Not this kind:
This kind:
The kind that kissed boo boos, proofread papers, made halloween costumes and baked birthday cakes.
The kind that drove cars full of kids to soccer games, track meets and whale watches.
The kind that supported, nutured and offered unconditional love.
Thanks Mom.
The plane tipped to one side as it curved away from the earth. The land fell away leaving nothing but blue. She wanted nothing more than to be back on solid ground in her own hometown.
The last two days had taken lifetimes. The exhaustion was starting to creep in around the corners. But she had a long way to go before home.
Puffs of white cloud streamed over the wing breaking the monotony of blue. “Just close your eyes for awhile,” he had said, “Get a bit of rest before we land.”
She held a book, ignored in her fascination with the blankness. The book started to slip from her fingers as her eyelids drooped. She pulled it back before the fall and laid it in her lap. “I’ll just close my eyes for awhile,” she thought.
When her eyes closed the events of the past few days played across her memory. Driving her father and aunt to the airport, getting everyone through security and on the plane, landing in the bright light of the nation’s capital. Then navigating the terminal, getting the rental car and checking in at the hotel. Finally, the reunion.
These were family members who had been virtual strangers for over twenty years. People drawn together by loss and grief. And, as was typical of this family, to cope they drank. Heavily. At one point she had to negotiate with the police on her cousin’s behalf. At another she was responsible for a rather large bar tab left behind by members of the party long departed, At another she found herself dragging a heavily intoxicated young sergeant back down the hill to his hotel room.
When she finally made her way to her hotel room it was hot and dry. Her body was exhausted but her mind would not stop. Sleep was fitful. Morning came too soon.
She went through the motions of morning routine. Shower, dress, gather and go. There was breakfast with the family followed by the military hurry up and wait in the lobby. When finally she eased the rental car behind the limousines, she breathed a small sigh of relief to have the proceedings underway.
The cemetery was a sea of white headstones, occasionally punctuated by something more personal erected by a family of some means. She found herself wondering which type of headstone he would have.
There were checkpoints and protocol. Then they were all ushered into a small room to wait some more. His beautiful baby girls were dressed in matching dresses, coats and hats, identical impressions of one another but in reality two halves of a whole. One angel slept while the other was engaged and inquisitive.
There was the service and her cousin’s powerful remembrance of her brother. Then the journey to the grave, once again through the field of lost soldiers. The cold air, snowflakes flying. Her father held her arm and she clasped his hand. She shivered, but not from the cold. But she had to stay focused. Her role was to worry about the logistics so her father and aunt could be there. To hold the space so they could grieve. And she still had to get them home.
The plane tilted again, an indication that this leg of the journey was drawing to a close. She opened her eyes to a blank white outside the window. They were in a cloudbank. Flying through a clean slate.
She didn’t feel so tired anymore. She would be able to get her aunt and father home. She could hold it together a while longer. And then she could succumb to the sadness.
Sadness for the loss of a good man. Sadness for those who were forever affected by that loss. Sadness for the realization her father was indeed blind. Sadness because her aunt was so much older than she imagined her to be. Sadness for twin angels who would grow up with two American flags and a set of medals to represent a father they would never know.
The plane burst through the clouds. The city below was a marvel of motion. The plane banked making its final turn toward the runway. Once again there was nothing but blue. She wiped away the tear and reminded herself that it would have to wait.
I struggle with the necessity of war. I have thought about its place in the world. I have studied the concepts of pacifism, wrestled with the validity of “Just War”. And I have come to no definitive conclusions.
Conflict is a part of human interaction. I am idealistic enough to believe there are better ways to resolve conflict than aggression. Conversely, I am not so naive as to believe aggression is entirely avoidable. It is one thing to want to believe the best in people. It is another to cleave desperately to that belief when it is being disproved before your very eyes.
I have been opposed to the Iraq War for many reasons. Diplomatic options were not exhausted. The legality of the declaration of war was questionable at best, both from an American and an international standpoint. It was foolish to tie up so much of our country’s resources in a conflict which did not make our nation safer. Sacrificing the lives of men, women and children on both sides of the conflict was unnecessary.
I wrote letters. I attended protests. I supported politicians who were opposed to the war. I would debate my opinions of the matter openly.
I, like many of those with whom I had discussed the war, did not have a true connection to the subject matter. While one of my strongest opposition to this war and war in general was the loss of young Americans and its impact on their families and communities, I observed this from a distance. I was disconnected.
I did have a family member stationed in Afghanistan. We had been involved in each others lives when we were younger, but grew apart as is the case with extended family scattered to the four winds. We heard about his life’s progression in Christmas letters from his father’s new wife. He married. He had lovely twin daughters. He joined the military. He received commendations for his service.
When I would discuss the impact of the war on military men and women and their families, I did not necessarily think of this relative. I was aware of his service. He was in Afghanistan which wasn’t the same as Iraq. I had a more fluid opinion of that conflict. I still believed the devastation on both sides was excessive and unnecessary. I still mourned the lost potential. I still grieved for the families and communities impacted. But I did not make the connection between this family member to the losses I railed against, because he was not lost.
That changed on Christmas Eve. He was lost when his outpost on the border of Afghanistan and Pakistan came under enemy attack. The family was told he fought bravely. He died a hero.
He was a good man who loved in his country. He was a father who loved his daughters. He was a husband who loved his wife. He was a brother, and a son. He was a hero to those people everyday. And his life came to an abrupt end far from home engaged in conflict with men and women he had no conflict with. His wife is now a widow, his daughters are without a father, his father must now endure the pain of outliving his son.
If someone could explain to me why this was necessary, perhaps I would find it comforting to know he died a hero. I would accept the pain his loss has caused for his family and by extension mine was in pursuit of something larger than all of us.
I do not believe his loss was necessary. I do not believe it was justified. And I find myself saddened far more greatly than I would have expected. This was not simply another story of a soldier lost. There have been so many of those we have almost become desensitized to it.
This was a man whom I had played with as a child. This was someone of whom my father was incredibly fond. This was an individual who mattered a great deal to people I love. This was a person to whom I had connections.
So now my theoretical conversations involving the devastating impact of war on those it leaves behind has become real. And I find that my theory was sound. But there is no comfort in that. I would gladly be wrong about it all in order to stop the suffering of those to whom I am connected by blood, love and a broader sense of family.
So lately the Fiend and I have been experiencing a lot of togetherness. Babydaddy is going through a bit of a rough patch and doesn’t feel that he has a stable place to bring her to. My routine of Tuesday and Friday nights off is, for the moment, disrupted.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love spending time with my daughter. I have also really come to appreciate time away from my daughter. Some events in the past few weeks of togetherness have led me to believe that she might have come to appreciate her time away from me.
There is a really fantastic gallery in town which hosts all sorts of wonderful exhibits and puts on great shows. For their 1000th event they threw open their doors to all. There was a giant game of Twister. There was a mural painting project. There was silk screening.
The Fiend and I being the hip chicks that we are naturally attended said event. Unfortunately while at the gallery we hit critical mass of togetherness. We had grown weary of each others company.
The early hours of the event were populated with happy artistic families with their beautiful ruddy cheeked angels basking in the glow of their familial contentment. Children were giggling and zooming about. Couples were holding hands and beaming at each other.
The Fiend and I created the contrast to the otherwise idyllic scene. First, she was dressed all in black. Head to toe. She was even wearing a black beret. Have I mentioned that she’s five?
Second, we could not agree on what to do. Nor could we come to a compromise. When I finally begrudgingly acquiesced to the Fiend’s desire to start with Twister, we were both grumpy about it. Surrounded by these cherubic children and there proud parents, we scowled our way through the first few calls. Then the Fiend says, loudly, “Mom, get your butt out of my face!”
My highly mature reply was, “Get your face out of my butt!”
I noticed that after this exchange the other families on the board were doing there best to find ways to detanglethemselves from us and move farther away. We both eventually gave up on Twister, much to all the other players’ relief.
We tried painting for awhile. The Fiend didn’t like anything she did and kept wanting to paint different tiles. I kept trying to explain that each tile was a piece of a larger mural and that she shouldn’t swipe a paintbrush across it twice and want a new one. She responded by stomping her foot and scowling. Unfortunately her stomp landed on my foot. I let forth a stream of inappropriate semi-expletives. We decided it was time to move on to something else.
There was a pack of wild toddlers carousing through the gallery at that point. My amazonian daughter asked if she could join in the revelries. I agreed but asked to to remember that she was much bigger and stronger than the other kids. I brought our t-shirts over to where the silk screening was going down keeping an ever-watchful eye on the Fiend.
It took six times longer to complete the silkscreen than it should have due to the number of times that I had to remind the Fiend that running full tilt at someone with half your body mass is only appropriate when engaging in hand to hand combat. I’m pretty sure the adorable 3 year old boy who would have been on the receiving end of the Fienda train was not looking for a fight. Maybe she was simply having the same gag reflex reaction to cute, well behaved children that I was having to happy, well-adjusted couples.
There was a table laid out with soups, breads and baked goods. The suggested donation was $5. I hadn’t brought any money. The Fiend wanted to eat. I explained the lack of cash. She frowned and thought for a moment. And then she said, with feeling, “I’m sick of your face!”
It was time to leave. We bundled up against the chill air and set off down the road to our car. The walk was very very quiet. We got into the car and set off homeward. The Fiend broke the silence as we neared our destination. “I love you Mom, but I just don’t love you that much.”
So much togetherness.
I had a conversation last night with a friend about the end of his most recent relationship. A major theme was a difference in where the two were at in their lives. His ex, a mother of two and career woman, was looking for commitment and stability. He wasn’t ready to let go of freedom. He wanted to be able to travel or go to school. Listening to him talk about these differences it became clear that he believed them to be desires which could not co-exist. Compromises would have been made which would have inevitably led to remorse and resentment. As I watched him work through these issues I was struck by the tremendous sense of loss that he seemed to be grappling with.
He described the end of the relationship as an illuminating experience. There seemed to be this realization that perhaps the situation wasn’t as much of a compromise as he thought. He talked about wanting to continue spending time with the kids because of the deep connection he felt to them. But then he would say that he was able to make to commitment that she wanted and he knew that it hurt her. The struggle was between this vision he had for himself and the reality of his emotion for this family he had become a part of.
I began to think about my own situation and the issues that had come up for me. I look at myself as a single mother and have a hard time feeling secure in relationships. The reasons for those insecurities are exactly what had happened in this case. My life is settled to a certain extent because I am a mother. My life requires a certain degree of stability because of the responsibilities I have. I have assumed these attributes to be a deal breaker for most men. I had thought that most men were not ready willing or able to commit to a domestic life with a single mother.
My observation of my friend’s situation, admittedly tinted by the lens of my own experience and limited knowledge of the situation, was that the desire to make the commitment was there. He wanted to be a part of this family. He wanted to be there for this woman. The real obstacle in the relationship was fear. The fear of mediocrity.
As human beings we have a deep desire to be exceptional. We want to stand out. To have a skill or ability that sets us apart. To lead an unparalleled life. For many people the life of parent, spouse, homeowner and employee is completely contrary to that desire. There is nothing exceptional in that life. It is mundane. It is conventional.
My great ephinany last night is how untrue that is. My friend had asked me how I reconcile my own desires with being a mother. What I couldn’t articulate in the conversation was that there is no reconciliation required. I didn’t stop being me when The Fiend came into the world. Becoming a mother did not make me half a person. It made me a whole person.
There have been some changes. But they have been positive changes. It is so easy to talk about all the things you want to do when you are free of real responsibility. That doesn’t mean you follow through on any of it. In fact in most cases you don’t. And perhaps because you don’t have responsibilities. Because you haven’t learned the balancing act.
It is folly to view parenting as putting your life on hold. It is an exercise in effectively utilizing your time. I still have all the same desires. The difference between pre-Fiend me and post-Fiend me is that I have actually accomplished some of those things. Being a parent is a motivating thing. And it should be. It is a matter of accepting the grace and inspiration that is part of that gift.
I want to be the best person that I can for The Fiend, but more importantly for myself. I want to be a role model and an inspiration for my child. I want to proud of my accomplishments both as a parent and as a person. And I want to support The Fiend in her pursuit of the same things.
And it is no different in a romantic relationship. Your job as a partner is to provide support. If both partners are doing there job, the burden of the mundane is shared leaving more time for the exceptional. If someone I loved really deeply wanted to go back to school, my job is to figure out how best to support them in that pursuit. I my deepest desire is to have time to devote to painting it becomes my partner’s job to encourage that in practical and emotional ways. The person you are in love with should motivate you, support you and sustain you. The person you love should make you whole.
Now understand when I say The Fiend makes me whole or that a lover should make you whole, I am not implying that I wasn’t or couldn’t be without these things. Love does not detract from the whole of you. It supports your wholeness. It amplifies it. Love does not create mediocrity. It banishes it.
The reason is love at its most basic level is wanting to be your best and wanting to help those you love be their’s. So few of us ever successfully do this. So few of us create a family in the truest sense of that word. So few of us are able to transcend the hollow desire for a false sense of “freedom”. So few of us are able to understand that true freedom comes from true love.
True love is rare and precious. And accepting it into your life will make you exceptional more surely than any trip or class or lifestyle. Running from it will only leave you with regret and remorse. Running from it will make you mediocre.
She wraps her arms around one of mine and snuggles in. I feel the warmth of her breath and smell her freshly washed hair. She sighs, expressing the contentment we both feel.
These are the moments that I live for. When the frantic pace of work, school, laundry, dinner, dishes subsides and we are still. It is in these moments I breathe deeply and feel whole. I experience an incredible peace and an overwhelming wave of love for this amazing being beside me.
I can let go of the stress of my job, the pressure of maintaining a house and the strain of making ends meet. It is one of the few moments in the day where I am really present. At those times the only thing that exists is us. It is perfect.
There is nothing that compares to the love you have for your children. It is a depth of feeling you would not believe possible until you are blessed by it. You become greater as a result. You come to expect more of yourself because you realize what you are truly capable of.
You learn you have reserves of strength that are deep. You discover that you have infinite patience…most of the time. You uncover gifts you did not know you had.
It is the most fulfilling job you will ever have. It is the most rewarding obligation you will ever accept. It is the most profound sweetness you will ever know.
