Thursday, May 27, 2010
Gemma’s Mom: Gemma is a thirteen year old who has just sprouted fairy wings because her mother was an addicted to fairy Dust. When she burned out and her wings stopped working, Gemma’s Mom ran, leaving Gemma when she was only six. Gemma first appeared in a short story, “Wings”, then in OGW 9/24/09, 10/29/09, 2/4/10, and now she’s the narrator of a novel I’m working on. The following is a letter Gemma’s mother wrote to Gemma when she was eight.
My darling girl, my little fairy, my precious Gem,
Remember when I used to fly?
Remember that poem I used to read to you? “Come away, human chyld/ to the waters and the wyld/ With a fairy hand in hand/ From a world more full of weeping than you can understand.” I saw it framed on the wall of a friend’s bedroom yesterday, and I began to cry. I’d tried not to think of you for so long. My feelings for you came rushing back in that instant, breaking the wall I’d built up around my heart.
Do you still love me? I used to be your whole world. Are you very angry with me? Have you tried to forget me? Please believe me when I say I love you very much. I’ve been scared and lonely and trying to heal. But yesterday, the Goddess showed me that Yeats poem, and I knew it was a sign that I needed you back in my life. I’ve missed you soooo much.
You must wonder why it took me two years to write to you. Maybe you’re wondering why I never came home.
Remember when you couldn’t wait to be like me? When I left, I didn’t want you to see me so broken. I didn’t want you to want to be like me any more. I left to spare you.
Honey, I couldn’t bring you with me, or come back, not the way I was.
It’s taken me two years, but I’m learning to fly again. I have friends, I have the Goddess in my life, I’m painting beautiful pictures (like we used to, together. Remember when we used to paint together? Is that mural still on the wall in the upstairs hall? Or did your father paint over it? He probably did paint over it. I don’t want to place blame, but in order for you to understand why I left, you should know that your father never understood me.
I should’ve taken you with me. Every day I’ve thought of you. Every day. I have a picture of us from the day you were born, you’re a little doll, porcelein-white, sucking on the long sleeve of a onesy that covers your hand. Your head is against my neck, and you are at peace. As am I.
I was afraid to write to you. I was afraid your father had turned you against me. Do you understand, I loved him so much, but he stopped caring about me. In the end, he wasn’t even talking to me! He never understood me. How devastated I was after Jacob was born, when I stopped being able to fly.
I’m not blaming Jacob -- he was such a sweet boy! How is he?
You were tooo young to understand, but when Jacob was born, something inside me snapped. I think it was what’s called post-partum depression, which you’re too young to understand. I was just so sad. I felt like I was in a horror movie, only it was real and it was never going to end.
I felt trapped. I was dying inside. My wings had stopped working and were worn out and dull and I couldn’t understand why, but I know now it was because of my heavy heart. I’d always used flying to lighten my spirit, but it wasn’t working anymore. Even your sweet, heart-shaped face and contagious laughter couldn’t lift me up. My wings were heavy weights. Jacob was another weight I couldn’t carry. Your father didn’t want to help me.
You used to say, “It’s all right Mommy,” and pat my hand. But it wasn’t.
Anyway, enough sad talk. I love you Gemma, I always have and always will. I am getting better, and when I am fully healed, I will bring you to New York City to live with me. We were meant to be together. Goddess willing, we will be.
Please forgive me. I love you, baby.