By Jessica Dimas
I called you to come over today because I felt overwhelmed. You didn’t hesitate to say yes, you’d be down as soon as your load of clothes in the wash was finished. And you came with lunch for me and the boys. Just your presence put me at ease and I could breathe again. Why does everything feel so safe when you’re around?
I’m 31 and I still get that feeling to go running to you sometimes. You always know what to say to me to make everything feel better. You’re the only one who hears everything I don’t say and sees everything I try to hide.
I feel like I’m finally here, standing in your shoes. During the hardest of moments, I realize this is what you did for me. Some days I feel like no one hears me. No one sees me. At times, I feel like I give and give, and I’m demanded to give even more. And it goes unnoticed. My husband unintentionally makes me feel like what I do isn’t as important as what he does, because I have nothing to show for it at the end of the day. The house is still messy. The sink is full again. The bathroom floor is covered with water and wet towels, and I can’t even remember myself what I got done in the last 14 hours.
Sometimes I feel like you’re the only one who sees what I do. You’re the only one who understands how much of myself I’m giving, and how much I’m loving.
During the most giving of moments, I have flashbacks of you giving to me. The grapes that I don’t eat so that the boys can have them, because I know how much they love them. I remember there always being grapes for me growing up. I don’t know if you liked them or not, but I assumed you didn’t because you never ate them. Even now, you’ll tell me to go ahead and eat the last of anything I want; you “don’t need to eat it anyway.” I’ve always believed you, until I became a mother. Now I know you’re giving it to me, even if you want it, because you’d rather your child have it.