Return To Me

John went to his brother's tonight, and I thought I was okay with it until he started leaving. Then I wanted him to stay home with me. I suddenly felt so lonely and wanted to be with him, but I knew that was just a selfish reaction. I really wasn't looking forward to more time alone with the kids. It doesn't seem like I get any real time alone with John either. Really though, I was just feeling particularly needy.

So I spent the night watching sappy movies that I never usually watch. Part of the reason is because I really don't tend to like those kinds of movies, the typical "chick flicks." It's also because John, like lots of men, doesn't like watching them either. So even if I do want to see one, he doesn't, so we watch something else instead.

Maybe feeling lonely and watching tear-jerkers or love-theme movies isn't the best thing to do. Or maybe it's a great thing to do, because I can cry all I want without worrying about what anyone thinks of me. I shouldn't worry about crying in front of John, but I do for some reason. At least I do when I'm watching movies or television. I cry too much when we're arguing or discussing sensitive topics. Maybe if I let it out more during cheesy movies, I wouldn't lose it so easily when he and I are talking.

The other good thing about watching these things by myself is there is no one to talk to during the movie. Most of the time while John and I watch movies at home together, one or the other of us feels the need to comment on this or that. I don't think either one of us really thinks all that much during the movie. We're usually coming up with witty comments or pointing out errors and extra cheesiness. We have a lot of fun, but we don't let the subject affect us in any way. I think for the same reason I don't like to cry in front of him, I also don't like to seem like I'm letting the sap get in my head. But when I'm alone, it can seep in there all it wants, and it does, and I think, and I cry.

Being sensitive to begin with, I thought and cried a whole lot more than normal. It wasn't just about the subjects of the movies either. For some reason I was thinking about feeling like a failure in many areas of my life, and that always gets me going. Then there's the feeling that I'm so ungrateful, and I feel bad for not appreciating things more. And when I put Booie to bed, and she complained about her leg hurting, I thought about how it was a year ago that she had the cold that made her so sick in January. I was worried about her, because she has a cold now too. As I put her to bed in her room warmed by the space heater because it gets so horribly cold in there, I noticed the light of the full moon peeking through her blinds and shining on her where she lay in bed. It never does that, and for a moment longer than I care to admit, I worried that would be the last time I would see my baby girl.

I don't know if those fears will ever go away. I've always been a worrier, and I used to check my kids constantly when they were babies to make sure they were breathing. Sometimes I would wake them up because I couldn't see the slight rise in their tiny chests or feel their fluttering heartbeats. Those cries were some of the most welcome sounds of my life. As they got older, I thought those times were over, but then Booie got sick, and I started worrying again that something would come and take one or both of my babies away.

Because you never know.

Something like that happened in one of the movies I watched. Only it wasn't a child but a wife, and it wasn't an illness but a car accident. But the person doesn't matter, and the cause doesn't matter. What matters is losing someone you love, and whether it happens quickly or slowly, you can never be ready for that moment she's gone. I was thinking about that and how close I came to being in that position. But Booie got well, and I handled it, and people told me how brave and strong I was. When I think back on it though, I think the only reason I was so brave and strong is because there was always hope. She did get better. She didn't die, but if she had, I don't think I would have handled it. I think it would have killed me too.

During that time, I did find out I was a lot stronger than I thought I was, but I am still so weak too. I'd like to think I could go on and be a good mother to my living child, but I know myself. I know how poorly I handle death, even the deaths of those not very close to me. How in the world would I ever handle the death of my own child? I know other people do it, have done it. But me? I don't know. I don't believe I'm that strong.

It wasn't just death that was on my mind this evening. It was also love. I surely don't express my love to my kids enough, but I don't think I ever could. There is no end to it, so I would have to express it forever. Loving your children is something so eternal and special, but it's also easy in a way. The love that's hard is the kind you give to your husband or wife or boyfriend or girlfriend or anyone who doesn't share your blood. You aren't irrevocably linked to that person. Sure, you can turn away from your family too, but it's not so easy. It's family, and those relationships have a much deeper current forged in your very cells.

A partner, on the other hand, doesn't have that advantage. If you work on it enough and nurture it enough, that relationship may root and travel almost as deeply. It's something you have to let in though. You make a choice. There are no preset links or expectations. Maybe you never let it get that far. Maybe you keep it superficial to protect yourself. Maybe you jump from relationship to relationship, or maybe you just stay with someone you will never truly love. Or maybe, just maybe, you let that person deep within your heart, and you find that love to be just as special and full and wonderful as that of your children or your family. Or maybe it's even more. It's almost a miracle that any of us ever do it, because the potential for hurt is so great.

Tonight I realized that I let John into that deep place in my heart. I doubted it before. I thought with all our problems and the counseling and the pain that there was no way I had allowed him to be so close to me. I knew I had been distancing myself, expecting the worst, waiting for it to happen. I thought I gave up hope. I held onto my anger tightly, taking comfort in it, because it didn't give me the time or thought to hurt. Underneath it all though, I have been hurting. A lot. And I have been hurting, because I did open myself up to him in the way I never thought I had. It was only through that vulnerability that I could hurt as much as I have.

It felt good to admit that and see it and feel it. And I know I haven't given up any hope at all, and the hurt is subsiding. I think I needed to see this, to know that through this revelation, we can be better. I can let myself love him outwardly the way I love him inwardly. I've been withholding it, and it's not doing me any good swirling around inside me. It's not doing him any good there either.

When I think about it, it's really silly that goofy, romantic movies could cause me to go through so many thoughts and emotions. These weren't meant to provoke this kind of response. But it's okay that it did. It's good that it did. Who cares what the cause was? Just like what takes a person away from you forever, the cause doesn't matter. What matters is getting better, being better. I think I'm better.