In My Other Life

Have you ever caught yourself daydreaming about another kind of life? Have you ever asked yourself: who would I be, if I were a different kind of me?

In my other life...

I was not born to a sociopath. I did not look to his eyes for a twinkle of benevolent fatherly pride, and discover instead a tragic glint of an estranged malevolence.

I did not call him daddy.

In my other life, I was not raised under the dark, stormy sky of a dystopian society, ruled by a bi-polar disorders paralyzing in her depressive state, so reckless in her moments of manic mania.

I did not call her mommy.

In my other life, I do not have biologicals, and fosters and adopted--all in a struggle for a place in my world. To them, I am Renee, and I simply knew them all as: my family.

In my other life, I am the mother of two grown children: both away at good colleges, happy and thriving in their academic careers, self-esteem rock solid from years of security, both emotional and financial.

They are worldly young adults (in the right way): well educated, well mannered, well traveled. But my children are sheltered (in the right way): socially young in regards to relationships, morally respectful with their bodies and the bodies of those they come in contact with, faithfully trustworthy.

Both understand the harsh realities of the world, but only through the eyes of someone who can make a difference. My kids are committed to their own higher power; an entity we refer to as: LOVE.

My babies have become whole adults in a splintered world; a world constantly at odds with what I have taught them is good and right; existing in a universe of contradiction; a planet of seemingly insurmountable chaos, wars, and evil--and fortunately, a international society of billions striving diligently for perpetual hope and love and peace.

My children must now choose a side, daily.

In my other life, my grown children always choose correctly.

I am a mother who has remained steadfast and tenacious in her devotion to her offspring.
I am a mother at peace, for she in certain she has done all she can.

In my other life, I would not have to drudge through two years of the "Death Divorce" to find an existence that feels, finally alive. I don't have an ex who hates me, who resents me, who will not speak to me. I don't battle daily with myself to respond to his seething flagrant disregard with patience and self- control and grace. I don't struggle with the profound truth: at one point, we liked each other enough to produce the two purest forms of beauty I have ever known.

In my other life, I feel young inside and out, even at 49.

I don't live in constant fear my kidneys will go on strike after decades (of just getting by) with faulty original parts. I would not look in my mirror and see spotty patches of on my skin--like someone put a screen up to me, and flicked brown paint. I would not feel the weight of thick heavy wrinkles, like glossy quotations marks bracketing my eyes, accentuating my youth is gone.

I would see less of me, where there is now more. My eyes would focus clearly, on their own, both near and far away. My teeth would be white and straight. My gray hair would turn back to its original rich chestnut, with blonde streaks (in just the right places) and fall naturally on my shoulders, like it did when I was in my twenties,.

I would be happier with my reflection. I would see what my daughter see's when she looks at her mom.

In my other life, I live in Manhattan, with an apartment that overlooks the lush green expansive park during the day, and a vision of glittery lights at night. I'd throw parties. And provide cozy  bedrooms for my visiting kids. My son and I would attend the US Tennis Open every single year.

I would be committed in a delightfully mature and wonderful relationship, with a man that made me laugh. And dinner! He would ask me about my day as he kissed my neck. I'd kiss him  back. Deeply.

In my other life, my dog would be potty trained.

In my other life, I would be known as a successful novelist, and inspirational speaker. If I had decided to follow my desire to act, I would win an Academy Award, and name it Oscar. Of course, I would dedicate it to my biological mother, who (in one of her rare moments of clarity) would have held my young face in adoration, and convinced me, "One day you will be a star!"--and then, she'd place those stars far enough out of my reach, so I would have to "STRETCH" to get them. Because she loved me.

My other life...I think about it, but none of that happened. What's important? What did happen...

• Two extraordinary high schoolers who choose to be part of the solution.
• Two families, both biological and adopted. More to love.
• Compassion for those suffering with mental illness, and those who love and suffer along with them.
• How difficult and trying divorce is. On everyone. Not just the children.
• Beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder. 
• Health is a gift, not a given.
• Don't need a NYC apartment. I have a beautiful home.
• I should have said "No" when I was 24, and "Yes" when I was 25.
• Maybe love, true love, will strike twice? Maybe it's time to date?
• If not a successful novelist, maybe some day, the author of one great memoir?

This life; this me, is not the path I sometimes imagined I would have taken, but it's about perspective, gracious gratitude, and seeing the blessings all around us already. Don't you think?

I believe it has to be. I have to believe it has to be.