Imagine yourself walking under the moonlight alone but your hoodie keeping you warm and loved with the entire city lights cheering you on as you take one step at a time towards home- whatever home may be to you. You plugged in your earphones and Lauren Marsh’ Dear Love plays along. “Tap, tap, tap.” The rain joined the bittersweet chorus of your heart. You looked up and felt the sweet kisses of raindrops on your cheeks. As it became stronger, it’s warmth faded away. Now you’re left alone cold in the dark. You found yourself looking through the stained glass window of a taxi. Pitiful rain, such betrayal. You took a long sigh and fogged up the glass. Why can’t my heart stop beating? And it beats louder and louder like those ritual Djembe drum dances from West Africa. It went silent. “Tap. Tap. Tap.” There goes the rain again. I seemingly heard an invitation or so I thought.
It’s Monday and I’m running late. But I have to start on that list somehow. I chose to start with reading Mormon 8 of the Book of Mormon. I am nowhere near being a Spiritual Guru, not even a student. But I love studying (not reading) the Book of Mormon because it gives me comfort and peace knowing that I am not alone and forgotten. I feel the Spirit testifying that all that is written in the book is part of 0our history. I feel Moroni as once a living individual, just like you, just like me. I feel him strongly talking and his words were written from his heart. I know the book is true. Everything in it is true. It’s even more genuine than what is written about our political history. I love being a Mormon.
If humidity can melt fats, I’d be size two by now. If I can link the airconditioner to my metabolism, I’d be size two by now. Sighs.
I failed my goals today. No mantra, no meditation, no diet, and no running, no scriptures, and I even missed church. My body clock completely went to a halt. But there were good things I did today, too. Sofie made her first cucumber salad. Mikhail told me that I am the prettiest mom ever. He also added during dinnertime that I am a supermom. At the end of the day, my kids are the only ones that truly matters. They are even more important than myself. Being a widowed mom is not easy. It’s a selfless act, even more selfless than being parents. Not that I look down at double parent families, (oh my, how I envy such families!), but in most circumstance, widows never remarry. Dating must be highly considered or the kids will feel unloved. While the parent is busy with a new love affair, the kids feel inadequate.
When asked about mommy-dating, my five year old didn’t answer. Instead he asked me this, “Mom, am I not enough?”
He is more than enough to me. The journey is still long and very narrow. It is the road less taken. The path all of us dreads. Am I unlucky? Probably. But a friend of mine assured me that the Lord sees me fit for this task. The Lord knows my strength and He is anxiously waiting and cheering for me to complete this errand and come home to Him. My task in this mortal life is not to be romantic but to raise His children well. It’s something that I’m no good at but the hugs and kisses assure me that I’m doing okay singlehandedly.
And yet, I am still grieving.
All my happy moments will always be the saddest. For it is a dreadful reminder that you’re gone. Can you see that I am sad? I will always be sadder than the saddest girl in the world.
When the day passes and darkness lurks;when everyone is calmly tucked in bed; dishes done, and I hear nothing but the whisks of crickets in the night and the croaks of frogs under the timid dance of rain, the subtle cold of emptiness draws on me. How I envy time, for every tick, there’s a tock. I hear it louder and louder. The silence inside me is deafening. There’s no cure. I turned off the dimming light, and slowly set my pace into a deep sleep. I finally made it through another day.
What is good about living is the limitless count of starting over again. President Gordon B. Hinckley, prophet and seer, once affirmed that man only fails when he quits trying. So I am going to have this second take on my life. Sorrow lurks from the deepest part of me and it is NOT making me happy. Grief is devouring me. Envy is taking control of how I feel towards others. Regrets are swelling in my belly. It is no fun at all. So I decided to begin again. Easier and friendlier this time. I am befriending me. If no one seems to care for me, then I will love myself. The mind is the most powerful tool in the course of history. Allowing it to dwell in pain and brokenness limits its capacity to grow even more beautiful. I am dictating my mind to start again. One take at a time. Survival mode if I must.
Today is day one. It is 7: 36 a.m. and I’m late. 😥 I will start correcting my meals today. Listen beyond words. And offer a hand. Those shouldn’t be too hard, eh? It’s like mastering the “A” before going through all the letters in the alphabet. So, today is my “A”.
I am cold. Jaded. Unloved. Cold, like the unfeeling him locked up in a casket.
He’s gone. Gone. Gone.
All memories gone. Half of me withered away back to ashes with him. He is never coming back. Never ever.
Tonight, I felt him close to me. His embrace, his smile. I miss those. I miss him. But it left me so cold. So cold here without him.
I miss you.
The memory of you came crashing tonight. The peace and quiet of the night made me feel you ever so near. I have been writing you love letters the whole time you were inside the academy. Cupcakes, cookies, and kiss-sealed letters. Tonight I write once again.
I am finding my way back to where we were. I couldn’t find you in someone else’s. I will never be whole again. After all the anger, pain, and grief, all that’s left is me and you. There will always be me and you. I miss you. Terribly. This isn’t the happy ending we dreamed of. But it’s the beginning.
You were gone. I was lost. I looked for you and found myself. Dear love, don’t you worry. Let me mourn in grief. These tears fuel the river of never -ending-us. Without you, I am broken, lost and torn. Forgive me. I do feel like a sad song.
I miss you. Again.