For just a moment. For a moment, it takes my breath away.Read More
When a love you've cherished for
A life time is suddenly no more,
How do you let go?
There are few things I am still sentimental about. Life has sandblasted away most of my naive sentimentality. No regrets there.
There are other things about me that life has tempered. My rock hard narcissism. My noirish black cutting humor is still ever present but I’m better prepared to stifle it.
More about all this later but getting back to the remaining dregs of sentimentality I possess is Win. Winson.
I love the word “estranged.” Firstly, it’s an adjective, born of a verb. Secondly, it perfectly describes the feeling of being distant from someone with whom you have formerly been affectionately connected.
I have an estranged sister. That’s what I call her, and that’s what she is. She’s my only sibling, and we grew up in the same house with married parents. What’s more, we grew up in a house without exposure to much television. Imagine, if you can, instead of a childhood defined by Charlie’s Angels or Mork & Mindy or the Cosby Show; a childhood defined by imagining alternate realities, or rearing many litters of kittens, or traveling Europe, one remote village at a time. That’s the childhood I shared with my estranged sister.
We put feathers in each other’s hair in my basement. My basement is still crawling with them. Feathers swim on the air filter’s breeze, landing on and launching off of my mandala rug.
It was a silly thing, that time we found ourselves connected. It was silly because it was true. You loved me and I loved you and we loved in the midst of a sand-covered desert, a space that was almost completely sand. We were best friends for a while, chicks hatching out of best friend eggs, and then we weren’t.
I am pretty, educated, upper middle class, and successful. I am also 52, almost divorced from an abusive partner, have lost $2 million dollars, and a few years ago I wanted to put a pillow over my children’s faces to suffocate them. All of this is true. And I’ve never told anyone about the latter desire. It’s too grotesque. And it’s what enables me look at those headlines, “monster mother drowns children in bathtub” differently than most.Read More