Saturday, December 19, 2009

goodbye to all that

Goodbye then. Goodbye to all that, baby. baby. no. No more nurtsie momma. No more rubbing my flanks from behind when you are nervous, or tittering with the mole in the crest of my throat for comfort. No more kissy lips like fish. no more flubber. no more Pokemon and the endless recitals of each character's prowess, powers. but most of all, what is filled there. The anger not made in my body or my hands but brought up in the kiln and fired in the kind of blaze that burns to bone and then even deeper into the cells of the bone so that your bones are empty and you are knock-kneed and sock-eyed and left to fill yourself with what you can create in your cave with what he has given you which is all stone, and fire, and stone, and fire, and the way you fly into the air is on the lip of the flame. Which I watch in self absorption thinking ' how did this happen when I was so sure it wasn't going to happen because I did everything, everything different and in the name of love? and again. how did this happen because i did everything they told me and the therapist gave me four years and I went on bended knee to show the wrong of me and make it right, all in the name of love? and again. how did this happen when I begged borrowed and worked every day and every night to burn it down and build it right and give it to you? only so that you would not hurt like this. only so that you would not self-destruct like this. and again. ' How can I make what isn't mine or scoop the mud clay from your chest and replace it with something else, something that does not leak from your eyes and mouth at night and leave you calling out in your dreams for it to stop! stop. I hadn't planned on the other love of your life, sweet boy. I hadn't calculated the weight of a father. Me. Of all people. Me. Not calculating the weight of a father. It's the same great play and I blinked when his part was announced in the opening and coughed and yawned and thought only of my hand in yours on the stage, your eyes looking at me, your little spirit and mind so fine, so fine, and so safe in my care. Me. Of all people. Not calculating the weight of a father. Or the weightlessness without.
Elizabeth said...

a prose poem, a slice of life, an appeal to love and relief? I send you succor, I think, the memory of your strength. And a little peace and a lot of mercy.

Maggie May said...

a slice of life. i wish it were not so.

Darcy said...

i know this is a painful piece...but still, thank you for sharing your heart with us, even when it's crying.

Petunia Face said...

You take my breath away, your honesty & your words.

lettyrburrage said...

hello~nice to meet u..............................

Maggie May said...

it is crying out. i am so sad i hardly know what to do with myself lately.


in case there are newish readers, i want to make clear Mr. Curry is not the boy's biological father. so not the referred to person here.

Bird Bath said...

maggie I'm sorry that you feel so sad.I know young people can really surprise us with their potential. my daughter has. sometimes we wonder were that girl we knew has gotten to. but I believe that this effort they go through waxes and wanes. one day they will spring forth and surprise us even more. wishing you comfort.

Lydia said...

Your heavy heart pounds in these amazing sentences.

Have they met, son and birth father?
Sometimes it is best not to. My birth father left when I was three weeks old, and I did not meet him until I was 21. He was all stone and fire, too, and not only in my life but in the lives of his sons born of a first marriage, and a son born to another woman after he left my mother. The wreckage was real for all of us. I refer you to two past posts, though they may or may not resonate....eino: a poem and all-american dad

god, I am sad for you and send hugs.

michelle said...

oh, Maggie.....

my heart is heavy for you and yours

Beth said...

“Not calculating the weight of a father. Or the weightlessness without.”
It happens – and when we do remember, it can hit hard.

Ms. Moon said...

There are things that no one can control and what happens in adolescence is one of them. I am going to say the same thing, over and over-just keep loving.
This may be the hardest thing you'll ever do (not the loving part- no!) but the watching it all happen.
It is not going to serve him or you or your family for you to beat yourself up. You have done everything. EVERYTHING, sweet Mother. And will continue to do so.

Petit fleur said...

Dear God Maggie. I know that is such a tough place to be. Not from my own experience, but a dear friend's. I guess in a way, it was a shared experience because I love her son as if he were my own...

I would venture to say most people on the planet have daddy issues. They are so very hard to navigate. Just remember you have been and are doing all you can and YOU are THERE. And regardless of what his issues are, that makes a difference. It does.

And Dakota, I'm sorry to be talking about you again. We are pulling for you darlin.
xo pf

Patois said...

So heartbreaking and beautiful.

Lola Sharp said...

Oh darling Maggie,
The teen years are so damn tough...to be, and to parent. Trust in this: he KNOWS you love him... YOU. He knows his safe place to fall. As most of us with absent biofathers know, there are painful journeys to lamely attempt. It's a passage he must take. I wish, oh how I wish we could shelter our children from all pain, all suffering. Alas, that would be unfair to their life learning process, their journey to fulfill.
We turned out alright.
So will our children.

I'm pretty sure this is why good vodka was created!
And bubble baths.
Cheers and Big Hugs,
Lola Sharp

Shana said...

I'm sorry for your struggles. As one sensitive/brilliant/troubled boy's momma to another.

CitricSugar said...

My heart breaks for you and your son. I wish you strength and solace.

mosey along said...

Your gift for putting your life into words, whether joyful or painful, is staggering. Does it heal, being able to put it down?

Brigindo said...

So beautiful. Its so particular but also so universal. As the mother of a (mostly) grown son, it speaks volumes. I know that pain...it can diminish but it never really goes away. Wishing you the best.

Maggie May said...

His bio father was gone the first four years and then reentered. Without any detail, it has been hard.
Ever. Since.

Maggie May said...

also, i love you guys.

you make another shelter for me and for that i thank you so much.

Terresa said...

Lovely stream of consciousness writing here. I can feel it.

Angie Muresan said...

I am so sorry for your pain. Wishing it all away, and only love and joy to remain.

Laura said...

I agree with Ms. Moon. Keep loving. And I add...keep talking. Make sure he knows you are on his side. I think this is harder for mothers and sons, maybe. My boys are only 10 and 12, yet I know there will come a day when they see that Mom sees differently than they. It is coming soon. But your son will look back and see that you were always there, offering love.

I pray a lot. Because I know mother-grief, you will be in mine.

Just.Kate said...

I shudder at this entry. My son, only 2 years old, and his father, only sometimes here.

(And me, with three "fathers", none of which wanted me, one of which eventually stayed, one of which flickers in and out-)

I'm sorry, for you and your son and me and my son.

But- life has dealt harsher blows. It will work out, it will it will (that's my plan, at least- that's my belief).

Lots of love, Merry Yule.

A Cuban In London said...

A reflection? A moment to yourself? Dextrous and loose fingers playing on the keyboard?

It was bloody marvellous. Many thanks.

Greetings from London.

yolanda said...

yes, a slice of life, yes yes!but what write!!!!you are a goddess.
yet yet
i cry with you....

love
yolanda

Helen said...

Maggie, I am feeling for you this morning. Your grief is our grief.

jennifer said...

i feel this. no one ever explains the truth about being a parent. the heartache.

Claire said...

thank you for finding me.

the fibres of hurt are so visible. can i sit beside you, keeping you silent company?

i can linger here and that i will do.

deb said...

this hurts in my soul... parenting is so hard. Even with the so called perfect, it often isn't . There would be no pain greater than to see one of my older children drift.
And trying to decide where the boundaries are, and where the unconditional love can still be found.
Incredible writing.
Incredible heart.
I wish you peace in however this plays out short term.Long term, I'm sensing it will be okay.

Home Girl said...

poping in and out of your beautiful blog i sense it has been a particularly tough year. i hope 2010 turns into a new beginning and a much happier year xx

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