It’s been a lifetime of regret
For a crime I never committed.
I was born.
The illegitimate of a love affair.
Forever, a child, apologizing for my existence.
I’m so sorry.
And yet, Here I Am.
You’ve welcomed and accepted me,
Flaws, painful memories and all.
I’m so sorry.
I was born.
It’s been a lifetime.
But, here I am.
Here I am.
Don’t get me wrong.
I definitely have those pangs.
The weird desire to smell just inside the crevice of their neck, cheek-to-cheek.
*Inhale* their sweetness.
Feel their entire fist upon my finger . . .
But miss those days?
Count me out.
With four daughters, all I’ve heard is warnings of teenage days to come.
My oldest is only eleven and I’ve had to put my foot in my parental mouth more times than I care to count so I dare not assume I know better than my foremothers.
But, I admit. . .
I look forward to the future more than I look longingly backward to their baby days.
Perhaps it is because I had the opportunity to experience babyhood four separate times.
My friends with twins remind me that although they were awarded double the experience at the same time, they wished they’d had the opportunity over time.
Lord knows, I got that time- I was pregnant and/or nursing for nine years in a row.
Instead, I revel in witnessing my daughters grow into young women- their passions, insecurities and questions.
I walk alongside, offering assistance as needed and hopping in bed to cuddle when requested.
I have such faith that they will continue to shine
So, forget the mirror.
Hand me my shades.
Here come my suns.
“Have you eaten breakfast?”
I stared at him, confused.
Milliseconds passed as I wondered what on Earth had prompted my misinterpretation of this question.
Surely he had asked something else.
I was in the Apple store, after all.
He must have seen the perplexed look on my face when he followed with,
“I just know that when we are under stress, we forget to eat.”
I wanted to bawl cry into his arms.
This simple act of human kindness had reduced me to near tears.
I was there on business.
My phone battery was dying mid-day, every day and had been for months and now, as I sat by it, waiting for important calls from doctors, it felt more dire than ever.
It was the straw that broke the camel’s back- the reason I’d finally relented to replace my battery.
And now I found myself in front of this young man, asking if I had remembered to eat breakfast.
“Yes.” I managed. “I don’t normally, but today, I ate.”
He smiled.
And I left with the reminder that, life or death, humanity perseveres.
Camille Vaughan Photography
“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
– Emma Lazarus
My father is first generation American.
Italian, born and bred.
So, when I graduated high school I asked for proof.
In other words, bring me to them.
My relatives.
We traveled first to Rome.
A hotel, he’d booked online.
We’d spent exactly two nights ever together in a lifetime and suddenly,
we were residing in a closet.
On to Naples, Pompeii and Calabria: the place of my grandfather’s birth.
Rich with olive trees, oil and seven-layer fresh lasagna.
Here, I bonded with my foreign relatives as I screamed “Aye! Aye! Aye!” on motorbike
through winding streets, experiencing food like it was the first time.
Eating “al fresca”, pretending I followed their animated conversation.
Next, to Sicily where we knocked on many a neighbor door
until we stood in the room my grandmother was born in 1898.
I looked around and wondered, “how?”.
And here I am.
Standing in my father’s hospital room wondering, “how?”
If there was ever a man to give to the tired, the poor,
Those that needed to breathe and required refuge,
He’s right here.
Beside the golden door.
And here I am.
Standing in my father’s hospital room wondering, “how?”.
New Leaf Parenting 