It's been forever... but for so many reasons I haven't had the energy or will to write. Though, lord knows, there's been enough going on in the world and in my life to have plenty to write about. Perhaps 2009 will be different... maybe I'll take blogging more seriously, become a more "serious blogger" ...but who knows, I'm really not into making plans, promises or resolutions right now. This year is going to be about going with the flow.
I wanted to start off this year with a little about my parents. For some reason, over the past few months, I haven't found the words to tell them how much they are in my thoughts and how much they mean to me, how much I truly love them. Over the past couple of days, though, I was reminded, once again, that they are, and have always been, my best friends. I am not sure why I forget that so often - maybe it is to protect them, or maybe to protect myself - either way, the past couple of days have served as a good reminder of how their presence in my life is the one thing I can always count on to sustain me. That even from thousands of miles away, they can comfort me through words and attentive silence in ways that I only hope I can someday reciprocate.
I recall once as a child mentioning to my aunt that I wished I would die before everyone else I loved, because I didn't want to bear the pain of losing them. In fact, if I recall correctly, for a long time that used to be a fixture in my nightly prayer. My aunt, herself very young, barely in her twenties, responded that she couldn't bear the thought of her death causing pain to those that loved her - that she could bear the pain of their loss but could not bear causing them pain. I am not sure what I thought of this then, but over the past few years, in my darkest, saddest moments - when I have been able to cast myself as the authentic victim, uncared for, unloved - I think of my parents, and am reminded of aunt's words. For even when things are emotionally rough, when I can question the love of everyone else in my life, I have never once been able to question the love of my parents. Sometimes, it feels like a burden - to be loved so much and so unconditionally, that you aren't master of your own life, or death. But for that burden, I know, I am truly blessed.
In the seven and a half years that I have been away, we've kept in touch by phone and e-mail - the frequency of which is often the butt of jokes in my family (because they think it is too much), and thus, often, a source of irritation and frustration for me, in my desire to be strong and independent, and an adult. Perhaps that is why I have such a hard time telling my parents how much I love and miss them. How much just the knowledge of their presence sustains me. I am not sure whether this year will be any different in terms of the nature of our conversations, whether I will learn be more patient with them, more honest about my feelings, my willing to simply talk. But in case it isn't, I hope that this post will remind them, that even when I'm abrupt, irritated, angry, in a hurry, impatient, dismissive - that even when I don't say it, or it doesn't show in my voice or demeanor - that, quite simply, I love them, always.