Dear Mom: 1/31/17

1/31/17

Dear Mom:

We went to the arboretum today. I loved it. You mentioned while we were there that you had been trying to come visit once per month while it's beautiful outside here and cold up there. I hadn't noticed you were doing that. But you were here last month and the month before. You said you'd come again next month. That makes me happy.

You asked me how Jenna is doing with her baby. That prompted my question: what did you do/what was it like when I was a baby.

(Interlude: as I'm writing this Asha is snuggling up next to Deena. Contact and everything. I love this rarity)

You said I didn't cry for a long time. Then I became a fussy baby. You had wanted twins but when I got fussy you were glad you just had me. That was also the end of you wanting anymore kids. You've told me that before, but I didn't know it was because of the fussiness.

You told me you didn't work for three months. Then, you went back and left me with a sitter who had been recommended by someone. But you would pick me up and I'd have a diaper full of poop. And when I was ready to start crawling the woman would keep me shut up in my chair because she didn't have time to follow me around. That was the straw for you. You didn't want my development hindered that way. You took me out and put me in regular daycare.

You also said I was having a hard time digesting milk. You didn't breastfeed. And when you told the doctor about the milk they basically gave you no help at all. There was no help for things like that.

I am interested to hear about these things. So many things I ask about, you tell me you just don't really remember. Perhaps that is why I've started this little blog. To remember.

I love you. Very much. I know I was asking you some questions when you were complaining about work. Mostly, I don't like to feel how much you despise things about people. For your own well being, really. And I think it would be neat if there could be some resolution. I'm pretty sure I got a lot of my need to be “right” from you. I don't think you're wrong. I think that I'd like you to be happy.

Anyway, I can't make you do anything. Just like you can't make anyone else do anything. And I fucking love you. I like seeing you and Tim, and I like seeing just you. It was nice to get some quality mom and me time together. Thank you for making the huge-ass trek down here. I think you drove 8 hours today. So good to see you. I'll come to you in our warm months.

Looking forward to seeing you soon,

Shannon

Dear Ryan D: 12/12/16

12/12/16

Dear Ryan,

I had a dream about you last night. In real life, your cat died recently; in the dream you had bladder cancer. I put those statements next to one another because the feelings were similar for me. Like, I can feel the pain you're going through, but not really. It's been a long while since I lost a beloved pet. I can relate, but from a distance away. I also have not had cancer. It is impossible to know what that experience would be.

In the dream, with your bladder cancer, I could feel my bladder responding. Anytime I hear of someone with some bladder issue or UTI, my bladder responds. I had bladder infections as a child. I even remember my mom taking me to a doctor to have all my plumbing tested. They filled my bladder with water to see how much it could hold; they stuck an uninflated balloon up my asshole and then inflated it; they did whatever kind of scan is appropriate for looking at the bladder. The only information I remember them leaving us with was that my bladder was 1/3 the size it was supposed to be, and it would grow once I went through puberty.

I remember my mom during those moments. More accurately, I remember what I believe I felt from my mom in those moments. I was her only child. She didn't have any other children before or after me to gauge what was the right answer or better choice. Just me. And what I felt from her during difficult moments like that was like she couldn't stand to put me through it, but she just didn't know what else to do. She worked as a scientist and wanted some answers.

I wet the bed at least until 6^th grade. It was at an age when I was having sleep overs at other people's homes. My mom would tell their moms that I may or may not wet the bed. Perhaps I needed to wear my Depends at night. My friends were lovely and understanding, but it was still embarrassing.

I haven't had a bladder infection for as long as I can remember. But when people discuss bladder issues, or when I dream about them at night, my bladder lights up in recognition and starts to bother me. I do remember in the dream wondering if I had bladder cancer.

Anyway, Ryan, I am sorry about your cat. I know she was as old as my cat, and therefore, has been with you a very long time. Your little soul familiar. I love you, and I loved the joy Asa brought you. My heart goes out to you.

Shannon

Dear Shannon (me): 12/11/16

12/11/16

Dear Shannon (me):

I had an idea earlier this week, and it went something like this:

I have always had a fantasy of spending a summer in a rather secluded lake house, writing on a laptop, breathing in clean, mountainous air. I believe this image comes from a compilation of writers' stories that I've heard and envisioned for myself. It's very romanticized and has a lot of emotional depth to it. There's something about the seclusion and the view and nature and getting ideas out through typing. It feels cathartic and peaceful at the same time.

A few years ago I was living in a house, in the desert, that was pretty crummy. I wouldn't go so far as to say slummy or bummy, but definitely grimy and in the least excellent part of a pretty moderate city. I wanted to move. Not just from the house, but from the city. I had had enough of the desert, where I had already spent 15 years. I believed (and still believe) that location can change your experience.

I talked to one of my mentors about this: “I live in a location and climate that is harsh. It's dry. It's difficult for things to root and grow here. I want to live somewhere that's wet and lush and where I can feel water around me and inside me. I want to live somewhere that feels like I could put roots down and it would feel like home.”

If someone else gave him the same set of statements, he might have had a different answer. But me, I'm a runner. When I'm uncomfortable, it has been my natural instinct to drop it all and say “fuck this.” Maybe not the greatest long term solution for life. So, he told me to find what I was looking for exactly where I was. He gave me a spiel about how I need to commit to where I am, and when I don't, I miss out on what is already in front of me. If I can't be happy now, I won't be happy somewhere else. This, of course, infuriated me. One, because it's true. Two, because it's not the only thing that's true.

I decided to listen to him. I changed my house around. Rather than living there with the mindset of “I may move any day so why bother ____ (planting plants in the yard, decorating in a way that's welcoming, etc.) I decided to make my house feel like the lake house I had envisioned. Probably, if I looked back now, I would think it was pretty cheesy. But, for the time, it worked well. I rearranged and cleaned and added color where before there existed only hand-me-down furniture and neutral tones. In my mind I let it become the home where I would want to spend a summer even without the lake.

I moved about a year later. Through an interesting set of circumstances, the house kicked me out. I moved into an apartment with a roommate, and now live in the same apartment by myself. I've not had the desire to recreate the lake house in this new home. I have nested and made it something I appreciate it. But lake house, no. My vision has remained steadfast, though.

The other day while I was working, I got another image of how to create my dream. The funny part is, I don't write. Not really. So, writing on the laptop has all this meaning for me, with no content to actually be plugging away into the computer. It's been about the rest of the image. And when I've tried to imagine the secluded lake house minus the typing, it just doesn't work. No other imagery has come forward to replace the writing. And then, while I was working, I thought “A Life in Letters.” Letters that I write to people and to myself that show an unfolding of my life. For myself. For others. For anyone who has any interest at all.

_________________________________________________________________________________