Because I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and, doggone it, people like me.
I cried when I proposed to Robyn. I cried as she walked down the aisle (at both our rehearsal and the wedding). A lot (at both). And I’m absolutely not ashamed of these things.
After getting married, I’ve cried at a variety of movies that depict racial or father/son struggles, because I so desire to have victory over prejudices and intimacy with both my dad and heavenly Father.
And then? Well, then I went on anti-depressant medication, and I felt pretty much nothing for a year. Those meds took away the lows, which was great, but they also took away any semblance of a high, which was bad. Inside, I was a zombie for pretty much the first year of Aimee’s life. I tried to wean myself a number of times. A couple times, I went cold turkey, which was just foolish. But, eventually, I got off.
It’s been 4 months now, or something like that, since I’ve been med-free. I can feel again.
I spent some good time with Nate right before he shipped out to Baghdad for round 2. A couple weeks later, on the 9/11 anniversary, I spent some time reflecting on it all. And I thought about Nate going back. And I lost it. I was pretty much just a puddle on the living room floor. It was good to feel, even if what I felt was fear and pain.
The next week, I read David Finkel’s book about Nate and his crew. Again, I lost it. It was good to feel, even if what I felt was fear and pain.
And tonight, for the fourth time in a row, I broke down while reading the last chapter of Winnie The Pooh to my son at bedtime. The 2nd Pooh book, from 80+ years ago, ended with Christopher Robin leaving Pooh Bear behind. He was growing up. I’ve read it twice to Toby, and both times I cried. The 3rd Pooh book, from last year, ends with Christopher Robin going away again. I’ve read it twice to Toby, and both times I cried. Including tonight. Even though I know it’s coming.
It’s not about Winnie The Pooh. My boy is growing up so damn fast. It kills me. My baby boy isn’t a baby any more. Nor is he a toddler any more. And I don’t know how to handle it. I love that he’s big and smart and fun and everything, but I’m scared for him… I’m scared of this big mean world that is already so clearly affecting him.
And it’s not just about Toby. Or Aimee. It’s everything. Everything is just messed up. And broken. And I don’t know how to deal with it.
But it’s ok to cry. That’s what I set out to say when starting this post. And I mean it.
And that’s all for now.
Love you, Scott.