*Mark Twain
This morning I went into my sewing basket to obtain the materials needed to sew a button onto a pair of slacks that have suddenly become too tight (they must have shrunk)-a needle, (steel) thread, scissors... It's been years since I even opened my sewing basket, and I was surprised to find sewing patterns for pajamas and pants that I had made for my sons when they were little. I cannot say that the past came flooding back to me in a rush, for it is always with me, but the find did evoke more memories. I miss my babies and my little boys so much, that at times, I just don't know how to cope. Life can be so cruel. We are given these beautiful little people to love and to cherish, and we do. We build entire lives around them. Then they grow up and are no longer ours. We are compelled to let them go, to give them to another human being who will have the privilege of sharing their lives, as I had done for more than twenty years of my life-the best years, when I was young and strong and energetic, and optimistic. Those times were hard...sleepless nights, endless bills, cooking and cleaning, raising and nurturing, holding down a job... But I would go back, in a heartbeat. Had I known how quickly my children would grow and leave me, I would have spent every waking moment with them, instead of wearing myself out with working and cleaning and painting (rooms, not landscapes). Now, I sit alone with my memories, and try to build a new life on my own-not an easy feat for one who is old and set in her ways. I work and go to school, I have friends who are dear to me, yet I miss my sons, who mean everything to me. But they are grown men, and entitled to live their own lives, as I did when I was their age. I don't begrudge them that-I understand. I hide my true feeling from them, as I do not want to impart any guilt on them for doing what comes naturally. It is the cycle of life, and like it or not, it is what it is.
I had an aunt who was very dear to me, and she too lived on her own for many years after her children were grown. I used to visit her with my young sons, as she became a second mother to me when my own mother passed away. I often think of her now, when I am feeling sorry for myself, and I wonder did she experience the same loneliness that I do now. I know she had her sorrows, but she demonstrated an infinite amount of strength, for the sake of her family. Her love was boundless and unwavering. She was one of the kindest and most loving individuals I have ever known. She never had an unkind word to say about anyone. She was forgiving, and professed her love for her family, even those few who had wronged her. I miss her too, and I look to her for inspiration.
Forgive me if I have become redundant, but at times I have trouble letting go. I push my feelings down, like a baker pounding down yeast laden dough for bread. But like that dough, they expand, and I am compelled to beat them down again. Sometimes, a person just has too much time to think. I have been alone so much the last couple of weeks, recovering from surgery. I have not been able to partake of the activities that would normally keep my mind occupied... As I resume my normal routine, I will pick myself up, dust myself off, and plod on, albeit unwillingly. Life has changed, and I've no choice but to embrace it-gracefully, I hope...
My beloved Aunt-my inspiration.
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