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TITLE: Maggie's Dreams By Carrie Kitzmiller 10/21/04 |
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She was running away. Running from all that her life seemed to consist of. All the nagging irritations that had pushed her right over the edge. All the “Mommy, can I?”s and “Is dinner ready yet?”s; all the Cheerios crushed between her toes and muddy footprints on the kitchen floor; all the reeking diapers and balled-up socks and juice-spotted counters. All of it – she had abandoned everything she had been for the last 5 years. Just locked the front door, dropped the kids off at her mother’s, and left. No one knew where she was or where she was going.
It didn’t take much to push her past caring. At least that’s how it would seem to an outsider peering into her morning. Nothing unusual happened, no huge, earth-shattering revelation or catastrophic event sent her reeling and spinning, ready to escape at all costs. It was an ordinary start to what would probably have been an ordinary day. Up with the alarm at 6:30, stumble toward the coffee already brewed and waiting to bring her fully awake. Fix breakfast, pack Jack’s lunch, and lay out clothes for the kids. “Brush your teeth!” “No, I don’t know where you left your shoes!” “Bye, honey, see you tonight.” “Yes, I’ll get your shirts ironed today – no problem.” “Stop hitting your sister!” Just the normal mutterings of any mom.
The normalcy of it all is what had hit her square in the face and pulled her up short. It was all so normal, so ordinary, so expected. She’d started to think back on how long her life had been this way; how far back would she have to go to find a morning that had been different? How far ahead would she have to look to discover anything new in her life? She’d become terrified. Terrified that she couldn’t take the sameness. Terrified that she could.
She’d rushed her kids into their clothes, rushed them to her mom’s, and rushed away on a make-believe errand. She hadn’t planned it – there was no suitcase in the trunk, no secret stash of cash at her disposal. Oh, sure, she had thought about it a few times – even threatened jokingly to Jack just last week that if she had to look at one more spilled glass of milk she might run away. But a serious plan of action – never. It had happened just that fast – as quickly as it took her to realize that her life was not the way she’d dreamed and she had no way to change it.
The growl of her stomach alerted her to the passage of time, and she glanced at her gas gauge. Signaling, she pulled into the right lane and exited the freeway. She spotted a Chevron, and pulled up to a pump. As her tank was filling, she began to wonder what would happen next. How long until the calls started flooding her cell phone? How long until Mom called Jack and expressed her worry? What would Jack do? What would he tell the kids? The kids. Their faces filled her mind’s eye. Rob, her firstborn – so serious, so compassionate. Rachel and Emmie – her two girls. They looked so much alike and were so close in age that many assumed them to be twins. But they were as different as night and day – Rachel, the dreamer, the artist; Emmie, the clown -- always laughing, always loving. She saw their faces in tears and confusion when they realized Mommy wasn’t coming home. She shook her head as if to force the image out.
She loved them. There wasn’t a sliver of doubt in her mind. She loved them with all she was. She believed – truly knew – that these children were a gift from God. She just wasn’t sure she could handle what these gifts required of her. She loved Jack – had from almost the moment they met. Lack of love was not what was driving her away from them. It was lack of herself. She didn’t recognize herself anymore. She was so different from the Maggie that Jack first loved. Did he see the change? Was he as disappointed in her as she was?
Her tank full, she removed the nozzle and pulled her receipt from the machine. She re-entered traffic and drove on.
Her mind again filled with images – of herself this time, the way she had been. Young, vibrant, full of life. Always laughing. Free. So many memories: singing to an auditorium full of people – telling stories of God’s love with the notes and words she sang. Reading and learning – devouring page after page of new information. Talking and laughing -- discussing the latest book or professor or movie.
So many dreams for her future: writing and singing to express who she was and how she saw the world. Teaching others to love music and words; filling young minds with wonder as they learned and explored and expressed. Being swept off her feet with romance – evenings full of conversation and embraces, candles and flowers. Her hopes. More than hopes, expectations.
And then reality. The work of marriage that began after the wedding night. Never enough money. Never enough time together as Jack worked and studied to fulfill his dreams. The jumble of surprise and dismay and joy of a pregnancy not planned for. Three rounds of sleepless nights, colic, diapers, potty-training. She searched the memories, looking for the moment when that Maggie she remembered had disappeared.
More memories. “Jesus, loves me, this I know…” Three faces shining up – “sing it again, Mommy, please?”
“Good night, mouse; good night, house; good night, moon…” Drowsy with sleep, rocking a warm bundle at her breast, the smell of newborn tickling her nose.
Rob running into the house, belly laughing, as he experienced hail for the first time.
Questions, so many questions: “How can God be everywhere at once?” “Do butterflies poop?” “What are clouds made of?”
Laying on her stomach in the middle of the floor, surrounded by freshly bathed blessings, watching “Winnie the Pooh”, a bowl of hot, buttery popcorn in front of them.
Jack rubbing her feet when they ached from a day of chasing toddlers while carrying an eight-pounder in her womb. Jack stumbling from bed to comfort a crying baby when she’d been too tired to lift her head.
She pulled to the side of the road, the tears coming too fast to see the cars in front of her. What would she miss? She imagined Rob coming home from school, fresh with new knowledge he was sure he was the first to learn. Sleepovers and birthday parties. Sparklers on the fourth of July, sledding at Christmas. First crushes. Children’s concerts at church, the voices of her children ringing out from the choir. Seeing the eyes of her daughters full of love for their husbands, their own children. Watching Rob grow into a man to be proud of. Sharing all of this with the love of her life, the father of her children.
Maggie was sobbing now. Grieving over dreams deferred and expectations left unmet. And then weeping with joy. Joy at the dreams still ahead. The realization that she hadn’t lost sight of herself after all. She was there all the time, along with three young people who were waiting to share their ideas and hopes with her. Who wanted her to help fill their heads and hearts with who God is and how much He loves them. Who needed silly stories, songs and giggles and construction paper butterflies and the knowledge that they are loved.
No packed auditoriums full of people, just an audience of three who embraced the simple melodies she sang. Maybe there would be no lectures or essays or discussions of the abstract. But she would discover life all over again, through the wonder-filled eyes of her children. And romance. There would be very few candle-lit dinners and long-stemmed roses in her near future. But she was one with a man who had loved her completely through all the changes. She knew his love would go on as she discovered the woman God had created her to be. The road ahead was strewn with treasures she hadn’t recognized until now.
As she pulled back into traffic, Maggie laughed. Laughed with abandon. This time she had no doubt where she was headed. Her cell phone rang from the seat beside her.
“Hi, Mommy. Are you on your way back?”
“Yes, Emmie, Mommy’s on her way.”
“I wuv you.”
“I love you, too, sweetheart. I’ll hurry.”
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