As the world opens up a little and the tunnel end is in sight, I am grateful, again, for my faith. There are moments that I simply do not believe that I can go on - my feet will not move me; my heart will not beat. It is upon the wings of prayers that I am lifted; it is upon God's shoulders that I am carried. I cannot say how this happens; I simply believe it on faith. If not, how would I still be here?

There are times, now, when I wish that I was speaking to my mother - I would like to be able to talk with her about things...but then I realize that, even if we were on speaking terms, I wouldn't have any of the conversations that I have with her in my head. She would have to be someone other than herself, and I would have to be another person too. I want to talk to the mother that I wish I had...the fantasy mommy that listens and understands and doesn't make me feel like a fat failure at everything. My head is getting to be a crowded place in which to live; there are so many people playing so many roles in there. I'm not sure if any of them are me.

Another day of wondering what will happen next...feeling disappointment where I've really never felt it before; honestly, never thought that I would find it in this particular place. Respect is a funny animal; it should be earned, I have always believed this to be true, but to keep it is proving to be more difficult than I envisioned. I love my husband, I have said this before, and when things are hard for him to handle, I physically feel pain for him. He has taken being shoved aside fairly well, overall, but some respect for his position would serve us all well I think...a little understanding of who and what he is and believes.

"I'm coming over there," I say.
And my head fits perfectly there on his chest, just below his shoulder, where it always has...my home is here. In incomprehensible ways, I love this man, my husband of almost 29 years. On the surface, we should likely not work, and often it appears that we do not, but this is a good relationship. I have often said that we saved each other, and we did, and we do, but I am still confounded and amazed that, at the moments that matter the most, he can pull me from the waters again and again. The wonder of it is he doesn't even know he's doing it.

Having breakfast with my two best girlfriends last week has prompted some reflection. Although we do not all have the same number of children, we all have only one daughter. It occurs to me, that while we carry around our own baggage, as well as the overstuffed remains of our mother's luggage, we also place the shiny new Dooneys and Coaches of our daughters on our stooped backs. It's being the mother-daughter-in-the-middle that allows us a peek into all facets of the 100-karat Hope Diamond that is womanhood.

As for our daughters, we pray fervently for them, we ache for them, we revel in their joy - in ways they cannot - and really need not - understand. We think that we know what is best for them, but perhaps, we don't. We can see a proper fit based only on our own experience of them, but as all women, I believe, they are a tapestry woven together with the thread of many different lives...layers of private thoughts and fantasies and dreams and secrets. We really do not know them at all. This love is unconditional.

So, God has lifted some of this burden - well, more like I decided to let Him. There is so much that I cannot control, and once I accepted that (again!), life became brighter. Deciding to be happy and to enjoy the wonderful, miraculous events occuring all around me is a good choice for me! For today, anyway, I can manage that.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

It is strange and wonderful and difficult, all at the same time, to watch someone change in ways that you never imagined they would. Explaining to someone else what this clip-by-clip film-like experience feels like for me is impossible...no one else sees through my eyes...no one else is in my head; I'm not there half the time myself. I wish that I wasn't so completely alone in this, though; I'd like very much for someone to take my hand and be with me as I walk through this warping set. Another road to traverse alone. I don't know that I can do it.

Finding your place in the world is not something that ever really gets resolved. It seems to constantly change, just when you get a little bit comfortable, thinking you know where you belong, who is important to you, who you matter to, the place you were sitting, happily enjoying your little life, becomes a seat in a world totally unfamiliar to you. Navigating foreign waters, pretty much in your own boat with no crew, is very scary and very lonely. I am in that sea right now, trying to figure out where to go, what to do, who I am...I just have no idea, and I feel thrown overboard and a little bruised from the tossing.

There were days that I could not stand leaving or having him leave or even the thought of either of us going anywhere but right where we were - warm and comfortable and happy and safe in each other's arms. There are days now when that is still true, and that is what continues to save me, as it always has and he always does. I know that I am lucky.

"See, he calms her down, as opposed to driving her crazy."
"What's that supposed to mean...are you saying I drive you crazy?"
"It means exactly what I said. There's the difference in the relationships right there."

Most relationships can probably be analyzed down to that basic concept.

A. You're taking a ride to crazytown or steering the car.
B. You're being talked down from the ledge your little piggies are presently hanging over or you're untying someone else's straight jacket.

Really, I think that's pretty much it.

As my Christmas shopping is winding down, I find myself - as I do every year - thinking that I have not purchased enough; I have not spent enough money; I have not picked out the perfect gift for each and every person on my list. This year, however, I am fighting the urge to splurge. I do NOT have to outdo myself; I do NOT have to outdo everyone else; I do NOT have to spend every extra red cent (well, really more brownish-orange than red) that I happen to have. I no longer have to prove to my mother that I am a thoughtful and giving person. I know that I am; God knows that I am, nothing else matters. So, I am done....well, maybe just one small thing.....

I don't know exactly what the book, FLAGS OF OUR FATHERS, is about, as I have not read it - I am bogged down with reading materials, thank you very much! - but bags of our mothers, now there's something that I know! I have come to understand that the "baggage" spoken about, especially when discussing relationships, has very little to do with our own Samsonite, and more to do with the luggage our mothers carried. If we let them, and as daughters, most of us do, they will pile their trunks and cosmetic cases on our backs to carry for them throughout our lives. No wonder girls are constantly being told to stand up straight!

Although I have desperately tried to save my own daughter from this, I know that there has been spillage. I don't mean for it to happen; it just does. It is impossible to have a meaningful relationship with your child without showing your worst self - the overused and overstuffed pieces that make up the carpet bags of who and what you are. Many people, my own mother included, choose to keep these pieces hidden away, never to be seen by anyone or discussed in front of company, or talked about at all really, but this (fortunately?) is not my way. I need everything out in the open for the world to see. So, if my delicates get thrashed about in public, well, that's just the price for taking the trip.