"Hello Mommy. How are you? I am fine."
So went the letters I wrote to my mother when I was a little girl. No child, at least no child I've ever met, enjoys writing letters. Especially thank-you letters. Thank you grandma for the socks. That sort of thing.
In my case my grandmother was seeing to it that I wrote regularly to my mother. Whether she did so because she knew my mother's heart and mine were broken by this enforced separation, or out of a sense of duty, or whether to avoid the criticism that she had allowed communication to falter, I'll never know.
I remember asking grandma what I should write, because I didn't have a clue what to say. My heart was full of longing for my mother, I was torn apart at the seams, I cried myself to sleep every night for the lack of her - but how does a little girl say all that?
She says "I am fine."
The subtext: my world has been turned upside-down without you. I have an empty ache where my heart should be. Everything feels wrong, I am so lonely I wish I could just die. The only thing that keeps me alive is the hope that I will see you again someday. The hope that you can be my mommy, close to me, alive and breathing, hugging me in your soft embrace, kissing away my tears, soothing me with gentle gentle hands smoothing my hair. Rocking me in your arms. Making soft sounds with your voice, wordless and comforting. The hope that one day I will hear you say, "There there - it's all over now. It's in the past. Now we have each other again, and we'll always be together." I continue to live, for that hope alone.
The wonder isn't that I ended up with a depression, the wonder is that it didn't happen sooner, or with more consequences. That I never got into drugs, or cutting, or had any food issues. That I never attempted suicide. That I was able to make some friends, despite a crippling mood disorder that made me pretty unlikeable at times. That I grew a sense of humor at all. That I survived.
Of course, I was oblivious to all of this while I was growing up. I crammed my feelings into a suitcase and locked it shut. I was in my twenties before I started dealing with any of these issues, and I was in my forties before medication started to ease my suffering. I did, finally, get to know my mother, and had a good relationship with her, insofar as my mood disorder would permit. I even managed to make peace with my grandmother and father, who together had taken me away from my mother, moving me half a continent away. Came away in relatively good shape, all things considered.
I was damaged goods, for sure. Too loud and brassy, always making a joke out of situations, never content to just be along for the ride. Cocky and sure that whatever it was, I could do it better than anyone else. Stepping on toes, hands, lives. With 20/20 hindsight, I find it hard to believe nobody ever tried to shoot me! Guess I'm lucky I live in Canada, where guns are still rare!
My mother passed away a couple of years ago, way too young. I have a million regrets about our relationship, mostly that I didn't understand how little time she would have and I should have gone to visit more. But I did get to know her, get to understand her story, and I did get to love her fully and freely, without fear of censure, finally.
That, however, is not the end of the story. Life, specifically, my life, goes on. There is a job to go to, a cat to feed, laundry to be done. And now there is another episode of depression to be lived through. At least this time around I have an adult's sensibilities.
Just now, I am solely on automatic. I'm like a paper cutout of me - I go about life with no substance. I turn up where expected, cook what's expected, talk and smile. But I feel insubstantial, like a paper doll. I have no strength, I tear easily, I am flimsy. As if a breath of air could blow me away.
This time around the story is also about loss. Truth be told, I've suffered quite a few losses in the past couple of years. The media centre where I worked for twenty years was closed, my job abolished. Lucky for me I have job security, so I still have a place of work and a salary. Many people are not so fortunate.
My mother passed away. My father is in his eighties, and I may already have seen him for the last time. He lives so far away, I cannot afford to visit him, and I'm afraid of what I might find. He's a hoarder, you see. And since I'm already so fragile, landing half a world away into that scenario poses its own set of difficulties.
But the overriding loss is that of my marriage. Or more specifically, the loss of the close relationship to my Husband, since we're still officially married and likely to remain so. That business about "to have and to hold..." that's what I'm lacking. The closeness that comes with rubbing shoulders with one person day in and day out. I can get through life, I can go through the motions, but I want to say:
My world has been turned upside-down without you. I have an empty ache where my heart should be. Everything feels wrong, I am so lonely I wish I could just die. The only thing that keeps me alive is the hope that I will see you again someday. The hope that you can be my Hubby, close to me, alive and breathing, hugging me in your soft embrace, kissing away my tears, soothing me with gentle gentle hands smoothing my hair. Rocking me in your arms. Making soft sounds with your voice, wordless and comforting. The hope that one day I will hear you say, "There there - it's all over now. It's in the past. Now we have each other again, and we'll always be together."
And so I continue to live in hope. And I say, "I am fine."
