Mess

I heard a song the other night, a song that used to be a favorite, a song that I played over and over – before she died. Now it’s a song that haunts and hurts in its beauty, a song that I haven’t listened to in years because it’s just another deafening voice in my head that screams, rather insensitively, “THIS IS REAL!”

I listened to it several times. I lost count.

From “Hear You Me”
by Jimmy Eat World

So what would you think of me now,

So lucky, so strong, so proud?

I never said thank you for that,

Now I’ll never have a chance

May angels lead you in

Hear you me my friend

On sleepless roads the sleepless go

May angels lead you in

And if you were with me tonight,

I’d sing to you just one more time

A song for a heart so big

God wouldn’t let it live

May angels lead you in

I hope she can hear me.

Every night when I’d get home I would go to her room, place my hand on her shoulder and say, “Goodnight Mom, I love you.” That way she could sleep soundly knowing I was home. Safe. I realize now that that ritual was as important and as comforting to me as it was to her.

Occasionally these words still escape my lips when I’m feeling particularly lost and am in need of guidance. I hope she can hear me when I find myself digging a ditch, digging myself right into some mess or another (because though I do learn from my mistakes there seems to be a statute of limitations on certain lessons). In situations such as these when I feel up to my spleen in thick sticky mud I can’t help but remember.

Remember a specific instance in which she opened my eyes and I saw a person in my mother, a warm person with a wide-open heart was there inside the woman I only knew as my (wonderful) mom. She dug me out with her bare hands and made everything better, never once judging or scolding.

The 11th hour found me reading “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,” and assignment I’d had for weeks. The test was the next day and I hadn’t even made it through the first quarter of the book. When my mom came in to check on me, my typically bitchy and impatient self berated her for interrupting. I had no time for such intrusions!

She sat down next to me on my bed, took the book from my furious hands, not bothering to save my place. When she asked what was wrong (I suspect she already knew) my hostility melted into tears that racked my body with sobs. She opened her arms and held me as I tried to force words into the spaces between short shallow gasps.

The curve ball she then threw out made it a moment I’ll never forget. My mom, the straight-A student turned award-winning teacher told me to go to bed and get some sleep . . . and drop the class the next day. WHAT?!

“What about the registration documentation that needs to be sent to the insurance company?”

Her response: another curve ball. “I’ll submit your initial registration information.” WHAT?! This from the woman who was always above-board, always reliable, responsible, and honest. This is the woman who once grounded me and entire summer because I’d lied to her.

Though I did not learn a lesson about procrastination that night, I did learn something far more valuable. Sometimes when someone has really fucked up the best thing you can do is hold on tight and tell them that it’s all okay. After all, we’re our own worst critics and occasionally our own worst enemies.

Lately I’ve been feeling stuck, in need of direction. God damn it, Ames, just tell the fucking truth!

I spent 9 wonderful months across the country with my best friend and the smartest, funniest, most amazing darling girl, loving the company and the weather and the scenery and the trees and . . . the change. And knowing that I was helping. After all, that’s why I went in the first place. Since I returned I’ve done nothing but screw up my life. The most pathetic part about it is that I did it in the most passive way possible.

I sit here barely able to see the screen through the tears. I sit here so desperately wanting her to hold my hand and help me fix this mess I’ve created. Or at the very least tell me that it’s going to be okay. In the spirit of complete honesty I have to say that I also want to tell her how angry, how very very angry I am that she left. I want to tell her that none of this would’ve happened if she’d been here. I am childish and stupid. And scared.

Now, at 26 years old I shouldn’t need her to bail me out but I sure do wish it was a possibility. I do, however, need to be held tight and loved no matter what shenanigans I’ve gotten myself into. And most importantly I need to fix this. I. Need to fix this.

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~ by fragmentarie on 29 September 2009.

2 Responses to “Mess”

  1. “because though I do learn from my mistakes there seems ot be a statue of limitations on certain lessons” I love this. It is so true.. myself included. How often to we end up in the pits of dispair only to realize we have been in that particular pit before?

    This was very well written and touching. I love it. I hope you know I am here if you need anything.. to talk ect. Even though you may of gotten into a mess its never to late to clean it up.

    I am angry all the time at my past choices, lost friends, missed opportunities. I can only move forward though, there is no reverse button unfortunately. I just try to remember them for what they are and make the best of right now.

  2. Amy. Wow. I had no idea. You are such a strong woman for writing this and accepting your pain and your feelings. Your mother was a lucky woman to have you for a daughter. I know she looks down on you everyday and smiles. And that little voice you hear in the back of your head daily is not little. It’s the big roaring cry from a mother in heaven who is still guiding you along. She is holding you and comforting you at all times. Close your eyes and take a deep breath. She’s there. You can feel her. I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers.

    P.S. I couldn’t finish reading it once I got to the 11th hour part. lol. I was crying. I will finish it later and I look forward to it. I wanted to tell you all of this first.

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