Tag: family

Leap
Autobiography · Personal Development · Relationships

Leap

Ruby Pipes7 Comments

They’re coming. Due dates and anniversaries. Reminders of where we were this time last year. What changes. What doesn’t. I ask Tanya to talk me down and she refuses. Tells me that I can’t shy away from the person I am anymore. It’s time.

She tells me I’ve been trying to squash it out. Ignore it. Pretend it doesn’t wrap itself around my heart and squeeze. Tells me she’s been hearing the words between the lines for years now and she’s tired of me not listening. I’m reminded of the time Chuck asked me if I ever had maternal instincts and I flinched, held my breath, gave the answer I felt was right, even though it wasn’t honest. “No. Never.”

And I leave the room when they’re talking about babies. Ignore the swelling bellies of those closest to me and work hard to build up excitement instead of jealousy. I think about holding my nephews. Burying my face in the smell of them and knowing they’re mine even though they’re not. Tell myself being close is enough. I get this part of life by proxy and that has to be okay. Things are different than I thought they’d be, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t all beautiful and lovely. It’s not that I’m not happy, it’s that there is an ache in the bittersweet.

I think about the year spent planning to get pregnant. About the appointments with a midwife and giving up caffeine. Therapy and tracking everything. I try to not resent Mason for leaving me. Try to be glad I’m not bound to him eternally by a child he wasn’t ready for or maybe just didn’t want in all honesty.

My mother drove me to my first therapy appointment after Mason and I split up. I don’t remember if it was before or after he’d officially asked me for a divorce, but it doesn’t matter. I knew on the winter solstice of 2015 that my marriage was over. In the car my mom started talking about family friends and their new baby. I thought about the life he promised then denied me. Thought about how hard I’d tried to convince myself I didn’t want it anyway. I’d rather travel, write, keep my freedom. Keep my marriage happy. Keep everything the way it was. Hold on to anything. But in a moment of clarity I realized it was all bullshit. That I do want to be a mother. The world calls me. So I sobbed. In my mom’s car with her staring wide-eyed at me. The only time I ever showed any of myself honestly during the course of my divorce. Transparent heartache for the life I’d no longer be living. Not out of missing Mason, but out of missing what I thought the two of us would make together. A life. A family.

But the strings I tied to him are coming back to me. And I get to tie them to whoever I want. I have the option to tie them to nobody. The bell that called is still calling me. And I don’t have to be dishonest or feel guilty. I’m still dreaming the same dreams and now all I’m counting on is me.
Photo courtesy of Gabriel Garcia Marengo.

Roses
Autobiography · Poetry · Relationships

Roses

Ruby Pipes4 Comments

Fingers busy.
Knitting yarn, stringing beads.
We create and teardown simultaneously.

I slept until noon on Monday.
Haven’t done that since…
I can’t remember when.
Nadine said I must have needed it,
but my headache disagreed.

I skipped showering two days in a row.
Planned the next four months, but did mostly nothing.
Ate M&Ms and finished watching Breaking Bad again.
Let myself take it easy.
Forgot the idea I have to earn downtime.
Just breathed.

We shared a dinner and played a game of rummy.
Family time has taken on new meaning and
I curl up into it.
Wrap it around me like the scarf he’s making.
Wear it like the jewelry I created.

I go to bed before Andrew, but
he joins me.
Gently climbs in and pulls me to him.
All arms and legs and sheets.

The world is softening around me.
Rose petals peeling back and
revealing smells of sweetness.
When pollen tickles our noses
we all feel the same thing.
And I’m surprised when I’m not afraid of it.
When I let it climb over me.

Photo courtesy of Jared Doyle.

Personal Development

Milkshakes

Ruby Pipes2 Comments
"Paper Tree Imitates Real Tree" © Theen Moy, 2014. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.
“Paper Tree Imitates Real Tree” © Theen Moy, 2014. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

My yoga teacher gives instruction as if he is reciting poetry. He plays music and falls into rhythm with it, his voice adjusts in volume with the intensity of the pose. As we exhale into position, he gets louder. Brings the lights up a little bit, mimics the sunrise happening through the windows. The practice he guides us through feels like a steady drop of water on my spine. Slow and with purpose it etches away the previous day. The night of tossing and turning.

I make it a point to talk to him. To the other people in my class. While we change from our stretchy clothes into our work attire in the bathroom I strike up conversation. Make eye contact. We don’t need to bond or learn names. I just need to know that I’m noticed so I can remind myself if I don’t show up someone will feel my absence. Keep creating new places you matter. That’s the trick. That’s all it is.

When I was a teenager my idea of “sneaking out” was leaving a note for my parents on my desk and exiting through the front door. There were no tiptoes, just gentle motions to avoid waking those already asleep. A respect for their rest more than an intent of secrecy. If anyone went in to check on me they’d find something like:

George is having a bad night.
Went out for food.
Back soon. Love you!
—Ruby (1 AM)

on a Post-it® note. But I don’t know if anyone ever did. No one ever said.

It soon felt like I could float in and out of my home unnoticed. A gradual shift in temperature or humidity. Barely detectable among everything else that was happening under that roof. I found different places to matter.

George had driven up from Salem on accident. Another soul who understands that when nothing makes sense you pick a direction on Interstate 5 and you just go. We talked on the phone for most of the drive. When he finally said, “Okay, I’m here,” I had my coat and shoes on before he could add, “Come out.”

He didn’t pull into the driveway. I walked out into the quiet, country road night and folded myself into the passenger’s seat of his Toyota Tercel. We drove another thirty minutes north to the set of diner’s open twenty-four hours. The age-old debate between Denny’s and Shari’s ensued and we settled on the place with the better shakes.

Chocolate for me. Strawberry-banana for him. I likely ordered stuffed hash-browns (no bacon) and he definitely got a veggie omelette. We talked about music, about school, about relationships. We did not touch on how hard existing is. Sometimes you just need someone to sit at a table with. To notice you’re present. To witness your heart still beating hard in your chest.