I did not intend to write about online dating on Christmas Day. It felt both cheeky and frivolous. At times, I wanted to spend my day in solitude thinking. Thinking about the people B lost and misses. So much of my blog has felt like self pity, that I thought today might be well-served thinking about how others might be suffering. There are more than a few things I did not do well in our relationship. One of those things was to try to develop an understanding of B’s loss. I was so focused on the joy of us (and how that made me feel) that I sometimes didn’t think about what she might be thinking and feeling. It’s more complicated than that… I knew she missed her mom, and R and baby P. I couldn’t feel those loses in my heart, I didn’t put enough time in to trying to hold those loses in my mind. It doesn’t count for much now, but I have a better understanding of how challenging the holidays can be. Compassion is about putting yourself in someone else’s shoes, trying to see and feel as they do. I want to be a more compassionate and thoughtful person. I don’t necessarily believe in cosmos types of things, and yet, every once in a while I feel like I should put good vibes and thoughts out there. Today, I’ve been feeling this way.
Mom L: I’m sorry we never got to meet. You raised an amazing woman. Like my own father, you sound like you were, at times, difficult. That difficulty also helped raise an amazing woman. I got the chance to visit the bakery where the two of you would go – C’est la Vie. I listened as B talked about your sense of design and style – she admired that in you. I would have loved to visit the shop you owned or gone on a hike with you. I know B misses you terribly. She wishes the two of you could still go shopping together. She wishes she could talk to you. I think there’s a lot of things she’d like to tell you. I hope she tells them to you anyway. In a strange way, I think we would have gotten along. Tonight I’m thinking about you. I’m wishing I could have known you better, found ways to honor your memory better. I love the butterfly garden that S, L, and the kids do for you. You should be proud of the children you raised – they pretty alright.
R: At various times, I’ve wanted to “write” to you (both before and after B left). I’ve been thinking of a poem “Dear R” for many months, but I haven’t known what I want to say. A big part of who B is as a person is because of you. I know she loved you, I could see it in the photos of the two of you. I know she admired you and your strength. I know she forgave you for being angry at the world. You were dealt an unfair hand, and you dedicated your life to fixing that for other people. I live and work in Memphis – home of St. Jude Children’s Hospital. I often think about you when I think about the hospital. I think about how unfair the timing of scientific advancement is – had you been born in a different era, you probably would have had a better chance. I wish you had a better chance, an easier path. More importantly B wishes you had an easier path. I hope you know that I cherished B. I tried to take care of her and Zelle with all of the kindness and compassion I had. I was sometimes threatened by you, not in a real way, but in a greedy way. I wanted all of B’s love for me. It’s hard to explain. Please know, I wanted us to find ways to have you in our lives in whatever way B felt was appropriate. We were both new to this. I never expected to fall in love with her and she never expected to fall in love with me – neither of us knew how to keep you and honor you in the face of each other. She once wrote a poem (I’m sure you know it) “There Is Room for You” It’s one of my favorites of hers. I love the lines “our lives are big, our things are small / there is room for you.” B has an amazing ability to love big and still have room for more. I had hoped to learn a bit from her on that. I know that poem was about the family you were trying to start… I still would have liked to have learned how to have such big lives and still have room for you.
P: I can’t imagine I would have ever met B had she been able to keep you. That’s the strange and wandering path of life. Those series of events put us in each other’s orbits. You can’t be much older than seven by now. While she was only your mom for a week, she loved you deeply. All these years later, you still have a place in her heart, she still talks about you. Very briefly, my own daughter called her mom – B is kind, warm, and attentive – all the tings a good mom should be. There’s very little I can do to honor you other than offer a few words here on an inconsequential blog. Nevertheless, I’m thinking about you tonight too. Hoping that you had a nice Christmas, that you are safe and healthy and well.
Admittedly, it feels strange to address these people. I didn’t want my only post on Christmas Day to be about online dating. I didn’t want my holiday posts to be all about my loss. As happy as we were last Christmas, I knew B was sad. Being alone this Christmas has taught me a thing or two about that. It has made me really want to understand my sadness and her sadness better. Holding these people in my mind tonight seemed like a small but meaningful gesture – a meditation for opening my heart.