I will be thirty-two come Monday. I suppose that makes sense. Monday is moon-day, Lunes, and I have been so mad and moonly lately. There is no help for it, I change with the tides.
I have been crying, and I will let myself cry. I am happy, really, to be here my thirty-two years. I am not where I thought I would be but I never had much of a plan to begin with so that is not the cause of my tears. Thoughts of success in life don't bother me none. When I am 102 and I pass in my sleep, or from a fall down the stairs after I've tripped over one of my many ornery cats, I only hope that they will say of me that I loved. That is success to me.
But here, on the day I was born, my Aunt Lynn took care of my brother and braided her long blond hair in two braids, because that is how my mother wore it and she wanted him to have something to hang onto. My Aunt Lynn, her name like a note, her face like the sun, is as much a part of my birth-day as I am and she is not here, and that makes me cry.
And then there is the oil pouring up from the earth and out into the Gulf of Mexico, which is an abstract thought now but soon will wash up into our reality. It is not the fact that something terrible and irreparable has happened to something so beautiful and vital to my world that hurts so much, it is that we stupid humans did it. We are all the time forever destroying the beautiful places, and so much life, for nothing. For money. For money, which is so insane it tears my brain. We made money up, it doesn't even exist. That makes me cry.
Another one, a conversation with my girl friends about how free we used to be (though one of us never was) and the cold walls we've built up to protect us from boys that hurt and boys that lie and boys that use and leave behind and they call us crazy but all we've done is try to love them as best we can. And now, the three of us so young and pretty and bewildered are afraid to trust. Me and my best girlfriends going home to empty beds, that makes me cry.
Really my tears make me cry. I just have a sad heart right now. But I love my heart, I wouldn't trade it for the world. I am so lucky that way.
5 comments:
It's okay to cry. It's worse when the tears get stuck in our hearts.
Happy almost birthday. I remember, thirty-two years ago, waiting for you, the process of birth begun, but slow, oh how slow.
And then your flower face blooming forth from me.
I remember.
Love...Mama
Your heart is open, it is a good heart. Your eyes and your mind are open too. It's reason enough to cry.
Hope you have a happy Birthday celebrating with friends and family. Hope the tears subside too. They come and go like the tides, don't they?
Love you May.
Happy Birthday Darlin.
xo pf
First, I am so happy to know that you have feet as dirty as mine are, and second, 32 is a wonderful age! And there's just no sense, no sense at all, in Lynn's not being here to watch you become a beautiful thirtysomething women. It makes me really sad for you and for the world that that shit happens. My best friend's son died last year at age 34, leaving 3 beautiful little boys without a father, and that is just something I can't wrap my head around, either. But I do know, and so do you, that one day you'll wake up and feel joy equal to the sadness you feel now. And for that I'm happy. Happy birthday,
Pretty May. :)
When did you get a new blog?? Oh I'm so out of the loop.
I love, love your writing. Of course you know that.
Oh, your bed will not be empty for long. Mine is empty too, and I also wonder what this all means. Why this is. I feel like I'm wasting my best years of youth sometimes...of course you know this all, though, and I love you for being my long lost twin. I can't wait to sit and talk to you all night long, pretty sister mine.
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