Like my long-sleeved tie-dye shirt, and striped Goodwill tank top before it, my new blue hoodie is a security blanket. And like those items, I realize that I am wearing it conspicuously often, but I just love it so much! I feel good in it. Not good looking in like an attractive to other people sense. But in this weird way where it is cozy and I am happy with how I look in it on an inaccessible level. I don't know how to describe it, and I also don't know how to stop wearing it because the comfort I get in putting it on is completely irresistible to me right now.
Setting aside the blue American Apparel leisure suit fiasco of 2007, which I vehemently think we all should, this is the first time in awhile I've felt the need to find an article of clothing to hide under. Over the years, I've grown up, gained a modicum of self-awareness, and learned to think before emoting. It's been a very good thing. I've grown into the habit of distancing myself from the turmoil and focusing on the desired end - feeling peaceful - instead of the toxic lure of the drama. Hearing about my biological father's mind deteriorating at such a young age threw me for a loop, though, and I had some raw stuff that I guess I needed to let out before I could get my head on about it.
So what was going on in that crying head of mine? I think it was the big one. You know, fear of mortality and all that. It is rarely advertised that when you first hold your baby, your joy in their existence will get snuffed out by the like-a-brick-to-the-head realization that this means that one day you will die, and also one day they will die, and that this fleeting insignificant moment - which is so monumental to you as to be soul-crushing - has already slipped through your fingers. Hopefully this feeling only lasts for the briefest moment. But, depending on your propensity for darkness, that may not be the case. Now it's not something most of us keep on deck in our psyches. Because who could cope with that? But it's there. And there are moments - birthdays, first steps, quiet spaces where you can see that the child they are is not the little baby you still have in your mind - that it's too much to bear. That's why we cry when they blow out the candle. Why we weep in our cars before we can pull away from that first day of preschool. It's because our kids aren't just precious, and they're not just the hardest job we could never have imagined. They're also the embodiment of the sand running through the hour glass. Brutal.
Anyways, even though I've given my life over to two people who constantly remind me of my own imminent demise (wheeee!), this whole thing struck some old chords. I'm aware that I'm always moving forward, and fast. But it seems like I haven't totally made peace with the fact that the past can't be changed. It's funny because my three year old has this amazing cylical view of time. She's always talking about what we'll do one day when she's a mom, and I'm a baby. Or when her brother is a girl. Or when we are both adults together. I love listening to it, and I totally see what she's struggling with. How can her unlimited imagination grasp that this is it? I'm sure in no hurry for that realization. But I do know. There will never be a day when child-me knows this man, my biological father. There is no way to cultivate a history together. And it's not that I would trade my past for it. I have a father, and we have a history. He is a pillar to me and loves me unconditionally. I don't mean to Hallmark-card this up. But I do count myself lucky in the dad department. Just like my daughter, though, it doesn't mean I didn't once spend time imagining other realities where the I did know my biological father. And there have been times when that felt like an important piece of the puzzle. So hearing that the "him" I day dreamed about many years ago was, for all intents and purposes, someone who was fading away, shook me up. I can't totally access why that is. But it did. A chapter unwritten was closed.
While I now *think* I have a better grasp on it all now, upon hearing the news, my mind first went to fear for my family. I feared for my own health, for the health of my children. That somehow his brain's deterioration was in my DNA and that it was an unstoppable force that was going to take this all away from me even sooner than the far too soon I already struggled with. It felt selfish to think this thought. But it just burst out of me. And I can make some sense of that now. There are, of course, hereditary risks. As there are with so many things. As there is a risk involved with getting in your car and driving down the road, as well. I think hearing this news hit a still-delicate part of me, took away something I never had, and since that was all too subtle and tricky to comprehend, my instinct went straight to mama-lion. My mind felt this pain and immediately said: you cannot take away MY family. MY kids. The realest things in my life somehow felt threatened by this news, even though it didn't quite make sense. I'm in a better place with it now. Thanks in large part to some amazingly generous and loving friends and family members who did not hide from me, write off my fears, or scold me when I said these things. They just said they were sorry for me. And that gave me comfort and space, which is what I needed.
Now, I have the fun opportunity to try and not be wildly embarrassed about my over-reaction. Or at least my misdirected reaction. Not. there. yet. But it did cause me to go through an old photo album to find pictures of the predecessors to my fantastic new sweatshirt. Photos which immediately invoked eerily similar emotional memories of the various shame-states I used to live in over my inner dramas. I will say I had an amazing rant against my first serious boyfriend when he dumped me. No regrets there. Oh, you just want to be friends?? Well, sir, I do NOT! So. With that. How about a photo history of my therapy-wear, set, of course, to I'll Stand By You, by The Pretenders.
(p.s. Can someone teach my how to take a selfie? You all look awesome in yours. I always look pear-shaped - which is odd because my central body flaw is that I'm unfortunatley apple-shaped. Plus the camera always seems to find some serious jowls and several spare chins.)
It is a good looking hoodie. And if you have to, hide under it. It's your private little tent in the yard.
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