The coffee table sydrome

2011-09-11T18:47:00.000-07:00

On Sundays when I was 7 I would be so excited when I got up in the morning. I would get up early, get dressed in my favorite outfit and would eat my cereal. I would then go and sit on the coffee table and wait. I remember the coffee table because this table was special. It was made of solid wood - as an adult I bet it was oak - but as a child I had no idea what it was made of.

It wouldn't matter because I would sit on this solid table and wait. Sometimes the wait was for hours. I would count how many dings were in the table - which was a lot because we had it since before I was born. I knew that it had 8 squares on it - and the squares were the span of my both my hands put together. I knew that if I got under the table and put both my feet on it, I could lift my 3 year old brother enough off the floor to make him giggle. I knew that under the table was written the letters in red crayon S, T, M. To this day I have no idea what they meant and who wrote them. But they were there.

I know all this about the table because this is the table that I would sit every other Sunday waiting for my dad to come and pick me and my brother up. It was there I would sit for hours and hours and play the game "he will be here within the next 7 cars". Once in awhile he would win, but to be honest most of the time he did not. It is the table that I would sit when after 5 my mom would finally come and tell me that he was not coming, and that it would have to be next weekend. He broke my heart every Sunday.

I tell this story because it is Sunday, and my step dad said that he was going to come over today. And here I am as a 40 something looking out the window and wondering where he is. While I didn't play the "he will be here within the next 7 car" game - I have looked at each and every car as it goes by and look for the blue car. When will be here? Why is so late? He said that he would come by today. It makes me miss my coffee table.

I think he blames me for my moms death. Maybe he doesn't even realize that he is punishing me - because I told her to get the surgery. Because I kept telling him that everything was going to be alright. Because I told him that she would be fine. Maybe this is why he isn't coming today.

Closing my eyes

2011-09-09T16:55:00.000-07:00

I close my eyes and I can't remember what you look like. I can't remember your smile, I can't remember your eyes. What did you smell like? What did your laugh sound like? Where is your memory?

Goodbye

2011-08-26T21:51:00.001-07:00

So I decided I would start writing my blog again. I know that no one is reading it, so thought it might be a good way to say things that I wish I could say to my mom.

I miss her so much that I sometimes I can barely breath. She is the first thing I think about when I wake up every morning. I wonder why she hasn't commented on my facebook posting, or what she is doing and maybe we can get together this weekend. I can't understand a damn thing my dad is doing and saying because I didn't realize she was the one helped me understand his moods.

Who do I call when my husband is driving me crazy? Who will talk me off the edge when I hate my job? Who will help me take care of my Grandpa?

I forgot what she smells like, the sound of her voice and her smile. How do I remember her? Where is she? Why did she leave? I was not ready to say goodbye!

hightrafficfoam

The coffee table sydrome

Closing my eyes

Goodbye