ALL The Crazy

Dear Lorenzo,

Right now it's 2:10 a.m. and I'm wide awake, watching tv and feeling my feelings so...here goes nothing.

I just finished giving Amira a nebulizer treatment because she woke up coughing and even though she's stopped now and has returned to sleeping peacefully, even though she still has one day of prednisone left to take, I'm worried that it's my fault she's still sick because I sent her back to school today and then let her stay at the park for a little while with her friends before we went to both Jewel and Whole Foods and maybe that was too much for her and I am the worst mother alive.

I have an open house at Northwestern in a few weeks where I will learn more about their Masters in Creative Writing program and I don't even know why I'm wasting my time (even though it's probably only a 20 minute trip to Evanston) because there's no way in hell I'm going to get into Northwestern.

We leave for New Orleans in five days to accept your diploma from EDI and even though I'm looking forward to the trip, after paying for Barbados and camp and now this, I am so frigging poor right now that a part of me doesn't even want to go to Boston in August and would rather stay home where I don't have to spend any additional money but I can't do to that my mother or my daughter and so I'm going home even if it's only for a week.

Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives is on and I'm watching a brotha make peas and rice, plantain and red snapper and the meal looks so pretty and like home to me but it still isn't something that I would ever eat, not even when we were in Barbados, and I'm wondering about the last non-salad meal that I ate at any restaurant and the only thing that comes to mind is the risotto that I had last summer in Boston and I'm wondering if the reason that I prefer raw foods like salad isn't only because of the crunchy texture but because after YEARS of dieting I'm completely fucked up now and I'm grateful that my daughter has both your confidence and appetite and I will do everything in my power to keep her that way.

Amira just woke herself up coughing and briefly climbed into my lap and I wish I hadn't told her about Indian Boundary Park tomorrow because if she keeps coughing I'm keeping her home and I worry that both she and our friends will be disappointed and that once again, I'm the worst mother/friend alive.

I miss Maggie a lot. I haven't talked to her in months and I don't know if she's grieving or pissed at me or a combination of both but I'm sad and mad and miss the shit out of my best friend.

And...there you have it. All the feels, ALL the crazy, which I'm kind of glad I got off of my chest. THIS is what I've been trying to keep at bay, to drown out with food or alcohol for the past two years.

Me.

And you know what? It wasn't even that bad. The world didn't come to an end because of my neuroses. I don't fantasize about kicking puppies or shoplifting. I'm just a relatively normal human being with my own unique set of fuckedupness. And maybe that's okay because I bet everyone has their own unique set of fuckedupness too. And after writing all of this down, I actually feel better than I have in a really long time.

Like maybe me and all of my crazy are going to be okay after all.

Baby Mama Drama

Dear Lorenzo,

If you compare parenthood to a prison sentence (as I often do) then single motherhood can be likened to life without even the possiblity of parole.

It's 2:00 a.m. and I've been up for the past hour (or rather, the past four days) tending to Amira. She had an asthma flare up a few days ago and has been struggling ever since. As usual, she's okay during the day but nighttime is an entirely different story. She coughs herself awake seemingly every hour and can't get comfortable enough to get back to sleep on her own. Inevitably, each night ends the exact same way: with me, foggy from exhaustion, pulling myself out of bed to give her one last nebulizer treatment before propping her up on my chest so that, completely upright, she is able to attain a few hours of uninterrupted sleep at last.

After realizing that all the Albuterol in the world wasn't ending this particular flare up, I took her to the emergency room last night where, after receiving two breathing treatments, a course of Solumedrol, and a prescription for Prednisone, Amira was deemed well enough to go home.

I'm just not sure that I am.

On a good day, motherhood is fucking exhausting but on a bad day, when your kid is sick and you have to figure out how best to care for her...On a bad day, when your kid is scared and afraid to go to sleep without you...On a bad day, when you can't go into the kitchen to do the dishes, or run down to the basement to put a load of laundry in, or even go to the bathroom without your nine year old running behind you...it can feel unbearably overwhelming. I have an amazing support system all around me but...it's not the same as having a partner to do this with me.

Ultimately, I am on my own.

I have to figure out if she's well enough to go to school after an asthma attack or if I should keep her home with me for one more day. I have to remember to give her her vitamins and medications, to make sure her homework's done, to sneak veggies into her stews and chilis without her noticing. I have to play PayDay and Mancala when my allergies are kicking my ass and I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. I have to convince her that we are safe and that I will never, ever leave her. I have to find a way to be her everything because that's what a mother is to a child.

Everything.

Especially when that child has already lost one parent.

So...

Like single mothers have been doing since the dawn of time, I'll find a way to make it work. I'll lean on my friends and family for support. I'll take my ass back to therapy to learn how to properly cope with all of the changes that we're undergoing. I'll get through it. But tonight, this moring, I just needed to vent.

Thanks for listening.

The Break Up

Dear Lorenzo,

The only junk food that is still in our house are the pop rocks that Amira nagged me into buying for her from Lickety Split, and the jalapeno flavored, Kettle brand potato chips that Amira likes but I cannot stand.

Everything else has been thrown away at long last.

It's time to say goodbye to my 2nd favorite drug of choice: food.

Anyone who doesn't understand the emotional comfort that food can provide is either lying or has never eaten before.

For the past 22 months, food has filled the void that's taken up permanent residence in my heart and soul since you've been gone.

Too sad to get off the couch? Let's order a pizza. Scared shitless by the prospect of single motherhood? How bout some crackers and cheese? Lonely as hell without you lying next to me each night? Let's stay up late and eat potato chips while watching mindless sitcoms until the Tylenol PM kicks in and I drift off into never never land  having never never confronted any of my actual feelings because...my actual feelings HURT.

Being without you HURTS. Going over every mistake I've ever made in the course of our almost decade long relationship HURTS. Knowing that we don't get another shot to make it right HURTS. And so instead of allowing myself to feel that hurt...I ate. And ate. And ate. And ate. And ate.

And then I ate some more.

But 22 months later, I'm finally ready to be done with that particular coping mechanism because...spoiler alert: it doesn't work. Underneath all those potato chips are just a whole bunch of emotions that I'm still going to have to deal with eventually.

And I finally feel ready to start deaing with them now.

Freedom

"Take my pride, I can still survive, I got my freedom.

Strip me bare, don't got a thing to wear but I got my freedom."

Karmina

Dear Lorenzo:

It's been almost 2 years now and I still can't sleep. Not without a few glasses of wine or a couple of Tylenol PM. Or edibles and repeats of Brooklyn 99. I can no longer sleep without the distraction of television. Not without new episodes of Beat Bobby Flay or Worst Cooks in America playing so quietly in the background that I can barely make it out over the sound of Amira's light snoring. 

Daytime is far easier to handle. I wake up and get Amira off to school. I do laundry, cook dinner, and workout. And then I pick  Amira up and take her to theater class or to the park, before heading home to get her fed, bathed and in bed by a reasonable hour. 

And while she sleeps, I am truly and utterly alone. There is no one to take care of while Amira is sleeping. No one to fuss over. No homework to double-check, no board games to play, no orange juice to pour and then, to mop up after she inevitably spills that first glass.

There is safety in the daily routine of our lives.

But in these moments, these nighttime hours, there is only me.

Being with you sometimes felt as though as I were wearing an oversized, itchy, sweater that I couldn't quite shrug off. It could be overwhelming, all-encompassing and oftentimes, unbearable. I wanted us to complement each other while you wanted us to morph into one identity. But despite your best efforts, I had no interest in becoming Brangelina. And even now that you're gone, when time and distance has inaccurately colored so many of my memories a happy, verdant green, I still know that that particular brand of relationship was never right for me.

Earlier this afternoon a friend asked me if I'd begun dating yet and my first response was an awkward, self-conscious laugh. It's been 2 years now, should I be dating again? I'm not so sure but I've been giving the matter some thought ever since that talk this afternoon and here's what I've come up with. My TOTAL lack of interest in dating isn't just because I loved you so much then and still love you so much now. It isn't only because I have zero interest of bringing another man around my daughter. It's mostly because as lonely as I am tonight, in this exact moment...it's MY turn now. It's my turn to focus on MY goals, MY interests, MY...ME. And while I KNOW that there are plenty of people out there who are in happy, successful relationships, while still maintaining their own identity and sense of self, I wasn't able to do that while I was with you. And that isn't your fault, it's just the truth. And I'm not ready to attempt that balancing act again. At least not anytime soon. So for now...I'll hang on to the memories of our life together. I'll cherish the good and do my best to learn from the bad. And I'll enjoy the freedom of NOT being part of a couple right now.

And I'll do my best to fall in love with me.

Girl Interrupted

"All the stock I had was a white girl's education and a face that enchanted the men of both races.

Starvation danced with me." 
 Fenton Johnson

So...what's next?

Ten years ago I worked as an Administrative Assistant in the Career Services Department at New England School of Law. I helped the third year law students with their resumes; I helped the first and second year students schedule interviews with on-campus recruiters; and I helped my office mates by bringing them Dunkin's and keeping both their calendars and their knowledge of Lost up-to-date.  

I loved my job.

I lived in a house in Dorchester with my best friend Maggie and her twin daughters, Catarina and Monica. On Friday nights, we stayed up late watching Sister Sister, Full House and whatever movies we had rented from Blockbuster. 

I loved our home.

My friends and I spent weekends eating veggie nachos at The Blarney Stone or getting drunk off our asses at Hong Kong, before settling in at Good Times to watch the Pats play the Colts, the Steelers or any other marquee matchup of the day. 

I loved my life.

And then, on a dare, I signed up for Match.com, met Lorenzo, and the rest is history.

That was ten years ago.

I haven't worked outside of the home since.

Because my new job was to take care of Lorenzo and Amira and in so doing, I managed to forget all about me.

This story's not original, you've heard it a million times before, but it's MY story and it's the one I'm currently examining in an effort to determine what comes next.

Because I need to make sure that no matter where my life takes me, I never again put my own dreams on the back burner for so long that I start to forget ever having had a dream in the first place.

When we first met, Lorenzo was a teacher and though he cared about his students, he had become increasingly disheartened by school policy. When he got the opportunity to join the fire department he jumped at the chance and I watched my self-described "lazy as fuck" boyfriend work his ass off to earn his place on the squad.

I was SO proud of him.

And that's what I want for myself. 

To find something I can be proud of and passionate about. 

I want to wake up every morning, excited to start my day.

I want the world to be a richer place because I am in it.

I have a couple of ideas so far.

I'll let you know how it all pans out.

Change of Address

"The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step."

Or with slime, Lao Tzu.

Sometimes the journey begins with slime.

I'm not sure how things go down at your house, but at the Brewington/Douglas residence, not a day goes by in which I'm not having a slime-related argument with my 9 year old.

"Amira, stop playing with that slime and come and eat!"

"Amira, stop using all of my Tupperware on slime!"

"Amira, turn off the slime videos, pick up a book, and read!"

Today was no exception.  

As I sat in our dining room-cum-bedroom reading a book, Amira sat beside me, playing with what I thought was a rubber ball. I was wrong. Mere seconds after picking it up, Amira poked a hole into this toy and watched helplessly as green slime oozed all over our bed sheets.

"Whoops, sorrrryyyyyy!" she exclaimed, stifling a small giggle as I lifted my head up to Jesus, closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before answering her. "It's ok, it's ok" I muttered. "But get up so I can change these sheets."

After stripping the sheets off of the futon, I realized that the slime had seeped right through the thin mattress that Amira and I have been sleeping on for the past 21 months.

But instead of flipping the mattress over, or allowing it to air dry, I dragged it from its wooden frame and let it lie on the floor.

And then I did something that shocked me as much as it shocked Amira.

After examining the frame for less than a minute, I adjusted the screws and folded the futon back into a reclining position.

Amira stared at the now sofa in shock.

"Mama, what are you doing?"

 "It's time, Babe. It's time to go back to our bedrooms and our big, comfy beds."

"What!?" She exclaimed. "But Mama..."

"And if you're not ready to go back to your own room yet, that's okay, you can sleep in my room with me. But we can't sleep in the dining room anymore, Amira, because it's time."

I let the rest of that sentence go unsaid as we both knew what I meant. Time to unhitch ourselves from the fantasy of our lives ever going back to "normal". Time to accept reality and start moving forward again. And for a first step, we didn't have that far to go. Just a few feet down the hall to my bedroom, which is where I sit right now, listening to Amira snoring peacefully beside me.

And believing that we may actually have a chance at getting through this thing after all.

Postmortem

Dear Lorenzo,

It's 6:37 p.m. Saturday evening and I just finished a lackluster dinner of grilled tofu and marinated mushroom salad. Amira is sitting in the dining room watching My Babysitter's A Vampire on Netflix and outside, Spring appears to have FINALLY come out of hibernation. At almost 7 p.m., darkness has not yet descended down upon us. Temperatures are no longer frigid, children have shed their Winter gear and are playing at Schreiber in light jackets and gym shoes at long last. Winter is over and on Tuesday, I will sign Amira up for Summer camp through the Parks District website.

We will never again spend endless hours in the Highlander, making the trek from Chicago, to Atlanta, to Boston and back home to Chicago again. And Amira and I won't do what we did during the past two Summers since you've been gone. We will not hop on a plane to Boston just as soon as school lets out. I will not park myself on my mother's couch, or my best friend's couch, numbing myself with television and Chinese take-out.

I am ready to start making a life for myself without you.

By the time I was in junior high I knew that I would never get married. It wasn't just my parents's perfectly pleasant divorce that had brought me to that conclusion. (If two people who were such great friends couldn't make a marriage work, I figured I wouldn't have a shot in hell either. ) It was...the absolute certainty in what I wanted out of life that made marriage so undesirable to me. My goal was to be beholden to no one. If I wanted to move to California at 25, I could do so (and I did). If I wanted to vacation in Mexico, or Jamaica, or Timbukfuckingtu, no one would be there to stand in my way. My only limits would be the restraints of my wallet and my imagination, not the guilt trip laid on me by a husband and house full of children.

I had a pretty fucked up view of relationships.

Falling in love with you came as a complete (and not entirely welcome) surprise. After our first conversation, I knew immediately that my time was up; I was head over heels for you before we even met in person. As far as I was concerned, I was screwed; my dreams of a life spent in solitary leisure now over.

We were opposites in many, many ways. While I dreamed of travelling the world (or at least the Caribbean) with my girlfriends and a carry-on filled with little more than sunscreen and chick lit, you dreamed of a wife and a bevy of babies, flat screen tv's in every corner of your house, an elaborate surveillance system and a white picket fence protecting all you held most dear.

But...in spite of (or maybe because of, who knows?) our many differences, we fell in love.  I don't think either of us truly realized just how different we were until Amira was born and the realities of parenthood set it. What I do know is that we loved each other. And though neither of us was perfect we truly, truly tried to make it work.

We both compromised A LOT. Not happily and I regret that now. I wish with all my heart I'd been able to give you everything you wanted, with as cheerful a heart as I could muster, in as cheerful a manner as you deserved. I resented you a lot of the time, Babe. I resented how much of myself I lost in trying to please you. I gave up WAY too much of myself (we both did) in an attempt to make us happy and one of my biggest fears is that...you weren't. And what sucks the most about that is that no matter how much I may have resented you, if I had the chance, I'd do it ALL over again. I'd roll the dice and take another chance on us cuz YOU were the only man I'd ever met who was worth all the compromise. I pray you felt the same way about me.

I'm moving on now, Lorenzo. Not because I want to but because you're gone and I don't have a choice.  I'm moving on now, not to another man (that thought is still so fucking depressing to me) but to another LIFE.

For all my complaints and resentment, the truth of the matter is, you kept me safe in a lot of different ways. But now it's up to me to venture forth and figure out who I am again without you calling so many of the shots. And I'm ready.

I hope, I pray, that you knew how much I loved you, how much I love you still. You used to always tell me that you knew but...I wish I'd done a better job of SHOWING you just how much you meant to me. I let motherhood get in our way A LOT. I was wrong for that and I hope you can forgive me. I hope you know that I truly didn't know any better. I hope you know that I feel blessed to have gotten to share eight years of my life with you. I hope you know I'd do it all over again.