Love

August 7, 2011

Good Morning Andrea,

Steve is in his kitchen making breakfast. 

“Are you hungry?”  he asks me.  He sees that I am writing.

“Not really.”  I answer.  He has broken my train of thought.  The only thing I am hungry for is words.  Answers.  A good cry.  But I am afraid to cry in front of him.  I take a sip of my coffee.  Now the cup is empty. 

“Are you hungry?”  I ask.

“I am.  But I’ll have a bowl of oatmeal.”

“Sounds yummy.”  I tell him.  Trying to convey in my voice I am concentrating on something else.  I need to retreat into myself, find silence, and let these vibrations settle. 

The sun is trying to find its way around the clouds this morning.  I watched a leaf  break free from the maple tree and float lazily, swaying back and forth as invisible hands caught it, rocked it, let it glide down to the next set of hands below, until finally it landed in the grass. 

I sit here , the curser blinking, demanding that I string together letters to  form the words that will become the sentence, then the paragraph . 

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Even the computer demands something of me.

I am a mother.  One daughter dead.  One daughter I am estranged from.

Erin is angry.  She needs her anger.  It sustains her.

I had to “un-friend" her from my Facebook page.  I read what she writes and I immediately want to defend myself.  But there is no defense, there is only the fight.  She has her story, I have mine.  I have no energy to engage. 

My friend Ami asked me, “Have you thought about inviting your daughter to counseling?” 

“I’ve suggested she get some counseling, join a group on her own.”  I have thought about joint counseling.  I have discussed the thought with Steve, Karen, Lisa, myself. 

My sister says she doesn’t think counseling would accomplish anything.  Erin is too entrenched in her anger and resentments.  She resents the fact you died and that I grieve for you.  She resents the fact my relationship with you was different than the relationship I have with her.   The angrier she becomes with me, the further I retreat.

I have no energy to fight with her about any of it.  I have no energy to defend myself. 

Paralyzed I do nothing now.  I sit in the clouds, let them envelope me. 

I think of the maple leaf. 

I will be the maple leaf, gliding from one set of hands rocking me to the next. 

Love is not enough. 

Unless I let it be. 

Lying in the grass, next to the newly fallen maple leaf, I wait patiently for the sun to warm me.  In the meantime, these vibrations, I give them a name.  I turn them into energy I can release.  I block out everything but a nuclear core of love . 

It will create its own reactions.

                                                          Love you,

                                                          Mom