a farewell

by ck on April 3, 2014

TWO wrestles to get the bottle out of my hands and into her mouth. I look at you. I want to smile, but there is so little to be happy about. The last few months have been wonderful. It’s been closer to a year, all told. But it’s about to crumble. Again. And this time it’s over. We know it. Everyone around us knows it

Last time this happened it was more of a surprise then I let on. I still had some of that silly, optimistic hope. This time it’s the reality of it all that makes me sad. I knew it would go down this way. I’ve talked myself through it. I’ve refused to be blind again. But it doesn’t help. I still don’t want it to end.

I’ve known you my whole life. As a child I never looked at you that way. Adolescence through teen years I had dreams and hopes for you that often overtook my deepest thoughts. Some might call them unfair expectations, given genetics. In my twenties I even imagined drastically manipulating things to make you who I wanted you to be, but instead decided to rest my hopes on children. They would bring us together.

ONE arrived at age 27 and as expected, she made some dreams come true and you came through with the others. I was so satisfied and proud that I took you for granted. But when ONE turned six months old, you became a shell of who were when we started. I was devastated. I couldn’t reach you. Things went flat. I knew that the only way to bring you back was to have another baby. I toiled with the decision for two years. Could I stand it? Was it worth it? And what would I be left with if things didn’t work out?

TWO arrived at age 30 and you reappeared, just as I believed you would. It was a joyous reunion. Painful at first, but after two weeks, it was glorious. I’d go as far as to say you were tremendous. But this time you didn’t stay as long. And the whole time you were here I was so afraid that you would leave that I didn’t enjoy you the way I wanted to.

But earlier this week I realized that it had to end. It was time to cut things off. We spent the last two days together. Really together. We went to all of our favorite spots. Starbucks, Target, the park, Costco. I wore tanks and tight tees for the last time. It pained my vanity. I wanted you. Nothing else, just you. But TWO wanted the bottle.

Now it’s time to learn how to love myself without you (again).

I need a drink. And I can have one now. Guilt-free.

But it won’t taste nearly as good without you.

I remember the day I questioned my mom about why her breasts were so ridiculously small. Her response was, “I used to have nice breasts before you came along. Then they disappeared and I was left with you.” Her smile was so wistful that I can still see it today.

Oh, that’s just my reflection.

©2008 CEK. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

 

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