Catching Up
Epiphany is the wrong word. I didn't suddenly wake up and realize that I haven't been an easy person to be around, that I've alienated myself. It's come slowly, in waves. Small incidents have rankled with me, contributing to what has become an overwhelming feeling of, well, failure. I don't like talking about it like this, not where my husband and my children can see, but maybe this is the only way for me to find some peace within myself.
I made a lot of mistakes with Nick. There's no use in denying that. My oldest, my big boy...we were supposed to learn from each other. I would teach him to be a good son, and he would teach me to be a good mother. I only wanted the best for him. When he wanted to model, I let him model. When he wanted to act, I let him act. And when he wanted to sing, I did everything I could to get him the recognition I knew he deserved. And that part, at least, I didn't completely mess up. Look at him now. Look at all he's accomplished. He's achieved so much with the boys, and now, a solo album. I'm so proud of him. This is what he was born to do, and he's done such a good job of it. And, for the most part, he's kept his head about him. He's still a good boy. And yet, in spite of everything I tried to teach him, something didn't connect somewhere. He generally thinks before he acts; he's loyal; he's polite; he's, to the extent of my knowledge, monogamous; and I can't understand why someone so good, someone so moral, would choose to be gay. Maybe I'm misunderstanding something; I probably am. And, of course, I love Brian. But what did I do wrong that's caused this to happen? Were Bob and I not a good enough model?
I don't hear from Leslie very often, but I haven't made much of an attempt to contact her. She has a quick wit and a sharp tongue, and they make me nervous. When we talk (or, more frequently, argue), I feel like I'm scrambling to keep up. That's an uncomfortable feeling to have when dealing with one's own kin. My little girl. I don't blame her for resenting me. I haven't been the mother to her that I should have been. I just can't figure out what it is she wants from me.
In all this time I've had to myself, I've been trying to learn patience. Learning to take a breath and slowly exhale before speaking. Not everyone can conform to what I want them to be. That is a hard lesson to learn. I can put it in words, finally, but it's much more difficult to actually believe and live accordingly.
I feel like I'm a ghost of who I was. I've let them down. I brought them into this world just to fail them. And that isn't fair, and I have to accept responsibility for that. And it is a bitter, bitter pill to swallow. It gets caught in my throat sometimes.
But I can do this. I can piece myself back together. I have acknowledged my flaws; and I know I have many more that go unnamed, but I'm sure they'll surface with time. For now, I can only live one day at a time. Baby steps. I watched all of them learning how to walk; maybe they can be forgiving as I stumble from time to time.
I made a lot of mistakes with Nick. There's no use in denying that. My oldest, my big boy...we were supposed to learn from each other. I would teach him to be a good son, and he would teach me to be a good mother. I only wanted the best for him. When he wanted to model, I let him model. When he wanted to act, I let him act. And when he wanted to sing, I did everything I could to get him the recognition I knew he deserved. And that part, at least, I didn't completely mess up. Look at him now. Look at all he's accomplished. He's achieved so much with the boys, and now, a solo album. I'm so proud of him. This is what he was born to do, and he's done such a good job of it. And, for the most part, he's kept his head about him. He's still a good boy. And yet, in spite of everything I tried to teach him, something didn't connect somewhere. He generally thinks before he acts; he's loyal; he's polite; he's, to the extent of my knowledge, monogamous; and I can't understand why someone so good, someone so moral, would choose to be gay. Maybe I'm misunderstanding something; I probably am. And, of course, I love Brian. But what did I do wrong that's caused this to happen? Were Bob and I not a good enough model?
I don't hear from Leslie very often, but I haven't made much of an attempt to contact her. She has a quick wit and a sharp tongue, and they make me nervous. When we talk (or, more frequently, argue), I feel like I'm scrambling to keep up. That's an uncomfortable feeling to have when dealing with one's own kin. My little girl. I don't blame her for resenting me. I haven't been the mother to her that I should have been. I just can't figure out what it is she wants from me.
In all this time I've had to myself, I've been trying to learn patience. Learning to take a breath and slowly exhale before speaking. Not everyone can conform to what I want them to be. That is a hard lesson to learn. I can put it in words, finally, but it's much more difficult to actually believe and live accordingly.
I feel like I'm a ghost of who I was. I've let them down. I brought them into this world just to fail them. And that isn't fair, and I have to accept responsibility for that. And it is a bitter, bitter pill to swallow. It gets caught in my throat sometimes.
But I can do this. I can piece myself back together. I have acknowledged my flaws; and I know I have many more that go unnamed, but I'm sure they'll surface with time. For now, I can only live one day at a time. Baby steps. I watched all of them learning how to walk; maybe they can be forgiving as I stumble from time to time.