is a single mama in the city, super-savvy editor, writer, video host and shameless shoe whore.
A time to tend
Monday, August 31, 2009 I came home one day about a month ago, and the chrysanthemums had wilted. It was my fault. I'd placed them out in the bright sun of my porch even though I'd read the card with care instructions that said they should be kept out of direct light. They'd started out this lovely lavender streaked with white and the petals seemed to beg for sunshine. Now, faded and sinking closer to the soil, they needed cool water and shelter.
They were guilt flowers, the mums, given to me by the man I was dating after a small argument that, at least to me, represented some much bigger issues. He didn't choose roses or lilies, and I liked that. He chose a basket of flowers that could be replanted into a pot, that might be rejuvenated season after season. I put it out on the porch, where that man I was dating stood smoking cigarettes when he was at my house.
Even after explanations and apologies and a plan to make things work better between us, I never did move those chrysanthemums inside. I watered it, shifted it around, surrounded the basket with the marigolds and wild rose plants. But I left it there, soaking up the sun.
A month later, there had been a few more arguments that left me sad, confused and feeling like my life was spinning. I talked and talked and talked to my grrrlfriends, cried, saw my therapist, put on my power jewelry, tried as much as I could to center. One day after spending too much time not concentrating on work at my desk, I spun out of my office chair, opened the porch door and went outside to sit. I certainly didn't need to think any more than I already had been, but I did need to breathe in some fresh air. It was overcast outside but I wanted to feel whatever sun made its way through the clouds on my face.
I sat down. The cushion was damp and the frame of the chair leaned to the left as I sat down and pulled my knees up. The chair was irreparably weathered but it was still holding me.
I closed my eyes. I breathed. I said a mantra that I keep for moments like these. I unclenched my palms and stretched them out toward the sky. I tried to coax my mind into stillness. I tried to let my shoulders relax. When I finally opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was that basket of chrysanthemums nestled between the flowers.
The leaves were dull but still full, and the flowers were dried up, closed tight, and completely dead.
A few days later, the relationship ended. You might think that after a miserable divorce, breaking up with someone might not have so much sting. This one did. That familiar pain that once rooted deep in my belly returned. I was a sobby mess for days and days. I cranked music into the ear buds on my iPod just to drown out the thoughts in my own head. I stopped tapping at my laptop and started writing things down on real paper.
I don't weigh myself, but the lost pounds are evident. It has been very, very difficult and I have chosen not to discuss it all until now because I have not wanted to make that much pain public (especially after being so forthright about so much other pain and anger -- who wants to be that grrrl?). Also, I have not wanted to hurt the other person, and I have not really known what to say.
The flowers are not a metaphor for the relationship. The flowers are, however, indicative of how I was in the relationship. I wanted to feel good, to have fun, to lift my face directly to the sun even when it was healthiest for me to take shelter, to rest, to be still. This man I was dating is a wonderful person who is living very differently than I do. I don't blame him or hate him. I love him. Deeply. But in the end, I had to choose myself. I had to choose to do what I felt was healthiest for me, and that meant saying goodbye.
Or at least, saying "see you later."
We are still working out what is next, how to be. I don't know what will happen. I don't want to turn completely away. I've dated a lot of men since my divorce, but this was the first relationship, the first broken heart. I have no idea what I'm doing. For now, I am just taking it hour by hour, day by day, a time at a time.
When I am not fully immersed in the intricacies of Lil E's life, I'm getting more rest. I'm reading books that help me center. I'm walking and walking and walking like crazy. I'm trying to feed my body with food and baths and yoga and calming, positive thoughts. It's working -- today, I am doing much better.
This afternoon, I sat on a log that I use as make-shift table on my porch. It felt like fall but the sun snuck under my hair and warmed my neck as I leaned over the mums. I carefully plucked the deadheads one by one and tucked them into my palm to toss away. I decided not to chide myself for letting this plant get to this point. We all have things to learn. Some things are just harder to learn than others. Some things take time.
I don't want to be a sad and sobby mess. I've had enough sad and sobby mess. But I also don't want to burn myself up either.
I choose myself, I keep saying. As hard and new and painful as it is, I choose to take care of myself.
The plant is going to stay on the porch for now. I am just tending to it better. So that maybe, those brilliant lavender buds will bloom again. Maybe with some better care it will -- and I will -- come back, rejuvenated.
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