My eyes are tired. The little girl woke up no fewer than eight times last night until finally I put us both out of our misery and did the unthinkable: I brought her into my bed.
And then we slept, a little less fitfully.
The bad dreams raged on, though: Someone is chasing me and he/she looks like my old boss for awhile and then my boyfriend’s old girlfriend and then someone I don’t even know. And then the chaser disappears, but I am left, wide-eyed and breathless, not having any idea where to go.
I am stuck, in the middle of a wide open field, somewhere completely unfamiliar. And I am alone.
This house is a home like Bon Iver is peace. My home. My peace. Even if they are newfound.
“For Emma, Forever Ago” is the only record up on my little bookshelf that is actually mine.
This morning, I keep listening.
Everything that happens is from now on…
This house like a home goes on the market today. It is just a house. A pretty little yellow house in the middle of America. I haven’t had it long enough to be this attached. It is just a house.
Today, I feel a little like running away, holing up – for a while. Just existing without all this worry, without all these endless job applications that go nowhere. Just figuring out how to keep doing what matters most – loving the three people I’d do anything for, ever. Figuring out how we can all live happily ever after.
This morning, on the way to school, the little girl out of nowhere looked up at me in the rearview mirror and said, “Mom, I miss you when I’m at Grammy and Papa’s.”
It was both sweet and sad at the same time. But she loves her Grammy and Papa, and we are lucky. Still, to hear her say she wishes I could somehow not be absent while she’s with those other people she loves made me feel, well, warmer.
Thank god for those moments, for those wonderful days, for those beautiful babies, for that amazing man, for those do-anything-at-all parents (all of you). We will get through this.