The One Who Got Away…

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I am in love with a gentleman… who might be forgetting about my existence…  I long and wish for him every day, even though we’ve not spoken in months. The wondering if he’ll return is unbearable. I beg the skies to bring him back. I plead to understand why he has been removed from my life… and struggle to wonder if I did something to cause his exit, so quick and without explanation. The question is always unanswered. The seed in my heart sinks into my stomach, and I wonder if I’m wasting my time, hoping for happiness, with him, that is never to come… My hopes remain high, nonetheless, and my optimism is relentless. The universe will deliver answers, in the form of reality. My voice, through this medium, can reach to his mind… and from the bottom of my soul, I ask that it does…

 

 

© 2016 by Stephanie Himmelman. All Rights Reserved

No part of my writing may be reproduced, published, distributed, copied or displayed.

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Growing in Age, But Not in Love…

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I am twenty-five. And the majority of my friends have begun the process of love and marriage… of happiness. Many of them have already had two kids, even three.

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I… have not.

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As the years of my life go by, I wonder why I have not experienced such joy… Why I am downhill towards my thirties and have not met the man with whom I will have my children. At the rate which I have seen around me, I’m running behind if I am in my late twenties. It seems that everybody is procreating.

In finding a permanent lover, I suppose that my bar is set a little high. I have had plenty of opportunities… but after feeling it out, potential of “the one” wasn’t in any of them. And so I choose (repeatedly) not to explore the option from the beginning… Are my standards too high? Does the “man of my dreams” even exist…? As the years of my life go by, I wonder if I am becoming a squandered old maid, as my father has assumed…

Fortunately, I inherited physical beauty through my family line. … (SEE MORE)

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© 2013 by Stephanie Himmelman. All Rights Reserved

No part of my writing may be reproduced, published, distributed, copied or displayed.

My mother is gone.

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It was eleven years ago. And coincidentally, even the days of the week line up. Sunday… 10th February 2002. By this point, my mother was so ill that she was living in a hospice. Every Sunday, we would call for permission to bring her home for the day. They would inform us that she is doing well, and that we may come pick her up. When we picked her up from the hospice, she was always weak; never dressed up. Yet, she was thrilled to be away from that dungeon, and so happy to be in the presence of her family. We loved it, also. Every Sunday. It was tradition for the year she survived the place. I hate to recall that during the weekdays, we had little communication with my mother. Sundays was our day to be with one another. But this Sunday was different. Sunday 10th February 2002. When we called that Sunday, the receptionist told us that mother was not doing well. Apparently, she had been refusing her dialysis ALL WEEK. Considering that she underwent this therapy three times a day, a week is a fair amount of treatment to be missing! I was outraged that the hospice had not contacted us. Infuriated that they would withhold that information from us!! My father and older sister drove down to the hospice immediately to discuss with my mother her reasoning, and she argued that she was done. Her kidneys had failed years ago. Simply put, she was too tired to go on… They came home in tears, while mother stayed behind in the room we decorated as her own. The doctors told us, “She will have no more than seven days to live. I suggest you say your goodbyes as soon as possible.”How are you to say goodbye to somebody who you don’t even want to go? Our “goodbyes” were scheduled for the next day.  Tomorrow, it’ll have been eleven years ago: Monday 11th February 2002. My siblings and I went to school, as routine, and my father headed to work. We were to come home straight after to gather and rush to her bedside. It was 3pm… My siblings and I were home, waiting for my father to arrive. He walked through the door in tears. I hadn’t ever seen my father like this. The hospice had contacted him. Told him to hurry and show, for my mother wasn’t doing well. He had sped home to beat life’s clock so that we could say our goodbyes, but instead my mother passed away. We were left without our chance to say a word. Death came just half an hour too early. My father and my three siblings… we grieved in our own ways for the next few moments. I hadn’t seen her in a week. I didn’t get to express that I loved her. I had no idea it would come so quickly… At the age of fourteen, my mother left my life. Tomorrow marks a day I will always remember.

Rest in peace, Sylvia Celeste Himmelman. I can sense our resemblances more as I grow.

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© 2013 by Stephanie Himmelman. All Rights Reserved

No part of my writing may be reproduced, published, distributed, copied or displayed.

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