Tag Archives: emotions

Letter To My Heart

27 Jul

My dear Heart,

I never thought I would ever consider writing you a letter, but somehow—and for many obvious reasons—here I am doing just that. The need to write to you is intense and overwhelming, so I can’t ignore it.

Like with the letter to Pain and Loneliness, I feel the need to acknowledge you in ways I never done before and tell you a few things . . . This one thought keeps circling . . .  not sure what I will accomplish with writing to you, but like so many things happening lately, not much makes sense these days so here we go:

I have this knot in my throat writing these words because . . . because the truth of the matter is . . . I’ve never taken good care of you. I’ve destroyed you too many times to count. I’ve taken you for granted. I’ve thrown you to the jackals and watched them rip you apart. Thrown you in the whirlwind of love, never once wondering if you can take it; never asking if you want it. If you could handle it. I’ve bruised you, let others wreck you over and over again . . . not giving you much time to breathe in between blows. Never letting you fully recover. Time and time again.

The smarter people say recovering from loss takes somewhere between 12 months to 24 months. Looking back at our history—I never mourned enough any of the losses you and I went through. I never let you fully heal. Acknowledge the loss, deal with it, say goodbye to it. Instead I found a new love—or a new love found me. The highs of that blanketed over your broken pieces, gave me new purpose, new strength and diverted my focus from what I should’ve paid attention to most: you. Feel your pain. Wipe your tears. Bandage your bleeding wounds. Put your pieces back together. Help you recover. Help you become whole again.

I guess . . . I’m a terrible home for your precious being. I treated you badly, as badly as those who shattered you over and over again. No wonder you hurt so much now and scream, ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!!! I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!

As much as I let you down, I want you to know that I never intended to hurt you. I never intended to break you and let you become of stone. I never intended to make you pay for my mistakes.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I broke you and let others do the same.

I’m sorry I took you for granted.

I’m sorry I mistreated you.

I’m sorry.

I was hoping . . . could you ever forgive me?

 

Dear Loneliness

21 Jun

Dear Loneliness,

I can’t remember when you first showed up, but I remember you’ve been part of us for a long, long time. I can’t remember when I first felt your presence but I do remember how you stubbornly refused to leave, always there, persistent and determined to break us. I can’t remember when I gave up, but I do remember wanting you gone, afraid once installed between us, you’ll be the one to win.

Loneliness. I hated you. I hated you with my whole being. I hated how you snuck between us, making yourself comfortable and at home. I hated what you brought between us: the cold, the silence and the pain. I hated how you stretched, lingered and took over. I hated how you gained the space between us, bringing us on the verge of no tomorrow.

Loneliness. So often I wanted to scream at you, punch and throw you out of the house. So often I wanted to tell the world your name and what you’d done to us. Make you feel ashamed for your ruthlessness. Make you leave. Make you pack your cold, silence and pain and make you disappear.

Somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow I lost the battle. I gave up. I let you win. Loneliness, I hope you’re happy now.

Broken and empty. Lost and wounded, that’s what I am, that’s how I feel. But amidst the darkness veiling my soul, somewhere very deep and where you, Loneliness, couldn’t reach, there’s the tiniest ray of light giving me reason to keep going: hope. Hope that one day I’ll be whole again. Hope that one day I’ll emerge stronger than ever and ready to love again.

Goodbyes are hard, but not this time, at least not with you, my dear Loneliness. You’ve been part of my life, part of us for a long, long time, but no more. It’s time we part ways, for good. Do not come back. Do not try to reconcile, it’s all futile. I’m actually not saying goodbye. I’m saying: good riddance.

Open Letter To My Son–Part 1

25 Apr

Dear Patrick,

It’s been a long time coming and now that it is so close, emotions and memories run wild like spiffed toreadors chased by a herd of bulls … tumultuous and raw overwhelming my heart.

Sixteen years of homework, studying, successes and failures, tests and grades, friends and bullies, good teachers and not so good ones, semesters and breaks, all coming to an end. Sixteen years of early mornings, sleepovers and drop offs. Sixteen years of classes, projects and subjects, one by one plating a seed of knowledge and another piece of puzzle in the map of your life. Sixteen years of hopes, anxieties, concerns and perseverance, always pushing forward no matter the obstacle, no matter how hard.

Sixteen years since you entered through the doors of public education for the first time, coming to an end on Thursday when the bell will ring for the last time in your life as a student. A chapter will close and another one will start. A door will close and others will open. Through all of it we loved you, taught you to the best of your abilities and saw you become a strong, healthy and responsible individual. Couldn’t been prouder of your achievements!

Thank you for being the kid you were and for the man you became, Pat! Thank you for allowing us to stand by you through all of it, good and bad, and for never giving up, always chasing after your dreams. The key of your future is in your hands now, enjoy the ride!

Love,

Mom and Dad

New beginning–same emotions

22 Aug

I remember. I remember my son’s first day of school, back home in Romania. On a sunny September morning I took his hand in mine and walked into the school’s yard. Walked among hundred of other students and their parents, all excited for the new beginning.

I remember his palm fitting in mine, holding tight and not ready to let go. I felt his nervousness and all I wanted was to hug him and take it some how from him and replace it with calm and love and reassurance that everything will be okay.

Today, twelve years later I am blessed to see him go off to college, his once again first day of school. A different kind of school—for bigger people—but the emotions pooling in my heart still the same as back then.

Before his first class this morning I met him for an ice tea at the bookstore on campus. Instead of holding hands we hugged (he gives the best hugs ever). Placing his chin atop my head he wrapped his long arms around me and squeezed.

“Hi, Mom,” he said with a smile.

“Hi, kiddo,” I replied. “Ready for your big day?”

“Ready and excited.”

We waited in line at Starbucks and made small talk. A cup of ice tea, and a hug later I saw him walk away from me, my heart so full of love and pride I’m surprised it didn’t explode.  

I said a silent prayer and sent him to conquer the world.

Go get them, Tiger!

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