I remember when it was the way it was before.
I wonder if you yearn for that time, when you still believed I was better than I actually am. When I was the ideal rather than the disappointment. Do you remember when I first let you down? Was it slow? Was it raining outside?
I remember the first time I wanted to save you. Clinging to a kitchen counter, praying you could hear me through the phone. Praying I could help you with whatever words came out of my mouth.
I worry that I’m close to that same position again. Bargaining with the world, praying the floor doesn’t fall through beneath me. Asking God, or someone, to watch over you, to help you find a way through the dark maze.
I sit alone on a Saturday morning, melancholic. A quiet house makes me miss the bustling neighborhood of home.
Why, as a grown woman, do I still have the urge to drive over to my parents house? To knock the way my family all does, saying hello multiple melodic times as all our aunts and uncles do? It’s just getting cold there, and it would be wonderful to make a pot of coffee and drink it around the kitchen table, listening to them kvetch about the little things bugging them this week.
D has told me in the past that you never get too old to need your mom and dad, but I wonder if I should have outgrown this by now.
I don’t feel what you feel; I can’t, not exactly. But, I feel when you feel. The sadness you’re enveloped by, the demons you fight may not be mine, but they bring a melancholy I want to solve.
I’m a fixer by nature. I want to take what’s wrong and make it right. It’s the source of all my heartache and most of my devotions, but I’ve never tried to repair what’s broken in you. I accept you as you are, any imperfections are part of your charm. See, the secret is, that for every fault you have, I have more, and you take me as I am. The freedom to be myself leaves me open to taking you in this same way.
But, by God, do I struggle. I repress the urge to make it all better, to offer any solution that seems even remotely like it has a possibility of saving you from yourself.