Dear Cora (and the kid in us)

Divorce is a big word for big and small, young or old. Big word for the parents. Bigger word for the children...

This is my letter to my twin's daughter, Cora - and to all those who come from parents that have divorced each other.

Dearest Cora:

How have you been, sweetheart? I've been looking through pictures of you and your paintings, and sitting in awe of how fast you're growing and how amazing you are at everything you do. Never change, never give up...you're so bright and will be able to be everything you ever dream of being.

A lot has happened since we last saw each other, a year and a half ago. I know mom and dad decided to do things separately, and that life at home has been different since that decision was made. It happened to me too, and it makes you feel a lot of things that you never felt before. Sometimes your tummy may hurt for no reason, or you may feel sick out of nowhere. Other days you just want to wake up and everything be how it used to be before. Mom and Dad in the same house. It's okay, Cora bean, to feel sad and confused from time to time. Some days you'll feel angry at mom, dad or both and feel like no one listens to you and what you want. But I want you to remember a few things ok?

Love is a beautiful, wonderful thing. The love two grown ups have for each other is different than the love a grown up has for his/her child. So, while you may have asked yourself what happened between mom and dad, what you always need to keep in mind is that their love for you hasn't changed. It never will. You and Emma will always be their babies. Remember, time answers all the questions you may have now that you don't understand. Remember, mom and dad sometimes make mistakes too. If they do something that hurts your feelings, they are not doing it on purpose. They are also waiting for time to reveal the right answer to them, for time to tell them what's the right thing to do. Remember, that both mom and dad love you so, so much...and you don't have to pick which one to love more. You can love them both. Remember...remember.

Be patient. Life gets so good and you will find that happiness is not where you thought it could be.

I know dad has been acting a certain way that makes you sad. He may be paying more attention to his new girlfriend or to other kids...but no one can replace you or Emma. Ever. I used to think my dad was my own superhero. Then he left our house, and mom and me behind. He started acting different and almost seemed like he wasn't my dad at all. I couldn't understand because I was his little princess. Now he was doing things that hurt. He disappointed me many times. I realized he wasn't who I thought he was.

Sometimes it takes us time as adults to realize we are doing something wrong. We get carried away by new emotions that we don't understand. Be forgiving. Remember, you still have mom who loves you every second of every day like no one will ever love you. You still have her to take care of you when you're sick, to listen to you when you're sad and feel like talking, to cuddle under a blanket and giggle. Don't think that you're doing something wrong or that you need to do more to make daddy be who he used to be. It's not your fault. None of this is your fault or Emma's fault. And while I know those things make you sad, let it bring you closer to your mom and little sister. You three need each other. Not only that, there's so many of us that love you and will always care and want you in our life. Your aunts, uncles, cousins. You have us too, like Harry, Shane and me. We want nothing but for you to grow up happy.

A lot of grown ups say that when a mom and dad go their separate ways, the kids grow up in a broken home. Don't listen to them. You and Emma have two loving homes, instead of one. Daddy will always love you, even if he can't show it in a way you can see it sometimes. And Mommy will always put you girls in front of everything. And we'll be there with you guys. It's not broken, you've actually gained more loving people in your life. Take refuge in Mom and us, and be forgiving of us, too. Never be afraid to tell anyone if something doesn't seem right. If you get a funny feeling that something is wrong. We're here to listen to you. To everything you have to say.

None of what happened was your fault or Emma's fault. You're both loved, wanted and making all of us prouder every day.

Keep drawing beautiful horses and playing with Emma and mom as much as you can. Be silly. Always be silly. Be yourself, because people love you just like you are. Try to keep all the happy times you have close to your heart. They will make the sun come out and shine on the rainiest day.

I'm proud of you. You are beautiful and so strong. I'll see you soon.

Love you very much and miss you,

Yari

Stitches and the Murderous Bottle

I had some sort of tiny tumor removed from my back yesterday. It's the first time since I was 3 years old that I've required stitches.

I was sitting there in my open-back medical gown, staring down at my boots and twirling my fingers nervously on my lap. The office was tiny and the medical table I sat on was sort of low, making me feel a bit claustrophobic...or maybe it was the surgical tray next to me with rows of scissors, medical blades and needles which made me start to panic. In any case, I shut my eyes tight and just concentrated on breathing. He had told me it would be quick...and small. He'd leave the wound open and let it heal on it's own. Right. Well, it's me we're talking about, obviously.

25 minutes later, I'm hearing the words scalpel and capsule and he's turned on the fan because everyone in the room is sweating. Although I was glad I couldn't feel pain, I was not glad to be reminded what Novocaine feels like when injected into an already irritated area. But the burning passed, and a few minutes later he had been well on his way into slicing into my skin. Funny feeling, that is, the sensation of people probing your body and the feeling of scissors tearing tissue apart, but not be able to feel pain. Medicine can be cool sometimes. I can't imagine what it felt like in the early years when someone needed to have something extracted from their body, and the only anesthetic was liquor. Wait. Now I feel cheated.

Anyway, I was doing remarkably well until I decided to look at the surgical tray as he deposited my little tumor into the vial with sterile whateverliquidy (I'm such a medical pro, I know). Once I saw part of me and blood, I was done for. I started swaying a bit and feeling short of breath...that nausea that creeps up and makes you break out in to cold sweat. Ricky looked over at me, and said I looked white. At which point the doctor stopped sewing me up and looked at my face for a few seconds and making me lay down on my side. I'm a wimp. I was feeling great, afterwards, in my own ignorance that the Novocaine would eventually wear off. I stopped at Starbucks and saw a kid eat the floor when running through the coffee shop like he was at the park. I felt bad for about 4 seconds, when he was back up and running. It was ok. I had my coffee.

By 8 p.m. it was an entirely different story. My shoulder blade felt like it was on fire. I couldn't get comfortable, every move made my wound hurt something horrible...and I was pretty sure he had gone in there and rearranged all my entire spine, shoulder blade and adjacent inner organs and muscles. No one ever said I wasn't dramatic, people.

So I grabbed my giant bottle of Perrier water, which seems to be my latest craving/addiction/poison, and laid safely on my tummy - prepared to have a very still night of sleep. Failure.

Although my dream began benign enough, it eventually turned into me tied to a hospital bed. Apparently I was in a morgue, I looked around and saw several bodies on tables being cut into with saws, a few gurgling screams...some were still alive. My blood ran cold as this thin, olive skin man with only one eye walked towards me with a bloody ax. He leaned over and said, "It's simple, really. You let me have my way with you, have my little fun or I'll make you die slowly. I'll peel your skin off with a blade, like a fish. I'll pummel your ankles with..." And on he went, describing my slow, painful death. In my head I scrambled for a choice. Live? But withstand this monster's touch and use of me? Die with dignity? What about the other girls? Why were they already dead? They couldn't have ALL chosen to die gracefully. So what if they had said "Yes" to his offer and ended up dead anyways? My indecision was caught short when I felt his hand sneak up my t-shirt and massage me with those cold, rough hands. I felt tears rolling down my face and he just turned around and yelled at his partner, who was decapitating a blond, "This one doesn't want to play. Kill her too".

I woke up as I felt the saw cutting into my left wrist, and as I was opening my eyes, something heavy landed against my left arm and banged against the wall. I froze, terrified. I was definitely awake and there was something leaning against me. I wasn't making it up. Crap.

So I spent the rest of the night completely still, even though I had to pee so bad, because I was afraid of looking at the bed and seeing something horrifying haunting me in my room. It was still there, snuggling closer to me all the way to 6:45 a.m. when I couldn't take it anymore and I flung myself off the bed and looked back ready to scream my lungs out...

The Perrier bottle lay there, looking awfully satanic and suspicious...

A bottle of sparkling mineral water kept me up all night. At least it kept me company?

“It is a man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways.”~Buddha

Get Your Money Back At The Door

I never noticed the mandolin playing in the background of "Omaha" by the Counting Crows. It's almost a betrayal to the song altogether to not be appreciated for so many years in it's fullness. Ever rediscover a song? Ever get a chronic case of the earworm? I have both. So, in the name of all that's awesome and mandolin-y (is that a word?), I'll share this with myself, again...and with you:

The wind poured through the small, open glass window and into your dated, rustic bedroom. I sat on your wobbly futon, taking in the sweetest and most clean breath of fresh air I had experienced in years. The air in the city, back in the east where I was living at for 3 years now, was heavy and tasted funny. Back home. I had just met you in person for the first time the day before. Behind my parents' ever watchful eyes, I had booked myself a trip halfway across the country to spend 10 days with the boy I liked and his friends. They had almost canceled my trip, and locked me up in my attic bedroom the rest of my adult life...but that was just it. I was an adult...and here I was, late March, in a guy's bedroom in my long Pepe Le Pew pajama pants and oversized t-shirt. Hair disheveled, but just staring out the window at the trees swaying in the morning wind while you tinkered with your computer trying to find music for us to listen to.

And there it was, in all it's glory, filling the tiny room with music of youth and freedom. Two people from completely different cultures and backgrounds smiling at each other as the perfect song came on. Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Dosed" started playing and I felt this sense of peace and belonging filled me. The images of our drive home from the airport the day before flooded me and made me smile big at you. You left the song on replay and crawled carefully back on the unstable futon, sneaking a kiss on my neck. You laid with your head on my lap, staring up at me through your thick, dark lashes. I traced your nose and lips, getting tiny flashes of the rock formations on the desert...of the old town across the border where I kept waiting for our first kiss that never came...of the first kiss that did eventually come, when I least expected it, as you filled up the tank on your Malibu in some dusty gas station forgotten by civilization. The rest of the week I was with you, every drove we took or place we went, Dosed would sneak up on the playlist or some other song from that specific RHCP cd...

I returned to my gray city, with snow and dirty air, a week later. I cried the whole plane ride back, and ate all the cookies you grandmother packed for my trip back home to bring to my parents. Heh. Back to reality. Dosed was your song. Our song. How can a song that brings such joy with someone, somewhere...can bring such sad feelings of longing and loneliness when you're by yourself? I'd be driving in rural Pennsylvania, and as soon as the tune would come up, the snow turned to sand...the mountains to desert rock formations...trees to cactus...my car into your light blue bedroom, with the wild mustang paperwall border and the rickety futon. Your eyes. Your smile. Your smell. The guy I would marry someday.

Life changes...music will help us keep those moments. It wasn't all bad. I got dosed by you.