turning 44 and more!

These numbers still take mine by awe. And I keep thinking; in no time you will have an additional number that will freak you out.So just live it.

I was thinking of what happened when I turned 33, to realize that I have actually no recalling of that date. I forced myself as if crawling back into that whirlpool of a decade to grasp memories of that very day with no recalling of anything.

As if destined to bring memories into action, things went to an explosion between my children and their father, to bring all in one place of a livable memory that never needed a sweeping to find it out. The misery of a continuous trauma with a psychopath. Maybe after ten years, I have to make a critical definition of what he is.

Each time I think is over that pushing my towards a closed circuit of negative energy and living with all his psychotic behavior. He manages successfully to bring us all in.

The weeks before my birthday, I was gathering in my head negative ideas about the value of life. I was thinking that turning 44 should be the last thing I want to have in life. Life could be all that it brought so far. Nothing more of it except constant disappointment. Somewhere the kids are safe, and maybe I can just leave this life with no worries about what will happen to them.

I wasn’t suicidal I guess. It was probably a sad moment that has been haunting or giggling inside me for some time. But somewhere it has this positiveness of not fearing death. Some months ago I was waking up to the sensation of the beauty and value of sleep. It occurred to me that death might just be another long eternal sleep. Dying would mean having the opportunity to sleep forever, which is something I would never complain about.

I was awakening on my 44th birthday with the best gift I could ever receive, a message (letter) from my eldest daughter and another from my son. I found myself crying in tears that were definitely tears of all but desperation and death sentiments. I was taken by their words, in that slippery path that somehow they slide on while I was serving as their slide. It was a moment where I understood correctly where those ten years went, and how beautifully they blossomed.

I am not sure how much our inner conscious beings in situations that make us relive a moment or appreciate it or somehow leads us in a state of a déjà vu. But suddenly it felt as if the kids and I are having a reunion, it was an actual reunion in many ways, the fact that my eldest is on her summer vacation from the University and my son is around all the time. Somehow the way memories were pulled out and discussed, with laughter and frustrations. It all made my laugh feel so important and my very own years of a decade or ten are worth spending.

The last decade of my life was about Nadia, the Woman. Somewhere that woman is about being a mother. In many ways, it is the secret recipe for being a woman. In many other ways, it’s the secret weapon in making all run away.

That blended feeling of being a mother and a woman is so utterly complete, that makes a woman all that she aspires to be.

And as if I am destined to stay in that mother syndrome forever. In that right timing when I thought maybe the kids have grown enough, are independent enough, are secure, safe enough. I can set myself free. Everything with the father went into an explosion. His existence in our life is like a volcanic ground, an eruption that may burst at any given moment. No surprises. The Just intensity and constant worries. So he decided to make a little explosion.

Nothing is of any surprise. Just the usual him. But somehow. In a circle of a decade. Something changed, even if I still want to feel that I haven’t aged. The kids have grown into adults and maturity that makes their presence different.

The image of my hug to my crying boy who is now a man of 18. With me barely being able to squeeze him into a hug that can stop his cries. Gave me an image of that feeling I always had since the divorce. A tree in a middle of a tornado and me in that picture, whether the tree or a hiding refuge with her children from the viciousness of the storm behind a tree. I was always like that mother cat sheltering my kids, and yesterday, the feeling took a different powerful image that I still cannot grasp inside me. It was huge. The tears of my son felt like a stream of a flooding river. His tears have been so severe, and he has been showing his proud macho side for years, and suddenly he dissolved in me, like the baby he was. He wasn’t ashamed to cry, with his sisters, big and tall as him. It was that image I always imagined of a mother’s love. A mother’s embrace that can bring the entire world in a moment of safety that no storm, no volcano, no viciousness can take away.

With all the pain that strikes my heart from this non-ending cruelty of a stupid man. A patriarchal setup that strengthens cruelty in people.

I still find words defeating me …

But something inside me regained its power with the tears of my children. It’s more suppressive and harsh to see it from children who are no longer children but will always remain your kids. Their bitterness aches. But their tears opened channels for their security inside a mother’s heart, that they know they can always dwell on no matter how great they got and how much more years they grew.

I realized there is still more to do, maybe in another closing circuit of a decade. Hopefully with some good life that awaits us …with a resilience and strength to use for better things than stretching in and out a pathetic man inside a small structure of patriarchy that increases such mental diseases.