Yes, I am in Hawaii. Yes, it is a paradise with its picaresque sunsets the color of lavender at dusk in the fall and its waves which overlap in the gentle hush of cascading skirts of sea foam.
But there is more. There are my filled days and nights with his mother, stepfather, older brother, sister-in-law, and their 3 year old daughter and 1.5 year old little boy. I am good at making nice; it is not forced, not an act. I am not pretendng to be anything I am not. I've always been good at this.
I must say though, that I don't think his mother likes me very much, but then, I think she is so particular that I don't think she is overly fond of anyone. She's been nice.
It's the kids that break my heart. I never really realized how much patience I have for children, and how much I am not like my mother. I am careful and watchful over these beautiful children. And seeing the youngest, Ethan, is like seeing a toddler version of E. It makes me so wistful for my own family. My own womb, my child, my children.
It makes me extremely sad, more than anything, here my heart aches because I realize all the things that will not happen for me. And I am not being modest or self-pitying; I am seeing the future and I am being realistic.
Children are so beautiful. Even with the whimpering and tantrums they are still so incredible. The way they pick up on everything around them. These little whelp detectives. Who have unadulterated visions of insight.
I think seeing Ethan makes me mournful because I realize that I will not have a child like him, so precious with E's features. How here, I hide what I feel constantly-- that I can duck my head in the brine of the sea--or walk down the beach alone. My melancholic idleness is saved by sand castles and preparing meals for seven.
The nights are the most difficult. I lie quietly, not in tears, acutely aware that my nights are numbered. That these are the last moments. And he does not touch me. Or turn toward me. Everything is the same: the setting is paradise but the motions remain the same.
It hurts more, at the end. But I am not blind in my pain. I can see clearly.
I can realize that an indefinite life together with him would be filled with indefinite years of longing and disappointment. How he would not be able to put others first before him; how he is always too preoccupied in his personal space. I know that I need more. I deserve more.
I resent feeling lonely when we are together. I am not particulary needy, but do require nurturing. He is not nurturing and I am always initially fearful before embarking.
The nights are the worst when I wish very hard for a hug. During the day, I just wish that someone would look at me, notice me, and acknowledge that I am young and not a hideous being. It is not that I craving attention; I just want to be noticed by the one person I cannot help but love.
I am not blind anymore. But paradise is sad, slightly sweaty, filled with swollen, pus-filled bug bites and long, interminable moments before sleep where every part of my skin silently screams to be touched. It's like the cry of the child for the parent who has turned his or her back and left him. I cannot console my own body. I brace it, tell it to prepare for the long haul. I do not resort to self-pity or resentment. Like the sand on the beach, I wait for that terrible tide to ride out its course.
Get used to it, I tell myself. Stop expecting anything from anyone other than yourself. I plan vacations for my future child--I see myself taking him to Greece. How we play alone, isolated on the pebble beaches. How he will waddle about in the shallow water.
This morning I woke up at 6:30 am sobbing, and caught myself before I woke him up. I lay there for a bit, then slipped to the restroom to scold myself, console myself.
My dream was about abandonment. How I could not find any place that wanted me. How my mother and family left me behind, how I had to go about my life with no laughter, because no one wanted to share any moment with me. I drank alone at Toronado in my dream. Boarded a plane, attended a wedding which my family had abandoned me to, and I sat in the five seats alone.
Everyone was so happy at the wedding, there was so much love between old friends, family, between the lovers. I felt so lucky to pay witness to this, and felt in turn, my own isolation. There was a little boy in my dream who looked like Ethan, who looks like the child I wish I could have with E, who told me in plain terms that I was doomed to my loneliness, that I deserved no family, no comraderie at a wedding, that I deserved the abandonment.
I already knew this in my dream, but knowing is different from having to endure being told this painful fact from a beautiful child that you will never bear.
Yes, I woke up in a deep keening sob. My skin, screaming still.
I cannot quiet any of this. This island is a paradise, and I fear bedtime; it is not at all like Kythera.
Please do not be mistaken, I am not miserable. I am learning, relearning, enduring.
This is the only way I know how--
