A different time…
That night, lying in bed, I could not help wishing that there wasn’t so much sadness in growing up. It was all confused in my mind. There had been the long, long days of being young and not wondering about tomorrow and at all and thinking in a strange, forgotten child’s world. There were days when my thoughts were mind as feathers and even an hour seemed like a long time. Then suddenly, it was like turning a sharp corner—you were older and all the things that counted when you were young didn’t count any more at all; and looking back, you couldn’t see them. Growing up crowds your mind with new thoughts and new feelings so that you forget how you used to think and feel…
This snippet was part of a letter I wrote to my daughter nearly twenty-four years ago when she was fourteen years old. I still have that letter hidden away in an old scented hatbox along with odd scraps of paper sharing my thoughts and dreams for her. Other mementos that nestled amongst the old stories and poems were the medals and certificates that chronologized her young life’s accomplishments.
Recently, a dear friend of mine mentioned how her life revolves around things and events and “two breaths you’re back to stage one” doing it all over again. It triggered something in me and so it became my night’s mission to burrow into the back of my closet to find the boxes filled with all the precious memories and the little scraps of paper filled with loving sentiments from my children. I lost many of their photographs, artwork and most of their saved schoolwork in a flood six years ago. It was far more devastating than the sixty thousand dollar plus damage the flood caused. I saved what I could by painstakingly wiping and hanging the less damaged items from makeshift clotheslines and cried when the colors ran together as they dripped dried. Those early pieces of art don’t resemble the original beauty created by little hands, but nonetheless they still hold a place in my heart.
While I was drifting in time, I came across some pictures of my daughter’s friends that were taken at birthday parties and elementary school events. One little girl shined the brightest in all the pictures with her curly blond hair and her bigger than life smile. Not only did her reflection make me smile but it also made me cry. You see, my daughter and her friend have been out of touch for most of the time after we moved across country. We often talked about her and what she is doing with the usual barrage of questions. Is she married and did she marry anyone my daughter knew? Where is she living now and how many children does she have? The curious questions went on and on and so, I made it my quest to find her friend and surprise my daughter. It took me several months of no one answering my letters or inquiries on Facebook. Until, one day I accidently finally stumbled upon somebody who might know somebody, who knew somebody that eventually led me to finding her mother. Since, I didn’t hear from her for a couple months after the initial contact, I had to assume I had the wrong person and the search was on again.
Last month I was elated when I received the most welcomed reply from her mother…then it was followed by the most devastating news…my daughter’s friend, Michelle tragically passed away nearly twenty years ago. The news couldn’t have shocked me more than if it had just happened. I called my daughter after I composed myself and we cried together. Even though she is two thousand miles away I shared her pain and grief. We grieved for the guilt we shared in not keeping in touch with friends and loved ones. We grieved for selfishly taking advantage of time thinking there will always be another tomorrow…we grieved for all the years Michelle and her mother, Sandy did not share. More than anything, we grieved for the closeness we lost as mother and daughter getting caught up in our own busy lives.
