Sometimes, the Missing Gets Louder
I have had a lot of good news lately. Some I’ve shared. Some I haven’t yet. This morning, on the treadmill at unholy o’clock in the morning, I found out that I have two poems that are Rhysling Award finalists (The Deadlands: “The High Priestess Falls in Love with Death” and Uncanny: “The High Priestess Writes a Love Letter to The Magician”). I am so proud of both those poems. I am so thrilled they found the homes they did. And I loved working with both of those magazines.
But I felt a weird panic of sadness this morning, seemingly out of nowhere. A little jolt of unease. I could feel my heart pivot a little wildly, looking for something to be wrong. Did I annoy a friend by messaging? Should I have been just a little cooler? What if I just talk too damn much?
What if. What if. What if.
I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. And then I remembered: Sunday is Mother’s Day. Sunday also was my mother’s birthday. Sunday is a hard day, even on the best year.
And there is something so deeply strange about having so much good news lately and not being able to tell her. Not being able share that with her. And that may be why I delight so much in sharing. Because, man, I’ll never take for granted the fact that I can excitedly drag good news to those I care about.
But man, it’s weird. It’s weird she’s not here. It’s weird that things like this can still catch me off guard. It’s weird that I can suddenly start second-guessing myself, because I’m feeling a little bit off.
Nothing in life is simple, and feelings never are. Especially the tricky ones. But as I reminded myself just a little bit ago, there is nothing that can protect us from the hard bits in life. I’d rather feel everything than feel nothing. I’d rather have the tears than give up the laughter. The thrills and joys along with the low moments and the unsteadiness.
My mother and I had a complicated relationship. I recently remarked on a bit of it to a friend just the other day, and even doing that felt vulnerable. Because it made me remember the hard bits. The moments I never really walked away from. How a part of me is still there, in various doctor’s offices. Or a hospital room. Or just in those last final moments.
And I don’t want to feel that again. But to share it, sometimes, that’s inevitable. So, if I have, it’s not on a whim, and it’s with a purpose.
She used to tease me that I have a terrible habit of Not Talking About Something, only to absolutely blurt it out at random. And that…hasn’t changed. I still do that! Usually when I’m scared or sensitive or uncomfortable or worried. Or trying to get over my own hesitation for whatever reason.
I have my own sense of timing. It’s never anyone else’s. It’s weird, probably, in a lot of ways. But I don’t run by a set clock—just my heart. For better or worse and everything in between.
So, yeah, this weekend is a bit hard. And today I’m feeling it just a little more than I’d like. Even with all the good news and the wonderful things. Because life is always a balance, a mix, a hodgepodge. And just as the joy is necessary, the sadness is too.
PS I didn’t proof this. Forgive me for the inevitable typos. A girl is tired.
PSS ICYMI, I’ve got two recently published poems—”Let It Be Your Call” and “Rhiannon Remembers Her Own Name.”