Notes from the Neighborhood – A Dear Mom Letter

Dear Mom . . .
I am sorry that it’s been so long since my last letter. A lot has changed since then. In fact, it has been said the three biggest changes that take place in life is your work life, your home life and your love life. All three of these things have changed for me at the same time. My wok life has changed. My love life has changed and my home life has changed and been reduced to a small, one-bedroom apartment in the upstairs of a private house.

I am not too far from where we used to live. So you know, the old neighborhood looks different now. The landscapes have changed and the town has changed but still, this is where it all began. I was a little boy here.
I was a kid here. I played in the dirt.
I played hide and seek. I used to pretend to dig for buried treasure here and yes, when I was young enough to believe in things like my stuffed animals being real enough to be my friends, I remember thinking that I could catch fireflies and put them in a mason jar so I could use them at night – and go exploring.

I drove by the old house the other day. It would have been nice to walk in the front door to say, “Mom, I’m home,” but the new owners might not get the joke.

I am in a new place now, Mom. Everything is different now. I suppose this relates to something you said to me after Pop died – I expected my future to be different. You said that to me.
You told me you thought that the two of you were going to live the rest of your golden years down in Florida.
I was hoping for the same thing.
I thought my life was going to be different as well. For now, my plans have changed. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know what all of this means. And, I can’t see where my future will be, which is sad, but the bottom line is uncertainty can drive us crazy (if we allow it to).

I really thought that I was going somewhere, which I still am. I’m heading down a different path, alright, but the path is even more different to me.
I’m not where I thought I would be nor is this where I planned to be.
But either way, this is where I am. 

I’m sorry to say this, but I’ve been out of touch with much of the family for a long time. I still keep to myself and, to some degree, I still think this is for the best.

I have to find a new way now, Mom.
I have to look for the next chance to pull off my trick. And again, my trick has changed now. But at the same time, nothing has changed for me. I still want my dream to come true.
I still want to find my happiness, which is something that I thought I had.
But no, I guess it’s safe to say that in a moment of sadness and desperation, I reached a breaking point. I reacted. More to the point, I freaked out.
Either way, I’m at where I’m at and I’ll be where I’ll be – for now. 

Mom –
You used to always tell me, “No one ever promised you a rose garden.”
This was your way of saying that life isn’t easy. This was you telling me to suck it up, so-to-speak, and to get back up on my feet and get back to what I needed to do.
And I am, Mom.
I’m sucking this up as best as I can.
I’m doing this regardless of what I’m thinking or in spite of how I’m feeling. Each day, I wake up on time and as much as I don’t want to do what I have to, I get to work on time. I do my job. I do my best. I still come here, each and every morning to see if I can propose a new script to make my way towards a better life.

This new place of mine will be different now. The surroundings are all new and my options are not what I thought they would be.

I was thinking back about some of the kids from the old neighborhood.
I was thinking about Jeff.
Jeff and I go all the way back to the days of little league.
He passed away quickly during the Covid months.
Jeff’s family and friends asked that I act as the minister for an online ceremony which was to be a memorial in Jeff’s name.
Jeff was always a good kid. He and I spoke three days before he passed.  The news came out of nowhere. But then again, news like this was coming in droves at the time. The world was filled with loss. And me, I lost another friend of mine.

I managed to give a nice eulogy, which was not about me at all and more about Jeff. What I remember most about this was Jeff’s Old Man. He was so happy with what I said that tearfully, he said that we were all going to get through this pandemic business. He promised that when we do, we were going to have an in-person memorial to Jeff at Prospect Park.
That was a great place for us when we were kids.
Jeff’s father was so loving about this and so promising. And to me, it’s nice to have people like this in your life – it’s nice to have people believe in what you do so much that they openly declare that you are a part of them, that you are important enough to be considered family. That above anything else, you are a special and valuable part of their life. It’s good to have people see you like this. Wait, no.
It’s absolutely necessary to our mental goodness.

Unfortunately, Jeff’s Father passed away not too long after Jeff died. So, we never had the chance to set up the memorial. 

I swear –

Life puts people on our path for a reason. I know this is true. I suppose the hard part is losing people who believe in us so deeply. It hurts to lose someone that with them by our side, we believe in ourselves a bit more, just because they’re there with us.

Mom, I can tell you that loss is a big pain in the ass!
And I know what you would tell me about this.
You would tell me that death is a part of living. You would say that dying is part of life and I agree. I also agree that we die in different ways throughout our life. We go through different periods of loss. We grieve and we mourn. Love can die too. Especially if we fail to care for love the right way because love is living and breathing. Love is alive.
I know mine is –
However, I think there is a choice to live every day. I think we make a choice to live each day.
And we have to make them count. We can live every day – or, we can die each day and live in the deaths of our frozen communications. 

I have lost great people in my life. As a matter of fact, I have lost the greatest people in this world. Whether the universe will allow me to circle back and mend the broken fences or should fate deliver the opportunity to repair the bridges that crumbled into walls, I’ll take my time to do this right and rebuild my life as best as I can.

I’m starting to wonder about my path, Mom.
What about the work that I did over the last few years? Where has this led me to? What does this mean to me now? Has anything I’ve done come with some sort of value?
Has all this gone away because everything around me has changed?

I started to think that maybe all of this was over. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to help anyone anymore. Maybe my drive to be a specialist had come to an end.
Maybe my presentations are meant to stop. But I love this work.
I don’t don’t want any of this to change.

So . . .

Last night was a night that I hadn’t had in a long time. I was on the phone with different people and coaching someone into an ambulance to save them from a self-induced problem that would’ve come to a tragic end. 
It was ended by a phone call from a man on an ambulance crew.
“We got him” he said.
And that’s good.

Maybe I need to get my head straight. Or, maybe I need to realize more about who I am instead of giving in to the ideas or the assumptions that who I am is not enough. This is something that I know you would tell me. I know that in spite of what’s gone on, you would tell me that I am one of the best people that you know. Coming from you, this would mean the world. But these words don’t come from you anymore – at least not in a way that I can hear them. So, it’s simply not the same when someone else tells me.

I need help . . .
And you said you would always help me . . .

This is what I miss about you the most. I miss the fact that no matter what was happening or how bad things might have seemed, you would know how to make believe.
You would know how to cheer me on but more than anything else, you would know how to point out the qualities that I’ve always overlooked about myself.
You would know what to say that would show me that I can do anything and that I am good. In spite of life’s problems or the surroundings where I find myself – you always knew how to show that I have value and that I am worth far more than I give myself credit for.

Maybe this is one of the biggest jobs for the people who love us. Maybe this is what Moms are supposed to do too. It’s nice to have someone in your corner.
It’s lonely when there’s no one there. Believe me, I speak from experience on both ends of this pendulum.

As for now, I have a new mixer that came for me. This came in the mail the other day. I’ve been sticking to my diet and eating healthy. My weight is down and my body is looking more fit than ever before. However, I need some comfort.
I need a dose of Mom’s mashed potatoes.
I’ve never been good with making chicken cutlets. They never come out the way I want them to.
But I have managed to master the art of making some great mashed potatoes.
I think I’ll have to do that soon.
I think I’ll make some extra, just in case I have a surprise visit. I want to be sure if anyone tastes this creation that they can taste the love it was made with. I want to make this so that they can taste how this links me back to a better version of time and to a better version of life.

Loss is a bitch though.
But I know what you would say. Better yet, I know what you would do for me.
I can see this in my head. I can see you putting a plate down in front of me. This was your best penicillin. This was your antibody to the world and this was your medicine to beat the sadness. This was your healing recipe and to me, this was a meal that would say, “It’s okay. Eat this and you’ll feel better.”

I can see the house at 277 Merrick.
I can see the pictures on the walls and the tablecloth in the dining room. I can see the warm dimness that was given off by the small chandelier above the table. This gave off a warm glow or a loving sense of a yellowish in light. I can see the whiteness from the overhead light in the kitchen as it bleeds from the entryway. And you, Mom.
You put down the plate as I sat at the head of the table in Pop’s chair. No one else is home. Just us.
No one else is there; but at the same time, no one else needs to be there. 
(I hope you can see this.)

I need you.
And here’s why:
We all need people to believe in us. We need people who inspire us. I have this. In some cases, I don’t have this as much as I used to. In other cases, I’ve lost this at least in some perspectives.

When Pop died, you told me that you lost the love of your life. You told me that you lost your partner in this world. You also told me that you lost your best friend.
I can’t say that I know what you were thinking and feeling at the time. But I can say that I understand this from my own perspective.
It’s sad when you lose someone so big and so important to you that now, there’s a hole in your heart and a vacant space by your side. There’s an unfillable void and an irreparable emptiness inside of your gut which turns and aches and feels every minute of absence in a excess of irrational pains and thoughts that dig us deeper into a hole of lonesome despair.

Either way – no one ever promised us a rose garden. Life is going to be hard.
We can work through this. But we have to want it –
And I want it. I want it more than I want my favorite band to start touring again.
But that’s an entry for another day,

The last of my furniture is coming today. Next, I’ll look to decorate the walls. Then I’ll look to rebuild what’s left of my life.
I have to get back to the basics now.
I’ll have to redesign and redefine my goals, which is not to say that my heart or my feelings have changed. No, all of this is still the same. My options have changed and my possibilities are different now. I’ll have to build from here though and make way with what I can.

I’m thinking about taking a class . . .
Maybe I can find a scholarship . . .
Maybe I need to remember why I wanted to get involved with the mental health world to begin with.
It’s not because I’m so great as a person. It’s more because I’m flawed too.
I’m as crazy as anyone else
(maybe)
I need to remember that I do have a purpose. I have dreams that coincide with this. Whether I can see you or hear you now (or not), I know there is something more that I need to do with myself.

I could use a sign though, Mom.
Just let me know that you’re out there and that you’re watching me.
Let me know like you used to – that just because bad things happen, it doesn’t mean we can’t be good enough to recover and overcome anything. 

No one ever promised us a rose garden . . .
To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever seen one.
Oddly enough, the prettiest garden that I have ever seen or walked through was in Central Park.
I wish I could go there and feel what I felt that day. I wish I could have that same specialness which took place at that moment.
I wish I could feel the love and the belief that I had in my heart back then – and by the way, it wasn’t like I was in Harlem, New York City.
No, I was in a perfect place of peace and love and at the moment; nothing about me or “us” was wrong. Everything was perfect and hopeful.

I could use that right now, Mom.
If you can send me that feeling and the person who gave it to me.
That would be the best birthday present ever because I could use a walk through a garden like this. And a hand to hold and a heart to let me know that in spite of all the wild and crazy bullshit – I’m good . . .

I want to be good, Mom.
I miss you.
I’ll write to you soon.

Oh, and PS:
I know that my mashed potatoes differ from yours a little bit. But I do know where the love comes from. And still, to me, this is the best emotional penicillin in the world.
So, don’t worry. I’ll be sure to save you an extra plate. Whether you show up or not is beyond my reach. But either way, my heart is still where it’s at and so is my love.

Love always

B –