You come into this world alone and you leave it alone.
As we say farewell to another year, I feel the need to reflect and write on thoughts that have been swirling around in my head for years, but have come back in full force this year. I don't expect anyone to read this and if you do, thanks for stopping by. I also don't expect anyone to relate as most of the people I know, cannot. That's ok, you have your own experiences and feelings that you own and I respect those for you.
If I have learned anything in my 40+ years on this planet, it is this; do not make assumptions and don't judge a book by its cover. However, more importantly, I have learned that one's sadness, heartache, pain, grief, happiness, joy, etc is uniquely their own. People can attempt to share it with you, or relate to you, but it ultimately is yours alone. This may sound sad and resolute. I take it back to something an ex boyfriend always told me, "You come into this world alone and you leave this world alone." That statement does sound pretty lonely to me, but on the flip side it is telling and I can learn from it and learn from it, I have.
I have learned that when you are an orphan (and I believe it doesn't matter at what age you are orphaned), you are always alone and that you can even feel orphaned when your parents or family are alive. For the sake of this post, I will define my orphan status in a much different way than what I am expecting readers to anticipate. Mine is one in which both biological parents are dead, my step-father is dead and my grandparents are dead. 4 of these 5 individuals had my best interests at heart. They were my advocates, supporters and cheerleaders. Even though I had a biological father sometimes in the picture, I never felt he had my best interest at heart, so I felt orphaned by him a long time ago. I only added my biological father to this mix because "by blood" he should have fulfilled that role. There are no "should's" here. It was always my mother who was my No. 1 advocate. I grew up knowing that no matter what, she was in my court. She had my back always. Then in 2004, six days after my son was born, she died. Sure, she is "still in my court" in some heavenly spiritual way, I know that.
Let me take it down to the level where it affects and hurts me the most. There were and are many people in my life who support and care for me. I include in this mix, those people related by blood and those who are not. I would not be here today (and I do mean that in a very real sense), if it were not for the love and support of a village. But I don't have a mom. I cannot replace her, but I do continue to hope that certain people would recognize this and step up to the plate. I hope that just once, they will get it. But guess what? These people all have mothers and are mothers, so while I matter to them, it is not enough. It will never be enough. Sure, I am broken-hearted about this and at times, paralyzed by sadness and hurt. They cannot replace my mom and I cannot change my relationship to them or their relationship to others. I am not asking for that. Ultimately, I want my mom.
For the last 11 years, there have been more times than I can count, that I have wanted my mom. Everyday, in fact. More recently, I wanted her there to witness me walk across a stage on a cold and snowy December day to receive my second masters. There were people there; very special people indeed. People in my life who traveled by car and by plane to see me walk across that stage and celebrate with me afterwards. It is a day I will never forget and I am so blessed to have these certain amazing and loving people in my life.
Those wonderful people cannot replace my mom. Nor can the few who were not in attendance that day. The few I specifically asked to be there or the few who I hoped would "get it" and show up because it meant something. "Why," I ask myself a lot and not just on this issue, but many times throughout the year. They cannot. These people belong to someone else, they always will. They are a mom, but someone else's mom. They are No. 1 to someone else. It hits home every time I hear that a blood relative is in town visiting their child. Why can't I see them? Why won't they call me? OR when a relative by marriage mentions they will be in town and I ask if I can see them, but the answer is, "we need to play it by ear because they are very selfish of my time when I am there." I miss out. They don't because they have their No. 1 right there, in their court. "Sucks for me," I say and move on. It gets no less painful.
So, here's the thing about all of this; it is uniquely my own. I own all of that. It sucks a lot. I cannot change it or change how it is viewed by anyone but myself. I wish it were different. I wish those people in my life would call me when they are in town, or come up to my house just to see me or come to my graduation because it meant something. It is mine alone. I hold on to that and I ask for respect and acknowledgement.
If I have learned anything in my 40+ years on this planet, it is this; do not make assumptions and don't judge a book by its cover. However, more importantly, I have learned that one's sadness, heartache, pain, grief, happiness, joy, etc is uniquely their own. People can attempt to share it with you, or relate to you, but it ultimately is yours alone. This may sound sad and resolute. I take it back to something an ex boyfriend always told me, "You come into this world alone and you leave this world alone." That statement does sound pretty lonely to me, but on the flip side it is telling and I can learn from it and learn from it, I have.
I have learned that when you are an orphan (and I believe it doesn't matter at what age you are orphaned), you are always alone and that you can even feel orphaned when your parents or family are alive. For the sake of this post, I will define my orphan status in a much different way than what I am expecting readers to anticipate. Mine is one in which both biological parents are dead, my step-father is dead and my grandparents are dead. 4 of these 5 individuals had my best interests at heart. They were my advocates, supporters and cheerleaders. Even though I had a biological father sometimes in the picture, I never felt he had my best interest at heart, so I felt orphaned by him a long time ago. I only added my biological father to this mix because "by blood" he should have fulfilled that role. There are no "should's" here. It was always my mother who was my No. 1 advocate. I grew up knowing that no matter what, she was in my court. She had my back always. Then in 2004, six days after my son was born, she died. Sure, she is "still in my court" in some heavenly spiritual way, I know that.
Let me take it down to the level where it affects and hurts me the most. There were and are many people in my life who support and care for me. I include in this mix, those people related by blood and those who are not. I would not be here today (and I do mean that in a very real sense), if it were not for the love and support of a village. But I don't have a mom. I cannot replace her, but I do continue to hope that certain people would recognize this and step up to the plate. I hope that just once, they will get it. But guess what? These people all have mothers and are mothers, so while I matter to them, it is not enough. It will never be enough. Sure, I am broken-hearted about this and at times, paralyzed by sadness and hurt. They cannot replace my mom and I cannot change my relationship to them or their relationship to others. I am not asking for that. Ultimately, I want my mom.
For the last 11 years, there have been more times than I can count, that I have wanted my mom. Everyday, in fact. More recently, I wanted her there to witness me walk across a stage on a cold and snowy December day to receive my second masters. There were people there; very special people indeed. People in my life who traveled by car and by plane to see me walk across that stage and celebrate with me afterwards. It is a day I will never forget and I am so blessed to have these certain amazing and loving people in my life.
Those wonderful people cannot replace my mom. Nor can the few who were not in attendance that day. The few I specifically asked to be there or the few who I hoped would "get it" and show up because it meant something. "Why," I ask myself a lot and not just on this issue, but many times throughout the year. They cannot. These people belong to someone else, they always will. They are a mom, but someone else's mom. They are No. 1 to someone else. It hits home every time I hear that a blood relative is in town visiting their child. Why can't I see them? Why won't they call me? OR when a relative by marriage mentions they will be in town and I ask if I can see them, but the answer is, "we need to play it by ear because they are very selfish of my time when I am there." I miss out. They don't because they have their No. 1 right there, in their court. "Sucks for me," I say and move on. It gets no less painful.
So, here's the thing about all of this; it is uniquely my own. I own all of that. It sucks a lot. I cannot change it or change how it is viewed by anyone but myself. I wish it were different. I wish those people in my life would call me when they are in town, or come up to my house just to see me or come to my graduation because it meant something. It is mine alone. I hold on to that and I ask for respect and acknowledgement.
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