Letter To My Son: Another Year Older

Every year, I tell your birth story. The story of how you were born. Every year it begins the same and ends just as it did the year before and the year before that.

Your birth story begins with uncertainty, fear, and worry and ends with love, pride, and joy.

The best part is that your story, at its end, is only just beginning.

You were born on a drizzly day. It had rained much of the night before on our way to the hospital. We worried about your Aunt Jen making her way up safely from San Diego to be there to welcome you.

Not long after you entered this world did you begin to explore. With your eyes wide open, drinking in every sight, every sound, you looked around to see what was going on. The nurses worried because you weren’t crying. They needed you to cry and clear your lungs but you were calm, peaceful.

Fascinated.

The warmth of a body and the beat of a heart put you to sleep easily. You never took to your crib and always found your way onto someones’ chest to sleep away your baby cares. Listening to the steady rhythm of their heart.

We were in awe of you, you and your dark hair, long fingers and long feet. Your full lips and your strength. You never ceased to amaze us.

As you grew, your personality began to blossom and the strength you showed while in my womb with all your movement translated into pure joy and happiness as a baby. And a very strong will.

You laughed, giggled, snuggled and smiled your way through your days. A silly boy, a willful explorer.

My wish for you my little love as you turn 6 years old is that you never stop smiling. That your inner joy always shines through and that your eagerness to see everything and understand all there is in this world and beyond continues to guide your learning.

I hope for you a life of imagination, pretend and of make believe. To see the world as it is and as it could be. To guide your strengths to build a better future for yourself and for those around you with the help of your wild spirit and your determination.

You are more than I could have asked for in my first child. You bring me joy and lots of room to grow as both a parent and as a person. Through you, I’ve healed my past and built a future with you that I could have only dreamed of. You woke in me the little girl who believed, just as you believe.

Happy Birthday my little dragon.

And here is to the many many years ahead.

With love,

Mama

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Heart’s A Mess

I’m a music junkie.

I need a fix quite regularly and I have a few favorites I can fall back on.

After awhile, though, my regulars aren’t cutting it and I need something new, something fresh.

Like an itch I can’t scratch, I search for something to feed my hunger, to please my ears and soothe the need for something different.

Through an unexpected trail of events, I’ve found Gotye, an artist with a haunting and beautiful sound. It’s now my new drug.

I can’t seem to stop listening to Heart’s A Mess. The odd melody sticking with me all day as I hum and sway to the jolting rhythms and the haunting lyrics of a heart closed to love.

We’ve all known one who is afraid to love and be loved. And some of us can even related to being the one closed off. Of throwing away the key and not letting anyone in.

Of hoping the pain of a love lost will fade with time by shutting out those who really want to know you, really want to get under your skin and be there for you.

Someone desperate to connect…

Heart’s A Mess by Gotye

Pick apart
The pieces of your heart
And let me peer inside
Let me in
Where only your thoughts have been
Let me occupy your mind
As you do mine

Your heart’s a mess
You won’t admit to it
It makes no sense
But I’m desperate to connect
And you, you can’t live like this

You have lost
(Too much love)
To fear, doubt and distrust
(It’s not enough)
You just threw away the key
(To your heart)

You don’t get burned
(’Cause nothing gets through)
It makes it easier
(Easier on you)
But that much more difficult for me
To make you see…

Love ain’t fair
So there you are
My love

Your heart’s a mess
You won’t admit to it
It makes no sense
But I’m desperate to connect
And you, you can’t live like this

Your heart’s a mess
You won’t admit to it
It makes no sense
But I’m desperate to connect
And you, you can’t live like this

Love ain’t safe
You won’t get hurt if you stay chaste
So you can wait
But I won’t waste my love

Treading Lightly

I wake in darkness

as the walls press against me.

 

(don’t go, please don’t go)

 

I stumble through rubble and

pain

stubbing my toe against your

shattered mess

 

(what will i do, i don’t know who i am without You)

 

The ground is littered with

false hopes

broken promises.

A trampled heart.

 

(when will You come back?)

 

I step around, treading lightly

tears pound

the ground

and I wish I could fall

 

back

to

sleep and dream.

Peaceful…

 

[What Can I Do?]

 

I can only go f o r w a r d

and hope to be granted strength

 

Tomorrow.

The Anti-Valentine Poem

There you sat

my (heart) in your

Hands

and said

“Imagine a bouquet of flowers,

right here.

That was my plan, to surprise you.”

But I don’t see any flowers.

No roses of red, daisies of white.

Instead I see you

and all I can think is

“No, I’d rather have you

there,

sitting the way you are

so:close

instead of flowers.”

No flowers.

Just You.

In Between The Li(n)es

Sit me down and tell me a story.

Wind the lines and thread the needle as you sew together the characters and scenery, thickening the plot and adding some magic.

Make me a princess. And you a knight.

Turn the pages and show me the pictures. Feed me the words of once was and forever after.

Tell me your lies, painted in fiction and fantasy.

Hold me close, your voice like the honey of your eyes, and I’ll listen, cuddled warmly against your skin.

Whisper the lines you so desperately want me to believe.

In comfort, I’ll listen and let you hope that the layer of betrayal beneath the beauty of your words won’t peek through.

Won’t show until the story is over.

Sadly, I know. I see.

I know about her.

I know how you crossed the lines.

I know how we danced around each other, the fair maidens in your lies, carefully twisting around you till you were bound and tied.

Your words tumbled from you. You fall mute.

The threads you weaved and the words you spoke mean nothing as the pages fall from your hands.

Here we stand, your fair maidens each with a page in hand, wondering how you meant this story to unfold.

I’ll never know the whole tale. The spaces in between the truth and the fiction will forever be blurred and I’ll be left with an unending story that haunts.

Too bad your words turned sour and your lies became your truth.

The story is done, and we must remain

stuck in between the li(n)es.