I just looked up the love of my life in Facebook. What a weird sensation–I was happy to see him but the emotions of 30 years ago came to the surface in a heat that I didn’t think was possible. Was he still married? Did he have children? He was connected to a beautiful young woman in Miami. All my insecurities came to the surface. I’m old now and probably not his type.
I remember saying goodbye the last time he was in town. I was furious at him for just thinking I was available for sex. But the song that makes me cry every time I hear it is the English version of “Sayonara”.
I’ve wondered thru the years what happened to him — a lot happened to me!! Maybe if I were happier in my present life I wouldn’t be looking him up. Does he ever wonder about me? I have a feeling he doesn’t.
When I met him I was 28 and newly separated. He was my second boyfriend (after my husband). We just enjoyed each other’s company. It was simple. Now life is complicated.
Here’s me at 30. Boy I looked good!
My mother had my first pair of baby shoes, and those of my 2 sisters and my brother bronzed. My siblings’ had a pair of shoes, but mine was the only “single shoe”. I asked my mother why and she said, “you chewed the other one so badly, it could not be used.” That was the story behind the 1-bronzed shoe. Since my sisters’ had 2 shoes, their frame was between the shoes.
The baby shoes were always in the empty space where the bible was kept in my parents’ headboard. Religiously dusted and carefully packed through the many moves that our family made. The glass in the frames was no longer there and the pictures had been moved to a photo album in a trunk where my mother kept all the important papers. No one remembers when that happened.
Then when my older sister had her kids, my mother had their shoes bronzed. When my children were born, I kept their baby shoes in the hopes of having them bronzed when I had money. My younger sister has kept her son’s baby shoes with the same hope.
When I looked into getting my own children’s shoes bronzed, I realized what a sacrifice my mother had made to get ours done. Her mother died when she was 5 so having a family was extremely important to her. She was a single mother when she had my older sister’s shoes bronzed. When my shoes were done, my father was a soldier in Korea. By the time my mother had my brother’s shoes done, there were 6 of us living in a 1-bedroom cold water flat/apartment in the Lower East Side of New York.
My older sister had passed away in 1982, and her daughter got her pair of shoes. My mother passed away in 1994, but my father kept all the shoes in their special place above his bed until my younger sister and I emptied his apartment in 2006 to move him to a nursing home. One of the first things that we looked for were our shoes since they had always reminded us of the love our mother had for us and the sacrifices she made to keep her family together.
When I look at the shoes now, I remember my mother and different events in my life—simple things like sneaking into her bedroom to look at the shoes, talking to her about why I only had one shoe, or helping her pack the shoes for all the moves that we made. Finally, my most recent memory is when I took them from New York to Maryland and realized that they are part of the last reminders of my parents’ home.
His current girlfriend and their 2 children live in another country. She doesn’t know that he has a 2 year old son here. His son’s baby mama doesn’t know that his girlfriend just had another baby. His 3 children by his first wife need financial help. And he has high blood pressure.
This is a very personal and intense poem, but I will share it with you. I am an artist and take my emotions and experiences and “put them out there”. Otherwise, I would go nuts. Sometimes the poetry just needs to be written. I ‘m not upset or anything right now. It is just how I felt one day in California about being the “other woman”.
Seeking something that just isn't there for him.
My fantasy is that is that he loves me
Willing to give me the stars and the moon.
He is my dream come true
My fantasy is that he doesn’t care for her.
She means nothing to him.
My reality is that she exists and I mean nothing to him.
Otherwise he would treat me more kindly,
My reality is that I seek what is not mine to take or receive.
My reality is ugly truth compare to the crystalline fragile fantasy.
The muck of everydayness intrudes upon the unreal in my mind.
Would that my fantasy become my reality –
But that is why it is a fantasy.