“Like Sinatra said, that’s life”

”Like Sinatra said, That’s Life”

August 14  1993

Dear journal,

I’m 5 years old, I’m so fascinated by the darling dogs and the cats who have very little time to mind me. I wish I were them, they seem so free and I feel that I’m not. I wish I were. I’m tied and I’m tried, I’m told and commanded, I’m young, but I’m strong. A life so short has felt so long. I shouldn’t complain, it’s wrong; my father exhibits such patience and encourages us to follow in his footsteps, to be measured and calm. 

My mother is a looser cannon than the next, she’s sweet but explosive. She’s emotional and such a thing stands at such odds with what the other 50 percent of my life’s influence, for I am young and cought between only two influences and I’m yet to know what else is to come. The impacts yet to come, though I’m certain they will. 

August 14 2010

Dear Journal,

High school was a blur. It’s hard to understand how something you hated so much could leave so much good in your life; almost as if you’re thankful for the abuse. It’s ungenteel, however I can’t help but finding myself relating it to the story of a battered wife, and I pray you forgive me for this. The pains she’s felt aren’t enough to turn her away from a host of beautiful remembrances, too valuable and precious to trade. Love, giddiness and trust once placed in willing and reliable hands, though gruff, they had something of immense value to offer. They may turn from open hands into fists and they can attempt to damage you, but those remembrances tend to have an untouchable nature, and thank heaven for that. 

Ah well, scars are scars and they are ours. Thus, we must press forward and run to our fate when, unbeknownst to us, we should all drag our feet. 

August 14 2049

Dear Journal,

How far does one have to come to think that they’ve made it? Perhaps, dear friend, there is and never was a fitting place or time for one to “make it”? What if the purpose promised never was there to be found? Love and frivolity withstand and preoccupy a calm mind and fill it with compromise and contentment while those promises of self purpose eat and agitate a man to rise and fly. 

A cruel falsity placed on the backs of those who seek to rise when there is no higher floor to occupy but love and contentment. 

Punished for embracing the true meaning of life by ones who would yolk and drive you for their own interests. 

They must know something we don’t, for I am yet to find a better reason to live but the ones I find at home. With my darling Rosie, so soft and measured with a quickness of emotion that reminds me of both my mother and her mother. She challenges me and makes me better myself. She takes the wheel when my arms have grown too tired and too weak to drive on any longer. So comforting to me, and so beautiful. So patient a woman, for she would have to be to love a sorted, ridiculous man like I am and have always been. 

And of course L&L. 

Him, so like her, his mother, being so strong and responsible. Organized and skilled in all he sets his hands to; the hands that remind me so much of hers. His face reflects hers with his dimpled chin worn on a man that has grown so far from the small thing he once was. 

Then she; my littlest princess, like me in the only way I can bring myself to compare, for I feel I don’t deserve it; her humor. What a little one with such a spirit. 

She shines. She considers everything and attends to everything almost as if she’s wrestling the mantle from her mother.

It makes me feel pride and guilt. Two of these beautiful creatures pining to take care of me. Who am I? What did I do to deserve them? Luck cannot be the only reason, I hope. 

They fill me with love and pride and it’s my sincerest hope to carry that with me for a lifetime. I’d turn the lights off at this very moment if I felt their magic was not enough to keep these feelings in my heart forever. 

They are my world, and it’s such a different and unexpected world from the one I once lived in. Different from the world I found when I first had eyes to see. 

I find myself grateful and begrudging of those who would take me from them and send me back into the world. 

I want so badly to stay. 

August 14 2069

Dear Journal,

I hear him outside the window in the way that sounds often are amplified by illness. 

I can remember the sound of a glass of soda being set down by my mother by my steady humming box fan when I was young, feeling ill and frightened of this illness. The sound it made, how hard it fell, only those who could’ve heard it in my condition would have believed how very loud it was. 

Yes, now I can hear him. And I’m frightened again. I can’t, however, lie to myself again; I’ve lied and been lied to enough over the course of a lifetime that I no longer wish to join theirs or my own ranks. 

His hands are strong, I know. 

His grip is forceful but gentle. 

His appetite is ravenous but patient. 

Ah, friend, it’s time we shake off the fear of the unknown; after all, we’ve had to practice this our whole life. 

I’ve walked side by side with fear and uncertainty and I faced almost every lion who came to call at my door. 

It’s in our very nature, though some would shield that from us. Forgive them. Forgive them for yourself because the fear pushed their hands as it gripped your hands. 

It’s time to accept that I hear him and deserve what will come. I don’t feel anger, deception, or the pressures to rise anymore. Maybe like a battered darling, I relate again, for I feel I have before; I long for the abuse, the closed fist and the once open hands. I long for a space to make memories so precious, however it’s no longer my turn. 

I’m going. In peace; calm and steady like my father said. Emotion filled and sweet like my mother said. With love and pride like my Rosie said.