Category: journey

pinky swear…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay1 Comment
Dear husband, 
thanks for supporting me. 
thanks for being married to me, even though I’m a writer. I know it sucks to have a wife who “works” so hard, with the goal of SOMEDAY contributing more than pennies to our income. You are patient and you balance our lives as though your wife works full time- without much benefit. 
You believe in me. 
I love you… 
I meant my pinky promise… 
Things won’t always look like this, and when they look better than this- we’ll look back and see how worth it was. 
I love you, and i love now. i don’t want to miss this part of the journey either… 
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At a loss…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay1 Comment
My dear friend, 
You are so beautiful and gracefilled… 
This pain, this loss that you are going through brakes my heart. I know this loss and I know how it has a way of staying with us, always. We heal some, it’s true- but this wound scars and we never forget. 
That ache does not really go away. 
I love you and i HATE that you have to walk this path. 

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a favorite memory…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay4 Comments
Dear Ms. Thompson, 
I know some may view it as a little sad that one of my all time favorite movies involves a celebrity whom I don’t really know, and not one single friend or family member. I feel like I should apologize for that, but not really… I have millions of frozen moments with them, but this moment (hour) with you is completely set apart. 
First and foremost, please allow me to say that I think you are amazing. 
When I met you, back in January of 2006, I was still still fairly moon eyed over the whole celebrity interview thing. It had been a horrible trip out to LA though, and I was emotionally exhausted and at a loss in pretty much every area. I had sat down to interview Colin first and all composure, no matter how hard I’d tried to maintain it, had flown right out the window when he walked in the room. I mean, and please excuse the side note for a moment but what girl wouldn’t grow a little faint and speechless when Colin Firth walks in to a room to talk to you, and it occurs to you that you are actually sitting in the Regent Beverly Wiltshire- ala’ Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. (though of course you are not a prostitute!) First you are sipping coffee, ranting about LAX security and how the Beverly Hills police department deals with things, when suddenly he walks in- tremendously taller that expected and clad in tremendously expensive jeans, a leather jacket that smelled of heaven… I mean, it was all a tad on the surreal and overwhelming side, you have to admit. Well maybe you wouldn’t, which reminds me- how do you do it? 
Anyway, moving back towards the point of this letter: you… 
By the time you sauntered in to the interview, I was done for. Tired, stressed, and greatly thrown off my game. Truthfully, I was ready to simply call a cab and go nurse my impending migraine in a stiff chair at the airport, waiting for my flight. 
And you, Emma, were exactly what I needed. Over the years I’ve met several people of celebrity status and I have never met anyone like you. You are easily one of the most comfortable people, celebrity or not, that I’ve been around. Twenty minutes into our interview, (where you chose to sit on the floor, mind you) I felt like I had known you forever. The passion for your work, combined with the way you spoke of motherhood and your family inspired me in countless ways that I can not even put into words… Thank you for that. Thank you for taking a moment that was the polar opposite of great and comfortable- and making it my absolute favorite memory… 
I hope, someday, to get the opportunity again. If not, though, I am happy to have had the beautiful brunch and talk that we did… 
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Goodnight…

Published on by Mae @ RainydayinmayLeave a comment
Chw, 
There is something so healing about kissing you good night. No matter what the day proceeding the kiss has held, everything- in that moment- is as is it should be. 
Thank you for that. For being part compass, part anchor and yet flexibly loving me in the way in which you’re willing to raise port and sail in whichever direction the wind dreams to take us. 
I love you… 
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to the moon and the stars…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay7 Comments
Dearest Genny,

   My first impression of you is tiny red nose and palms flat against glass. Your nutmeg hair in pig tales, your big saucer blue eyes full of emotions I didn’t even have the courage to name…

   Your first words to me asked if I was your new mommy… I loved you. I wanted to hold you and reassure you. I wanted to not touch you and prove I would not push you into loving me. I wanted to take you home and keep you safe from the world which had hurt you…
I wanted to turn around and leave.
You scared me…
You were so small and full of life. Just below your surface there was an entitled rage that only confronted my internal knowledge that I was not the woman for this job. I knew I did not have what it would take, to be your new mommy.
You only mommy.
Forever.
I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t not do it.

  Later, as you played on the indoor playground, and you giggled- you challenged me. There, in your wildflower eyes you dared me to stick around. You dared me to love you, no matter what.
You broke my heart, right then and there.
A four year old baby should never know those sorts of sadnesses…

  Even later yet, while putting your few clothes into your new dresser, you followed behind me re-packing your things. When I asked why you would do that you said “it’s too hard to pack when this family is over and I have to move.” When the clothes managed to stay in the dresser and your ugly suitcase was moved to storage, you cried. True, fat, salty tears tainted every ache that had lingered in your girlhood eyes, unspoken.
Only hours had passed, since we had met you and yet I felt as though lifetimes had mounted upon my shoulders and nestled in.
I knew that, whether I was up to it or not I had to be your mommy.
My heart begged, in a stabbingly violent and  secure way to be your mommy.
For the first time ever, I held you in my arms. Your chubby hands were hitting, and reaching with all your arms could give, behind me- PLEASE, PLEASE,” your tiny voice wailed, throat already swollen and ragging from crying, “I need my suitcase, please let me have my suitcase. PLEASE, i have to have it for when I get a new mommy and daddy.”

Do you remember what I told you, as you glared up at me?
Sweet, beautiful girl, five years from now you will look back and remember this moment and you will know that I told you the truth when I say we are the last mommy and daddy you will ever have. No more families. This is yours, and you belong here, forever.

Today is eight years, exactly, since my promise. Sure, I have been frustrated- but I’ve never wished that wasn’t true.

I love you, baby girl. Happy family anniversary! I love you to the moon and stars and then a whole lot further… 

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