I sort of hit a slump yesterday, despite having my grandsons and knowing that Jessie and Vergil were coming. I had a wonderful time with the boys and at one point when the three of us were playing on my bed we were all laughing so hard, the boys shrieking with laughter, that I thought someone might call the police.
But. Some sort of heaviness descended again and I'm glad that last night's post got up because that martini hit me like a box of hammers and I was barely coherent for the next few hours until I went to bed.
I've been reading a bit about a certain type of personality which I don't even want to name here but which would explain a whole lot about my mother and her relationship with her children and specifically me, the daughter. I'm not naming it (now, at least) because it feels as if I am accusing my mother of something and she's dead and can't defend herself if I'm wrong but I don't think I'm wrong and it's sort of like seeing the color blue all your life and no one around you can see the color blue and so you think there's something wrong with you, probably a brain tumor or something until one day you discover that yes, there certainly is a color blue and the inability of others to see it is not your fault.
Okay. It's not really like that at all.
But it's something to think about. All these years of wondering why it did not feel as if my mother loved me even though she said she did, repeatedly, wondering why I never felt as if I were good enough, wondering why I felt it so necessary to build such walls between us, why being with her always made me feel so shit-like- all of this I suddenly find may have an answer and it's a lot to take in.
It's all a lot to take in. But there is time. This is not a smooth road that any of us are on and certainly not when there is a death of a parent.
And it's a beautiful morning. The same yard which was so quiet and moon-lit last night that there were shadows is now dappled and drenched with the sunlight and it's warm and I can feel the fecundity of the earth, smell it. We ate our breakfast outside and two male cardinals were chasing each other away from the feeder or from something and the camellias are decorating the bushes and really, there is nothing I have to do today. Banks and law offices are closed and I will probably do some laundry and clean out the hen house but beyond that, I have no plans at all. Visit with my children, maybe see those boys again later today or tomorrow. I could sit here and watch Rolling Stones videos all damn day long if that's what I really wanted to do.
I can think or not think. I can choose what to think about. I can think about Gibson and how rough and tumble that little boy is going to be with that big brother of his. They roll over each other like puppies and smush each other with their love and when Gibson stands up by himself without holding on to anything which he is starting to do more regularly, Owen notes that and calls us excitedly to look and see what his brother is doing. I can think about all the love I have in my life and how that love extends back and forth to us all and that is all that matters.
Everything else, whether it is laundry or chickenshit or washing dishes or the pure white camellias or anything, everything, is all a part of that love if I think about it, and I do and like Owen with his brother, I take note and I call out excitedly. Or at least, I call out because every day, no matter what else is going on, I am astounded at the fact of such love once again.