“The only thing that doesn’t fall apart in life is family”
Heard that sentence, or something very much like it my whole life, heard it again last night and to this day I still find myself somewhat baffled by it. Baffled in the way I used to be when I would sit cross-legged on the front stoop, feet bare, skin nearly mahogany from spending as much sunlight as there was outside, alone, lost in the texture of petals on neighbor’s flowers, squeezing tall blades of grass between my toes. My head cocked as I watched the green shards bend, fold and wrap cool and refreshing against my skin. Wondering why some would bounce right back to their erect stance while others seemed to be stunned and unable to find “their” place back in line, (hence the reason I still tip-toe or rarely walk across the grass….don’t want anyone to lose their place). The way I would gently purse my lips and close my eyes, fingers and forearms sticky and slippery as I whispered my wishes into a plastic wand and blew. My eyes opening and hopeful as I marveled in the big soapy bubbles….wondering which would sail and float down the block, escaping, taking my wishes and dreams with them. Which would simply sputter down the wand or worse, fill to amazing size, the fragile sphere glistening and shimmering with color, dancing and shifting with the wind…mesmerizing and distracting me before bursting, my wishes spilled across the concrete while I frantically searched regrouped and sought out the tiny, tighter bubbles that still contained my sweet seven year old breath, hope, desires and ache to get to hover above the block I was restricted to. Hoping one of those tiny ones had walls strong enough to hold, “I want to be remembered” the, “I want to been heard not seen” the “I never want to eat pancakes again” or, “I wonder if there is love big enough for me to actually feel it”
My entrance into the world of love by way of family was rocky to say the very least. Mother and Father both checking in and out; her through books, longing for love from anyone that might save her from the broken bits of life she was promised that never quite fit together. Him fighting voices, pain, feelings of failure compounded by the destruction caused in the wake of his finding peace, quiet and love in the form of a needle and the quiet hum of, “I can’t hear or feel how disappointed you are in me” in them. I danced, played in the stunningly beautiful ocean, made wishes on bubbles and played in the grass. Not sure what a shrink would say but from my stoop and whispered bubbles wishes, I would have to say, pretty much fallen apart. So that family is the end all be all bullshit just never rang true to me. Until….
“I have twenty-four dollars, will that help?” I was ten and my mother was in tears wondering how she was to care for the child that was now growing inside her. One of those hopeless affairs with someone married, stupid, (sorry I was 10 and knew he was a loser dumb ass) and not the least bit willing to help. Something in her sobs, desperateness and watching the person that is in charge of your whole life crumbling kind of feels like a match to your spine. “We can do this Mom, we don’t need him. Really, I know we can” and just like that, fuck saying it now I can’t believe how easy it was for her to bend and fold between my toes. She needed a voice and someone to take charge, was so deflated and lost that she let that someone be me. One of those tight little bubbles did in fact make it, I was heard and not seen and the second I held my baby sister, danced with her pressed against my chest, I knew one of the others had made it too. There was a love big enough to make me feel it…..
“If you are pregnant I will throw you out of this house” the tone had changed even though every example and slideshow I had been shown hadn’t. I was five months pregnant and looking at having my, “Only thing in life that doesn’t break” be shattered into a million pieces. Didn’t matter how terrified I was, didn’t matter what was to become of the child now growing inside me….the twenty-four dollars, the nights that I was up in the rocking chair with my lips pressed against my sister’s temple as I cooed at her and assured her she was wanted and loved. None of it meant anything in the face of having a knocked up teenage daughter and what people might think or say. Homeless with the child created with a “man” that didn’t give two shits about me or at home holding even tighter to a sister that was going to be a victim of what my splintered idea of love and family was. Baffled…
The day I felt my sons tiny fingers grip mine through those rubbery and horridly disinfected arm holes through the incubator I knew, knew like I knew as my mother sobbed and begged for clarity, it was time to face up, own and embrace a love that while not the stuff of whispered wishes, was in fact the stuff that dreams are made of. Rolled the dice and took my chances. I had fucked up so much, been a mess and source of so much “family” humiliation, what’s one more? Made the choice to keep my son and was willing to let the pieces fall into the already hodgepodge resemblance of some puzzle that was missing its box cover. Had no idea what the picture was supposed to look like and for the first time, I didn’t care. No more. I was done. No longer were my legs dark brown and crossed on the stoop, I was now looking down the barrel of a life changing moment and there were no bubbles and carried off whispers to wonder about. I closed my eyes, exhaled and chose Jeremy.
“I just wanted to thank you for taking a chance on me Mom” a call that I can still hear as clear as my nails tapping on this here keyboard. My son calling me, after acting out a scene in a play where he had to be the guy that took off after getting someone pregnant, his first thought was me…and he was so grateful. To this day I wish I were as clear and centered as my son. So open to each little scab picking moment and willing to see the pot of gold at the end of it. Wasn’t all wine and roses in that kid’s life but still, he finds ways to shine, feel lucky and never, ever sees life as anything but a gift. He is my miracle and the person I want to be when I grow up. So wondrous to me when he and I sit together one on one…both of us giving the other credit, praise and that feeling that comes from absolute trust, understanding and love. Looking in those soulful eyes of his, I find myself, seven years old again and taking an extra big breath to make wishes, but this time for him. I choose Jeremy…over and over again.
“I just want you to know that I pick you as my family” a text from my beloved Merritt just seconds after landing back in LA after being in Memphis celebrating two of my most adored people taking the plunge and even symbolically telling all of us, chosen ones, that they are madly in love. I choose her too and as I tossed my stained bra, smoke saturated sweaters and wedding worthy, ( this can be disputed) clothing into the hamper and nuzzled into the aromas of my home…I found peace on a level that is still working its way through my now pasty and milky skin. I no longer have to fill my days with flowers, blades of grass and soapy bubble wishes, my dreams and desires are no longer confined or restricted to my stoop or block. They now float about in the heart of my sister and my son, the only family of the traditional use of the word, that I really have but also in Merritt, Amy, Randy, Carl, Ron, Michael, Vicki, Sam, Val, John, Sara, Joe, Alfonso and all the others that have taken a chance on me, listened and felt me. Some relationships will bounce around on the breeze, take my whispered hope and heart with them, others will grow and burst before my eyes, leaving me wondering why that one failed but never forgetting the ones that slipped past the stoop and found their way to thrive.
So while the whole family or, “blood is thicker than water” thing still baffles me I now know a little better the sentiment behind it. Feels like I’ve found my place and no matter the feet that stomp and squish, I honestly feel like I can bounce back, stand tall beside My “family” and be ready for the next. I still play with bubbles but now, now they are in my glass. They dance about my tongue, tickle my nose and desire, get poured over the skin I’m about to devour. Tiny bubbles that break against my palate as I stand before a class of forty people that came to hear and learn….from me, my son and I clinking glasses in celebration, nights on the couch with the sound of my closest friend’s laugh ringing in my ears, the flavors of baked apple and graham crackers bubbling from a plastic cup in a backyard in Memphis. Family may in fact be the only thing in life that doesn’t fall apart but sometimes it’s not the one you were given but rather the one you have chosen….cheers to you all.
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