26 November 2008

All downhill from here. It hurts, ya know?

Once upon a time, long ago, and far away, I was eloquent. Articulate. I had friends, and friends had me.

I had a son who was everything to me and the years during which I lost him stripped away everything from me-hope, faith and of course, love.

"What do you want to be when you grow up Bianca?" Asked the one person in flesh I knew with all my heart loved me completely.

"A granny!" I declared, and my one true love whom I called Sam after the book he read to me to make me stop being contrary (Green Eggs and Ham "Would I could I, Sam I Am?"), replied with all the solemn wisdom of a boy two or three years older than me.

"You have to be a mummy first, I think, you can't be a granny unless you are a mummy first."

I was of course horrified at the thought of my one and only cherished dream tied to a period of lurching about in trailing wrappings, having just watched the Boris Karloff version of "The Mummy". Almost as horrified as Sam I Am was when I told him in a fit of three or four year old love that when I grew up I was going to marry him.

Alas, Sam I Am lived primarily in southern Wales. Grew up there, all the while romancing me with The Beatles, Diana Ross and the Supremes, Credence Clearwater Revival, The Beach Boys, and later Jethro Tull and Led Zeplin. Sam I Am has the greatest taste in books and music.

("Those were the days/my friends/we thought they'd never end/we'd sing and dance/forever and a day...")

I thought he would show up one day and stay forever, no more leaving, no more good-byes 'til next time. No more jet aeroplanes and laughing rows over pronunciations of aluminum and aeroplane-"Dear God Sunnie, you're British, how can you not speak King's English?? Now, say it after me-Al - lu - min - i - um..."



All the while knowing in my heart that Sam I Am was not the man God ordained for me at the dawn of time, but oh please God, can't you change your mind?? I trusted Sam like I've never in this or any life trusted anyone.

Mr. Do-The-Right-Thing, which explains his childhood horror at the thought of marrying someone God meant for someone else, and never ever to know that decency endeared him all the more to me.

Ah, temptation, and Sam I Am dedicated songs to me over my local radio using up his precious hard earned pounds, then would go silent for weeks, then pop up out of no-where to tell me he just had a feeling I needed him, which I did.

"Mr Postman, wait and see if you've a letter, a letter for me" I waited for the postcards and the blue airmail envelopes, the messages from Sam I Am when he gave in; I never stopped listening to the radio on the chance that Sam had given in and stood patiently feeding coins into the phone box gulping mouth.

Fourteen and smart enough to ask me for the phone number and call sign of my favourite radio station (KEZY Anaheim!), then call so that I and anyone else listening would know that a boy in southern Wales, GB, cared enough about ME to ring the station. My first and last name unusual enough that when he called (and his calls were timed to ensure the largest audience to our local pop station) there could be no doubt who was the intended-it made my day, my night, my week, my life.

We would have children who would love me because he loved me, would respect me because he did, would honour me because he did, who would believe in me because he did-he would be my partner and we would raise a strong, united family.

He changed his mind, went to college over there instead of over here. My step-mother stole my college fund, and I joined the Coast Guard.

Angry, I married a total jerk I met while on active duty; Sam I Am graduated from college and went on to med school.

I divorced the jerk and tried to get on with my life; Sam I Am finished his residency, became a surgeon.

I met the guy God ordained for me at the dawn of time-oddly enough also from Wales, and headed for med school, Sam I Am stayed out of the way while I lost the man God ordained for me at the dawn of time; I married another jerk whom I divorced in September 1998, then came back saying "I can't go all my life waiting to catch you between husbands!"

Back and forth, off and on, we long distance (and all too rarely up close and semi-personal) tried again. For several years. Finally he asked me to decide (like I hadn't already!), and I said "Yes, Please!"

He said he'd try to talk to Fox, we'd be a family, he'd be a good step-father to Fox, and we would all live happily ever after.

For the first time in nearly ten years I let myself hope and believe, maybe a little. I kept it to myself, mostly, telling a few people at work, but keeping out of the blogs because frankly I just had a feeling that writing about it in online would jinx it.

Silly me.

Sam I Am's cold feet got so cold he has frostbite.

Fox still hates me, and I forgot to thaw the little turkey breast I got because ya know, Thursday 27th November 2008 is just another day.

Like 25th December will be.

Like the rest of my life will be.

I've known since October 28th, the day I was supposed to pick Sam I Am up at the airport.

Keeping it out of the blogs didn't protect it one damn bit.

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