly. Seize every moment that brings a smile to your face and lightens your heart. You’ve proven you can work hard. It’s okay to play a little too.
Swing for the fences. Even when you are nervous. Before your at bad you always took your practice swing with crossed legs. I knew it’s because your nervousness wanted you to flee for the restroom. But you didn’t. You stayed in the batters box. You will be nervous with your choices. Don’t let that stop you from taking them. Don’t concentrate on striking out. Focus on the ball Ana swing for the fence—every-time. You will strike out. It’s okay. You’ll also foul a little, pop up once or twice and get out but…but, if you try, you will also connect and with that connection you will score. Swing for the fence.
Always offer a helping hand to someone who needs it. Help a little. Be kind every chance you get. You have high expectations of yourself and those around you. It’s okay to have those but…don’t be judg-ey. Sometimes people’s best will fall short. Understand that their best and your best are not the same. Find patience. Find grace.
Have a matching set of glasses and use them. You’ve lived in a house with mismatched glasses and odd and end dinnerware. That’s okay. But it’s also okay to have nice things. And to use nice things Don’t pull out the fancy plates just for fancy occasions. Make every occasion fancy. Celebrate as much as you can. Don’t let the small things go unnoticed while you wait for bigger things to come along.
Be authentic. Be you. Wear white glasses because you love them. Don’t follow a trend. Speak your mind (when appropriate). Don’t back down from a fight you believe it. Don’t take anyone else’s path…follow your own. In the end you are the only one you have to answer to. And you have to answer to yourself every time you look in the mirror. Don’t do anything that makes you look away. Be able to look yourself in the eye and know you stayed true to YOU.
Find your tribe. You’ve seen the importance of having a tribe in my life. Find yours.
Try new things. Do things outside your comfort zone…that’s how you grow. Expand. Stretch yourself. Embrace every experience you can. Find the A in every day. Some days will suck. Straight up suck. Don’t focus on that. Focus on the one part, even if it’s just a second, of the good. And there is always good. Always. Sometimes you have to loom hard for it. But it’s there.
Dance. Dance your dance. With Cheeto dust in your teeth and with a little side pony tail you asked your grandpa to dance. You didn’t know all the steps but you danced anyway. And, in that moment, you created a memory that no one who witnessed it will ever forget. Make more of those type of moments.
Learn the art of compromise. Get what you want but be willing to see the worth in other things too. Sometimes you will want that $30 shirt. If you so, and if you can afford it, buy it. But sometimes that $5 shirt will wear and look just as good. Know when and where to spend more.
Things will not go as planned. Not everything will be perfect. Remember that sometimes, in the unplanned, there is unexpected joy. I spend hours making a backdrop by hand for this valentine. I dressed you up and prepared for a perfect picture. I got this instead. And it will forever be a favorite. It wouldn’t have happened if I had only seen beauty in the picture I had planned.
You are more then a number. GPA, test scores, rankings, social security…there will be lots of numbers in your life. Be more then the number.
People are always watching and looking up to you. Let your actions and your words give them something to emulate. Set examples. Lead the way. Do things you will be proud for others to see. Inspire courage, be courageous. Be bold and support boldness. Be kind and scatter kindness. Be someone’s champion and help others find someone to champion. Be honest and demand honesty in return. Speak with your truth and listen when others do the same. Be the last one in line when there is food but be the first to offer to clean up. Speak to the adults in the room whenever you enter. Even when you are an adult. Learn to shake hands. Learn to shake a mans hand firmly.
Don’t forget where you come from. Your path is your own but you share it with those that have shared your journey. Life is meant to be lived forward. Not backward. But sometimes you have to look back to get your bearings. Do that when you need to.
Keep arguing but quit when you see the argument needs to be over. Learn to admit when you are wrong. And you will be wrong. A lot. Being wrong doesn’t make you weak. Not admitting she you are wrong makes you a fool. And you are not foolish. Argue when you need to but shut up when it’s called for. Learn the difference. Learn what’s appropriate. Don’t be silent because it’s easier or because people don’t want you to speak. But don’t be afraid to be quiet. There is strength is speaking out. There is also strength in keeping quiet.
Be a lady. Be graceful and delicate. Say restroom, not pee. Put your napkin in your lap. Learn to walk in heels. Be soft. Sparkle. Find joy in sparkly things. Dress up. But feel beautiful in sweatpants and messy buns too. Don’t be afraid to get dirty!
Your cousins have been your best friends. Keep them in your life.
Be your own cheerleader. Cheer on others. Be the loudest voice for the slowest one in the race. Say good game to those that lost. Always thank the coach at that end of the game. Be humble when you lose and when you win. Remember that, no matter what it is, when you win that means someone lost. Put in the work. Don’t take shortcuts.
I am so proud of you my extraordinary girl. Thank you for all that you are. I’ve loved being your mama. No matter how old you are, how accomplished you become I will always be your momma. My arms will always be open for a hug. My shoulders will always be big enough to help carry your burdens. My home will always be your home. Here you will always be safe and wanted. Let me laugh with you, let me cry with you. I will celebrate all your victories and will mourn with you at your defeats. I will call you out when you are wrong. I will show you the way. Your path may take you in a different way. I won’t always agree in your direction. That’s okay. Your trip is your own.
I love you. I am proud of you. Everything I do, anything I say comes from those 2 simple truths.
Tuesday evening I was with one at honors night where she was awarded summa cum laude, an AP honor scholar award and her beta stole. My fierce, smart, driven girl starts at the University of Georgia after her graduation this week. She’s worked incredibly hard. She has a plan. There isn’t a single doubt in my mind that her tenacity will lead her to success.
The very next morning my big girl sat at my little girls 5th grade graduation.
The contrast was startling.
My youngest one won no awards. There were no accolades. She wasn’t recognized or applauded.
It was a juxtaposition. At least that’s the word that sprang to my mind.
My little one did her best. She worked as hard as she could to do as well as she could. I know that. I am not a participation trophy kind of mom. But in that moment I understood the participant trophy mentality.
I saw her eager little face as each award was called out. I knew she wanted one. But her best wasn’t enough to earn her one. I am not taking away from those that did win…I am not. But my heart ached wishing there was something that she’s accomplished that earned her recognition.
Her path is so different than that of her sister. One is not harder then the other. Both have their own mountains to conquer. But the world will rejoice when my first born conquers hers. No one will even know when my little one crests and peaks.
The following is making its way around Facebook.
I can’t tell you how much this spoke to me.
I also can’t tell her how much I struggle with this.
I don’t want to downplay the incredible success of one just to make the other feel worthy. I want my girl to shine brightly and to never, ever dull her own sparkle for anyone that complains she’s too bright.
I also don’t want my other one to think her light is any dimmer because it shines differently.
The contrast of the paths of my 2 girls is the definition of juxtaposition for me.
As she walks across the stage on Saturday I want my big girl to feel how proud I am. I want her to know I am honored to be her mom. I am humbled by her. I am in awe of her. She makes me a better person. She makes the world better by being in it. Her accomplishments thus far, though incredible, are pale to what she will accomplish in the future. I want her to know that her hard work is not unnoticed. Her dedication and commitment to all she does is amazing. She is, quite simply, extraordinary.
But I also want the little one sitting beside me to know that she’s extraordinary too. In her OWN way. She’s not her sister. Her oath isn’t that of her sister. Her worth isn’t lessened because her accomplishments will be different. A test score, a grade, a gpa do not define her.
But she won’t understand that.
And I don’t want to lessen the pride my big girl has in such things by making light of them.
To see one soar while the other struggles to fly is hard on a mom. Fly high! I want to tell one.
You’llfly one day! I promise the other. But aren’t there birds with wings that don’t fly? That’s my worry. That I don’t even know how to support my flightless girl on her journey. I don’t want to set an expectation that’s not meant for her to meet.
My big girl is leaving the nest and I am not ready.
My little girl may never leave the nest and I am not ready for that either.
Break a mirror and you’ll have 7 years of bad luck!
Isn’t that how the old wives tale goes?
Today marks the 7 year anniversary of things shattering.
Too bad there isn’t a statute of limitations on shattered families or broken marriages.
I am reminded of this macabre anniversary every year because, ironically, the weekend my marriage ended and my life changed was the very weekend we were taking pictures of the beginning of someone else’s love story. Every year as they lovingly celebrate their wedding anniversary I am forced to remember the decline of my own.
Piece by piece I’ve put the shards back together. But a mirror pieced back together warps the image of the person that stands in front of it. My life now isn’t what my life looked like then. It’s like looking at life thru a fun house mirror all the time. Some of images are funny. Some of the warped images are scary; some are just a little skewed while others are twisted and distorted.
7 years of bad luck. If only I’d just broken a mirror.
Broken trust and heartbreak take longer than seven years to get over.
My life as a whole isn’t broken any longer…I’ve mended and put most of the pieces back together. In Japan they have a practice of using gold or precious metals to fix a broken pot. It’s called Kintsugi. Rather than hide the flaw—they accent it. The focus isn’t on the break but on the story the crack tells. The broken pot isn’t seen as worthless—the gold used to fill the cracks actually makes it more valuable. I like that.
The repair makes the pot stronger. The gold accents can make the broken pot more beautiful in some people’s eyes. The technique adds interest, it adds contrast and it changes the pot. I like to think of the cracks I have in the same way.
Most of the time I focus on how the pieces have fit back together. I believe I’ve created a life that, even with it’s imperfections, is beautiful.
But every once in awhile I am cut by the broken pieces. Broken homes aren’t easy on the little ones. Sharing a parents time, divided attention, not knowing your place….it’s all part of being a child of divorce. Seeing the hurt and confusion on my little ones face is the part that cuts. Having to dry little tears is sad. No matter how justified the decision it hurts to know you had to make it and that, by making it, you impacted the little ones you love the most.
Little slivers, unseen, sneak out of nowhere and cause pain. There, under the skin, are little splinters of glass that just hurt. Being alone is something you get used to but occasionally, out of nowhere, the loneliness of being alone slices a little too deep. Being alone isn’t bad. Being lonely is.
The hand on the small of your back when you go thru a doorway…warmth when your feet are cold…a hug that makes you feel safe…a phone call in the middle of the day just to say hello….these are the types of things you miss. And you miss them unexpectedly. It’s like catching a glimpse of your reflection out of get corner of your eye when walking down the street on a sunny day. That glimpse. That second that distracts you from your destination, makes your step falter just a bit. It’s like that.
I am not going back there. I prefer to think of the broken pot. Cracks filled with gold. Broken pieces but back together to create a new piece of art. Seeing my cracks in that light makes them easier to bear.
But on a single day 7 years later I am reminded of the shattering; not the putting back together. Anniversaries are for re-living. Not all anniversaries are happy. So I take the day and relive some of the hurt and allow myself to acknowledge it.
If I’d broken a mirror my time would be up.
That’s what I thought all day today.
Tomorrow I’ll channel my inner artist and delicately fill my cracks with gold. I will be stronger and I’ll be proud of the story my pieces tell. I will.
If I’d shattered a mirror it would all be over now.