This week I received a wedding picture; my parent’s wedding picture.
I’m so thankful for my cousin who finds these treasures for me. I’d love suggestions on how to thank the woman who gives you back your family. She insists I owe her nothing, but it surely doesn’t feel that way.
Speaking of feelings.
I know, I should have warned you this was turning into an adoption blog. I promise to go back to my mildly irreverent talking about whatever catches my eye, soon-ish.
Now, on to important matters, this week’s inner dialogue. I have to talk about this somewhere. How about with my captive audience? Hey, that’s a good idea! They have to listen, and if I don’t want to hear their opinions I can just shut off comments. It’s a win, win. Okay, it’s a win for me.
Something that has surprised me, no one in my house really cares about all of this, not even a little bit. I mean, I’m used to being ignored, but that’s because I’m usually just being mom. This, this shit is going down in real life! I’m talking about my parents, a brother, a niece, a metric ton of information, and they’re all like, (looking over my shoulder) Is that your brother? Cool, can I borrow a 20?
Yes, as a matter of fact, you should be glad you aren’t my brother. I can hear you out there breathing a collective sigh of relief that I’m not going to try to corner you and talk about it, either. It’s gotten so bad, this week I put myself on a strict training program. I call it, LEAVE THE POOR MAN ALONE FOR A MINUTE. I failed miserably, every single day. I messaged him last night at 1:45 A.M..
Impul-say Con-ter-ol, is that French or something?
What were we talking about? Oh yeah, feelings.
So, this picture was exciting to see. I can hold it in my hand. I texted a copy to my brother ( see, a legitimate reason to message him) and asked if he’d ever seen it. No, he hadn’t. Cool!
Then suddenly, from some previously undiscovered cranny deep inside me, erupted this behemoth of bitterness and unfettered animosity. She was not happy. I had to stop messaging, drive to the store for Macadamia Nut Chocolate Coconut cookies, take a long bath followed by a longer tear filled shower before I could present myself in public as a human again. Even then I didn’t chance it. I just went to bed, exhausted.
The next morning I felt like I’d had five too many Fireball n’ Coke’s. What the hell, people, this is supposed to be the good part!?
There are things that rational me knows. The behemoth doesn’t give a shit about that. She wanted to grow up in California with an annoying little brother. One annoying little brother. She doesn’t care that the wedding picture would never have happened if she’d stayed in California. Neither their apparent happiness nor knowledge of how their life would play out, placate her. She wants to hear their voices saying her name, bury her face against their shoulders. She wants to know that comforting smell. She could not care less that there’s a brother (I do, I care!). She wants a mother.
After I’ve fed the behemoth cookies and water has put out most of the fire, she goes back to her corner. She leaves the door open, though, so she can see what I’m doing. I go about my business, no one knows she’s there. Yes, I’m going to have to take her somewhere and let her talk out her side of the story. I will. I’ll let her cry and rage about the live she never lived.