none so blind as she who will not see

Am I really living in the light? Or do I have my eyes closed so tightly that I can't see I'm still in the dark? Is it really my soft place to fall? Or have I insulated myself so tightly from reality that I can't feel the pain when I crash to the floor? Do I really have lucky numbers? Or am I using fuzzy math to ensure I don't end up on the wrong side of the balance sheet?

I won't know until I open my eyes, throw off that blanket, and take a hard, close look at that bottom line. You can't judge others' fears until you face your own.

fear and loathing on staten island

Well, maybe not loathing. There's caution, a bit of skepticism, a touch of dismissal, possibly a dash of disdain, too (though I admit, that last one could be my own paranoia). But the fear is definitely there. Fear of what I represent: the idea that you, too, could be replaced someday.

I see it in your eyes. It's not always easy to see because you won't make eye contact with me -- sometimes you don't even look at me -- but I know it's there. "If her shoes can be filled, can mine?" So you reduce the entire idea of me to runner-up, place-holder, a consolation prize that doesn't really count, because of your own irrational, selfish fears.

But it's not about filling shoes. It's not even about her. And it's certainly not about you. It's about life and loss and acceptance and not judging people and situations you know nothing about. It might be a temporary comfort to your ego to believe that no one could love your family, or worse, be loved by them, bring them happiness the way you could. But if you couldn't, would you deny them that love, comfort, support, and security because it's coming from someone else? Are you really that selfish? If only you knew a fraction of what you think you know.

You think you need to "protect" them, even if only in your head, from the vamp who just might swoop in and take over. You don't want to imagine that the people who love you could go on to live full, happy lives with only pictures and memories of you to make it through. But now you have to imagine it, see it, and believe it. It's standing in front of you; it's having lunch with your daughters or picking them up from the movies; it's holding his hand or sitting a little too close to him for your comfort at the dance recital. It's me, and I'm not going anywhere. I'm sorry your friend is dead, but I'm not sorry I'm here, and neither is he.

So accept me. Have the guts to look me in the eye, make conversation and be pleasant when he's not looking, not because you have to, just because you want to be nice, because I could possibly be a decent person who wants nothing more than to love this family. And because there but for the grace of whatever you believe in goes your own family.

I hope that I would, in my heart of hearts, truly want my love to find another to share his life and not mourn and deify me until the day he dies. I hope that I wouldn't begrudge him happiness after I was gone. How egocentric is it to believe that he could only be happy with me, that I would take to the grave with me his very reason to live? How selfish to expect him to be alone for the rest of his life?

To borrow phrasing from FDR, I guess the only thing you have to fear is the woman who will swoop in and take over your family. So keep living in the darkness of fear. We'll be out here in the light, living, period.

the best laid plans

I didn't plan to love you. I never thought it would happen. It just didn't seem to be in the cards for me, and I was OK with that. I'd accepted my fate with no self-pity, no regrets, just gratitude that I was moving forward slowly but surely, only slightly worse for the wear but quite a bit smarter. I was finally able to pull my life together, make sense of it, and things were going along fine. No hassles, no expectations.

Then I met you. I wasn't sure at first. I'd traveled this road before and I was afraid to head down there again. Let's just keep things casual, nothing serious. This can work without a lot of fanfare. But you pulled me in. How could I not want to get to know you better, be a bigger part of your world? And you seemed willing to let me in. Only a little at first. We're all recovering from something, and caution is an underrated defense.

But time passed and our guards came down. I watched as our lives became slowly intertwined, even if you didn't realize it. I felt it in the little things -- a smile, a look, a laugh. And I started to relax. And now you've relaxed. There's a comfort level on both sides that I never imagined.

Now every day I feel a little closer to you, I fall in love with you a little more. The days when I thought I could keep you at a distance are barely a memory. The idea of a pseudo-commitment to you seems ludicrous. I didn't think I had it in me to love you. But I'm happy to say I was wrong. You've brought so much to my life and you probably don't even know it. Some day, when the time is right, I'll tell you how much you mean to me. Both of you.

remember me?

I wish I could have known you better. Or maybe not. Then I'd probably miss you more. And maybe the loss would have been harder for you if we'd been closer. I wouldn't want that. I wonder how you are from time to time. Clearly, or else I wouldn't be dreaming about you. I wonder what story you were told about why I was suddenly gone from your lives. And if it even mattered to you.

I wonder if you'll remember me years from now. That's a little selfish, but I can't help thinking about it. I don't expect you to look me up when you get out of college, just maybe have a fleeting memory and think, "Oh, yeah, I remember her. She gave me a souvenir penny from the Crayola factory." Or, "Her parents made me an Easter basket." Then again you might think, "She's the reason I didn't get to spend a lot of time with my father."

It's OK. I couldn't blame you for thinking that, or even if you think that now. You were little girls. But I can blame him. I couldn't see it at the time, but my god, how selfish he was. The smugness and sense of entitlement, expecting things to go smoothly just because he wanted them to. And the criticism when they didn't. He certainly didn't break a sweat fostering the relationships between us. I was an adult, too. I could have made an effort. But honestly, I didn't know how. My gut told me he wasn't doing us any favors with his methods. I knew it wasn't good, but I didn't know how to change it. What did I know about kids? Nothing, really. And what little I thought I knew he disregarded, simply because I'd never given birth, apparently a criterion for understanding children. Maybe this is all no excuse, but it's the truth.

I know now how things should have happened, or at least one scenario that would have helped us get on better, might have even endeared us to each other. Maybe on some level he didn't want that, wanted to keep things separate in a freakish way to maintain control, remain at the helm of two separate ships instead of risking what he would perceive as a mutiny if the crew actually weren't always at odds. That, or he was thoroughly delusional and ignorant. What a choice! I hope your senses of self are strong enough to overcome having such a selfish prick as a parental figure.

I hope your lives go well, that you thrive and prosper and travel smooth roads, the ones you've chosen for yourselves and not had laid out for you by one trying to live vicariously. And I hope if you do remember me, it's with some bit of fondness, at least one nice memory. If you can't, I'd rather you forget me altogether.