Down the wishing well

The wishing won't stop.

It started when I left the post office. After my third day in a row there, selecting the perfect stamp (bonsai), asking about weight and delivery dates, adding a second stamp (yet another bonsai), and finally parting with Mark's pretty paper masterpieces, I pushed open the door, walked out onto the New York City sidewalk, and reached for my phone. All I wanted to do was call her and say, "Ma, can you believe it?" Only in her would I have been able to confide how vulnerable I felt: I'd just told 120 people that Mark and I were in love. I joked with Mark later, saying who knew the girl who blogs her innermost thoughts would ever feel exposed by a wedding invitation?

It happened again today, when I saw a picture on Facebook of a girl I knew in high school being walked down the aisle, flanked by her father and mother. I cursed my Jewish heritage for including both parents in the patriarchal tradition. If I were Catholic, my mother's absence wouldn't matter in that moment. But I know it does. With just my dad there (despite his wonderfulness!), the weight is uneven. Grief gives you an eternal limp.

If you've gone down the wishing well, you know what I know: It's not good to wish for things that can't come true.

So, I thought that instead of wishing to talk to my mother, I would write to her here over the next eight weeks leading up to the wedding. Here goes...

Dear Mom,

It's your little girl. I'm getting married!

His name is Mark and he's just lovely. Warm and funny and strong. Sometimes I worry you'd call him an "Eddie Haskell," because he's quite the charmer, particularly with the older ladies. But I think that would have only been your first impression. You would have grown to see what I see, and told me I'm very lucky, and to treasure him.

I'm trying on my wedding dress for the first time on Saturday, my 30th birthday. I'm calling it the best me-to-me present a gal could get: a preview of how she'll look on one of the happiest days of her life. You will be with me, as you always are, since I honor you every day by wearing your engagement stone. (I hope you approve of the beautiful facelift Mark gave to it!)

I try hard to honor you in my everyday actions. Smile. Talk to strangers. Be there for your friends. Impact the lives of others. Be kind to those less fortunate. Notice people who are often overlooked. Laugh too loud. Laugh at yourself. Laugh when life is good. Laugh even when it's not.

Sometimes the concept of "getting married" feels scary. Something that's happening to someone else. Something I can't possibly be old enough to do. Sometimes I'm surprised by who it is that fits me. Sometimes I'm scared of being this lucky -- of my happiness being found out and taken away. Best to act nonchalant so they'll skip over me. Maybe they knew how much we loved each other, Mom.

Next month it'll be the 10 year anniversary of when you passed away. I can't believe it's been that long. If I heard someone else say that, I'd say, "Get over it, man!" I wish I could. But your loss is still that -- a loss -- especially as I near such a delicate day.

This morning, I accidentally slammed my underwear drawer shut, and the photo of you, me, and Daddy came crashing down, bringing with it some loose change and my brand new bottle of perfume (an early birthday gift from Laura -- yes, 17 years later, she's still my best friend). I felt I heard you say: "Stop wishing, Missy. Enough!"

I'll try.

Love,
Missy

Unexpected Connections: The instant bond of parent loss

Happy Sunday!

I'm home from Myrtle Beach and having a bad-TV-movies and jammies night. I've already watched Must Love Dogs and Failure to Launch. Oh, and did I mention I ate take-out Thai? In some ways, this is the best kind of night.

My trip to Myrtle Beach to help with the marathon was hard work but also relaxing. Getting 70-degree weather and warm sunshine can do amazing things for the soul. I was also really proud of my friend Jes, who walked the half-marathon, and for Team Prevention's 100+ readers who walked the half- or full-marathon. Big congrats to everyone!

I didn't walk this year (maybe next year!), but I did reach a different kind of milestone. While chatting with a coworker during the trip, she revealed to me that her father passed away six months ago. We shared a really nice moment remembering our parents, talking about their lives and deaths, and appreciating how being together made us feel less alone.

"It really does get easier," I told her, the words sounding wrong as soon as I said them. After all, when everyone told that to me, I didn't believe them. Only later, when I had healed more, did I understand that what they said was true.

I just wish that as someone who went through loss, I had a more sincere-sounding phrase. I guess those cliche sayings are actually the most true, though, and that's why they've been said so many times by so many people.

So tonight I'm wishing good thoughts for my new friend, and to all of you, who are also my new friends. Now back to TV ; )