… because you’re going to hear that whistle one day,
You’re going to hear it and it will sound different,
it will scream at you, it will plead with you, it will sing to you, it will laugh with you and it will turn its back on you.
“Hop on or lie down?”, it says as it rushes past, I know, I heard it too. It will never slow down to hear your reply… it already knows.
… but this is not about me and what I hear, this is not about the sounds that keep me awake at night. This is about the voice of that boy whispering, “I love you”, in the dark of the night and this is about the test that kept you up worrying and this is about your friend who stopped talking to you when she saw the way you looked at her boyfriend and this is about all the sleepless nights you have yet experienced — this is about you, my precious baby.
… because your phone will run out of battery one night,
the night you need it the most,
the night you pick it up to call me.
I’ll be waiting on the other end but my phone will never ring. I’ll look at the silence trickling off of it and I’ll wonder… I’ll get in my car because I’ll know where you are because we talk like that and you’ll see me driving up and you’ll scream at me in front of your friends but when you get in the car your screams will turn to tears of relief because I could hear you through the unused phone and then you’ll switch the radio in mid-cry as you gasp for more air to let it all out and The Maine will be on and we’ll start singing along and when we get home I’ll hear you skyping with your friends about how your “old” mom listens to The Maine and The Decemberists and all of your music and you’ll smile when your friends tell you you have a great mom because you don’t see me in the hallway,
… but this isn’t about me. This isn’t about the unanswered calls I made and the tears of anger I cried. This is about you. This is about that whistle that will call for you in the dark of the night.
“Hop on or lie down?”
… because your friends will push you to think,
your friends will dare you to move and not all of them will want you to move in the right direction, not all of them will push you to see yourself the way they do. You will have to hear them yourself, my precious baby. You will have to make those choices yourself.
They will compel you to lie and laugh and run and skip and yell and curse and they will watch you stand on that edge… looking, deciding.
They will love you and they will hate you and they will leave you and they will return to you.
They will throw life at you and hope you’re ready because there are no do-over’s.
Your friends will be your world when you think I’m not around.
That whistle will reverberate on your eardrums covering up my voice,
“Hop on or lie down?”
You’ll say, “everything is fine”, but I’ll know it’s not.
You’ll say, “leave me alone”, when I know you need me to sit.
You’ll scream at me and curse me and wish for me to leave…
But I’ll know.
I’ll know you hear that whistle.
“Hop on or lie down?”
But today, today my precious baby.
I hold you and you let me and I see the future because it’s already my past and I’ll beg you to hear me,
I’ll beg you to listen to me because I made those mistakes already and I walked that road already and I lost all my inhibitions around that bonfire and I danced naked in the middle of that house and I pulled my hand back the first time it was slapped and I stood on those tracks and I screamed to be heard… already.
I’ll yell for you to “hop on the fucking train!”
This time, you’ll listen. You’ll stop… and you’ll listen.
This time, you’ll say, “my mother warned me about that whistle in the night.” And you’ll look down at your phone and it’s fully charged but you don’t need to use it, you don’t need to call for me. And I’ll be looking at my phone too but it won’t ring.
And I’ll smile.
And I’ll stretch out my fingers as far as I can but I’ll never be able to grasp on…
This touched me at just the right moment in my life. My son is 25, and I am still going through some of these same things, trying to let the worry go even as I watch him do things that cause me to worry. I am circling. I need to get to the point where I can smile. Thank you for this.
Thank you for reading kelly.
Motherhood is so tricky — I know the things I did that should not be repeated but I also know that my children need to “do”.
I smile and I stare at my phone… still.
[…] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Mrs. Which, Becky Sain . Becky Sain said: Something different… Hop on or lie down?: http://t.co/FGfD7pw […]
An amazing post, b! Love it. Love you. *HUGS*
Thanks Dani. I was about to email you that it was here… you beat me to it. 😉
LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS!
Yay! I love that you love it. I have been worried about it but seeing you here is a relief.
Thank you Jen!
You write with such feeling , I felt moved by this piece and it gave me some perspective that I never had before.
JP
http://tasithoughts.wordpress.com/2011/01/30/beyond-the-ceiling/
Thank you Thank you. That is such a nice comment to leave… such a nice thought to share. Thank you for sharing that with me.
lovely message..
positivity rocks.
keep loving,
A+
Thank you so much — I will take my A+ with a huge smile on my face!
speaks to fatherhood or fathers well.
I take my teenage (15) daughter to get her learner’s permit tomorrow. Some of the lines reveal what my insides are screaming to her.
Thansk for writing. It’s getting better every time I read it.
Thank you Lance!
That was a very sweet thing to say… good luck with the permit!
I know I’ll not be able to fully comprehend this until I have kids one day, but this brought tears to my eyes just as well!
That whistle rang vividly, and I’m happy to have been brought up to be able to make (mostly) the right choices.
Thank you Estrella!
I’ve been having some very profound talks with my children lately… they are incredibly wise.
Oh wow, this is awesome. LOVE it!
Thank you!!!!
This is beautiful. I love the imagery of the train.
Thank you. I wrote an essay around the image of the train that I haven’t published yet, this spawned from that.
Thanks for being here.
This speaks to me as a mother with a son, two sons. One who has seen the future and lived it and one comming up facing the future. I would like both of my sons to read this, that’s how much I love these words. To date, this poem affected me the most. Brilliant!
Wow Joanne. Thank you for telling me that — you have no idea (or possibly you do) what hearing that means to me.
That? Was amazing. Gave me chills. Thanks for sharing…
Thank you Julie. Thank you for saying such a nice thing!
a lot to think about in your writing..deeply moving
Thank you so much. I’m trying to write for understanding more. Thank you forbeing here, I hope to see you again.
with no children of my own
I can see my mother’s unspoken fears
and more than anything I hear her voice
I saw her sadness and worry
when I did things she wouldn’t have approved
your poem my friend…just beautiful :~)
a mothers truth…you can not untie that bond
hugs :~)
Thank you June. This one is special to me — my children are special to me.
Thanks for sharing….
love the word tour.
A++
Thank you!
Yay — A++ 😉
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