I Think I've Forgotten

May 2, 2010
By dramakat GOLD, Newton, Massachusetts
dramakat GOLD, Newton, Massachusetts
18 articles 1 photo 23 comments

Um, hello. I think I’ve forgotten how to do this. There is a formal way, a reverent way, but I only know my way. I never understood the formalities even when I was little and they were ingrained in my memory, so with time I have forgotten them. I know it’s been a while. I’m sure I seem pathetic coming to you only when I need you, but one thing I do remember was that you would never turn me away however large or small my problem was. I hope that’s true. I was told I never had to explain my problem to you, apparently you already know. I hope you do, otherwise I may sound crazier than I actually am. Is that possible anymore? I don’t know.
Is she with you--again? You’re very lucky, I would give anything to have her back with me. Her curls and cherry ribbon lips, the plum of her eyelids when she grows sleepy. Does she have a place with you behind your pearly guarded gates? I miss her.
Is she still beautiful? I miss her smile with only half her teeth and the way she twists her beige curls around her crooked finger. And the way that her tongue would stain purple with a popsicle.
Dakota tried to help. She took me to a sleep specialist. I told her my happy nightmares and she nodded occasionally and wrote out a five syllable prescription for something. They are blue and large, scored down the middle. I am supposed to take them a half hour before I sleep and I will be cured. It’s an ugly, mocking word. If I’m cured, she’ll go away. I’ll loose the last of my connections to her. I read all the letters she wrote me, and have every shadow of every picture memorized. There is one with her on a swing. Her feet are dangling and her back is arched. Her curls are hanging loosely down her back and she has a white flower tucked behind here ear. Her lips are pursed into a smile and her eyes and nose are squinted against the sun. The age disappears on her, and she looks no older than three. She is grasping the twisted rope of the swings and is letting it support her as she hangs back letting her back dip closer to the dirt. The grass around here makes it seem like she’s a princess in a fairy tale, but I don’t think any magical prince can wake her up.
I miss her…a lot. I get to tell her that. That’s why I can’t take the medicine. I can’t choose my health, or what’s left of it, over my daughter. And buy the way thank you. I know most people call me crazy for this, but I know that it’s you letting me talk to her. I’m sorry I left you so long. I don’t really know what happened. I used to be devout, but somewhere among the mess of marriage and work I left you. Thank you--for not leaving me.
I suppose that now is the time I am going to ask you to help me. Please don’t let them make me give her up. I’m sure I’m not crazy. She talks about you. She tells me that you’re wonderful, that you simply radiate love. She is getting me excited for my turn to come see you--that is, if you’ll take me. Please you must, I know I’m not perfect, please. It’s my only chance to see her again. If nothing else do it for her, please. There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for it. Nothing. I would even take the medicine if I knew that I would see her--later. Please, don’t take her away from me forever. I know that I’m not supposed to test you or challenge you but please just give me a sign. Let here give me a sign.
I don’t know what to do. I’m having doubts about whether I should take it. I can’t bare to loose her, but I can’t go crazy. What if it isn’t her. What if you haven’t been sending her to me, and now here I am, down on my knees like an idiot begging you to let me see my daughter when she’s simply gone. Is there anything more to it? Have I been talking to nothing more but a figment of a memory? Is my daybreak memory magnifying the interaction. I didn’t think so, but what if I’m wrong? This medicine may be what I need, more than anything. I can’t take that chance though, I don’t want to block her out on an experimental whim. She might need me, as much as I need her. I know that’s a long shot, she has…you…but I can’t help but think that those words she speaks to me are true. That she misses me and enjoys our talks.
I don’t know, I’m probably just kidding myself. Maybe this was all just a defense mechanism to motivate me to keep going through the day, until I could get into my bed. I see her in you. Her words are more tender and compassionate. Words swirl from between her lips in lullabies. Soothing and calming.
I’m not sure what else to really say to you. There are a thousand things, but none that come to mind. Thank you for listening--or whatever it is that you do. I know that you heard me, I’m sure. I got that same wonderful feeling as when I see her. Please, don’t take her away from me, not yet. I don’t think it’s time yet, I need to say goodbye, I didn’t get a chance the first time. Sure we had moths even years after the diagnosis but, we never said the words. We didn’t want to claim it. Her heart was always in perfect working order in every way that truly mattered, just the physical part let down, but you already know that. Thank you for listening.
Um, Amen…

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