I’ve been quiet here, lately. Not because of a lack of things to say, but quiet. I’ve started several posts, and abandoned them all. They’d burn hot, and burn out.
So many feels.
I miss my sons. All three of them. It’s not just because it’s the holiday season; I miss them always. It’s more keenly felt when getting together with family, when my brothers have all their kids and grandkids gathered ’round. It makes my missing boys all the more missing, you know? Two of them I can call. I’ll even see them on Facetime or in person at some point. Life happens. Lives are lived. I don’t begrudge them a single iota. In fact, it’s what I want most for all my kids–happy lives being lived on their own terms. It doesn’t mean I don’t miss them.
And then there’s the one I won’t see, but in dreams. I won’t hear his voice on the other end of a phone. I see dean’s list darlings on friends’ social media, and I get angry. My son was one of those, too. And then–poof–he was gone. I don’t begrudge my friends their happiness, their pride. I can’t help that it makes me equal parts sad.
Those are the reasons I’ve been quiet here. Happiness makes me sad. There you have it. But I have SO MUCH, too. I love my new home, my book is doing well, and I have the most adorable monster-grands, IMO, in the world. And I have my Frankie D who loves television Christmas movies, wears a Santa hat to work, and commutes five hours a day, three days a week to keep a roof over our heads. Thirty years with this man, and I love him more every day.
I have awesome brothers, and the sweetest sister ever. I still have both my parents, going strong. My kitties keep me entertained, and rife with cuddles. I get to write. Every day. I don’t even have to wear pants if I don’t want to–which means never.
I have a son in Portland, Oregon; he makes me so proud. He calls often. He misses us. But he’s happy. I know he is. And he has the perfect girlfriend. As much as I miss him, I’m glad he went across the country to figure out who he is, what he wants, far away from all the things that broke him, once.
I have a son (never a stepson, even if he’s not much younger than I am) living his best life. Two amazing daughters that keep him constantly moving (band!) I’m so proud of him, of the man he is. I wish I got to see him more, but when I do, it’s like no time has passed.
I have a son too far beyond my own realm of existence to see or touch or hear, but while I could, we spent a lifetime of time together, as if something knew it was all we were getting, so it squooshed it all into a shorter time-span. I’m so grateful for all that time, even if it wasn’t spent under the best of circumstances. Doctors and hospitals, therapy and lonely days–I treasure all those long conversations, some of which I’ll never understand. I don’t miss the bad times, but there were plenty of good in between, and I’m especially grateful for those.
And I have my girls. My amazing daughters. My best friends. Strong, resilient, caring, accomplished women. They work so hard. I am so proud of them. I get to see them both often, and talk to them nearly every day.
I tend not to write about my (living) kids much on these pages. They read this blog, and I don’t want to make them uncomfortable. Their lives are theirs, not mine to wax poetic over. But it’s the holiday season, and I’m feeling melancholy and hopeful and happy. And sad. I want them to know, though their brother always screamed loudest, though it might seem otherwise, he’s not always utmost on my mind. Quite the contrary, in fact. They’re my everything.
So, here’s to the happy times, to the sad times, to being able to do what you love, with the people you love most. Here’s to good friends, good times, and another year spent on this blue marble floating in space. And here’s to my kids–all five of them–and love so far beyond measure, it makes me dizzy to contemplate.