Rose colored glasses

Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and live my life with rose colored glasses.

You know the ones.  The ones where no-one gets hurt.  Noone is in pain.  Those glasses.

I know now adays I don’t.  I was out to lunch today with Grams, nothing different about the Sunday routine, with the exception of the Sox and the Pats playing and winning in the background.  While we were being brought to our table we were able to glance in the function room and see that Newburyport High School c/o 1954 was having their 55th high school reunion.  The function room was in the back of the restaurant so that if you were going to the reunion you had to walk through the restaurant.

While everyone was walking by I wasn’t thinking:

What would it be like to meet up with friends after 50 years and see how everyone is doing?

Nope, mine was: I wonder if there are any first moms going to that reunion and if they are will they or have they told others?  And if there are any first mothers there are they in reunion with their grown child? Was it a good reunion? bad? neither?

Why am I thinking these thoughts?

My 20th high school reunion is coming up next month. Here is the thing, the is the high school that I went to my senior year only.  I didn’t make that many friends because 1) I was military 2) I was also engaged.  Plus I started about 6 weeks in during the senior year.  I spent my freshman to junior year at one high school and had to move after senior year started.

So while I decide if I wish to go, and I must make up my mind soon, I then know I will be hit with the questions that I don’t know how to answer.

Do I tell these people who didn’t want to be my friend then that I have a beautiful, smart, and funny daughter?  Do I tell them while I do have a daughter I placed her for adoption and am now regretting my decision everyday because I don’t like how the aparents were able to lie and win me over and then do a 180?

Do I do what I do and not anwer and quickly ask another question?

I need some help with this.

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Photos

I see my daughters life in photographs now.

I don’t see her life with her.  I see images of her and her life.

I see her smile but I don’t hear the laughter that comes from that smile.

I don’t see her singing.

I don’t see her.

 

All because “her Mother” cannot handle things.

Why is it necessary for one person to lie to make themselves feel better? to feel superior? to see the other person weakened?