Thursday, September 3, 2015

Don't Cry

Don't cry, she tells you, as you stand waiting for her luggage at the airport. As she tells you through tears how much she hated coming back. How happy she had been far away. How she wanted to kill herself every day for the last year, and lied to you and the therapist about it. How she didn't want to tell you that she cried when she had to board the plane, for fear you'd think she didn't love you, and she can't stand how sad and worried you look every time you look at her.

Don't cry, she tells you, when you see the faint, faded lines on her arms that were angry red, fresh lines of carved pain when she left. You can't tell her it's from relief and realization, how you can see the proof of what needs to be done.

Don't cry, you tell yourself, when you realize you won't be the one to teach her to drive, or to see her get her first job. That she won't be there for you to take to get haircuts and crazy hair color. That you'll miss out on her last year of school. That she won't go with you to have kitchen utensil fights in the aisles of grocery stores, or buy silly impulse items that neither of you really need just for the fun of it.

Don't cry, you tell yourself, because you know this is the best thing for her, and all you ever wanted was for her to be happy.

Don't cry, you tell her, as she gets ready to walk through security at the airport. You don't have to feel guilty, you tell her, you're allowed to want to be happy. She deserves to be happy.

Don't cry, you tell yourself, she'll be somewhere where you don't have to worry every day whether she'll be okay by the time you get home, or worry about if she hates you, or feel guilty for being happy when she was so miserable. Though you will still worry.

Don't cry, you tell yourself, when you walk into the empty house, that now will no longer hold the sounds of a family.

Don't cry, as you try to tell yourself you're not a failure as a parent, because you've done everything you can to try to help her, including letting her go.

Don't cry, you tell yourself, or you might never stop.

1 comment:

  1. There are no words big enough to describe the ache I feel inside for you. I'm tempted to tell you how beautifully written and constructed your writing is, (all true), just so I don't have to feel your hurt, maybe put it off for another minute or two. Boy, nowhere in the manual does it say anything about the hurt we experience as parents, how crushing our love for our kids can become. One day, we'll all look back on this and grimace. And, as your Grandma Willa used to say, 'time wounds all heels', or something like that. All I can tell you is that when my sibs and I were young, my mother couldn't take care of us anymore, couldn't protect us anymore, so she sent us to live with our dad, we were all really, really happy to go because life with stepfather was a fuckin' nightmare. We always loved our mother, but the situation was intolerable. Just as Meghan will always love you, but she feels the place or situation is intolerable. And, even though we never lived with her again, we were always, always so excited to be with her when we could. And to take vacations with her when we could as we were a little older. To this day, even though my mom isn't here anymore, I and all my sibs always loved her and always will. I miss her every day. Just like Meghan will always love you and always miss you. I really don't know if this is making you feel worse or better, I'm just letting you know that her love for you is way too strong to be broken by a thing like geography. I should probably stop. Anyway, I love you and wish I could wrap my arms around you sing soothing things to you, but you'd just beg for mercy to escape my awful singing. xoxo