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Abstract

some good stuff.I remember feeling helpless. People not being able to understand me. I’d tell them over and over again, but they just didn’t get it. It was almost like I didn’t count. It wasn’t until I was 18 years old, and somebody asked me what I thought about something, that I realized I was allowed to have an opinion. I hope the next time around, I can’t say that’s what I remember.But it happened. It is the stuff of memories now. Except, why do I feel so sad? My mother is gone. My father is gone. One of my brothers is gone.I’m talking to Gilda Radner now. I get a few pages read every day in her book, “It’s Always Something” and we always end up having a chat either about what she was writing about or something else. Yesterday I read about the difficult times she went through with Gene Wilder when she wanted to conceive and couldn’t. I had something like that happen to me.I even remember losing a baby once; though I was only late by a few weeks, I felt in my heart and soul that I might have lost a baby. I remember grieving with Dennis about it, but it was only a few weeks in, and I never really knew for certain.I just knew in my heart.It was surprising many years later to go to a psychic back in the days when I was beginning to learn myself, and she said to me, “You’ve lost a baby.” I really was surprised and remembered back to that day when I bled. When I thought to myself, “I think I lost a baby.” When I didn’t know for sure, and now to have this lady say those words to me so many years later.I do have a son in spirit who came forward years ago. His name is Ben. It was probab

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ly somewhere around Mother’s Day when he introduced himself to me. I can’t tell you much about what he looks like because my visual impressions of spirit are mostly always very hazy. I can tell you he is a grown man, in any case. He is a big man.So, now, when Mother’s Day comes around, I don’t have to feel sad. Or much, anyway. I feel him behind me, at my back. It’s like when you’re surrounded fighting in mortal combat, and you fight back to back with your friend. That’s where he is. Then, sometimes I can feel him put his arms around me. That’s nice too.But, oh, right now? I am crying. I’ve got two balled-up Kleenexes on the desk in front of me, and my throat hurts. It aches. I have never figured out why that happens, why your throat can ache so when you are crying.Okay, I’m better now. It’s like grief. It never ends. It gets different as time goes by. But it’s never going to end. It will hit you as quickly, as suddenly as a horse will kick you if you aren’t paying attention.Why would a horse do that? I love horses.I couldn’t talk this way when I was younger. Even into my forties and fifties, I did not talk this way. I felt some of these things, but I knew in my heart that it wouldn’t be safe for me to open my mouth and just talk. I feel better now for having said all this. I am glad I can do it now.Everyone in their life should feel safe enough to say whatever is on their mind.That would be a good world to live in.<figure id="f017"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*jk7IJL26Sz7CPpOy0l7dRQ.jpeg"><figcaption></figcaption></figure></article></body>

It’s Hard

Every Single Time

Mom and Me — My First Bath — Sept 1955 — from the Author’s Collection

When you are young, it is hard to learn how to walk. Your parents will encourage you, but they don’t have eyes on you all the time, every single moment. Sure, folks have baby monitors, but does that mean they are watching them when they aren’t watching the baby? No.

Here’s what I remember. What? You ask me how I can remember back that far?

Not everything, but I do remember some stuff.

I remember what it was like to want to move over. I couldn’t flip easily. Truth be told, I’m having just as much trouble now in my old age, but yes, I can remember not being able to roll over. I don’t think I was a large baby. I wasn’t fat until I started wearing a 6x which meant I was wearing a chubby size. That was long past infancy and well into the first grade.

I remember being slightly alarmed when my father would pick me up. It was so far off the ground. Plus, he thought it was fun to toss me in the air. He didn’t know I wasn’t laughing. Being picked up by my mother, which happened more often, was what I liked.

I also remember those horrible rubber pants I had to wear over my diaper. God, those were tight on my legs. Then they’d get wet, and it was like a fucking sauna in there. I hope that in 68 years, babies don’t have to wear that kind of stuff anymore. Those were horrible.

I remember peas. I remember spinach. That was some good stuff.

I remember feeling helpless. People not being able to understand me. I’d tell them over and over again, but they just didn’t get it. It was almost like I didn’t count. It wasn’t until I was 18 years old, and somebody asked me what I thought about something, that I realized I was allowed to have an opinion. I hope the next time around, I can’t say that’s what I remember.

But it happened. It is the stuff of memories now. Except, why do I feel so sad? My mother is gone. My father is gone. One of my brothers is gone.

I’m talking to Gilda Radner now. I get a few pages read every day in her book, “It’s Always Something” and we always end up having a chat either about what she was writing about or something else. Yesterday I read about the difficult times she went through with Gene Wilder when she wanted to conceive and couldn’t. I had something like that happen to me.

I even remember losing a baby once; though I was only late by a few weeks, I felt in my heart and soul that I might have lost a baby. I remember grieving with Dennis about it, but it was only a few weeks in, and I never really knew for certain.

I just knew in my heart.

It was surprising many years later to go to a psychic back in the days when I was beginning to learn myself, and she said to me, “You’ve lost a baby.” I really was surprised and remembered back to that day when I bled. When I thought to myself, “I think I lost a baby.” When I didn’t know for sure, and now to have this lady say those words to me so many years later.

I do have a son in spirit who came forward years ago. His name is Ben. It was probably somewhere around Mother’s Day when he introduced himself to me. I can’t tell you much about what he looks like because my visual impressions of spirit are mostly always very hazy. I can tell you he is a grown man, in any case. He is a big man.

So, now, when Mother’s Day comes around, I don’t have to feel sad. Or much, anyway. I feel him behind me, at my back. It’s like when you’re surrounded fighting in mortal combat, and you fight back to back with your friend. That’s where he is. Then, sometimes I can feel him put his arms around me. That’s nice too.

But, oh, right now? I am crying. I’ve got two balled-up Kleenexes on the desk in front of me, and my throat hurts. It aches. I have never figured out why that happens, why your throat can ache so when you are crying.

Okay, I’m better now. It’s like grief. It never ends. It gets different as time goes by. But it’s never going to end. It will hit you as quickly, as suddenly as a horse will kick you if you aren’t paying attention.

Why would a horse do that? I love horses.

I couldn’t talk this way when I was younger. Even into my forties and fifties, I did not talk this way. I felt some of these things, but I knew in my heart that it wouldn’t be safe for me to open my mouth and just talk. I feel better now for having said all this. I am glad I can do it now.

Everyone in their life should feel safe enough to say whatever is on their mind.

That would be a good world to live in.