Broken Birthday Hearts

I keep waiting for the phone to ring.

 I’ll be honest I’m always on edge about this, but today is different. I’m not waiting for bad news, not waiting to hear that I need to rush to the hospital or that I’m alone – today I’m waiting to be welcomed. I’m waiting for her to welcome me into the world as she’s done for 25 years.

 Waiting for the story of the red toenails, a bubble bath, a baby saying mew. For the story of my life as a caffeine addict, going strong for 25 years, and the doctor who whapped her. I just keep waiting and hoping and trying not to think, working hard on not waiting. Because if I wait, and it never comes, then there’s proof. Proof that it’s getting worse – no longer speculation, she’s forgotten our first welcome. Sure, the story is probably still there, but the date no longer sticks. 

And I’m scared.

I’m so scared because what does this mean for my future. If the past no longer holds, what will I build my future on? How am I supposed to create a life, continue a life, if I lose the one foundation I’ve always built upon?  And how many birthdays do I have to feel this way? How many birthdays will hurt like this? How many years will be marked by a broken heart?

Any answers would be appreciated.

A Brief Glimpse at the Past

She opened the book again, straining to read the words with the help of the street light outside. “Stupid,” she thought, “can’t believe you let them leave you.”

Of course her instructors had turned the lights off when they left, she wasn’t supposed to be there this late. Her parents were supposed to be on there way, were supposed to be outside waiting in the warm car, were supposed to remember their only child. But no, according to the poorly lit screen on her phone thirty minutes had passed and still no one was coming. So much for being the “favorite,” for being a “spoiled only child” like everyone assumed. There she was, butt freezing on the cold concrete steps, once again taking bets on which parent would remember her existence first. Hell, which one would get the phone first.

This wasn’t the first time, just the furthest time.

 Forgotten at her after school program? Walk to her mom’s office.

 Forgotten at school? Walk two blocks home.

Forgotten at a friend’s house? Turn it into a sleep over.

 Forgotten at your dance class, fifteen miles from home on a Wednesday night?

Freeze and sing Phantom of the Opera over and over until you can no longer talk.

What other solution was there?

“Could call again,” she mused.

Perhaps this time would be different. She had thought that the past seventeen times, but you never know, miracles happen – hell her birth had happened. Maybe one of them would pick up this time. She sat while the phone rang and rang.

The mother wasn’t supposed to be able to conceive.

The wonders of modern medicine and a clean diet.

The daughter was perfect, without flaw, tested for many.

The baby was exactly on time, March 21.

The parents never were.

No answer, no surprise.

“Really? I am your only child; how do you not realize I’m missing?? This is my own fault for being quiet and relatively well behaved!”

How do you even come to terms with being left behind by the people who love you the most?

Dreaming

There are dreams that we know will let us down. I will never run down a hill, only to find my feet no longer brushed by grass, but rather blanketed in clouds. There are the dreams that find and destroy our sleep - cover us in a darkness without comfort or escape. Dreams that terrify us into leaving the light on, reading ourselves into exhaustion, anything we can do to avoid the screams. But then there are the day time dreams:

I will be successful.

I will own a house.

I will be a wife.

I will find a family.

I will be someone's comfort.

I will be satisfied.

I will belong.

I will achieve it all.

I will fulfill my purpose.

These are the dreams we have when our minds are busy with work, while our bodies move from action to action, doing the daily requirements to get by. These are the dreams that keep us going, the ones we are supposed to chase. But how safe is it to run after these ideas? Throwing ourselves into a void, hoping that we end up clutching the answers in our fists - finally happy. 

Dreams in the daytime are the most dangerous of all. They distract us, keep us from finding the joy in the sunlight, lock us away in "what if's." And there we are stuck. Running on treadmills of our own creation. Stuck staring at dreams broadcast upon the walls of our mind. We are forever unsatisfied. 

I want to live outside these dreams. I want to find myself in a world without the need for change. I want to be happy. But that is just a dream.