Hope

Dear Lorenzo,

It's Sunday, 8:52 p.m. and as usual, Amira's upstairs with Aisha and your mom, leaving me alone to watch repeats of One Day At A Time on Netflix.

I spent the entire day making up for all of the work I didn't get done on Saturday. I finished the laundry, washed a sink full of dishes, cleaned the dining room that Amira had covered in slime the day before and finally, did 45 minutes on the elliptical before lifting weights while watching the Titans demolish the Texans.

Sounds like a pretty good weekend, huh?

Well, it didn't start out that way.

I spent Saturday in much the same manner I've spent many a Saturday since you've been gone: wrapped up in a cocoon made from my blankets, venturing out only to pee or grab crackers, cheese, and beer from the kitchen. Luckily, my bell jar routine was cut short by the annual, "New Year (PLEASE GOD) New Me" conference call I had planned with Fareeda and Kay. And for the first time in a long time I admitted (out loud!) just how much I've been struggling. How sad I get around the holidays. How lonely I've been and how I'm not even sure if my self-imposed solitude is depression or force of habit at this point.

I came clean, told the truth, and in giving me ideas to get myself up and moving again, the girls gave me the greatest Christmas gift I could have asked for.

Hope.

And this morning, I felt like a new woman, or rather, I felt like my old self again. Strong, focused and determined to face whatever demons lie in my path.

I probably have a long way to go before I get back to happy again but...I think I may finally be on my way.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Mom

Dear Mom, I suppose that the act of writing this letter means I'm starting to accept that you're gone. I don't know how I'm supposed to live without my mother. You didn't prepare me for this. I've spent my entire life worrying about you in some form or fashion. Worrying about what you'd think of whatever rash decision I was certain to be on the precipice of making. Worrying about your ever-worsening health. Worrying about whether or not you'd notice the weight I'd either lost or gained since we'd seen each other last.  (Spoiler Alert: You always noticed. Carefully worded reprimands if I'd gained, exuberant congratulations for a loss, unfortunately it's taken me years to rid myself of the habit of worrying about my weight before a trip home. But one good thing has come from this experience. I've made damn sure that my daughter knows I will ALWAYS welcome her home with open arms, and will never, EVER comment, or give a flying fuck, abou...
Read more

Goodbye (For Real This Time)

Dear Mum, I was so busy mourning you that I didn't have time to fully acknowledge the loss of my relationship with Cap.  It's finally hitting me now. I can accept the fact that he doesn't want me anymore and I have with as much grace as I can. I asked him to fall back in August 2024 and he has done so. But I still hear from him almost daily. Mostly through text messages on a group chat he created with me and Fareeda.  This is how he keeps in touch. It's how he holds on. I usually don't reply to his political rantings and unfunny reels but he knows that I read them. And we Marco Polo about once a week.  All neutral topics. The kids, our jobs, how much we loathe Trump.  No mention of us. Who we were. What we lost. Who we have to pretend to be now in order to remain in each other's lives. He doesn't want to have those conversations. He doesn't do difficult which means he obviously can't be in a relationship. At least not with me. So though I'm mour...
Read more

Untitled

I don't have a mother anymore and yet...  Somehow, I'm still expected to live my life. Normally. Like a full-fledged, rational human being except... I'm not. Grief isn't rational. I wake up every morning with the same sense of loss, with the deepest HOLLOW I've ever experienced. I have Amira, of course and I truly thank God every day for that miracle. I have Amira and Fareeda and Jewel but...  Both of my parents are gone now. I don't have a mother anymore. I don't have my mother. There are no more doctors to call, no more prescriptions to fill, no new medications to try because my mother is gone. Resting in peace at last. But... I haven't gotten there yet. To the peaceful part. Most of the time, what I feel is loss.  It's most acute, most palpable when I'm in Cambridge. I've been back only once since my mother died and hope not to return anytime soon.  I went "home" to Cambridge for Little Desi's 30th birthday party but I staye...
Read more