You, my dear readers, have the fortune — or misfortune — that I am off of work this week and, having given up the idea of watching the 92 other early episodes of Lost to catch up before the new season begins, AND procrastinating working on my query letter and book synopsis, I have decided to blog about stuff: deep, introspective stuff and shallow, silly stuff. Here is the deep stuff. (Lighter fare to be served up later.)
Last night I was sitting at the table with the kids when my daughter said, “Mom you are so…[she searches for the appropriate word] unforgettable!” She said this in response to something we were talking about, which I don’t even remember now. I smiled and thanked her, grateful for this reassurance, even if it was about 4 years after I really needed to hear it.
See, in the first year after my divorce there was one thing about being a single mother that frequently left me feeling anxious. I was certainly worried about having to negotiate and raise my children with The Ex without scarring them for life. Yes, I wondered a lot if “the real deal” — i.e., true, lasting love — would be in my future one day. But it was the thought of my mortality that left me laying awake staring at the ceiling many nights — not the idea of death itself, or even dying alone, but the idea that my children would forget I was ever a part of their young lives, especially if I didn’t have a partner “on my side” to remind them.
As I learned how to live alone again, I eventually got over this fear and of course realized I had plenty of family and friends to remind them. Today the kids are old enough to share in the memories we’ve made together, but it was still nice to be reminded last night that I’m as unforgettable to them as they are to me.