We sat down and looked anxiously at the blank sheet music. How will we ever fill the spaces?
The intro took shape. Stolen smiles and time spent together. We were finding our rhythm in the slow steady rumble of ocean waves and the title sequences of movies.
The verses, our “Once Upon a Time,” were written slowly. We took our time curating each beat and melody, every experience and feeling. The notes of long drives, candy hearts, movies, concerts, new homes, illnesses,new friends, some tears, babies, teens, worries and laughter all flowed so easily onto our page.
The chorus: The space between…….(because that is where the life and love really happens)
The bridge is a section that provides relief from the repetitive nature of many songs. Not only does it have different lyrics from the verse and chorus, but the music is a little different as well. We are in our bridge. It and we are ever-changing works in progress.
Our love song is beautiful and chaotic and sweet and messy, just like us. I wouldn’t want it any other way. Twenty-five years have come and gone. There were days that felt like decades and years that felt like seconds. Like I wrote in a previous essay, you have artfully master a soundtrack for our life together.
Time is a weird thing. It is a whirlwind when you want it to drag and seems to crawl when you need it to sprint. The same can be said for the life we have built.
In the beginning, it seemed as if we had all the time in the world. There were late-night talks, long drives back and forth to NY, and lazy weekends spent in bed. Infants and toddlers made space for different types of sleepless nights and long days. Now time is passing at a rapid speed, and I need it to slow down.
The past 24 years have given us two amazing kids, a lot of laughter, and maybe even more years. Every second of every day, you have been there. And I wouldn’t change a moment of it. Even the really hard stuff has led us to right now. I could sit here and write about everything we have experienced and endured, but those are stories for a different day.
Thank you for loving me for the last 757,382,400 seconds.
I was born into a family of Catholics, on both sides. I was raised in a one square mile town that housed three Catholic churches and some notorious gangsters. But on any given Sunday, you’d see those gangsters sitting in the pews of those churches alongside everyone else. I went to Catholic school through high school. I said my prayers every night. I had some questions, but for the most part did what I was told.
A couple of years before I got married, a dynamic, progressive priest joined a parish in my town. He revived my faith. He married my husband and I. He was ultimately pushed out of the priesthood because he questioned how the church was dealing with pedophile priests, and also the church’s stance on homosexuality. That was it for my husband. He was out. I was so deeply embedded- I was not yet ready to cut the proverbial ties. But as the years went by, the ties loosened.
I tried for years to find a balance between the faith I was taught and my own growing system of beliefs. My first teaching job was at a Catholic school, where I had to fight to have my health insurance cover my birth control that happened to be treating a medical condition. A few years later, that medical condition would lead to a miscarriage and required medical procedures to ultimately get pregnant. You may be asking yourself, “why is she sharing these medical tidbits with us?” They become relevant a little later on in this essay.
My kids were baptized, made their first penance and first communion. We enrolled them in Catholic elementary school because that’s what my parents did. The church continued to shelter sex abusers. There were glimmers of hope on the love is love front, but not enough. Reports of LGBTQ+ people being fired from jobs related to the church increased. I continued to grapple with my faith.
And now here we are on the verge of Roe v. Wade being overturned. There are movements in this country to criminalize and ban abortion in all instances, to prohibit all contraception, to delegalize gay marriage, to outlaw infertility treatment, to not support queer students in school and more (Racism is rampant, but since this is about my own journey with religion, that’s a topic for another time). There are people who are using the “Bible” to support their sexism and bigotry. Passages are being manipulated to fit their abhorrent narratives. Religious zealots want women to shut up and just have babies. They want people to hide who they are and just be “normal.” If certain laws pass, women could be fined or arrested for miscarrying, like I did. Women won’t be able to receive medical interventions to assist in getting pregnant, like I did. Women will be forced to carry babies conceived through violence. Women will have no say over their own bodies and reproductive rights.
My daughter’s school is being mandated to teach an outdated, sexist, homophobic, anti-science religion curriculum. A curriculum that teaches girls to not dress a certain way, that life begins at conception not breath, that all contraception is bad because it blocks the creation of life, and that any time any heterosexual couple has protected sex, it is selfish sex because they aren’t being open to the creation of life. We knew the time would come when we wouldn’t always agree with the teachings, but this is on an entirely reckless level.
This country is taking a monumental, perilous step backwards, and the Catholic church is right there directing traffic so it can happen. I am no longer wrestling with my religion. I am a spiritual being. I believe in a higher power. But I no longer identify as Catholic. I simply cannot. I can no longer take what I believe while hypocritically ignoring the rest.
I will continue to stand for human rights and with that comes freedom of religion. I just hope that people come to understand that their religion is just that, theirs. Their religion cannot dictate how other people live their lives or surpass personal rights. As I continue my spiritual journey, I pray for universal acceptance and healing.
There’s an old expression my family likes to say-“shoveling shit against the tide.”
Take a minute and think about that. Can you visualize how utterly maddening it would be to try to shovel shit against the tide?
There has been a lot of attention given to teacher burnout over the last two years. Teachers go from being superheroes to villains faster than Spider-Man can sling a web. I am fully aware that for some, there has always been and will always be a deep-rooted disdain for educators- “You only work 10 months out of the year, you have summers off, you have so much vacation time, all you have to do is babysit.” Of course more recently these comments have grown to include: “You union teachers don’t care about the kids, you just care about yourselves, you all just want to sit at home and teach over a computer, it’s safe to go to work, you’re making our kids wear masks, how dare you teach accurate American history, teachers should not be supportive of how their students’ identify….”
Public opinion has recently lead to the most idiotic, irrational and repulsive educational laws being proposed and actually passed. Laws that are going to trigger a mass exodus of the teachers who have been able to stick it out over the last two years. Laws that place ridiculous punitive demands on educators. Laws that deny actual historical truths. Laws that deny individuals to be their true selves. Laws dictated by ultra christian white conservatives, who are afraid their fragile hold on power will be disrupted or their archaic beliefs will be exposed to be just plain, gross racism and homophobia.
Last night after trying to explain my day in my substantially separate therapeutic program for elementary students with social/emotional/behavioral disorders, I just gave up speaking because the tears had started to fall too quickly. I couldn’t find the words to express how frustrated I was, not about my students, but about ignorance, poor decision making and my voice not being heard. All I could muster was, “I just feel like I’m shoveling shit against the tide.” Then I truly brokedown.
And my husband gently replied, “The tide eventually goes out.”
Yesterday at work I uttered, “I just can’t seem to be able to get back to who or where I was.” If someone had asked me what I meant, I’m not sure I could have answered. Before what? Before I was married, a mom, diagnosed with a chronic illness, a teacher in a pandemic? I don’t know. But I do know that I am different.
I find myself a bit more rougher around the edges these days. The jagged pieces of me are getting stuck on the mundane and they are snagging and scratching those I love just a little bit more. My thoughts are more scattered than usual, and my worries seem to be setting off intrusive alarms more often than not. I get lost in my thoughts or muddled spaces where thoughts should be. I cry, but I am not sure why. Maybe it’s the lack of control while living in a world so disjointed. Maybe it’s because I see flickers of memories- a smile across a room, words to a song, giggles, beginnings. Maybe it’s the constant pain or the realization that it will never go away. Maybe it’s because of all of those things and none of those things.
Disdain has become effortless and my tolerance for ignorance and ineptitude has evaporated like my youth. Every decision that needs making or problem that requires solving chips away at my already unstable mind. There are days that I do all the things but I don’t have any recollection of doing them or feeling the corresponding emotions.
I know the me I was and the me I want to be are somewhere. The continuous search for her is exhausting.
Today’s world is scary. But you are never alone. For the mom of a daughter, the fear can be paralyzing. I have been very vocal about how we raise you, and how we will continue to raise you. You are strong and fierce and unique and empathetic. You are a self-proclaimed weirdo, and you embrace your quirkiness. In fact, you are wholly unapologetic. And you stand up for any person or animal in need. You will leave your own special mark on this world. Here are a few things I would like you to remember:
No is a complete sentence.
Your body is your own.
Say sorry only when you are in the wrong, not to appease others.
Set Boundaries.
It is okay to fight back.
Peer pressure is real, and it sucks.
Use us. Your dad and I have been around a while and we know more than you think.
Do not compare yourself to others.
I am your safe space always…your friends’ safe space too.
Not everyone is going to like you and you do not need to like everyone.
Always stand up for yourself, what you believe in and for those who cannot stand up for themselves.
Know how to recognize the truth.
Protect your digital privacy.
If you have to tiptoe around them, they aren’t for you.
Love is love.
Never stop learning.
Don’t be afraid to take risks.
Laugh a lot!
You will need your brother and he will need you.
You are enough.
I love you unconditionally.
Dear Son,
We see you too. We see you transforming, adapting. You’re struggling with feelings and changes we cannot see. It’s normal, a right of passage, but no one prepared us for how difficult it would be-to watch you pull away while needing us more than ever, to not be able to fix your world, to see you learn to fix things for yourself. No. This isn’t easy for any of us. You too are never alone. We are with you no matter what. Your silent strength and loyalty are noticed and admired by so many. You too will have a lasting impact on this world. As you mature, I want to instill the following lessons:
Be the example. Set the tone wherever you go.
You can always control two things- your attitude and your effort.
Set Boundaries, say No.
Peer pressure is real and it sucks.
You will need your sister and she will need you.
Females do not need you to save them, they need you to support them.
Use us. Your dad and I have been around a while and we know more than you think.
Do not compare yourself to others.
I am your safe space always…your friends’ safe space too.
Always have a plan B.
Express how you feel. Bottled up feelings can be detrimental to your mental health.
Learn how to cook for yourself, clean up your messes and do your own laundry.
Respect EVERYONE equally.
Value your education.
Stand up for yourself, your convictions and for those who cannot stand for themselves.
Look people in the eye, shake hands and give good hugs.
Learn how to fix things yourself. Being handy is a good thing.
Be cognizant of your digital footprint. The world does not need to know your business.
Last night we went to your high school orientation. It was oppressively hot. It didn’t start on time. Your schedule was not correct. Your anxiety and mine were palpable.
The past two years have been confusing and disappointing. You, like so many other kids, have had memories, experiences and time stolen by a pandemic that doesn’t want to surrender.
I, and so many other parents have had to helplessly flounder as we watch our babies struggle with their new reality.
You smile less, and your laughs are so elusive. I miss snuggling on the couch. I miss you not being able to fall asleep without dad or I tucking you in. I miss your hugs. I miss our talks. I miss you needing me.
Your friends have replaced us as the most important people in your life. I know that’s supposed to happen, and one day, you’ll return to us. But it doesn’t make it easy to accept, just because I understand why it’s happening. Some days I watch you walk out the door and my heart hurts.
You have no idea how your “I love you(s)” soothe my soul.
I pray and ask the universe that you continue to make wise decisions, stand up for yourself and others who cannot defend themselves and love your family.
For now I’ll just steal and lock away all of the little moments I can.
You know when you first wake up after a deep sleep and that cloudiness is covering your eyes or you step outside early on a cool morning after a warm rain and there’s this gauzy veil covering everything? I’m perpetually in that state. I talk, drive, cook, clean, eat, work-all while in this melancholy mist. I don’t know how to escape it or if I could even exist without it at this point. Maybe he’s right and I need the sadness or the chaos.
Sometimes when I breathe it in, it’s heavy and I’m left gasping. Other times I can navigate through the vapor seamlessly.
It’s getting easier to pretend it’s not there when others are around. I can still feel it enveloping me like an old, scratchy, wool blanket. But I can force a smile and meaningless conversation and ignore the itch for a little while.
It is not so easy to reject when I’m home and vulnerable. It seems to slide across me effortlessly like paint on a canvas. No smiles, no conversations. It’s easier to not engage. I want to protect them from the sadness and negativity. But it’s winning. I have caught each of them muddling through the vagueness. I allowed this to get too close to them.
I often find myself staring off. I think I’m trying to see through the blur and find some light.
This morning you asked me if it has felt that long. My answer surprised you. Yes, there are times when a moment flashes through my memory, and I feel like it happened only yesterday. Most days, I can no longer categorize my memories into pre and post you. I can look at a photo from my childhood and remember, but my eyes always scan for your face and my mind wonders what you were doing in that instant. I know you were not there and yet I don’t. Memories are tricky little things.
At the risk of sounding cliche, you have been my constant, for twenty-two years. When I get lost in the day to day stress, when anxiety creeps in and settles, when the chronic pain has worn me down, you are my light. You are my home. My hand just fits in yours. Your arms are always there when my legs choose to not quite work. Your eyes are what I search for when I scan a room. Your smile calms my chaos.
Today, my mother told us that “we make it work.” There are days when the work feels tedious, suffocating, impossible. On those days, those difficult days (like tonight,) I look for your light. Our journey has been happy and sad and messy and loud.
Some days it feels like we have been us since the beginning of time. Some days it feels like we’re just beginning.
bean láidir 