Who Am I?

I am Damien and Dylan's mom. I am their buddy, their pal, their confidant, their disciplinarian. I am the person who bathed them, fed them, and powdered their bottoms. I am the person that they depended on for survival. I am the person that taught them how to walk, talk, and use the toilet. I am their advocate, and I helped them learn to stand up for themselves in times when backing down would be much, much easier. I am the person who has prepared them to leap from the nest every now and again before the day that will come when they leap just once more down their own paths and adventures. And, then, I will still be their mom, but lacking in their company and the endless responsibilities that consume my every day.

I am Darren's wife. I am his best friend, his balance, his equal, his intimate. I am committed to my life with him and bathe him in ceaseless doting. I am his lover, and together we reach the heights of passion and ecstasy and delve to the depths of the abyss in which to drown our sorrows. Together we share our thoughts, ideals, minds, values. I am the person that taught him not to fear love and how to trust. I am honest in my opinions and share with him even though we may not agree. I am his steadfast, loyal, devoted companion. I give him space when needed and join with him in our conquests of the obstacles in our lives. Together we are one power, but in his absence, I am still whole.

I am a daughter, a sister, a niece, an aunt, a granddaughter, and a friend. I confide, disclose, declare, confess. I am the person that will listen when an ear is needed. I use my words when advice is warranted. I am vigilant in my assertions and gentle in my opinions. I am a shoulder on which to cry and in need of a shoulder every now and again. I love, hold, cry, and remember. I am a caretaker, a friend, a master chef, and the life of the party. I am a wallflower drawn down in a corner and the nut hiding deep within its shell. I am just like the others and not like anyone else.

I am part of the people that permeate my innermost circles, and they a part of me. I carry them with me as I traverse my rocky path. At times they are the rocks on which I stub my toe, and others I am the sharp burr that penetrates their skin, but together concessions are made, and we smooth to tranquil pebbles, cool against the skin. I am a pocket of pebbles smoothed throughout the years. I learn and grow because of them and despite of them. I change, for I am malleable, complaisant, rebellious, consistent, erratic. I am common and conventional, embellished in my liberal eccentricities. I am a walking contradiction, a conformed antithesis to myself.

But, who am I?

The things that define me are the things that constrain me, as well as the things that allow me to run free. I am spiritual, one with nature, one against nature. I am a thinker, a student, a teacher, a philosopher.  I am rambunctious. I am meek. I am alone, surrounded by those who love me. I want only peace, harmony, love. I want love. I want love. I want love. I am at odds with myself.

But, who am I?

I am an entity filling space amongst atoms sitting upon atoms bound by a tiny charge. I am protons and electrons floating through air. I am flesh and blood with a heart that beats spreading the life-force throughout my limbs. I am the breath that rides upon the wind, without which I will cease. I am a stockpile of minerals that consume Earth, and to minerals, I will return. I am millions of cells held together by tissue bonds. I am a DNA code unique to myself. I am a collection of electrical impulses jumping from synapse to receptor. I am ideas, notions, impressions, feelings, judgments dangling from each dendrite in hopes of being noticed before lost forever. I am the neuron that charges every movement.

I am the frontal lobe, emotional, unpredictable, convergent. I am upper management and a disheveled mess. I am a wordsmith, a scribe, a pencil pusher. I am the parietal lobe, clumsy, awkward, graceful, elegant, steady, strong. I am the assemblage of all I see, perceive, catch from the corner of my eye. I am all that I hear and all that I am deaf to, the low hum of the world around me that I have long forgotten. I consist of every song, every word, every thought, every smell, every touch that has invaded my every sense. I am a multitude of memories, hopes, dreams, fantasies, realities. I am every award, every achievement, every goal conquered. I am every mistake I ever made.

But, who am I?

I honestly do not believe I can tell you, for I cannot even tell myself. The best I can say is that I am me.

Our Map

The map of our lives takes us down many roads like a heartbeat in the light
we chug roughly around each bend no matter how treacherous the road
no matter how long or hard, I will always travel it with you

we bullet across long stretches of desert highways
we choke on earth spewed from our tires kicking rocks off caliche roads
we test sharp twists and turns of mesas
we cruise through canopied forests, blind to dangers within
we slam to stops, just to rev up and go again
we rush through busy cities, jumping from one place to the next
we jam up in traffic, white knuckled and sore
we feel fury breathing down our necks when we have no drive
we fly to the tops of rollercoasters only to fall back down again
we stumble over rocky roads and slide across sharp crags
we travel unknown terrain through forbidden alcoves
we find hidden trails with secret treasures
we ponder forks and intersections
we take many u-turns
we've been here before

but, no matter how long or hard, I will always travel it with you

©Pamela N. Brown 02172014

The Things Kids Say

Now that my eldest son is grown and youngest son is just several months from adulthood, I find myself thinking back to things that they did or said when they were very young. One in particular stands out more than any other and makes me smile each time that I think of it.

I had taken the boys to Toddler Time at the Michigan City, Indiana library. Dyl was not a member of the group, as it was for children two and older only, and he had not quite hit two yet. However, not having a babysitter, Dyl tagged along anyway, and the librarian in charge did not mind him being there.

Damien was still communicating with sign language, points, and grunts, but Dyl was talking and talking very well for his age. A side note: It was through Dyl's developing language skills that we actually realized how far behind Damien was in language, which lead to his early diagnosis of autism.

Anyway, after the librarian was finished reading the weekly story, the children all gathered around the table for their snacks. As soon as the book was closed, Dyl began to chatter away to other children, mothers, and anybody that would turn her head Dyl's way. I overheard Dyl tell one of the mothers, "Momma gots poo-poo. I gots poo-poo. Suh-shy (Dyl's pronunciation of Sunshine, Damien's nickname) gots poo-poo."

The young mother snarled her nose and walked away. Dyl toddled after tugging at her skirt. "Momma gots poo-poo, I gots poo-poo, Suh-shy gots poo-poo on shirt."

Again, the mother snarled her nose and turned away from my son. I looked at Dyl's shirt first, before looking down at mine and over to Damien's, and I realized what he was talking about. Dyl, Damien, and I all had a similar element on our shirts, Winnie-the-Pooh.

Noticing his frustration with the young mother as he toddled after her again, I decided it was time that I intercede. I swooped up Dyl and apologized to the young mother, "I am sorry that he is bothering you. Dyl is just so excited about our new Winnie-the-Pooh shirts that he has to tell everyone."

The look on the annoyed mother's face softened before she burst out laughing. She replied, "Oh, I should have known! I am glad to know that you don't have hygiene problems."

Although the years have passed swiftly, this memory is one of Dyl that has stayed fresh in my mind. In a mere matter of seconds, he had given me a precious gift that I will always cherish, the words of a small child befuddled and clumsy. However, they are more than that to me. They are a memory that I can draw from a deep well to remind me how special this child will always be, to smile when I am feeling down, and to not take quick judgment on something I may not quite understand.

Creativity

I've lost my creativity;

I can't find it;

it's gone.

It gave me longevity,

the vast will to

live on.

No longer there for us to see,

invisible,

moved on.

You seen my creativity?

Bring it to me.

I'm wan.

©Pamela N. Brown