My mom has been gone for over a year now. In that time, I've had the opportunity to spend some time alone in Italy contemplating where I want to be a year from now. My daughter has grown 3 inches and has learned how to count to 100. I've moved twice. I've taken a music test in the hopes of becoming the music teacher for my school. I've lost a few friends, but gained perspective. I was in a car accident. I've cried tears over found treasures of hers. My family scattered her ashes at Disneyland amidst the smoke of the fireworks. A dear family friend found the love of her life. Another family friend lost hers. I've said things, done things, and reacted to things in ways I'm not really proud of. Maelin learned how to put her head under the water and how to sing "Stay Awake." Through all of this...I think I may have found part of my voice.
Wandering the streets of Rome all by myself with no map to guide me was the best thing I could have done. Imagine the scene: I get off at a Metro stop and I have no clue where I am: just a sense of where I want to end up. So I start walking. I stay on the left hand side of the narrow street, careful not to twist my ankle on the cobblestones, as this side is in the shade and it's blistering hot today. I stop in a shop and ask in my haltering Italian for a bottle of water. I pay the $3 and drink it in grateful gulps. As I continue to blindly find my way through the confusing, noisy, overwhelming city, I stop and peer into the small shops I'm wandering past. One shop seems to call to me to step in, and it's not because of the air conditioning that feels so welcome on this hot day. It's because of the lady who is inside.
She looks just like my mom. Oh, she has the trademark Italian nose which my mom didn't have, but her stature and posture is just the same. She has the same crooked smile. She has the curly brown hair that my mom spent hours trying to straighten (just as I do). She even has her green, sparkly eyes. I stand in the corner and try to gather my breath. I know that this woman is a random Italian lady, but for her to show up at this time, on this day...makes me pause.
"Ciao", she says to me. I stumble back and say hello. I look around the shop. It's a doll shop. For anyone who knew my mom, you know she had an amazing collection of matryoshka dolls. This shop has tons of those, obviously imported, but to me it's a sign that I'm in the right place. Doing the right thing. Finding my voice, finding my lost heart, finding my confidence, finding my happiness again. Figuring out that I have so much at home to be grateful for and to be happy about. I ask "Quanto Costa" in my awful Italian, while pointing at a set of dolls. She answers me with a smile and says something way too fast for me to comprehend. Oh well. I browse through the shop and choose a handmade wooden puppet for Maelin. She'll tangle the darn thing all up, but no matter. This doll is coming home with me as a symbol of everything that hasn't changed in the last year...
These things are still here and even better than they were the last time I was able to talk to my mom. These are the things I longed for when I was in Rome and the things that made me want to get behind the plane to scoot it along so I get home faster.
My amazing, beautiful, brilliant little girl. She's growing up way too fast for my liking, but she still hugs me and sits on my lap and tells me I'm the best Mommy in the world. She has the ability to throw herself into my arms and erase every single trouble or worry I may have away. Every single day with her is a gift and even though there are times when I'm exhausted, or too busy, or sick, or stressed out, or sad, or distracted...she's an absolute joy and I am so lucky to be her mom. I can't wait to teach her how to play the piano, to take her to Italy with me, to help her with her homework, and to teach her about loss and the dignified way to handle it.
My friends and family are still here. These past months have taught me who "has my back" and who will be here for me no matter what. I am so lucky to be surrounded by so many people who would "bury a body" for me if I asked them to. Some of these people I've known for years, and some I've just been lucky enough to meet or become reacquainted with recently. Some are people I only get to talk to a few times a year, but that doesn't matter either because since I found my voice again, I've found a new appreciation for the ability to call them my friends.
I have an amazing job with amazing people. Just today, I had to step in and help restrain a student I had 2 years ago. He's gotten much stronger and it was a bit scary. However...I have 16 kids in summer school that need me. I am teaching them how to read. How to write. How to think and comprehend. How to analyze. Even though summer school is taking away some time from Maelin, I'm so grateful that I get to spend my mornings actually feeling like I'm possibly making a difference for even one child.
After I leave the doll shop with Maelin's puppet safely wrapped up, I stop in the middle of the piazza to get my bearings. Which way back to the Metro station? I see tour groups, cars and vespas zooming by, street vendors begging the tourists to buy a fake Prada purse. (of COURSE I got one!) I see the shadow of St. Peter's Basilica in the distance. The smell of freshly baked pizza is waifing down the street and the gelato shop across the way just finished making their waffle cones for the evening. The flower vendor is cutting the fresh bouquets, and the locals are all hurrying to their local bar for their evening "apertif": the quick glass of wine and snack you have after work with your friends. I experience a fresh wave of homesickness because in finding my voice here in Rome, I found what really matters.
My daughter. My friends and family. My life here in Denver. I wouldn't trade one bit of it. Yes, our future is uncertain right now, but I know that I'm following my heart and I'm not being held back because of fear. I know I'm making the right choices for Maelin and I to live with authenticity. When she's experiencing her first heartbreak, or her first love...I'll be able to tell her that life is short and not to be chained in by other people's expectations. Or other people's judgements. To live with bravery and to make the scary choices because you have faith that it will all turn out all right in the end.
Or to quote someone who is wiser than myself; "To jump off the cliff before you're certain you can fly."
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