to my jayda...

now playing: crosby stills nash and young, "find the cost of freedom"


i knew that this day would come, sooner or later. i didn't expect it to be so soon.

it doesn't seem like so many summers ago that i used to pull away from the curb in front of our house, on the way to a gig, and i'd look up and see you standing in the screen door, with your tiny hand pressed against the glass, watching me drive away. then in the dead of night i'd return home, sometimes to find you awake - we'd go downstairs and i'd rock you and sing james taylor's "something in the way she moves" in your tiny ear. it wasn't long before you'd learned the song and began to sing it along with me. quicker still, you began to sing along with the other music that filled the house.

one of my most prized possessions is my collection of home movies from your early childhood - they're almost redundant, though, as i can still see you in my mind very clearly, dancing around the living room in your ballerina outfit to tori amos' "winter", or dancing in circles with your coat hanging off your arms, just like adam duritz, to "mister jones".

i never wanted you to grow up.

truth?

i still don't.

part of me would like to freeze you and your brother in time and shield you from the inevitability of innocence lost, of the toll time takes on us all - but it's past the point now where such an impossibility would serve such a fantasy. you're both grown past the point at which any attempt to shield you from the rest of the world would be less than futile. and that, as they say, is life.

life, however, as considered from an individual standpoint, is probably best defined as one's personal collection of experience. it is our experiences, after all, that form the basis for our lives - the building blocks, the pieces of the puzzle that paint the picture of who we are. from the perspective where i now stand, i can look back over my life and point to specific experiences that were watershed moments in my life - some painful, some joyous, some chaotic, some traumatic - and point to those experiences as moments that turned my life in one direction or another.

and, not unlike a lot of people, i seem to find a recurring theme...the moments from which the most positive growth sprang from were the most painful. not that i gave a shit at the time, and it certainly didn't change my perception of the pain at the time - i don't think i ever thought, "gee, this sucks ass, but i'll sure be grateful for the lessons i'm learning later." nor do i think anyone thinks that. in fact, i don't recall a single instance of rational thought that's ever occured to me in the midst of despair. i'm pretty sure i'm not alone in this mindset, either. humans as a whole aren't exactly known for their ability for rational thought amidst emotional crisis. were that the case, we'd all have a solid grip on our post-relationship behavior and there wouldn't be any such thing as the hangup phone call or the incidental drive past an exes' house or apartment...or even more immature behavior that some of us can cop to, or have been subject to.

no, right now, all you know is that you hurt. you don't want to think about school, you don't want to have to face your friends, you don't want to even think about the possibility of seeing "him" anywhere or having to talk about him. the only thing that feels like an option right now is to curl up under the covers and hide from the world. you're angry - angry that you didn't see this coming, angry that you couldn't have been whatever it is that you think you could've been to keep things going - nicer, prettier, smarter, funnier, more of this or less of that...you're angry about the feeling of powerlessness that overwhelms you. "how could this have happened to me?" "why doesn't he/she love me?" "why does it have to be over?"

and, worst of all, you think that you're the only person in the world who knows how you feel right now.

the unfortunate truth, though, is that heartbreak and loss is universal. it's something that happens to every one of us. there are variations on the theme, and there are differences in all our stories, but every one of us has (or will) hit this wall at some point. unfortunately for most of us, it's an impact that will happen often enough to breed a sense of familiarity. and if you're lucky enough to be able to feel anything after having it happen a couple of times, you'll probably find that it never really gets any easier. the answers to the questions you end up asking yourself never really become any more obvious, and the reasons why love dries up and withers into indifference never become any clearer.

so you might ask, then - why bother, dad? what's the point?

well, my dear - the answer to that question is pretty complex. and it might differ from person to person, but i think that if you're lucky enough to make that rare connection with someone who makes your heart flutter, who gives you butterflies in your stomach when you brush up against their skin - i think you may find that it's worth the risk.

it's a rare thing. it really is.

and if it were easy, everybody'd be doing it. but neither of us need look very far, even in our own lives, to see that everybody's not doing it - not even close. so if you find an opportunity to have this, this butterfly flutter that keeps you awake at night thinking about someone - giggling to yourself for no apparent reason - then i think you have to weigh the risk against the rarity of the moment.

to love without worry for the future is part of what it is to be truly alive.

so i say to you with all the love i can muster - give yourself permission to hurt, but don't forget that there's a world out there, full of possibility, full of opportunities - and you have a place in it. your pain will pass, and you'll eventually realize with age that everything happens for a reason, and that this is no different. certainly, i realize that this does nothing to dull what you feel right now, but it won't be long before you'll come to this conclusion by yourself.

much as i might want to, i can't lock you into a moment in time and keep you for myself. not anymore than i can protect you from the pain that growing up and becoming a woman will inevitably bring. it's a sad truth that becoming a citizen of the world we live in is fraught with pain and injustice, and you'll ultimately come up against it as you grow and go out into the world. if i could take it on for you, i'd do it in a second. Lord knows, i'm used to it by now. i've had my share...but i can't. i can be here for you, though - if you decide to let me.

i'll leave you to your grieving for the moment, if you wish - but don't forget for a minute that there are a lot of other people who love you, and that hasn't changed.

i'm still here.


...dad