Vintage Blogging: I really don't know what to say...

I really don’t know what to say today...
My pen needs to scratch, fingers type, words flow....but I don't know how to put into words the revelation that was today. There are tiny moments, sparks of recognition and self-realization ignited by minute events. Today, I saw myself as if looking through multiple mirrors.

Growing up, my parents had a vanity, three sides covered in mirrors from counter to ceiling. I used to sit on the sink and glance out of the corner of my eyes in the mirrors on my right and left. In them I saw myself exponentially multiplied through the three way reflection of a single image. I was obsessed with Through the Looking Glass and so strained my eyes to try to catch glimpses of the worlds my other selves inhabited. There was the Jabberwocky slinking silently over my shoulder. Mythical creatures and settings wove a pattern of make-believe through the hall of mirrors. A couple of years ago when I visited Versailles and its famous Hall of Mirrors I had a similar reaction; gazing in those 18th century planes of misty glass, I widened my eyes to see myself in multiple dimensions and key moments that had led to that one second of recognition. Searching the face in my reflection, I began to see many facets and pieces of my heart echoed in my eyes including the girl sitting on her parents sink gazing into the mirror.

Today I had a similar experience gazing into the faces of my family. Instead of the fractured, reflected mirror images that seperated like window panes the seperate spheres of my Self, I encountered a whole, fully dimensional Self composed of tightly woven layers. I looked into my parents' faces, my parents whom I love and adore. I heard their panicked voices and foreshadowed grief. I became 13 again, longing to find a way to make everything alright. Running to their side, dropping everything I had been concentrating on nearly all summer, I racked my brain thinking of the right response, the right course of action. I needed to take care of all of them, but the utter realization hit me that I can't. I can't make it better. I can't save anyone.

My parents are incredibly strong, compassionate human beings. They value and believe in being the world's keepers, so much so that the burden of caring for aging relatives has not so lightly fallen on their shoulders. My dad's aunt, who is 96 years old, recently broke her hip and shoulder in a fall, and whose mind is clouded by dementia, has been a third child for my parents, who gladly except the duty of protecting and providing for her. Like they did with two other of her sisters (my dad's mom died of cancer before I was born--these women were his mothers through years of alchoholism and manic depression), my parents have been at her side for 24 hrs a day the last two weeks after her fall. My mother, especially, takes this duty to heart.

My mother, who is extremely sensitive to the pain and security of others, experienced the utter helplessness that only a mother can experience when a child is lost. She turned to me, her adult daughter, to tell her what to do, to tell her we were okay, to assure her that she did not cause a void in her child that periodically swells with despair, self-loathing, and resignation. Like any mother, she clawed tooth and nail to save her child and luckily today she succeeded. I stretched myself into those earlier years to fill the caretaker role.

My father, who is my Atticus, my greatest teacher, my gentle and old soul; a man, who although is weather beaten by his work inspires my own insatiable quest for knowledge by always finding time for his own quests; a man whose eyes speak the pain of unhappy parents, vietnam drafts, insecurity in relationships; whose words never criticize, harm or judge but always uplift, understand, and teach. My father, a man who is as solid and stoic as a mountain but gentle as a quiet stream easing through Aspens, broke today. I saw as his heart broke at the realization that he couldn't help his child, at the guilt and wondering of what he could have done better, and the loss of a part of himself. My father cried.

And yet, they continue to care and take care of everyone around them, feeling guilty for the few moments they asked me to take care of them. I know my compassion and nurturing character is a gift from my family. I would never trade it, but it also has become a heavy burden in my life. In my past, I see moments where I gave so much of myself that I could no longer sustain my Self. Moments where I imploded out of quiet desperation and became wildly insecure and full of need. And the irony is, I loved someone so incredibly much I would have given myself until I wasted away to nothing, thinking that was love. I discovered that when I became less than who I was the relationship died and that part of me died with it.

In my mourning and grief I vowed never to lose a part of myself again, which meant I would never care for anyone so much that I felt I had to take care of them or that I felt I needed them. I resented my relationships that needed me. I was going to be independent, sole, not alone, but dependent upon no one, nor would anyone be dependent upon me. I retreated into myself even though I entered into a deep, intense relationship, and the loneliness gnawed away at me. Despite the promises, the commitment, the compassion, I could not give a significant part of my soul to another person.

It took time, it took distance, travelling, and wandering until I learned that to be independent is not the same as not depending on someone. What I mean is my concept of independent up until that point was that I depended upon no one to be happy, to be whole, to be content, to be challenged. Now, I believe that I need another person who shares a part of me so that I can recognize myself in them. But, before that can occur, I must have a sense of wholeness on my own. I must recognize my passions, my beliefs, my past, and my present in the myriad of spheres that is Me. Therefore, a certain amount of dependence supplies the oxygen I need to breathe in relationships. Could I be happy and content on my own? Certainly. I believe that relationships between people, whether they be friends, lovers, family, teachers, students, relationships depend on the exchange of parts of ourselves so that we can grow together and seperately.

I've withheld parts of myself from people in my life. I've sent reflections of myself into the deepest parts of my heart and mind that I fight daily to maintain whole and in tact, because it's scary as hell to entrust another person with the most fragile pieces of glass.

If I could go back...and I don't say this often...but I will here and now...If I could just say one thing to that person who I let down when I needed too much and had nothing else to give: I'm sorry I couldn't preserve enough of myself so that we could continue to grow. I'm sorry that I became lost in the insecurity, fear, and devastation that I felt. I'm sorry I gave over to the maze of gazing in the past and succombed to the old monsters I still harbored. I'm sorry I could not be who I am now. But, I'm not sorry that I have lost that fear, unleashing probably a little too much honesty and impatience to move forward. I'm not sorry that I still long for pieces of that relationship. I'm not sorry that I've found my passions and share them openly and honestly. I'm ready now. I'm whole.

To my family: I love you deeply. I still fear disappointing you. I still want to fix everything. I need to be the superhero who glides in and saves the day. I need to be the model of strong character, good choices, and fulfillment. I will always be the actress; I'm betting on those skills to carry me when I don't feel strong, when I can't or don't want to fix everything, or when I make the wrong choice.

I try to surround myself with other souls who will be a mirror and reflect back parts of myself and the world I believe in and cherish. The old souls who are on similar journeys provide me with images that inspire and challenge me. And together, we'll stand in the mirror and gaze back at the dynamic people we are and continue to become.