Sad, tragic, nalstalgic, and beautiful... When I first heard it I was thinking of my two sweet babies. How is that so much time has passed? I'm still sad that Gwen's infancy is over, and here she is in elementary school. I've grieved over her milestones. I was happy but it was so sad. When she walked she didn't need me to carry her anymore. When she began talking she needed me to communicate for her less and less. She doesn't need me now to get dressed or brush her hair (most of the time), or get her seatbelt on. I am proud of her, but it's too fast!
But I have realized that my grief goes beyond that for my own children. "Memorize what it sounded like when your Dad gets home. Remember the footsteps. Remember the words said and all your little brother's favorite songs. I just realized that everything I have is someday gonna be gone." The thing is... I haven't been ready to grow up. I have felt since that since I became an adult, I have still been a child. I'm trying so hard to make the right choices and be brave, but I keep waiting for someone to step in and make it all better. In my child's mind I don't understand why the people I love can't love eachother. I don't understand why people don't just get along. Why can't everything just be ok? It should be that simple. But it isn't. "I wish I'd never grown up."
I've said lately that I am so tired of people telling me that I had a horrible childhood. My God am I sick of it. Don't anyone dare tell me what my childhood was like. I remember what it sounded like when my dad came home. I remember my parents in love. I remember what came later, but it didn't change how I view them. I loved them. I see the pain in both my parents. I see the pain in my siblings who have such varying stories. I see the pain in many other people and yet I see the beautiful hearts of those who I love.
I cry because I want to give my kids what I didn't have. I want them to have their worlds connected. And yet this is the very thing that I can't give them. God knows I tried. I know that what I can give them is me. What I can give them is my very best. When Gwen is 29 and looking back, I want her to know that I loved her. I want her to see how I surrounded her with people who loved her and chose her. I had this. It made it better. Honestly it made it beautiful. It was broken, but beautiful. I want her to know how much I grieved and wept over what I couldn't fix. But I also want her to look at what I did with what I had and be proud of her family. I hope I do better than my parents as they did better than theirs. I hope they know how thankful I am for both of them and for all the people that they have brought into my life that have said and lived the words "I love you".
This is my favorite scene of my favorite movie... fitting I think
"You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of a sudden even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone." "I still feel at home in my house." "You'll see one day when you move out it just sort of happens one day and it's gone. You feel like you can never get it back. It's like you feel homesick for a place that doesn't even exist. Maybe it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't ever have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I don't know, but I miss the idea of it, you know. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people that miss the same imaginary place."