There are so many things that I haven’t seen. There are so many places I haven’t been to and things I haven’t done. But I’m here. I’m waiting. I’m ready, Mom.
I’m looking to experience, smell, touch, taste and see new things. I swear that I’m ready this time. I think age can be a problem — not to be too young or too old, but either can be the culprit of why we cease or desist. I think this is a mindset. You know?
I think this has to do with the way we see things. I think this has to do with our fears, our concerns, our wants and needs. I think what holds us back the most are obstacles in the mind. It’s our thoughts. It’s our ideas and our worries that the worst will come true.
I think a time comes when our will and our need to “Be;” or feel happy outweighs our fear. Otherwise, we never move. Otherwise, we sit still and worry about the unknown and all the other things that sit beyond our control. I think our moment of realization — or wait, It’s better to say that in our moment of supplication with ourselves and/or the creator; we make a decision that nothing can hold us back. This doesn’t always happen for everybody.
Or, who knows? Maybe this does happen for everyone. Maybe people are too afraid or too stuck. Maybe this is why so many of us quit before we start.
I think you were trying to teach me this. I think you saw things that held me back. And yet, all you wanted to do was help me. All you wanted was to urge me to go forward. All you wanted was for me to see that I was capable. You wanted me to see what you saw. But I couldn’t. To be honest, I think this is a dilemma for most Moms in the world.
I think some of this is what you were trying to tell me. But hey, as well all know; intentions don’t always match interpretation. The deception of our perception can be a tricky thing. I know this because I have been deceived by myself for way too long.
I have this question, which I ask myself. “If not now then when?” When is it time to live? When is it time to try or dare? When is it time to feel the sun on my face without worry? When is it time to enjoy the wind through my hair without worrying about anything else? When can I do something as simple as see an open field and not be afraid to take the hill or run through the grass?
There are so many things that I missed.
Lifetimes can pass without anyone noticing. I know this for sure.
People grow, move, pass away and then we turn around in some kind of urgent moment of awareness. And we ask ourselves, “How much have we lived?”
“What did we miss?”
How many times do we die until we finally realize this is it? There are no do-overs. There are no take backs. This is it. We only get one shot.
There were times when I would be on the roof of a tall building, dead-center in the middle of New York City. I would look at the buildings around me. I would look at the sky. I would scan my eyes along the East River and at the bridges that stretched from Manhattan into Brooklyn. I would wonder if my destiny was out there. I would wonder what my destiny is or if I would ever find my purpose. I go back to the things you would tell me. I go back to the times you would try to simplify what I would complicate.
You were trying to help. I know this. But yet, kids often find their parents help as an insult. My interpretation was you wouldn’t believe or understand what I was trying to say.
But no. None of this was true.
You were only trying to tell me what you were seeing. You were only doing what it was that you do best.
You were just being a Mom.
I’m ready now Mom.
I really am.
I want to see things. I want to do things. I want to toss my worries out the window and drive off to see everything I’ve always wanted to see.
I want to try. I want to make things happen. I want to do this before I turn around and find that it’s too late.
Too much time has passed and too many opportunities are gone.
I want to smell, taste, touch, see and feel all that I can because here I am, closer to the end than I am to the beginning. I have things I want to do. I have things I want to build.
I still think about the farm. I thought about this last night. This happened after watching a video of a young teen that went through abuse at a treatment center. I suppose this is why I want to create a better option.
I still think about the dream you told me about. Remember?
I’m talking about the dream with the weeping willow.
I think about this.
I hope that wherever you are, there’s a weeping willow and a quiet little country stream. I hope it’s like the one you told me about. By the way, I use this version in my head. I use this to help me build a place where someday, there’ll be a barn, a farmhouse and people, kids or whomever it may be that needs a place like this.
I want to try again.
I want to write more and do more. I don’t want to allow myself to be held back anymore.
You used to tell me, “You can’t be afraid to try, son.”
And I would argue back.
I’d say that I wasn’t afraid of anything.
But that’s not true.
The truth was I was always afraid of everything.
I was afraid that I was a joke, that I would never amount to anything, that people would laugh or that I was just this person; able to reach but never touch, able to see but never have.
I was always afraid to find out that I was the last to get the punchline. Or worse, I was afraid to find out that I was the joke. And the worst part is that everyone else was in on it.
See, the mind doesn’t comprehend the difference between real or imagination. All the mind does is sense emotion, which causes us to go through chemical changes.
I used to think myself into panic attacks. I used to think myself into self-destruction. I literally thought myself sick. This is why it was so tough to reach me.
It was my thinking that made me unreachable. This had nothing to do with anyone else. This wasn’t anyone’s fault and there was no one to blame. In fact, for years now, doctors have been saying depression is a problem with our chemistry. Not our character.
I never knew how to explain myself. And yet, then again, I was afraid to admit any of this to anyone. What if they look at me and laugh? Or what if they tell me I’m crazy.
Or wait, no. What if I am crazy?
There was something I learned a while back. I forget this sometimes, which is why I remind myself now because now is a good time to remember: Crazy people do not think they are crazy. So it’s good to give ourselves a break. Oh, and for the record, stupid people don’t think they’re stupid either. They think they’re smart.
It’s hard to be so aware sometimes. It’s hardest when our awareness is misled or misguided by ideas that stem from inaccurate truths and unfortunate experiences. I think this was something you were trying to teach me.
Maybe I couldn’t understand. Maybe I had to suffer a little bit. Maybe I had to take my falls and get up. Maybe I had to hurt before I could heal. I don’t know. I’m not too sure.
But I know that I’m ready now. I’m right here, which is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
I have to say it; life can be lonely sometimes. I admit this. I miss so many people, which hurts. I know most of our life is beyond our control. I know that time waits for no one. I know that “If not now, then when?” is a great question to ask ourselves
I don’t know whether I’m heading in the right direction or if the signs I see mean I should take note, be careful or turn around. Sometimes, I don’t know what’s right or wrong. I only know I have work to do, which means I have to keep going. I know that in my head, deep inside, I can hear you say, “You just have to take a chance, son.”
I’ve been trying to reach you lately. I’m not sure if you can hear me. I’m not sure where the universe takes my messages. I don’t know if they get to you quickly or if they reach you at all.
Maybe I talk to you because I have so much to say — and like anyone else in the world, I wish I could hit the reverse button sometimes. I wish I could take back a few of the things too.
I’m thinking though. I was thinking about the last time we went to dinner on Mother’s Day. A piece of me knew what was coming. A part of me knew this was going to be your last Mother’s Day with us. I knew it. I just didn’t want to believe it.
(Or deal with it.)
I wish you could see where I live now. I wish you could see the mountains. I wish you were here to read the books and see what I do. I guess what I’m trying to say Mom is I wish you were here.
I wish I could hear you say, “I’m proud of you son.”
Other people try to tell me this. In fact, people say this even when I ask them not to. As a matter of fact, I have shared notes to you in which I specifically asked people not to respond. And what do they do? They respond. They tell me you are proud of me. I suppose what they don’t understand is it hurts me to hear this from anyone else. The truth is I just want to here it from you.
I’m going to make you a deal. I’m going to give things another chance. I’m going to try again. I’m going to look to smell, taste, touch, see and feel as many things as this world allows me to.
I promise, Mom.
I’ll do this but if you can, send a bird. Send a butterfly. Send something please.
Send something to let me know you got my Mother’s Day letter.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom