From the time I heard the phrase "Je ne regrette rien" I fell in love with it. Regrettably, I was 13 at the time. It's a very charming phrase and captures the essence of the "Je ne sais quoi" of everything that was French. I still prefer French wine, French food, and dream of one day going to Paris. Sadly I missed the opportunity the year I turned 30. I almost went, if that counts. I came close enough where I looked up ticket prices and visitor restrictions for travelers carrying American passports. Then I found out I was pregnant. A trip to France is a waste when you're pregnant. Wine is out of the question as are so many wonderful French things. Yet, I do not have any regrets but have hope. Forty is around the corner. Paris is right there, on top of my bucket list.
But I digress....it's the melancholy you see; makes it hard to focus on any one thing.
Summer is here again. I feel as if time is slowing down again. My last best summer was 2009. It was the year my son was born. The only thing that happened that was regrettable was my discovery of the genius of Michael Jackson after he died. I finally understood what the fuss was about. He was a brilliant artist. But THIS is not about THAT.
My father planted his garden and I have spent the last two months watching life return to his garden. The vegetables are flourishing, the flowers are blooming. It feels normal, seeing the lush greenery that surrounds this little house on this cul de sac. My sons have taken to living here. Why shouldn't they? This was the house that first received them when they were born. This was her home.
My sister-in-law said something the other day when I remarked that my brother was buying her a house. Maybe the reality is they both worked to buy it. It's where they will build their home. My friend reminded me that for as long as she's known me, this house has never been my home. In a lot of ways this is true. It was my mother's home. How could it even be mine? So technically, I'm homeless. But I don't really regret that either. I haven't found my home yet but I'm certain that one day I will.
There I go....off yet on another tangent. Focus. That's what I need to do.
I am trying to go through the motions of having an exciting summer. Yet, inside my head, I am reliving every detail of 2014. I'm reliving the days, the moments. While I was busy most of 2014 and 2015 recovering from one disaster after another, I didn't have time to focus on what happened. I didn't have time to dwell on it. But I don't regret the circumstance I faced because they helped me grow. I was tested and learned my true mettle. I found an inner core of strength I never would have believed existed.
My youngest son seemed to have inherited my talent for stories running in his head because he regaled me with details of his adventure with his "Dida." He talks about her like he knows her and sometimes I find myself willing to believe that maybe, somehow he does see her when she visits him in his dreams. Maybe I am being fanciful.
It's not July yet. She went into the hospital in July for the last time. I remember taking this picture of her. It's the last one I took. She's laughing behind the mask. She wanted to see what she looked like. I remember sitting with her and my cousin that day. She said "It's better this way." What am I supposed to say about that? How am I supposed to feel about that? I don't feel better. I'm trying to move past this grief but I seem to be stuck in limbo. It'll be two years in a month and a half. My life is moving forward but my head, my heart, and a part of my soul is stuck back in 2014.
Je ne regrette rien. I have learned that regret is a waste of time and energy. I remember that day thinking how much time we wasted. I felt regret creeping up on me, clawing at my conscious. I pushed it away with both hands, choosing instead to grab a hold of what I had, whatever time was left. I got to rest with my mother as I watched her prepare for the journey home. Now, nearly two years later, that regret is creeping up on me. But this regret is different. I regret that she will never sing while her oldest grandson plays the piano for her. I regret that her youngest grandson will only ever know the version of her that he created in his imagination.
The crux of my problem is that in terms of my own life, I stayed true to my mantra. Je ne regrette rien. Yet, the regrets I have are insurmountable because they are stitched to my core by grief.
But I digress....it's the melancholy you see; makes it hard to focus on any one thing.
Summer is here again. I feel as if time is slowing down again. My last best summer was 2009. It was the year my son was born. The only thing that happened that was regrettable was my discovery of the genius of Michael Jackson after he died. I finally understood what the fuss was about. He was a brilliant artist. But THIS is not about THAT.
My father planted his garden and I have spent the last two months watching life return to his garden. The vegetables are flourishing, the flowers are blooming. It feels normal, seeing the lush greenery that surrounds this little house on this cul de sac. My sons have taken to living here. Why shouldn't they? This was the house that first received them when they were born. This was her home.
My sister-in-law said something the other day when I remarked that my brother was buying her a house. Maybe the reality is they both worked to buy it. It's where they will build their home. My friend reminded me that for as long as she's known me, this house has never been my home. In a lot of ways this is true. It was my mother's home. How could it even be mine? So technically, I'm homeless. But I don't really regret that either. I haven't found my home yet but I'm certain that one day I will.
There I go....off yet on another tangent. Focus. That's what I need to do.
I am trying to go through the motions of having an exciting summer. Yet, inside my head, I am reliving every detail of 2014. I'm reliving the days, the moments. While I was busy most of 2014 and 2015 recovering from one disaster after another, I didn't have time to focus on what happened. I didn't have time to dwell on it. But I don't regret the circumstance I faced because they helped me grow. I was tested and learned my true mettle. I found an inner core of strength I never would have believed existed.
My youngest son seemed to have inherited my talent for stories running in his head because he regaled me with details of his adventure with his "Dida." He talks about her like he knows her and sometimes I find myself willing to believe that maybe, somehow he does see her when she visits him in his dreams. Maybe I am being fanciful.
It's not July yet. She went into the hospital in July for the last time. I remember taking this picture of her. It's the last one I took. She's laughing behind the mask. She wanted to see what she looked like. I remember sitting with her and my cousin that day. She said "It's better this way." What am I supposed to say about that? How am I supposed to feel about that? I don't feel better. I'm trying to move past this grief but I seem to be stuck in limbo. It'll be two years in a month and a half. My life is moving forward but my head, my heart, and a part of my soul is stuck back in 2014.Je ne regrette rien. I have learned that regret is a waste of time and energy. I remember that day thinking how much time we wasted. I felt regret creeping up on me, clawing at my conscious. I pushed it away with both hands, choosing instead to grab a hold of what I had, whatever time was left. I got to rest with my mother as I watched her prepare for the journey home. Now, nearly two years later, that regret is creeping up on me. But this regret is different. I regret that she will never sing while her oldest grandson plays the piano for her. I regret that her youngest grandson will only ever know the version of her that he created in his imagination.
The crux of my problem is that in terms of my own life, I stayed true to my mantra. Je ne regrette rien. Yet, the regrets I have are insurmountable because they are stitched to my core by grief.
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