Dark Star
For you will never write the way that I write,
Nor will you sing the way that I sing.
For you are dust to my star,
And I am bright and you will forever be dark.
Thank you so much for reading
Feedback is always welcome and appreciated!
Always,
E
Image rights belong to Elise Leavell/Gaines
Consent given by parents as mandated by California law.
Socapa Photography – Los Angeles, California 2008
Through The Eyes Of A Child
I dragged the unique antic dining room chairs my mother had collected over time into a perfect straight line to form my play airplane in the living room. I was around eight years old at the time with the wisdom of a thirty-year-old. I gathered my beautifully crafted baby doll, dressed in a flowery dress, and acted out the story of a single mother escaping her past with her daughter. I’ll always be okay on my own. I’m a survivor. I was raised by one.
I didn’t think to include a father figure nor did I want to. I was perfectly content with growing up to be just like my mother; a single parent with a little girl. That has always been my reality. That’s all I have ever known.
The bond between my mother and I grew very strong. She was my best friend. My mother was my light; my whole entire world. She was everything I wanted to be and more. I was her whole entire world. I was showered with her love. I was the luckiest little girl in the world.
She did her best to give me everything that I deserved and more. She was a superstar. She defeated all the odds. She won every battle. She was my hero. She accomplished the impossible. I was her purpose.
I grew up quickly, understood things I shouldn’t have, and felt very deeply. It was an awful combination. I was an only child and grew up surrounded by adults. I mastered communicating with adults, but I had no clue how to communicate with children my own age. I was the awkward one.
I was the awkward one, the little girl who said whatever was on her mind without fear of judgment, but was judged anyways. The little girl who laughed a little louder, cried a little more and loved a whole lot. I’ve never been normal, but now I’m okay with that. Normal is overrated.
I was lucky one little girl didn’t judge me for my differences and instead embraced them. She became my best friend and we did everything together. We played house for hours, built forts, had our own miniature green-house, went to dance class, played basketball, sang our hearts out to inappropriate songs (It Wasn’t Me), celebrated birthdays, supported one another, and grew together. What wonderful memories we made.
We did have our differences. She was naturally book smart and I was a natural athlete. What came naturally to me was difficult for her and vice versa. I envied her intellect. It doesn’t surprise me one bit that she is now a teacher. I’m sure she is an amazing one. She sure taught me a lot growing up.
We eventually parted ways, but she will always be special to me and so will her family. Her mother was like my second mother. I recently saw her and I felt like the nervous little girl I used to be. It was comforting seeing her again. I truly looked up to her growing up. I was an impressionable little girl and I’m so glad that I had such wonderful influences to look up to.
I would also like to point out that my mother absolutely adored my best friend. She was more upset than I was when we parted ways. She always asked about you and wanted to make sure you were doing well. I think we both turned out pretty great. She would be so proud to see you now as the beautiful teacher you’ve always dreamed of becoming. You should be so proud of yourself.
Maybe one day we can go out for coffee and laugh about the grand adventures we had as children. I hope we do one day. She was a very important part of my childhood, which is why I had to include her in this post. She helped to shape me into the person I am today. She taught me what true friendship is all about. I haven’t had many great friends in my life, but she definitely has been one.
Anyways, I was the weird one. I never fit in, but that’s ALL my mother wanted for me. She was the social butterfly, but I wasn’t. I never cared about being popular or acting a certain way in order to fit in, so I never did. I always was the loner with a couple friends. I was content.
My mother hated it. She pressured me to go to parties, but I would get scared and leave. I just wasn’t that type of girl. I wasn’t the social butterfly she wanted me to be. I never seemed to be able to fit in. I’m not sure why, but people didn’t seem to like me. I lacked confidence in myself.
Some people thrive in large groups, but I do not. It’s overwhelming for me. I’ve always had just a few friends and I’ve been perfectly content with that. I would rather walk alone than walk beside people who are fake any day. I do not do well with fake people. I never will.
When I went off to college, I found myself. I learned that people may not listen to me when I speak, but when I write, they do. I found power in my words that I crafted into sentences, into pages, into stories.
I learned that the mean boys in high school who called me stupid and laughed at me were very wrong. They had mistaken my lack of confidence for stupidity. How funny it is now to think I probably made better grades in college than those who put me down and called me stupid. How ironic is that? I found my passion, my drive, my confidence.
Then I lost my first best friend, my hero, my protector; my beautiful mother. She had become a person I could hardly recognize, but that is a story for another day. It still was the most horrifying experience seeing my mother die. I will never be the same. I would have donated a part of my liver if it meant saving her life, but I couldn’t. She couldn’t be saved. It was beyond my control.
I couldn’t save her.
People look at me with pity in their eyes now, but I don’t want their pity. I don’t want your pity. Now, I’m just the girl who lost her mother at a young age. That’s all people see. They don’t see beyond the tragedy or understand that I speak of her in order to keep her memory alive. People just don’t understand. I guess I’ve never been understood. Maybe someday someone will.
The last message my mother left me was this:
“May you never forget
what you knew as a girl:
That the lighter your light is,
the brighter your world…
And wherever you’re going,
wherever you’ve been,
May you know that you’re loved…”
❤
I dragged the unique antic dining room chairs my mother had collected over time into a perfect straight line to form my play airplane in the living room. I was around eight years old at the time with the wisdom of a thirty-year-old. I gathered my beautifully crafted baby doll, dressed in a flowery dress, and acted out the story of a single mother escaping her past with her daughter. I’ll always be okay on my own. I’m a survivor. I was raised by one.
Thank you so much for reading🙂
Feedback is always welcome and appreciated!
❤
Be True
Be You
Love
Always,
E
Elise By Elise 