Thursday, December 8, 2011
As I watch over my son as he tosses and turns through feverish nightmares, I wonder if he or his sister sense the massive changes in my life during this past year, months, and even days. Do children have this remarkable ability to filter out grown up problems and only see the beautiful and the good? Do they sense my feelings of disappoinent, hurt, unrequited passion? I write this journal, partly to remind me where I came from, who I am, and where I hope to be. I also write so that my children one day can read this and know that I am doing the best I can to live my truth and find love and happiness not as just a mother or a firefighter but as a woman. I write so that they see I am hopelessly human and flawed in so many ways. So that they are never too disappointed in the choices I might have made in my life. I have suffered losses and had great gains. And some days I have a hard time because instead of feeling grateful, I feel selfish, petulant, and self-absorbed. And these feelings frighten me. But perhaps this is the balance necessary that tips the scales over to the dark side because it reminds me that I can't always be sunshine and light or be everything to everyone. Because that super hero image is impossible to keep up.