What to do when a bird gets stuck in your house


Chosen families, of
21 August 2012, 2:53 pm
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The plea:

I should be happy they support each other – they are alike in so many ways – they have needed someone to validate and reaffirm and complain to. They have found that in each other (I say as the voyeur, because neither one of them talk to me.  Ever.)  But I hate the word “should,” so instead I am thinking of the hours I spent on the phone – where is the recognition for that? – and of the constant struggle to show understanding, to be patient, to be there, to know that I think she is making terrible mistakes but they are hers to make, not mine.   I think of the pain and the heartbreak year after year.  The disappointments, the embarrassment, the let downs.  I feel deep sorrow for not being included in my own family, like I’m just looking in through the windows.  I feel petty and mean and jealous. My ideal, enlightened self feels far, far away.

So here it is.  I feel terrible.  I don’t know what kind of pep talk would get me out of this.  I don’t even know if there is a pep talk to give, maybe I’m not done being in it yet.  I had a yoga teacher who said that you need to acknowledge and honor negative feelings and emotions before you can let them go.  The acknowledging part is easy.  This honoring business sucks ass.

I was going to end this email by begging you grrrlz for help, because my well of wisdom feels dry and I know yours are always overflowing.  But even just getting here, to today’s end to the long, stupid chapter of the story that is my family’s life, has felt enormously helpful.  That said, got any wisdom to spare?

The response:

Overwhelming.  I was wrong.  My ideal self is never far away.  There are three of them, in fact, and one email has all three tapping on my shoulder, reminding me of who I am, who we all are, our little chosen family.

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silence is
29 August 2008, 6:41 pm
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I have been a quiet bird, with four drafts and not a single post.  This is

my best friend’s mom dies

I have had a self-anniversary, R says I am the age all women want to be, now

work is causing me to be a bird at home

head cold

Not necessarily in that order, but the house is full now, and we’re all clanging around, displaying our griefs and pluming our feathers.  I have wanted, so much, to be quiet this week, and R magically knew that and got lost in the city tonight.  I do not love him as I should; I wish a heart more capable, less judgemental.

Someone is mowing the lawn as I read Stephanie Meyer and I keep trying to assauge Lola’s grief in my mind; her birthday card rests next to me as I type and I want to lay a cool hand to her forehead, to wish her sleep and peace and a panacea to all these tears.  I cannot, I can only throw rage at the poor lawn maintenance man, continue on the wine despite the sore throat and fever, to type into an unknowing ether and hope that the one person searching me out can be better than I am.

My love is not enough now; I hope my silence is.