Sleepless nights awaken the writer in me
I suddenly remember a million stories that have yet to be told,
A million questions that have yet to be asked,
A million moments that have yet passed.
Sleepless nights remind me that I am human
And I have regrets, feelings of hopelessness, and an uncertain future.
Sleepless nights take me on a journey through a past that is too dark and depressing to be relived in the light of the sun.
Sleepless nights transports me to the early hours of January 4th, 2010 when I received my sister’s call with the news that my mother was gone.
My dad didn’t want to tell me but when he did I just wanted…
I just wanted the earth’s heart to stop beating. I wanted to sink so fast as the snow, once drifting, now cascading…all about me.
I wanted to ask questions that I knew there would never be answers to.
What happened? What happened?
It wasn’t just Lupus. No, it was the life she didn’t live. See, what took her was the lifestyle she couldn’t live without: the fast life. The men who entered and exited our “home” with the highs and lows of her chronic illness and various mental afflictions. All that…she could not give up.
Yet she told me that she had so many sleepless nights…wondering how she was going to pay the bills with her (mismanaged) money, if she was going to survive, how many dreams had been left unfulfilled, what to do with her children, and if (I will insert a little imagination into my self-aware mother’s mind) she finally “ruined” us like her mother “ruined” her children.
Sleepless nights frequently called my mother with its usual questions and suggestions: why don’t you focus more on your girls? Maybe you should slow down and figure out how to get yourself out of this mess and how to stay out for good. Don’t you want to live long enough to see your girls get older? Make decisions that will improve your overall health.
And tonight, as I squint to finish this post, determined to beat my bedtime blues and finally enjoy a restful sleep, I think: what separates me from her? Maybe I have finally become my mother. Maybe I am doomed to repeat her mistakes.
But Morning peeks through my window and says: Wake up.
And then…I remember.
There is still time.