So, there you have it.
Today I am missing.
Sarah asked me a while ago
if I’ve ever wanted to just run away and not tell anyone where I was
going. Wow. It was like a sock in the gut. No, it was more like a soft, salty-beach-taste-sun-baked-warm-sand-cool-water-filled
breeze. Or maybe it was a moment when I
zoned out for the briefest of seconds and realized that I wish for that more
often than I probably should. You may
know my sordid life story of several years ago.
If not, suffice to say, it completely sucked the life out of me,
recoiled me, deflated me, changed me.
Forever. There are many, many,
many days (most, in fact) when I’m extremely grateful for even surviving it,
and for doing so relatively unscathed.
There are a few other days when I wallow in self-pity, reflect a little
too long on what used to be, and give in to the Why-Me’s. Days when I want to just run away to
somewhere with a soft, salty-beach-taste-sun-baked-warm-sand-cool-water-filled
breeze. Today is one of those days.
I have definitely gained a
lot over the last 44-ish years – a husband, children, wisdom, an education, a
strong identity, tangibles, weight. :( I’ve
also lost a lot – money, time, friends, family, that strong identity,
opportunity, my anticipated future, weight. :)
Today I am missing. Missing those things I’ve lost, and also some
of those I’ve gained.
I am missing my days as a
stay-at-home mom. I used to say, when I was one, that I wasn’t very good at
it. My house was messy, errands didn’t
always get run, and laundry was never caught up. But, I didn’t often have time to clean my
house because I was in Brian’s kindergarten class, or helping with costumes for
Sarah’s play. I couldn’t run errands
because I was baking cupcakes for the Halloween party, or bringing a forgotten
violin to class before third period. Getting
our clothes dirty playing with bubbles and mud pies, or planting flowers, or finger
painting, took priority over washing them.
Come to think of it, I was a
good stay-at-home mom. (Why do they call
it that, anyway? I was never home! So, I was actually a good rarely-at-home mom.) I try to be a good working-mom, but it’s just
not the same. It’s dark when I leave
them in the morning, goodbyes often consisting of a kiss on a sleeping forehead
and a whispered I love you to a
dreaming child. It’s dark when I come
home in the evening, too exhausted to do anything but veg out in front of the
TV and wait for them to come home from this independent activity or that one. Weekends are spent making up for being gone 12
hours a day during the week and sleeping another 4 or 5. And now, most available moments are soaked up
faster than they can drip by papers about disadvantaged youth, researching
hurricanes, comparing and contrasting creation myths, or figuring out complex
radical equations with imaginary numbers.
I hope they understand, or at least will someday.
I am missing the life I
had in Colorado, especially the friends I made, the house I built, the
community I thrived in, and the sense of self that went along with it. There was a time when I could head three
houses down in my pjs and have spontaneous coffee with my best friend. There was a time when I would be asked to run
a political campaign because my connections in the community were vast and
respected. There was a time when I had a
house that could accommodate Christmas parties with upwards of 300 people,
bringing in the largest single Toys for Tots donation in the county. There was a time when I knew who I was, felt
recognized and valued, and relished the opportunity to become even more. We were working toward a clearly defined
dream. Even though we’re back ‘home’ in
Utah, it’s just not the same. Sure, we
have a few friends. Sure, we get out
sometimes. Sure, I could be more
involved if I want to be. But, I’m
having trouble finding the value in investing myself. I guess you could say I’m a little gun shy.
I am missing my husband. He’s right here next to me, but sometimes I
feel like we can’t reach each other. We
have so much to think about, and so much to worry about, and so much to do,
that I feel like we’re only together in the periphery, but forget to really see each other sometimes. Most times.
We are different now. Different
together. Different apart. We have different priorities, different
viewpoints, different tolerances from our past selves and, sometimes, from each
other. I miss the winks and weekday
waterskiing and lunch at King Wa and Price is Right and bedhead kisses. I miss the old us.
I am missing my children. They are changing forever before my eyes with
jingling keys and un-tucked shirts and spontaneous haircuts and diets consisting
solely of rice and soy milk and notes of explanation and unmade beds. None of these happened in my old life. My children are different from day to day, minute
to minute. I try to spend as much time
with them as I can, but I don’t really feel like I truly know them
anymore. Running him to scouts is not
the same as being his Tiger Cub Den Mom.
Going with her to see her horse is not the same as being a Show
Mom. Being their ‘they need some money
or a ride mom’ is not the same as being their ‘they’re so little and really
need me Mom.’ They’ve slipped from my grasp.
I am missing my dream. For as long as I can remember I have wanted to
be a teacher. I have planned my
classroom and field trips and classroom blogs, chosen lesson plans, imagined my
days, longed for teacher-friends yet to be made. I’ve recently realized that dream may never
come to pass. My present and future has
shifted once again, and with it my dreaming.
Yes, I have plenty to be
thankful for, and tomorrow I’ll think about those things. But, for today, I am missing.