My long overdue post- here it is. And since my mission in life is to disagree with as many people as possible, I have to disagree with the “happy, but sad” majority vote on this thread. I’m not sad. How could I, when you ROCK so utterly and completely? Nor, for the record, did I ever see you as “confused”. I saw you as a painting in progress…. A masterpiece of art, no less. The final picture wasn’t clear yet, but with each day, the contures emerged more and more. And no one, looking at the finished work, will doubt it is anything less than a masterpiece.
You’ve worked so hard, Betsey, to become the woman you are today. You’ve build a rock-hard foundation of friendship out of a quagmire of anger, pain, and lingering resentment – I would have thought it impossible, but you did it. And let’s face it, it was you who did all the hard stuff and logged those extra miles. You two will be wonderful co-parents to your daughters, and that friendship will carry you through the difficult and the happy times ahead.
Regarding D10 – it ain’t easy being a “tween.” And remember, too, that children almost always show more anger towards the parent whom they trust most, because the relationship is considered “safe” even for negative emotions. I think it is good that Mr W. is now willing to talk about these issues with her – it'll make it easier for her to trust him with the anger, disappointments, etc that she surely feels from time to time. In other words, place it where it is due.
You deserve all the good things that are surely waiting for you 'round that bend in the road. And of course, we want to hear all about it!
Pen
And, of course – a poem. Again, not really fitted for your situation, but I like it.
Wait
Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven't they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again,
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. And the desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.
Wait.
Don't go too early.
You're tired. But everyone's tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen.
Music of hair,
Music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear,
the flute of your whole existence,
rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.
The final picture wasn’t clear yet, but with each day, the contures emerged more and more. And no one, looking at the finished work, will doubt it is anything less than a masterpiece.
