365 days and we are back to this one. Well, almost. Tomorrow. And I am not at that age when I dread it. I'm at that age when I begin to get that I am growing in ways now that actually aid me in happiness. Knowing more, seeing more and experiencing more, less intimately. More generically at times. Things aren't as personalized. And that's a relief really, because personal hurts a heckuva lot more.
I wonder what God meant for me. Wonder what She thought when she pushed my soul into that tiny frame. I still don't know it. And I imagine that I'll only ever get glimpses. And it probably resembles recognition. God hoped that one day I would recognize myself, and recognize Her in me. That's definitely my goal.
I wonder if nurses thought I was a sweet baby. Or was I terrible, crying and red-faced and hairless. Although, I did hear my mama say once that I had plenty of hair...and seeing myself now, I can totally believe that.
I think I finally know what my mama thought of me. I was overwhelming. She might have realized she wasn't ready for a baby. She felt a wall between us. And she would never learn to see past it, or tear it down. I often think that she wanted me once...when I was a pretty little idea in her head. And ever after, I was real and less erasible. She may have loved me in moments, but I can't give her that. If I allow her to love me, then love becomes something terrible, twisted and agonizing. No, she doesn't get to love me. She might have dreamt of loving me, but that is all I can give to her.
My father worshipped me. He was the poor country boy, grown up to make a decent living, buy me race tracks that wound over our entire basement floor. Model cars that I never touched, but loved watching him handle. He thought I was wonderful like a dream. And I came to disappoint him. But, love allows that. I know it now...well, sortof.
Their poodle Fidel wanted me gone...I was taking up too much of his attention. And DAddy always said they had to keep a close eye on him and me. Being a dog lover now, I cannot imagine being hurt by one. He got hit when I was still a baby, so the worry ceased, partnered by much sadness.
I'm still rolling down the road of life. I have some pretty fantastic friends. I love my job. And I live on a dirt road with a landlord who is as precious as they come.
I want to go to Italy next year for my 40th birthday. My friend Leslie says that your 40's are your very best years. And to be honest, I'm looking forward to that.