Thirty-one years ago today, I married my first husband, my kids dad. Back then, I was so young, so naive, so in love and happy and yes, probably a bit stupid. I honestly thought that love could conquer all. Honestly. I believed that everything would turn out just fine, if I could be a good wife. We had dated for six weeks. I hadn't known him before that, I had only met him at that time. He was ten years older than I, and because of that, our relationship took on a bit of a parent-child tone. I did not know much about the world, he said and acted as though he did, and I believed him. I believed every word he ever uttered. Every one. It didn't take long before I began to understand that he was not always an honest person. When we met, when he told me his age, he lied. He only lied about two years, but he lied nonetheless. It was a couple of years before I learned the truth. I never really understood that lie - but when he was caught, he thought it was so funny. I laughed too, but I was beginning to see that a liar is a liar is a liar. Just before our wedding, he called me and asked to come over...I could tell it was bad. After a long, drawn-out, dramatic "meeting", he told me he had cancer and was dying. He wanted to call off the wedding, how fair would that be to me? Me, being the young, starry-eyed, stupid one, wanted to move the date of the wedding up, so that's what we did. If he was going to die, then I was going to make the last of his days happy. Oh, that cancer? Never materialized, by the way. A lie. That one was a bit harder to overlook and forgive, but I managed. It was incredibly difficult to explain it to family and friends and I see now, as I look back on it, that it's no wonder that my family had a difficult time liking him. He lied about his past, his finances, his education. In fact, there was little that was the actual truth. And yet, I stayed. I loved him. I could say it was that simple, but it never is, is it? I became a mother 362 days after we married. He was a most wonderful daddy. Seriously. If he could have actually had the babies, he would have. He was at his happiest when we had babies and little ones, and we had three. That took up most of our time. He loved me. There is not a doubt in my mind then, or now. There were the most special of times over the years. And when they were good, they were just...wonderful. I was at my happiest in my whole life when the kids were little and we were together and he was happy. But keeping him happy became harder and harder to do. He had a bad, bad temper. No, he never ever took it out on me or the kids. Never---I would never have stood for that, and even though it doesn't sound like it, he knew that when I had drawn the line, that I meant it. So no, never a hand laid on any of us in anger. However, our possessions were fair game. At times, I would push his buttons by claiming my own right to have something - anything - my way. And that's when it would hit the fan. Things got broken, lots of them. Stereo...kicked in. Vehicles....kicked and punched and dented. He often would break or tear up his own legs, feet, toes, hands...doing damage to inanimate objects. Those were the worst times for me, I would do anything to make and keep him happy. My walk on eggshells began the day we married, and continued for all those years. He had big dreams, huge. But never enough ambition to make them come true. I didn't know back then, that a person had to make things happen. Like him, or maybe because of him, I believed that luck brought on fortune and happiness. And he was always down on his luck. He lacked any and all ambition. He was a thinker, not a doer and I thought that was normal.
However, over those years, I did realize that someone had to make the living, someone had to better themselves for our family, someone had to do something. It was apparent, and disappointing to me that that person would not be him. So, eggshell dancer or not, I began to focus my attention on bettering ME so that we could have something. I did it for us...all of us. It was not in my head to do it for any other reason. I was young then, and strong and capable. And although many other reasons and things came into play here, he could not take it. That ultimately was the reason for our break up. I no longer wanted to live on his dreams. We saw the whole country when we were together...but everything we owned was always in the U-Haul behind us. He moved us every damned place, and I would always go, because after all, that's what a good wife does. Once I put down roots where my family was, and began a slow descent upward, that was it. Looking back, it's so easy to see that he had zero self-esteem and zero self-control and zero skills on how to achieve anything in life. He thought that to keep something he loved and wanted, it had to be controlled. I tried over and over again to prove that wasn't right. He never caught on. It ended badly. Really, really badly. I kept my mouth shut and kept on. But I learned. Am I sorry? Not on your life. My best days were spent with him. I loved him. I still love him. He is the father of my three beautiful children. I can't say what he has become but I know what he once was. The love of my life.
Showing posts with label The Past. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Past. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Tell it like it is..I'm nothing to play with..
Well, it's three am, on what now is a Saturday morning, do you know where your kids are?
I don't. I frankly don't know where any of my three are, and since they are all-growed-up, that should be okay, shouldn't it? The son that lives in Des Moines, I assume is home now, since I'm sure he has to work in a few hours. The son in Pella, I feel certain is at home, sleeping. The daughter however, the one that has been living here with me, is in an unknown location. And that really should be okay, good heavens, she is 28 years old. But under the current circumstances, it isn't. She went out tonight, and I thought that was a good idea, but I worried because I felt sure that the @%&$ that she has recently broken up with would be around, somewhere. She was worried about it also, because in her present mental state, any crap from him would surely put her over the edge. I told her she couldn't let the idea of him keep her from doing any damned thing she wanted to do, but told her to be careful and let me KNOW what was going on, how she felt about things, what was up. So, do you think I KNOW where she is right now? Well of course not...why should I, I am only the mom who has to pick up the pieces every damned time....oops sorry, that sounded a little on the ugly side, didn't it?
Okay so anyway...it's Saturday morning, although most folks would still call it Friday night. I am now up for the day when almost any other Saturday, this is when I would be getting home myself. But last evening, no way was I going out anywhere. I had just endured one rough day at work - one of the busiest, craziest days in recent memory. I literally ran from one end of that building to another, all day long. No service manager in the service department, no parts manager in the parts department, employees up front in the offices out for various reasons, pissy customers, grumbling employees, an owner that is just back from Florida, standing there with his Florida sunburn, looking rather shell shocked at all the confusion, and of course, adding to it. One freakin' strange problem or another, odd phone calls...a wonderful, wonderful husband trying to take over and learn the job in the parts and service department, which is terrific of him by the way, but of course, no one can learn it in an afternoon, and although he is a very fast learner, it was one page for me over the intercom after another...or a buzz from the service phone to my office, repeatedly. I finally sat down to do my own work at five, and of course, the state withholding tax that was due yesterday, was considered late because I didn't log on to the website until that hour. Oh well - what the hell - what's another eighty dollars among friends?
So, when we got home, all I wanted was a beer and a bed, and of course, dinner. I think I managed to stay awake until nine, and here I am.
Janelle just called, she ran into a friend from high school and went to his house - and is lost out in the country on the gravel roads...thank God for google, I managed to direct her home with a cross street address and a computer. And you all wonder why I drink...
Thursday night, in an oddly quiet hour at the garage, I stood in the darkened shop, smoking and looking out the window...the same window I have been looking out of for the past 11 years. In my mind, I could see all the past years of doing just that, and of course, all the memories in between. When I went to work there, Mark and I were newlyweds. My sons were still young - 13 and 11 - and Janelle was in high school. So much of their lives and my own revloved around that place. Both boys worked there, their first jobs...I planned an wedding for Janelle while there, and then helped though a divorce. I have cried there, I have laughed there, I have had the best times of my life while there. I have also gone through the worst things I have ever been through while there. I have cried to the owner, I have cried among my friends there. I have shared in the happiest times of all of their lives while there, and shared my own happiness with them...I have watched people that mattered to me come and go. I have made people that mattered to me leave. I have hired the funniest people ever, and fired them later. I have made the very best friend I have ever had-the owner, in a strange and funny kind of way, while there. I have helped him with his life, and he has helped me with mine. I have bitched to him, at him...and everything in between. I have acted like a raging lunatic a time or two, with him. He has loved me anyway. I have done more for him than any employee ever should do for a job, for years. I love him, and he feels the same. I cannot imagine my life without him or that place. So, while standing there with all of it running through my mind, I cried. Change is hard. I need it, I realize, but this one will be hard to let go of. And please don't misunderstand the love I feel for him, it honestly is like a brother, that kind of love. Mark has been involved in so much of it too - and he understands exactly how i feel. There have been different business ventures with the owner and I, and I have learned so much from him, and for him. I ran a race track for two years, I have run an ice cream store for the past four, and I still have managed to run the dealership. Owner will be 60 this year, he is tired, and me-at 48 next month, I'm tired too. I'm ready for my life to slow down some, maybe just be involved in one business at a time, but it's hard to imagine my life, the way it's going to be soon. And the thought makes me cry..
Well that's probably enough about nothing - this post has been all over the place. Daughter is now home and in bed. Where I should be, but that won't be happening now. It's hard to turn off the mind sometimes, you know? Have a good Saturday. Later.
I don't. I frankly don't know where any of my three are, and since they are all-growed-up, that should be okay, shouldn't it? The son that lives in Des Moines, I assume is home now, since I'm sure he has to work in a few hours. The son in Pella, I feel certain is at home, sleeping. The daughter however, the one that has been living here with me, is in an unknown location. And that really should be okay, good heavens, she is 28 years old. But under the current circumstances, it isn't. She went out tonight, and I thought that was a good idea, but I worried because I felt sure that the @%&$ that she has recently broken up with would be around, somewhere. She was worried about it also, because in her present mental state, any crap from him would surely put her over the edge. I told her she couldn't let the idea of him keep her from doing any damned thing she wanted to do, but told her to be careful and let me KNOW what was going on, how she felt about things, what was up. So, do you think I KNOW where she is right now? Well of course not...why should I, I am only the mom who has to pick up the pieces every damned time....oops sorry, that sounded a little on the ugly side, didn't it?
Okay so anyway...it's Saturday morning, although most folks would still call it Friday night. I am now up for the day when almost any other Saturday, this is when I would be getting home myself. But last evening, no way was I going out anywhere. I had just endured one rough day at work - one of the busiest, craziest days in recent memory. I literally ran from one end of that building to another, all day long. No service manager in the service department, no parts manager in the parts department, employees up front in the offices out for various reasons, pissy customers, grumbling employees, an owner that is just back from Florida, standing there with his Florida sunburn, looking rather shell shocked at all the confusion, and of course, adding to it. One freakin' strange problem or another, odd phone calls...a wonderful, wonderful husband trying to take over and learn the job in the parts and service department, which is terrific of him by the way, but of course, no one can learn it in an afternoon, and although he is a very fast learner, it was one page for me over the intercom after another...or a buzz from the service phone to my office, repeatedly. I finally sat down to do my own work at five, and of course, the state withholding tax that was due yesterday, was considered late because I didn't log on to the website until that hour. Oh well - what the hell - what's another eighty dollars among friends?
So, when we got home, all I wanted was a beer and a bed, and of course, dinner. I think I managed to stay awake until nine, and here I am.
Janelle just called, she ran into a friend from high school and went to his house - and is lost out in the country on the gravel roads...thank God for google, I managed to direct her home with a cross street address and a computer. And you all wonder why I drink...
Thursday night, in an oddly quiet hour at the garage, I stood in the darkened shop, smoking and looking out the window...the same window I have been looking out of for the past 11 years. In my mind, I could see all the past years of doing just that, and of course, all the memories in between. When I went to work there, Mark and I were newlyweds. My sons were still young - 13 and 11 - and Janelle was in high school. So much of their lives and my own revloved around that place. Both boys worked there, their first jobs...I planned an wedding for Janelle while there, and then helped though a divorce. I have cried there, I have laughed there, I have had the best times of my life while there. I have also gone through the worst things I have ever been through while there. I have cried to the owner, I have cried among my friends there. I have shared in the happiest times of all of their lives while there, and shared my own happiness with them...I have watched people that mattered to me come and go. I have made people that mattered to me leave. I have hired the funniest people ever, and fired them later. I have made the very best friend I have ever had-the owner, in a strange and funny kind of way, while there. I have helped him with his life, and he has helped me with mine. I have bitched to him, at him...and everything in between. I have acted like a raging lunatic a time or two, with him. He has loved me anyway. I have done more for him than any employee ever should do for a job, for years. I love him, and he feels the same. I cannot imagine my life without him or that place. So, while standing there with all of it running through my mind, I cried. Change is hard. I need it, I realize, but this one will be hard to let go of. And please don't misunderstand the love I feel for him, it honestly is like a brother, that kind of love. Mark has been involved in so much of it too - and he understands exactly how i feel. There have been different business ventures with the owner and I, and I have learned so much from him, and for him. I ran a race track for two years, I have run an ice cream store for the past four, and I still have managed to run the dealership. Owner will be 60 this year, he is tired, and me-at 48 next month, I'm tired too. I'm ready for my life to slow down some, maybe just be involved in one business at a time, but it's hard to imagine my life, the way it's going to be soon. And the thought makes me cry..
Well that's probably enough about nothing - this post has been all over the place. Daughter is now home and in bed. Where I should be, but that won't be happening now. It's hard to turn off the mind sometimes, you know? Have a good Saturday. Later.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
History
When my kids were little, they said the funniest things - as I'm sure that yours either did or still do. The point is, that was years and years ago, and we still say those things around this house...do any of you do that?
When my daughter was about 16 months she loved flowers and couldn't say it - so they have forever been "dah-doo's" since then.
My youngest talked waaaay to early for his age, and of course, he did it very incorrectly. Any word that ended with N came out with a double N - for example - Kitten was Kittnen. One of the most famous sayings in our house "Aunt Shell, your kittnen is climbing your curtnain" We still say it, frequently, for no particular reason.
The oldest son, drank alot of anything - all the time. He would drink all of his milk and then not want to eat, so I had to limit his juice or whatever until after meals. He would get very upset with me. When he was about two, he was in the middle of quite a fit because I would not let him have another glass of milk until he finished his dinner. I told him that if he wasn't such a swigger then we wouldn't have to have this discussion. His reply - "I- I- I-NOT a fwigger!" Yes, we still repeat that one, too.
Like I said before, my youngest did everything waaay to early - I think because he had a brother so close in age and he was NOT going to be left out. He walked at nine months, hell-he ran at nine months, and spoke somewhat well then, too, at least understandably. My boys were HUNGRY--in the early, early mornings, and woke up mean and wanting food, and I am talking at about five am. I learned very quickly to let them eat something right away, and then give them proper breakfast later with the rest of the family. Bread and butter or bread and peanut butter was usually the choice for the early morning snack. Youngest of course couldn't tell me his preference...but he got his point across for a tiny boy walking around at the age of ten months- butter was "bop-be-be". And so, it makes sense that peanut butter was "Be-bop-be-be". Yes, we still use those words.
D has very few mis-used words, as she has always been very articulate. Even when she was tiny. For some reason, and I'm not kidding or exaggerating here, she began reading at the age of two. All by herself. No one had taught her, she just started reading the microwave door one day - "push to open" to my mom and I. We looked at each other, startled, and I ran and got a newspaper- and asked her to read a large grocery ad. She said "Open Fri. Sat. Sun. What does that mean, Mommy? You have never seen a more surprised mom and grandma...and I think we both scared the hell out of her that day, with our screaming and carrying on. To this day, she has a most amazing brain. It's something to watch when she is learning or you are teaching her something. I believe that is the reason that she has few little "cute sayings" as a child, she has always hated to say things wrong, or do things wrong...she was correcting me when she was four or five.
I think these little things are what makes a family, a FAMILY. Do you all use the sayings from when your children were little or if they are still small, do you use their words? My grown kids roll their eyes when I do it, but I think they secretly like it, it is after all, our own history.
When my daughter was about 16 months she loved flowers and couldn't say it - so they have forever been "dah-doo's" since then.
My youngest talked waaaay to early for his age, and of course, he did it very incorrectly. Any word that ended with N came out with a double N - for example - Kitten was Kittnen. One of the most famous sayings in our house "Aunt Shell, your kittnen is climbing your curtnain" We still say it, frequently, for no particular reason.
The oldest son, drank alot of anything - all the time. He would drink all of his milk and then not want to eat, so I had to limit his juice or whatever until after meals. He would get very upset with me. When he was about two, he was in the middle of quite a fit because I would not let him have another glass of milk until he finished his dinner. I told him that if he wasn't such a swigger then we wouldn't have to have this discussion. His reply - "I- I- I-NOT a fwigger!" Yes, we still repeat that one, too.
Like I said before, my youngest did everything waaay to early - I think because he had a brother so close in age and he was NOT going to be left out. He walked at nine months, hell-he ran at nine months, and spoke somewhat well then, too, at least understandably. My boys were HUNGRY--in the early, early mornings, and woke up mean and wanting food, and I am talking at about five am. I learned very quickly to let them eat something right away, and then give them proper breakfast later with the rest of the family. Bread and butter or bread and peanut butter was usually the choice for the early morning snack. Youngest of course couldn't tell me his preference...but he got his point across for a tiny boy walking around at the age of ten months- butter was "bop-be-be". And so, it makes sense that peanut butter was "Be-bop-be-be". Yes, we still use those words.
D has very few mis-used words, as she has always been very articulate. Even when she was tiny. For some reason, and I'm not kidding or exaggerating here, she began reading at the age of two. All by herself. No one had taught her, she just started reading the microwave door one day - "push to open" to my mom and I. We looked at each other, startled, and I ran and got a newspaper- and asked her to read a large grocery ad. She said "Open Fri. Sat. Sun. What does that mean, Mommy? You have never seen a more surprised mom and grandma...and I think we both scared the hell out of her that day, with our screaming and carrying on. To this day, she has a most amazing brain. It's something to watch when she is learning or you are teaching her something. I believe that is the reason that she has few little "cute sayings" as a child, she has always hated to say things wrong, or do things wrong...she was correcting me when she was four or five.
I think these little things are what makes a family, a FAMILY. Do you all use the sayings from when your children were little or if they are still small, do you use their words? My grown kids roll their eyes when I do it, but I think they secretly like it, it is after all, our own history.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
The end of the Interview
I have just one question left, and no legs yet to get ready for work, so I think it's time that I finish THE INTERVIEW.
Here are the first four questions, if you missed them:
One
Two
5. I know that your childhood wasn't all that easy, what is the happiest memory that you carry from that time?
There were many, many happy memories in my life, after my mother married my step dad, Gene. That event took place when I was eight---after that, my life became a fairy tale, or so it seemed to me. I know for a fact that it was a normal, normal existence, with all the strife and trouble that comes with it for all involved, but Jos---for me, it was heaven. He was a God to me-he saved us all in my mind. All things that had been so twisted and unhappy and so scarring became so NORMAL and beautiful. Daily life was awesome. Every little thing was happy. Getting up in the morning was an adventure, going to school was such a mundane thing for everyone else, and all I could think about was returning home so that I could be in the happy place that it had become. I truly could not believe my good fortune. My little sister was born when I was ten, and that really sealed our happy home. My life felt like I had won the lottery. I really don't think I could choose one happy memory. My mother was home then, my little sister was like a miracle to all of us, and my older sister was everything I wanted to be. My life was a movie with a happy ending. Eventually, of course, it all settled down and became normal...with all the problems that everyone has. But I will be eternally grateful to the man that saved us all.
Well, this concludes the interview. I know it has taken me awhile. NO ONE can say that Josie doesn't ask interesting questions! I hope I haven't bored you all too much.
If you are interested in doing an interview, Here's How It Works:
Leave me a comment saying "Interview me."
I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
You will update your blog with a post containing your answers to the questions and a link to my blog as your interviewer.
You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
Here are the first four questions, if you missed them:
One
Two
5. I know that your childhood wasn't all that easy, what is the happiest memory that you carry from that time?
There were many, many happy memories in my life, after my mother married my step dad, Gene. That event took place when I was eight---after that, my life became a fairy tale, or so it seemed to me. I know for a fact that it was a normal, normal existence, with all the strife and trouble that comes with it for all involved, but Jos---for me, it was heaven. He was a God to me-he saved us all in my mind. All things that had been so twisted and unhappy and so scarring became so NORMAL and beautiful. Daily life was awesome. Every little thing was happy. Getting up in the morning was an adventure, going to school was such a mundane thing for everyone else, and all I could think about was returning home so that I could be in the happy place that it had become. I truly could not believe my good fortune. My little sister was born when I was ten, and that really sealed our happy home. My life felt like I had won the lottery. I really don't think I could choose one happy memory. My mother was home then, my little sister was like a miracle to all of us, and my older sister was everything I wanted to be. My life was a movie with a happy ending. Eventually, of course, it all settled down and became normal...with all the problems that everyone has. But I will be eternally grateful to the man that saved us all.
Well, this concludes the interview. I know it has taken me awhile. NO ONE can say that Josie doesn't ask interesting questions! I hope I haven't bored you all too much.
If you are interested in doing an interview, Here's How It Works:
Leave me a comment saying "Interview me."
I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
You will update your blog with a post containing your answers to the questions and a link to my blog as your interviewer.
You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
Monday, October 01, 2007
More of the Interview
Because at least for the time being, I cannot walk and am sitting here at my computer fuming...I may as well work on my "assignment" from Josie.....and there is nothing wrong with my fingers at the moment, they work---well, other then the fact that my fingernails are waaay too long. So, onward:
3. You and I have travelled some rough roads in our adult lives, seeming to have learn most things the hard way. Life doesn't come with an "undo" button, but if it did, what one moment in time (other than the one you wrote about regarding your daughter) would you go back and handle differently?
I had to think about this one for quite some time, I am afraid. Partly because there were several things I would have chosen to do differently. In the end however, the reason I "chose" this "mistake" was that I can still see NO good that came out of the decisions made at that time. I also don't feel that there was any REAL harm done to anyone other than me, but had I not made this choice, my life would have been infinitely easier and better.
Immediately following the separation from my first husband, my kids father, I started "seeing" my boss. Yes, I am smarter than that. He was seventeen years older than me, and quite a goofball. I was a car salesman/finance manager and he was the owner...or car dealer. I didn't think he was an idiot then, and I really did learn alot from him business wise, but good heavens, he set me back in life light years. Seriously. He repeatedly broke my heart. Looking back, it is hard for me to understand that I cared about him to the extent that I did. I have NO idea why I did. Seriously, he was goofy. But there was something in him that brought out the mother in me. He drank. Never around me, but he drank alot. So I didn't see him alot. And there was another woman in his life that I didn't know about or refused to see at that time....no matter what he did, it was okay. It wasn't the money he had, because, I never saw any. But I just refused to "lose". And I tried to win that situation for more than eighteen months. In fact, he was alot of the reason why I feel so responsible for the mess my daughter was in that I wrote of previously. All of my attention went to him, or to the lack of him in my life. He hurt me over and over, because I let him. After my daughter and I had our troubles, that was the end of it. I realized that I had been a fool, and there was no more. But when I look back at that part of my life, I cannot believe that i was so stupid. In all of the "situations" of my life, I can look back and see a reason, or at least see some good that came out of the ruins. In this one however, there is none. It was just a stupid, stupid thing on my part, that left me empty for quite awhile. But once I was over it, I was over it.
4. What is your astrological sign? How do you see yourself fitting or not fitting the traits usually associated with this sign?
I am a Pisces. And for the most part, I am a true Pisces. I haven't looked into this for quite a while, so it's hard for me to remember the "traditional" aspects of my sign, but it seems that that one of them is that Pisces are emotional and I used to be very emotional. I am now just old and I try not to let myself get that way to often or at the very least, I don't show it, but that is correct. And talents, and I used to be able to sing very, very well....but not anymore, too many cigarettes, and if you don't use it you lose it, you know. And I am psychic, about a lot of things, and I don't like that part, but I know that is a Pisces trait as well.
I will save the last question for a later post. Now I need to try and decide what the hell I am going to do about today...not that i have much decision to make, I still cannot walk. Dammit. I am just hoping that the strength in that leg comes back in a little while. Have a good day. Later.
3. You and I have travelled some rough roads in our adult lives, seeming to have learn most things the hard way. Life doesn't come with an "undo" button, but if it did, what one moment in time (other than the one you wrote about regarding your daughter) would you go back and handle differently?
I had to think about this one for quite some time, I am afraid. Partly because there were several things I would have chosen to do differently. In the end however, the reason I "chose" this "mistake" was that I can still see NO good that came out of the decisions made at that time. I also don't feel that there was any REAL harm done to anyone other than me, but had I not made this choice, my life would have been infinitely easier and better.
Immediately following the separation from my first husband, my kids father, I started "seeing" my boss. Yes, I am smarter than that. He was seventeen years older than me, and quite a goofball. I was a car salesman/finance manager and he was the owner...or car dealer. I didn't think he was an idiot then, and I really did learn alot from him business wise, but good heavens, he set me back in life light years. Seriously. He repeatedly broke my heart. Looking back, it is hard for me to understand that I cared about him to the extent that I did. I have NO idea why I did. Seriously, he was goofy. But there was something in him that brought out the mother in me. He drank. Never around me, but he drank alot. So I didn't see him alot. And there was another woman in his life that I didn't know about or refused to see at that time....no matter what he did, it was okay. It wasn't the money he had, because, I never saw any. But I just refused to "lose". And I tried to win that situation for more than eighteen months. In fact, he was alot of the reason why I feel so responsible for the mess my daughter was in that I wrote of previously. All of my attention went to him, or to the lack of him in my life. He hurt me over and over, because I let him. After my daughter and I had our troubles, that was the end of it. I realized that I had been a fool, and there was no more. But when I look back at that part of my life, I cannot believe that i was so stupid. In all of the "situations" of my life, I can look back and see a reason, or at least see some good that came out of the ruins. In this one however, there is none. It was just a stupid, stupid thing on my part, that left me empty for quite awhile. But once I was over it, I was over it.
4. What is your astrological sign? How do you see yourself fitting or not fitting the traits usually associated with this sign?
I am a Pisces. And for the most part, I am a true Pisces. I haven't looked into this for quite a while, so it's hard for me to remember the "traditional" aspects of my sign, but it seems that that one of them is that Pisces are emotional and I used to be very emotional. I am now just old and I try not to let myself get that way to often or at the very least, I don't show it, but that is correct. And talents, and I used to be able to sing very, very well....but not anymore, too many cigarettes, and if you don't use it you lose it, you know. And I am psychic, about a lot of things, and I don't like that part, but I know that is a Pisces trait as well.
I will save the last question for a later post. Now I need to try and decide what the hell I am going to do about today...not that i have much decision to make, I still cannot walk. Dammit. I am just hoping that the strength in that leg comes back in a little while. Have a good day. Later.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
A little deeper
SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY! How many times have we heard that on the radio? I always think of it on this day each week....followed by my plans...."SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY....We'll have spaghetti made my Jamie, followed by NASCAR on ABC watched in the luxury of your own home....BE THERE" Yes, I know, I am not quite "right".
Okay, so I have been thinking, and that's not always a good thing for me. But I don't feel that i answered Josie's questions all the way. Yes, I answered them, but not the the extent that I would have wanted answers, had I asked the questions. So, I will try and go a little deeper here.
1. I told you that i felt that I have always had to fight to have respect and to be taken seriously, but I did not say why. Frankly, I don't know why. I thought about that all day yesterday, and i came to the realization that most people DON'T feel that way. Most of us already feel that they have respect and understanding. I suppose I was not respected or understood or taken seriously as a child, but were any children of my generation? I was a FAT kid. I was the only one in my family with a weight problem. Perhaps these feelings are rooted in that. I would say they probably are. I really am not one to think too much about the why, I tend to think about the now, and the solution. I also believe that if we don't like something about ourselves or something around us, then we should change it. Not sit around and analyze the why. So, maybe that is why i am not sure of the "why". I do know that if you told me that i could NOT do (accomplish) something as a child, then I would set out to prove you wrong. I am still that way. If you are my friend and you don't want me to do something,then you learn right away NOT to tell me in a way that challenges me. H learned that rather quickly. Now he doesn't tell me either way what or what not to do. It isn't necessary. I always (almost) do what's right for the situation. But if he takes the time or effort or is just plain stupid and says what he doesn't think I SHOULD do, then I will do it. Why? Once again, I don't know. The way I am wired, I guess. Over the years growing up, on the occasions that I would see my father, he would always lay one of those on me. "You could never do that. You aren't strong enough...mature enough....smart enough....old enough....and every time, I could. Now I know that he knew how I was, and I also assume he was the same way, so he was only being the puppet master, and i was the puppet. Back then, I didn't understand that. So yes, I feel compelled to fight for everything in my life. Giving in is not in my make-up. Others have learned that and have taken advantage but only to the degree that I have let them, I am not stupid. I put myself in a man-only profession and held my own very, very well. Yes, I have had to fight. All the way, all the time. But I am no longer am unsure of myself. I know what I am doing. It would have been easier certainly, to have chosen another job. But, look at what I would have missed out on. :)
2. Josie asked about the WHY on the love for dogs. I didn't answer that one either, and it took some thought. I really did figure that one out very quickly. My childhood was so extreme. The animals were the only thing that always loved me. No matter what. No matter how fat I was. No matter how much yelling or silence was going on at the time. Plus, I felt i had to protect them...the animals. And I did. And yes, Soul...you were right. My mother did give away King only to hurt my dad. It was part of her plan. She laughs about it to this day. I don't like that streak in her, no matter what, I didn't inherit that degree of ugliness from her. It wasn't and still isn't pretty. :0
I know this is probably over the top in answering, but when I looked back at the answers, I didn't think I had done a very good job, so there is the rest of the story, so to speak. I will answer the rest very soon.
I hope that each of you that drop by have a great Sunday. I plan to! Out.
Okay, so I have been thinking, and that's not always a good thing for me. But I don't feel that i answered Josie's questions all the way. Yes, I answered them, but not the the extent that I would have wanted answers, had I asked the questions. So, I will try and go a little deeper here.
1. I told you that i felt that I have always had to fight to have respect and to be taken seriously, but I did not say why. Frankly, I don't know why. I thought about that all day yesterday, and i came to the realization that most people DON'T feel that way. Most of us already feel that they have respect and understanding. I suppose I was not respected or understood or taken seriously as a child, but were any children of my generation? I was a FAT kid. I was the only one in my family with a weight problem. Perhaps these feelings are rooted in that. I would say they probably are. I really am not one to think too much about the why, I tend to think about the now, and the solution. I also believe that if we don't like something about ourselves or something around us, then we should change it. Not sit around and analyze the why. So, maybe that is why i am not sure of the "why". I do know that if you told me that i could NOT do (accomplish) something as a child, then I would set out to prove you wrong. I am still that way. If you are my friend and you don't want me to do something,then you learn right away NOT to tell me in a way that challenges me. H learned that rather quickly. Now he doesn't tell me either way what or what not to do. It isn't necessary. I always (almost) do what's right for the situation. But if he takes the time or effort or is just plain stupid and says what he doesn't think I SHOULD do, then I will do it. Why? Once again, I don't know. The way I am wired, I guess. Over the years growing up, on the occasions that I would see my father, he would always lay one of those on me. "You could never do that. You aren't strong enough...mature enough....smart enough....old enough....and every time, I could. Now I know that he knew how I was, and I also assume he was the same way, so he was only being the puppet master, and i was the puppet. Back then, I didn't understand that. So yes, I feel compelled to fight for everything in my life. Giving in is not in my make-up. Others have learned that and have taken advantage but only to the degree that I have let them, I am not stupid. I put myself in a man-only profession and held my own very, very well. Yes, I have had to fight. All the way, all the time. But I am no longer am unsure of myself. I know what I am doing. It would have been easier certainly, to have chosen another job. But, look at what I would have missed out on. :)
2. Josie asked about the WHY on the love for dogs. I didn't answer that one either, and it took some thought. I really did figure that one out very quickly. My childhood was so extreme. The animals were the only thing that always loved me. No matter what. No matter how fat I was. No matter how much yelling or silence was going on at the time. Plus, I felt i had to protect them...the animals. And I did. And yes, Soul...you were right. My mother did give away King only to hurt my dad. It was part of her plan. She laughs about it to this day. I don't like that streak in her, no matter what, I didn't inherit that degree of ugliness from her. It wasn't and still isn't pretty. :0
I know this is probably over the top in answering, but when I looked back at the answers, I didn't think I had done a very good job, so there is the rest of the story, so to speak. I will answer the rest very soon.
I hope that each of you that drop by have a great Sunday. I plan to! Out.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Josie Josie Josie
Because I am a glutton for punishment, I asked Josie to interview me. And believe me, Josie knows how to ask the questions, as I am sure many of you already know. I am under alot of pressure here folks, I have been reading all of your answers and you are all so eloquent and honest. Hopefully, I can measure up. So, without further ado, here goes:
1. As I follow along in your blog day by day, I am amazed by your determination to keep going when most other people would have long since given up and stayed home. Where does that strength come from? Why is it important to you to keep dealing with life on your terms instead of letting the pain and illness define you?
All of my life, I have had to fight. I have had to fight to be thin, I have had to fight to be sane, I have had to fight to be respected, I have had to fight to be understood,I have had to fight to be taken seriously and I have had to fight to be healthy. I cannot give in. On any of the above. I will not be "that sick lady". Or "that crazy lady". Or the "fat lady". No matter what we do in this life, the things I describe above ARE the things that define us. And I will not be defined by anything so negatively. It matters to me, not only how i am viewed by others, but mostly how I am viewed in my own eyes. Jos, if I ever gave in to this illness of mine, I think I would surely die. Seriously. And while the years and my age have certainly taken a toll on me, and I really have nothing left to prove to myself or to anyone else, I have gotten myself boxed in financially---I have taken on so much for so many that I can't let them down. My kids, my mother, my sister....the list goes on. While I am alive and able, I will do all I can. Yes, I understand that I don't have to do all that I do. I want to. Otherwise, why are we here?
2. I know that you love dogs, and even reacted compassionately about the pitbull that attacked you. Where does your affinity with dogs come from? Tell me about a couple of the most beloved pets you've had.
I think most of you have read about my beloved Snowman....my Sharpei that died on March 22, 2005. He left a hole in my heart that can never be filled. And really, I don't think I would ever want to love another pet like that again. He meant way more to me than any dog should.
Growing up, we had cats and dogs, and I loved them all. Way back, when my real father lived with us, he had a German Shepard that he loved more than life itself. It was the only thing he ever really loved, although I thought he was mean to it, too. His name was King, and I loved him very much. My mother won him in the divorce, then gave him away as soon as the divorce was final.
I think that will do for the first installment. I will finish tomorrow!
1. As I follow along in your blog day by day, I am amazed by your determination to keep going when most other people would have long since given up and stayed home. Where does that strength come from? Why is it important to you to keep dealing with life on your terms instead of letting the pain and illness define you?
All of my life, I have had to fight. I have had to fight to be thin, I have had to fight to be sane, I have had to fight to be respected, I have had to fight to be understood,I have had to fight to be taken seriously and I have had to fight to be healthy. I cannot give in. On any of the above. I will not be "that sick lady". Or "that crazy lady". Or the "fat lady". No matter what we do in this life, the things I describe above ARE the things that define us. And I will not be defined by anything so negatively. It matters to me, not only how i am viewed by others, but mostly how I am viewed in my own eyes. Jos, if I ever gave in to this illness of mine, I think I would surely die. Seriously. And while the years and my age have certainly taken a toll on me, and I really have nothing left to prove to myself or to anyone else, I have gotten myself boxed in financially---I have taken on so much for so many that I can't let them down. My kids, my mother, my sister....the list goes on. While I am alive and able, I will do all I can. Yes, I understand that I don't have to do all that I do. I want to. Otherwise, why are we here?
2. I know that you love dogs, and even reacted compassionately about the pitbull that attacked you. Where does your affinity with dogs come from? Tell me about a couple of the most beloved pets you've had.
I think most of you have read about my beloved Snowman....my Sharpei that died on March 22, 2005. He left a hole in my heart that can never be filled. And really, I don't think I would ever want to love another pet like that again. He meant way more to me than any dog should.
Growing up, we had cats and dogs, and I loved them all. Way back, when my real father lived with us, he had a German Shepard that he loved more than life itself. It was the only thing he ever really loved, although I thought he was mean to it, too. His name was King, and I loved him very much. My mother won him in the divorce, then gave him away as soon as the divorce was final.
I think that will do for the first installment. I will finish tomorrow!
Monday, September 03, 2007
Regret
I have been wanting-no-needing to write this post for some time, and even now, I am not sure i am ready. I am not sure that I can write with the soul-baring words required to make anyone understand my feelings. This would be the biggest regret that i have in my life. It would be the biggest mistake I feel I have ever made. It is the one thing that haunts me...still. Every day.
After the separation of my first husband and myself, my children were in shock. I was in shock. I don't really understand my reaction now, looking back, but I honestly, seriously---never thought that he and i would split. Once we had, I began to understand that it had to be forever, that I couldn't live that way any more. Constant worry for me, constant walking on eggshells, constantly afraid that he would become "upset" and then life would become hard and sad, once again. But i really didn't understand or even know this while we were together. I had become so busy trying to hold him and everything else together that I hadn't the time to figure it all out.
By now, we had been split for several months, and finally, the divorce was final. He was crazy, seriously, but even that had begun to improve. He seemed to be coming back around and i felt it was okay to let my kids spend time with him again...they needed to do that. I also needed them to, as I was really having trouble trying to be the only financial support, and i was really into having a good time. I was trying to keep all things together---my house was a home, at least it looked like one. I tried to keep food in the refrigerator, and I tried to keep my three kids happy---a daughter, fourteen---a son, nine---another son, eight. While I worked, they stayed home with the oldest most of the time....it was hard on them, and i was having some trouble with my daughter, she was really ugly to her brothers, but frankly, I had little choice. Alot of that time was a blur, from one problem to another, not enough money, bad boyfriend choices in myself and my daughter, work problems...hassles with the ex. I felt at that time that i was doing the very best i could do, and it was never, ever good enough. I was all tied up in "love" with a much older man...one that made me completely crazy, 100% of the time. I could never get it right, and yet, I kept trying. Why??? I have zero idea, even today. I just knew that if I could hold that relationship together, then all things would be okay. I also knew, deep in my heart that I wasn't taking care of the most important things at least not the way I should---my kids. I justified it with feelings that I had a right to my own life, you know all the excuses. I felt that it was not my fault that life had been turned completely upside down...and that somehow made my behavior excusable.
It was getting close to Christmas, and i was trying to provide a decent one, at least for all appearances. I had actually been spending more down time with my kids, as my relationship was now apparently "over", for the six millionth time in that 18 month period. We went out a got a Christmas tree, and it looked beautiful. It was a real tree, the best I could afford, and i was trying so hard financially. It was a constant source of contention because we also had a cat. And the cat really LOVED that tree. So, I made it known that the cat and the tree could not be together. And of course, my daughter, D---didn't listen to me. She had other things to worry about at that time in her life, and watching her brothers and the cat were not that high priority on her list. As would be the case with any fourteen year old...anyway, I came home and the cat had knocked the Christmas tree all the way over. And I freaked out. Really freaked out. All things came crashing down on me in that moment, and I lost control. I screamed, I yelled,I threw a fit. I made all of my kids cry. When I look back at the monster I was that day, I am so ashamed. I was awful. It is hard for me to remember my behavior. I seriously do not remember the exact sequence of things after that point, but i believe that it was in the afternoon that this happened, and i realized late in the evening that i had not seen D for awhile...she was, as usual...in her room. I went up to see what was up, and maybe to apologize, I really don't know.
When I walked in, i knew something was wrong...she was asleep, I could not get her awake. She barely could talk, but managed to tell me she had taken an entire bottle of Tylenol-at least a hundred pills! I died a thousand deaths in that moment. I ran downstairs, called 911, and of course, we were in the middle of the worst ice storm in many years, and we lived in the middle of nowhere, in a rented farm house. There was some question as to whether the ambulance could get here. They promised to try. I got her up, i walked her around, I cried, I freaked out, I called a girl that lived in town to come and stay with the boys so that i could get her to the hospital. I opened the door, and realized I would not be able to even walk to the car, it was so icy. I was amazed that we still had power. I prayed. I told God that if this problem, that was all my fault, could be worked out, that i would be the best mother to these kids ever. I swore on the lives of all my children and my own family. I told God that this was my fault, that He should not make D pay. It took forever for help to arrive. But they did. And she was completely gone when they got there---by gone, I mean passed out....unable to walk, function....or talk at all. It had been at least six hours since she had taken the pills. That was a long time, and i knew that meant trouble.
The ambulance wouldn't allow me to ride along---besides, my friend had not yet arrived, and the boys were asleep in bed, and I did not want them to see all that had happened. Within minutes, my friend arrived, a miracle in itself, as the weather was impossible. I had to get to the hospital...it was eight miles away. I could not get the ice scraped of of my windshield, and it was still coming down in sheets...you know the kind of watery, melty, immediately slippery ice, falling from the sky. There must have been a solid inch of it on the sidewalk, the steps, my car. I beat on the door long enough to get the passenger side open and crawled over to the driver side. I couldn't see a thing---but miraculously, my driver side window opened. I backed out of the driveway, on to the gravel road that we lived on. I took the longer way because there were less hills that way, although I couldn't avoid them completely. I drove the whole way with my head and shoulders out of the drivers side window. I had ice coating my eyeballs, and I tried driving with my sunglasses on (I didn't wear glasses yet). That worked for a little while, but they quickly coated over, too. I slid into the ditch three times on the way. Three times I made it back out. It took more that 45 minutes to go that eight miles. I was scared to death to walk into that hospital, I was afraid she would be dead. But I did---and she was still hanging on. They wouldn't let me in to see her, they were still quite busy with her. I hung out in the emergency waiting room and watched in horror as a well known man in town died from electrocution, he had been trying to get the power back on ---clearing ice from the transformer....and i listened to his family--his wife---scream and cry. I just sat there and shook. I was all alone, I had called the kids dad, but he wasn't able to get there because of the ice storm, and my mother and sister seemed rather concerned, but didn't offer to try and come, and there was no way I was going to ask. Eventually, they let me in to see her, they had pumped her stomach and felt that she would survive, if they could get the antidote that would help the liver damage. There was a short period of time that it would help and of course, the medication was in Iowa City and wouldn't get there until the storm subsided. The doctor said that her chances would be considerably better once she had it. She was barely coherent, and i sat with her all night. And prayed. And cried. And asked God to forgive me, for the terrible mother I had been. The antidote was to arrive early, as the weather had cleared. In the morning, I had to go home to get the boys off to daycare so that i could get back to the hospital. My friend had to get home to her own kids. As soon as I walked into my house, the phone rang and it was D's doctor---the actual doctor---on the phone. Things had taken a turn for the worse, they thought that she had had a stroke and had requested an air ambulance for her to be transferred to Des Moines. He told me to hurry if I wanted to see her.I knew what he meant...he meant if I wanted to see her alive... I thought i had no more tears left in me. But I was wrong---and i cried and drove like a maniac back to the hospital, thank god the ice had stopped and the roads were now passable. I ran---literally RAN---into the icu, and the dr met me at her door. He said that it had been a mistake, that they had given her medication for nausea, compazine, and that she had had a reaction to it. Once they figured that out, they knew what to do. I collapsed at that point, literally, i had no legs under me. I cried, and I don't think she knew what had transpired, because she looked at me like i was crazy, but i grabbed her, and hung on.The medication she needed so badly arrived, and how she hated it, but it did save her liver. And they saved her life. She was in the ICU for a few days, then I had her transferred to an adolescent mental facility for her to get the help she needed, and for me to get my head on straight before she came home. We had a very rocky relationship, and had for quite some time. But I knew I was going to save her, no matter what it took.
And all things were not rosy with she and i after that, it took a long time, and alot of help, help that involved living with a foster family in town for a few months, a good but strict family, and suddenly, i didn't look like a monster to her anymore. And I grew up. Actually, I grew up the night that happened, December 6th, 1994. That was the last of any little bit of youth left in me, i knew what my priorities were, and they never faltered from that point on. Never. I was never going to be responsible for any more drama in my kids lives. She was only being the kid she was, and I was not there for her to prevent what could have been the very end of her. I still cannot forgive myself and I probably never will. I would give anything to take that period of my life back and change it. I do realize however, that cannot be. So, I have learned from my mistakes. And i have been the very best mom I know how. And i will continue to be. I love you, D. I'm sorry.
After the separation of my first husband and myself, my children were in shock. I was in shock. I don't really understand my reaction now, looking back, but I honestly, seriously---never thought that he and i would split. Once we had, I began to understand that it had to be forever, that I couldn't live that way any more. Constant worry for me, constant walking on eggshells, constantly afraid that he would become "upset" and then life would become hard and sad, once again. But i really didn't understand or even know this while we were together. I had become so busy trying to hold him and everything else together that I hadn't the time to figure it all out.
By now, we had been split for several months, and finally, the divorce was final. He was crazy, seriously, but even that had begun to improve. He seemed to be coming back around and i felt it was okay to let my kids spend time with him again...they needed to do that. I also needed them to, as I was really having trouble trying to be the only financial support, and i was really into having a good time. I was trying to keep all things together---my house was a home, at least it looked like one. I tried to keep food in the refrigerator, and I tried to keep my three kids happy---a daughter, fourteen---a son, nine---another son, eight. While I worked, they stayed home with the oldest most of the time....it was hard on them, and i was having some trouble with my daughter, she was really ugly to her brothers, but frankly, I had little choice. Alot of that time was a blur, from one problem to another, not enough money, bad boyfriend choices in myself and my daughter, work problems...hassles with the ex. I felt at that time that i was doing the very best i could do, and it was never, ever good enough. I was all tied up in "love" with a much older man...one that made me completely crazy, 100% of the time. I could never get it right, and yet, I kept trying. Why??? I have zero idea, even today. I just knew that if I could hold that relationship together, then all things would be okay. I also knew, deep in my heart that I wasn't taking care of the most important things at least not the way I should---my kids. I justified it with feelings that I had a right to my own life, you know all the excuses. I felt that it was not my fault that life had been turned completely upside down...and that somehow made my behavior excusable.
It was getting close to Christmas, and i was trying to provide a decent one, at least for all appearances. I had actually been spending more down time with my kids, as my relationship was now apparently "over", for the six millionth time in that 18 month period. We went out a got a Christmas tree, and it looked beautiful. It was a real tree, the best I could afford, and i was trying so hard financially. It was a constant source of contention because we also had a cat. And the cat really LOVED that tree. So, I made it known that the cat and the tree could not be together. And of course, my daughter, D---didn't listen to me. She had other things to worry about at that time in her life, and watching her brothers and the cat were not that high priority on her list. As would be the case with any fourteen year old...anyway, I came home and the cat had knocked the Christmas tree all the way over. And I freaked out. Really freaked out. All things came crashing down on me in that moment, and I lost control. I screamed, I yelled,I threw a fit. I made all of my kids cry. When I look back at the monster I was that day, I am so ashamed. I was awful. It is hard for me to remember my behavior. I seriously do not remember the exact sequence of things after that point, but i believe that it was in the afternoon that this happened, and i realized late in the evening that i had not seen D for awhile...she was, as usual...in her room. I went up to see what was up, and maybe to apologize, I really don't know.
When I walked in, i knew something was wrong...she was asleep, I could not get her awake. She barely could talk, but managed to tell me she had taken an entire bottle of Tylenol-at least a hundred pills! I died a thousand deaths in that moment. I ran downstairs, called 911, and of course, we were in the middle of the worst ice storm in many years, and we lived in the middle of nowhere, in a rented farm house. There was some question as to whether the ambulance could get here. They promised to try. I got her up, i walked her around, I cried, I freaked out, I called a girl that lived in town to come and stay with the boys so that i could get her to the hospital. I opened the door, and realized I would not be able to even walk to the car, it was so icy. I was amazed that we still had power. I prayed. I told God that if this problem, that was all my fault, could be worked out, that i would be the best mother to these kids ever. I swore on the lives of all my children and my own family. I told God that this was my fault, that He should not make D pay. It took forever for help to arrive. But they did. And she was completely gone when they got there---by gone, I mean passed out....unable to walk, function....or talk at all. It had been at least six hours since she had taken the pills. That was a long time, and i knew that meant trouble.
The ambulance wouldn't allow me to ride along---besides, my friend had not yet arrived, and the boys were asleep in bed, and I did not want them to see all that had happened. Within minutes, my friend arrived, a miracle in itself, as the weather was impossible. I had to get to the hospital...it was eight miles away. I could not get the ice scraped of of my windshield, and it was still coming down in sheets...you know the kind of watery, melty, immediately slippery ice, falling from the sky. There must have been a solid inch of it on the sidewalk, the steps, my car. I beat on the door long enough to get the passenger side open and crawled over to the driver side. I couldn't see a thing---but miraculously, my driver side window opened. I backed out of the driveway, on to the gravel road that we lived on. I took the longer way because there were less hills that way, although I couldn't avoid them completely. I drove the whole way with my head and shoulders out of the drivers side window. I had ice coating my eyeballs, and I tried driving with my sunglasses on (I didn't wear glasses yet). That worked for a little while, but they quickly coated over, too. I slid into the ditch three times on the way. Three times I made it back out. It took more that 45 minutes to go that eight miles. I was scared to death to walk into that hospital, I was afraid she would be dead. But I did---and she was still hanging on. They wouldn't let me in to see her, they were still quite busy with her. I hung out in the emergency waiting room and watched in horror as a well known man in town died from electrocution, he had been trying to get the power back on ---clearing ice from the transformer....and i listened to his family--his wife---scream and cry. I just sat there and shook. I was all alone, I had called the kids dad, but he wasn't able to get there because of the ice storm, and my mother and sister seemed rather concerned, but didn't offer to try and come, and there was no way I was going to ask. Eventually, they let me in to see her, they had pumped her stomach and felt that she would survive, if they could get the antidote that would help the liver damage. There was a short period of time that it would help and of course, the medication was in Iowa City and wouldn't get there until the storm subsided. The doctor said that her chances would be considerably better once she had it. She was barely coherent, and i sat with her all night. And prayed. And cried. And asked God to forgive me, for the terrible mother I had been. The antidote was to arrive early, as the weather had cleared. In the morning, I had to go home to get the boys off to daycare so that i could get back to the hospital. My friend had to get home to her own kids. As soon as I walked into my house, the phone rang and it was D's doctor---the actual doctor---on the phone. Things had taken a turn for the worse, they thought that she had had a stroke and had requested an air ambulance for her to be transferred to Des Moines. He told me to hurry if I wanted to see her.I knew what he meant...he meant if I wanted to see her alive... I thought i had no more tears left in me. But I was wrong---and i cried and drove like a maniac back to the hospital, thank god the ice had stopped and the roads were now passable. I ran---literally RAN---into the icu, and the dr met me at her door. He said that it had been a mistake, that they had given her medication for nausea, compazine, and that she had had a reaction to it. Once they figured that out, they knew what to do. I collapsed at that point, literally, i had no legs under me. I cried, and I don't think she knew what had transpired, because she looked at me like i was crazy, but i grabbed her, and hung on.The medication she needed so badly arrived, and how she hated it, but it did save her liver. And they saved her life. She was in the ICU for a few days, then I had her transferred to an adolescent mental facility for her to get the help she needed, and for me to get my head on straight before she came home. We had a very rocky relationship, and had for quite some time. But I knew I was going to save her, no matter what it took.
And all things were not rosy with she and i after that, it took a long time, and alot of help, help that involved living with a foster family in town for a few months, a good but strict family, and suddenly, i didn't look like a monster to her anymore. And I grew up. Actually, I grew up the night that happened, December 6th, 1994. That was the last of any little bit of youth left in me, i knew what my priorities were, and they never faltered from that point on. Never. I was never going to be responsible for any more drama in my kids lives. She was only being the kid she was, and I was not there for her to prevent what could have been the very end of her. I still cannot forgive myself and I probably never will. I would give anything to take that period of my life back and change it. I do realize however, that cannot be. So, I have learned from my mistakes. And i have been the very best mom I know how. And i will continue to be. I love you, D. I'm sorry.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
MeMeMeMeMeMeMe combined.....
I have been slacking in my writing lately, as i have been doing in many things, actually. I was tagged quite a while back by Josie on what I would do with a million dollars. I have also wanted to post about the happiest days of my life and my earliest memories, again ideas that came from Josie. I hope it's okay if I combine these posts---
A million dollars:
If I were given a million tax free dollars, I would first of all, give alot of it away. Yes, I know...not smart, but i never really said i was. I like money just fine---and it would be wonderful to be out of debt---and that would also be one of the first things i would do---but beyond that, money just isn't what its all about. Having said that, i feel i should explain---money certainly has value, and i work hard for money, every day of my life. But it cannot lengthen your life, or unbreak your heart, or keep you from being lonely, or make a sick person well. Yes, there are alot of arguments to those statements...but all by itself....it cannot do any of those things. I love giving money away, i like the feeling of being able to help another that needs it. Much to my husbands dismay, I might add. But that is what i would do with the largest portion of the money. Beyond that, I would travel a little, and not work so damned hard.
The earliest Memory:
I was born in march of 1960, and I think the first thing that i remember is when President Kennedy was shot. I remember my mother crying, and I remember the funeral procession on our television....and that was in November of 1963....right? I would have been three years and eight months. It is a short memory, but I always remember when my mother cried.
The happiest time in my life?
This one is hard folks. I have been happy many, many times in my life. The births of all three of my children are wonderful memories. Special---and always, always full of love. Before my first marriage? Maybe, I WAS happy then. Before my second marriage? Probably. It was a wonderful time in my life, I was in love and things were good...with the kids, and with the jobs...just in general. But seriously---the happiest time in my life was just prior to husband number one and I separating. He and I had been married by that time for thirteen or fourteen years..and things were good between us. But mostly, things were just good at home. It was before any of my kids were old enough to begin the teenage troubles, and their was no "divorce trauma" yet, I was home all the time...and sick alot of the time, but i struggled along and managed to be a good wife and mother. Ours was a happy home...until the day it wasn't. That's how fast things went to hell in our lives, and before the shell-shocked feelings came in. I really was happy then. I know that sounds strange, but there were no big events going on, just normal I repeat NORMAL, everyday life. And I think that has been all I have ever wanted. At least I can say I had it for awhile...right?
A million dollars:
If I were given a million tax free dollars, I would first of all, give alot of it away. Yes, I know...not smart, but i never really said i was. I like money just fine---and it would be wonderful to be out of debt---and that would also be one of the first things i would do---but beyond that, money just isn't what its all about. Having said that, i feel i should explain---money certainly has value, and i work hard for money, every day of my life. But it cannot lengthen your life, or unbreak your heart, or keep you from being lonely, or make a sick person well. Yes, there are alot of arguments to those statements...but all by itself....it cannot do any of those things. I love giving money away, i like the feeling of being able to help another that needs it. Much to my husbands dismay, I might add. But that is what i would do with the largest portion of the money. Beyond that, I would travel a little, and not work so damned hard.
The earliest Memory:
I was born in march of 1960, and I think the first thing that i remember is when President Kennedy was shot. I remember my mother crying, and I remember the funeral procession on our television....and that was in November of 1963....right? I would have been three years and eight months. It is a short memory, but I always remember when my mother cried.
The happiest time in my life?
This one is hard folks. I have been happy many, many times in my life. The births of all three of my children are wonderful memories. Special---and always, always full of love. Before my first marriage? Maybe, I WAS happy then. Before my second marriage? Probably. It was a wonderful time in my life, I was in love and things were good...with the kids, and with the jobs...just in general. But seriously---the happiest time in my life was just prior to husband number one and I separating. He and I had been married by that time for thirteen or fourteen years..and things were good between us. But mostly, things were just good at home. It was before any of my kids were old enough to begin the teenage troubles, and their was no "divorce trauma" yet, I was home all the time...and sick alot of the time, but i struggled along and managed to be a good wife and mother. Ours was a happy home...until the day it wasn't. That's how fast things went to hell in our lives, and before the shell-shocked feelings came in. I really was happy then. I know that sounds strange, but there were no big events going on, just normal I repeat NORMAL, everyday life. And I think that has been all I have ever wanted. At least I can say I had it for awhile...right?
Monday, August 13, 2007
A rough lesson
In September of 1996, H and I were newly married, we had gotten married in June of that year. My kids were doing well, they were 16, 12, and 10. We had just bought this house a few months before. All in all, good times.
One day while at work, I got a call from my youngest-YS-or Jordan--if you want his real name. He was ten years old, and he was complaining of a "stomach ache". He was now home from school, but told me that he had been sick all afternoon and the school nurse had sent him back to class, and she wouldn't call me. (Jordy had been known to use the stomach ache card before).
He said that he felt like throwing up, and i knew this must be a real problem he was having as he was now OUT of class, and still felt bad. I told him that i would be home is a little while, and to try the pepto in the fridge, and lay down. When I got home, i realized he really was pretty sick, he had a fever, and he started throwing up. This was on a Tuesday.
On Wednesday morning, he was not better so i took him to the family doctor, the one we had always gone to. Dr J. said he had the classic stomach flu, liquid diet, rest...he would get better in a few days. He said it was really going around. On Thursday, he was really sick. He temp was around 102, and I was trying not to freak out like I always did/do when they get sick. He was still throwing up, everything. I was pushing liquids, and he was heaving them as soon as he swallowed them.
On Friday, I took him BACK to dr J. He was irritated with me, and acted like i was the classic idiot mother, and said to me "I told you this would last a few days, he has the flu". I protested that he had been sick for so long, and his fever wouldn't break. Nevertheless, he sent me on my way, acting like I was deranged. Jordy was no better all day on Friday, and i stayed home from work with him. I felt helpless.
On Saturday, I decided that I had had enough, and I knew for sure that Jordan had. He was one sick little boy, all the medication I had been trying to give him was doing NO good, I was seriously scared. I waited for H to get home, and we took him the the emergency room in the little town where our doctor was located. Because it was a weekend, there were doctors from the big city covering that department. I had never met the doctor that we saw. He ran a few tests on Jord, and said, "I don't know what's wrong with him, but I know something is wrong." He wanted us to get him to the pediatric hospital in Des Moines asap. He actually wanted us to let Jordy go by ambulance, but he was too scared for that. I could not believe what I was hearing. So we drove like maniacs the two hours to get him there. It was now late evening. When we got to the pediatric hospital, they of course, ran a few more tests. And came to the conclusion that his appendix had burst-- FOUR DAYS BEFORE. Emergency surgery, NOW. The surgeon on call came in, and boom---just like that, it was midnight, and Mark and I were sitting in the little room outside of the surgery wing. There wasn't another soul around.
Before the surgery began, the surgeon had come out to talk to us. I of course had never met him, and he seemed like a sweet, older doctor. I cannot tell you the emotions that I was feeling...mostly because all I can remember was the most paralyzing fear I had ever felt. After we spoke with the surgeon, it became unbelievably worse. He told us that there was no guarantee, that he had been sick for way too long, and the prognosis wasn't looking good at all. He assured us that he would do everything possible to save his life. I was in complete shock. I knew things didn't look good, but I couldn't believe the words I was hearing. I fell completely apart. Completely. I was most grateful that I had already seen Jordy and walked him down to the surgery doors before this, and I would not have been able to keep my composure now. He had said to me "will I be okay, mommy?" I had assured him that he would, and I told him that I loved him more than anything in my life, and i kissed his beautiful, sweet little face again and again. He held on to my hand for dear life. They had given him a sedative, and he sort of drifted off then, and I was grateful for that.
So there we sat, Mark and I. I was hanging on to HIM for dear life, praying that my baby would be okay. I had finally stopped crying, and I just sat there. The minutes ticked away so slowly, then the hours. Mark did all things humanly possible to comfort me, but I really was having no part of it. I felt the worst guilt I had ever felt---and I knew that I would carry that around with me until the day I died, regardless of the outcome.
This part of the hospital was eerily quiet at that hour, I don't think they actually began the surgery until close to midnight---and it was now going on three am. On a Saturday night. I had called his dad-in fact, I had called his dad all week to let him know that Jord was sick, and then that evening I had called to tell him what was going on. I woke him up, and he seemed not too worried. He lived about the same distance away that we did, but he did not offer to come to the hospital. None of my family offered that, either. I was shocked at their reactions, they wanted to know when he was out of surgery, but they weren't about to leave their warm beds. Both of the older kids were at home, alone, but D was old enough to take care of things. They were worried, but I had not told them the true gravity of the situation.
Finally, just after three am, the surgeon came out to talk to us. He said that things had gone as well as they could, but we would not really know anything for the next 48 hours. He said that the infection and gangrene had spread considerably. He said it had been necessary to remove part of his bowel, then piece it back together. He also said that Jordy's appendix was not in the usual place, that it was a little off to the left of where it should have been, and perhaps that is why the other doctor had been unable to detect the true problem. That meant nothing to me...I knew the reason that my doctor had not picked up on the problem was because he hadn't really tried. He knew the flu "was going around" and that was all he needed to know.
When my baby came through the doors of the surgery unit, I couldn't believe it was him. He looked awful, face swollen, tubes in his nose, down his throat, machines attached to everything. They took him to icu. That's where I went, too. For the next ten days, that is where I lived. I sent H back home to take care of the other two, and to continue on with life. Mine remained suspended on the outcome of the life of my baby.
Obviously, he survived just fine, as I talk about the rotten little shit all the time. I thank God for that every day. The days at the hospital were hard. It really was about two days before we knew whether he would come out of it or not. It took what seemed forever for his body to fight the infection off. Eventually, his dad did come to visit, but I learned what he was made of that Saturday night. That was the only time I left the hospital, I didn't want to see him, for fear that I would cause a scene in front of Jordan.
I called the school and told them what had happened during that first week. It was funny, the school nurse made a trip to visit as soon as he could have visitors. She called a few times to check on his progress and the class sent cards and gifts. I think she was afraid of what I might do to her, considering that she hadn't believed there was anything wrong with him in the first place. Dr J. called, also. He actually apologized for missing the true problem. Again, he was afraid of a lawsuit. The kids dad wanted me to sue everyone, and then in fact, he consulted a lawyer wanting to do just that. I wanted no part of any of it, and i thought that my ex's reaction was classic, considering he hadn't done one single thing to help any of it. If I wanted to sue anyone it would have been HIM. But I knew of no "I am a jackass father" lawsuits. I don't believe in suing---it would not have changed the outcome. Even if he hadn't made it, I would not have chosen to do that. But I did learn to be more diligent with the medical field....and while i have always trusted my gut, this time I didn't take it far enough. I still wish I had done more, taken him to a different dr, or something. I believe this whole mess is why he seems to always be sick--he can't ever get any cold or anything without it turning into a huge ordeal. I'm sure it had to have affected his immune system, although I have no medical proof of that.
I cannot imagine the HELL that losing a child would throw a mother into. I know the few days that I lived with that fear taught me to appreciate every day with those I love, as the most innocent of things can turn deadly in a matter of no time. I have always been a paranoid mother, and I don't mind admitting that. My kids are my entire world. After this incident, I became even worse. Which I am sure is why I am still an idiot mother, and they are all grown. I don't mind being thought of that way---because it is the truth. I definitely could be called worse things. :)
One day while at work, I got a call from my youngest-YS-or Jordan--if you want his real name. He was ten years old, and he was complaining of a "stomach ache". He was now home from school, but told me that he had been sick all afternoon and the school nurse had sent him back to class, and she wouldn't call me. (Jordy had been known to use the stomach ache card before).
He said that he felt like throwing up, and i knew this must be a real problem he was having as he was now OUT of class, and still felt bad. I told him that i would be home is a little while, and to try the pepto in the fridge, and lay down. When I got home, i realized he really was pretty sick, he had a fever, and he started throwing up. This was on a Tuesday.
On Wednesday morning, he was not better so i took him to the family doctor, the one we had always gone to. Dr J. said he had the classic stomach flu, liquid diet, rest...he would get better in a few days. He said it was really going around. On Thursday, he was really sick. He temp was around 102, and I was trying not to freak out like I always did/do when they get sick. He was still throwing up, everything. I was pushing liquids, and he was heaving them as soon as he swallowed them.
On Friday, I took him BACK to dr J. He was irritated with me, and acted like i was the classic idiot mother, and said to me "I told you this would last a few days, he has the flu". I protested that he had been sick for so long, and his fever wouldn't break. Nevertheless, he sent me on my way, acting like I was deranged. Jordy was no better all day on Friday, and i stayed home from work with him. I felt helpless.
On Saturday, I decided that I had had enough, and I knew for sure that Jordan had. He was one sick little boy, all the medication I had been trying to give him was doing NO good, I was seriously scared. I waited for H to get home, and we took him the the emergency room in the little town where our doctor was located. Because it was a weekend, there were doctors from the big city covering that department. I had never met the doctor that we saw. He ran a few tests on Jord, and said, "I don't know what's wrong with him, but I know something is wrong." He wanted us to get him to the pediatric hospital in Des Moines asap. He actually wanted us to let Jordy go by ambulance, but he was too scared for that. I could not believe what I was hearing. So we drove like maniacs the two hours to get him there. It was now late evening. When we got to the pediatric hospital, they of course, ran a few more tests. And came to the conclusion that his appendix had burst-- FOUR DAYS BEFORE. Emergency surgery, NOW. The surgeon on call came in, and boom---just like that, it was midnight, and Mark and I were sitting in the little room outside of the surgery wing. There wasn't another soul around.
Before the surgery began, the surgeon had come out to talk to us. I of course had never met him, and he seemed like a sweet, older doctor. I cannot tell you the emotions that I was feeling...mostly because all I can remember was the most paralyzing fear I had ever felt. After we spoke with the surgeon, it became unbelievably worse. He told us that there was no guarantee, that he had been sick for way too long, and the prognosis wasn't looking good at all. He assured us that he would do everything possible to save his life. I was in complete shock. I knew things didn't look good, but I couldn't believe the words I was hearing. I fell completely apart. Completely. I was most grateful that I had already seen Jordy and walked him down to the surgery doors before this, and I would not have been able to keep my composure now. He had said to me "will I be okay, mommy?" I had assured him that he would, and I told him that I loved him more than anything in my life, and i kissed his beautiful, sweet little face again and again. He held on to my hand for dear life. They had given him a sedative, and he sort of drifted off then, and I was grateful for that.
So there we sat, Mark and I. I was hanging on to HIM for dear life, praying that my baby would be okay. I had finally stopped crying, and I just sat there. The minutes ticked away so slowly, then the hours. Mark did all things humanly possible to comfort me, but I really was having no part of it. I felt the worst guilt I had ever felt---and I knew that I would carry that around with me until the day I died, regardless of the outcome.
This part of the hospital was eerily quiet at that hour, I don't think they actually began the surgery until close to midnight---and it was now going on three am. On a Saturday night. I had called his dad-in fact, I had called his dad all week to let him know that Jord was sick, and then that evening I had called to tell him what was going on. I woke him up, and he seemed not too worried. He lived about the same distance away that we did, but he did not offer to come to the hospital. None of my family offered that, either. I was shocked at their reactions, they wanted to know when he was out of surgery, but they weren't about to leave their warm beds. Both of the older kids were at home, alone, but D was old enough to take care of things. They were worried, but I had not told them the true gravity of the situation.
Finally, just after three am, the surgeon came out to talk to us. He said that things had gone as well as they could, but we would not really know anything for the next 48 hours. He said that the infection and gangrene had spread considerably. He said it had been necessary to remove part of his bowel, then piece it back together. He also said that Jordy's appendix was not in the usual place, that it was a little off to the left of where it should have been, and perhaps that is why the other doctor had been unable to detect the true problem. That meant nothing to me...I knew the reason that my doctor had not picked up on the problem was because he hadn't really tried. He knew the flu "was going around" and that was all he needed to know.
When my baby came through the doors of the surgery unit, I couldn't believe it was him. He looked awful, face swollen, tubes in his nose, down his throat, machines attached to everything. They took him to icu. That's where I went, too. For the next ten days, that is where I lived. I sent H back home to take care of the other two, and to continue on with life. Mine remained suspended on the outcome of the life of my baby.
Obviously, he survived just fine, as I talk about the rotten little shit all the time. I thank God for that every day. The days at the hospital were hard. It really was about two days before we knew whether he would come out of it or not. It took what seemed forever for his body to fight the infection off. Eventually, his dad did come to visit, but I learned what he was made of that Saturday night. That was the only time I left the hospital, I didn't want to see him, for fear that I would cause a scene in front of Jordan.
I called the school and told them what had happened during that first week. It was funny, the school nurse made a trip to visit as soon as he could have visitors. She called a few times to check on his progress and the class sent cards and gifts. I think she was afraid of what I might do to her, considering that she hadn't believed there was anything wrong with him in the first place. Dr J. called, also. He actually apologized for missing the true problem. Again, he was afraid of a lawsuit. The kids dad wanted me to sue everyone, and then in fact, he consulted a lawyer wanting to do just that. I wanted no part of any of it, and i thought that my ex's reaction was classic, considering he hadn't done one single thing to help any of it. If I wanted to sue anyone it would have been HIM. But I knew of no "I am a jackass father" lawsuits. I don't believe in suing---it would not have changed the outcome. Even if he hadn't made it, I would not have chosen to do that. But I did learn to be more diligent with the medical field....and while i have always trusted my gut, this time I didn't take it far enough. I still wish I had done more, taken him to a different dr, or something. I believe this whole mess is why he seems to always be sick--he can't ever get any cold or anything without it turning into a huge ordeal. I'm sure it had to have affected his immune system, although I have no medical proof of that.
I cannot imagine the HELL that losing a child would throw a mother into. I know the few days that I lived with that fear taught me to appreciate every day with those I love, as the most innocent of things can turn deadly in a matter of no time. I have always been a paranoid mother, and I don't mind admitting that. My kids are my entire world. After this incident, I became even worse. Which I am sure is why I am still an idiot mother, and they are all grown. I don't mind being thought of that way---because it is the truth. I definitely could be called worse things. :)
Monday, July 16, 2007
History.....The last part
H and I were actually at a hotel for a new year's eve celebration when we got the call from Dorothy. I knew he was going to die, but i really didn't expect it this quickly. He had gotten sick in August, and died in January. It was hard for me to believe. Dorothy said that she needed me there to help with the burial arrangements and could I come now? I really didn't think that was a good idea, given mine and Dorothy's recent history, and now, sadly.....there was no dad to keep her from going whacko again. But I said I would come now, what else could I do? We drove there as quickly as we could. It was New Years day, remember. But we arrived late in the afternoon. Dorothy had already made all the necessary arrangements, and I was barely included---even in the obituary. She told everyone at the funeral home that I was no kind of daughter at all, and that i didn't care. I hadn't been around in forever. I was stunned when she told me that all things had been handled....she said she had the help of her good friend Kathy, you know the one that owned the funeral home? Do you remember Kathy, readers? She was the "other" woman that my father actually loved. The one that he had carried on with for years, the one woman in town that Dorothy actually hated. She had always hated Kathy, and she had good reason to. I sat down at what had been "their" house and was now "her" house, and looked at my dads empty chair. Dorothy continued to be rude, and I tried to remember that she was ill, and it wasn't her fault, but by morning, I had had enough.
She wasn't ill, she was fucking looney, and hateful. We left. I did not attend my dads funeral because I was not wanted. She could not be the grieving widow-if I was going to be the grieving daughter. I would steal her thunder. I am still so angry at the situation. I have spent the past two and a half years really being angry. It was unfair that I had finally found my dad, only to have him ripped away from me again. I also began to wonder if some of mine and my fathers problems were not partially instigated by her. She had some real problems when it came to me. Serious ones. I couldn't believe that I had never known that before.
On to the last part of the story....Over time I have kept up with Barbara, Dorothy's sister. She has had a rough a time with Dorothy and she has seriously been trying to help her out. Eventually, Dorothy ran her off....she spewed nothing but venom towards her. And guess who Dorothy turned over power of attorney to? You guessed it. Kathy and her husband, Randy. The owners of the funeral home. He was my dad's good buddy, and she was my dad's lover of more than fifteen years. Also, the entire estate has been willed to them. I did not/would not get one little thing. Mostly, I wanted a couple of things that belonged to my dad and to my grandmother. There is a photograph of my father and the late, great Dale Earnhardt that I would give just about anything for. But it is not meant to be.
The very idea of the two of them having my fathers estate makes my blood boil, and I have not let myself think about it for the past two and a half years. I know that the money should mean nothing to me, and really, it is just money.But I never understood the dynamic of what should be "rightfully" mine, until now. I know that sounds selfish....but I am being honest here. NOT necessarily just the money, or some of the money, but some of his things, the ones that meant something to him, or the things that were once MY grandmothers. These people have obviously taken advantage of a mentally deranged human being, that wouldn't give them the time of day if she were in her "right" mind. I am slowly getting over it. Writing it all out here is helping alot. I think the story is quite unique, one that might make a good movie...but like I said before, it is the truth. My dad should have handled things prior to being sick, he should not have been afraid of his wife's wrath, and frankly, if I meant anything to him at all, he would have taken care of it. That's what the real truth is.
She wasn't ill, she was fucking looney, and hateful. We left. I did not attend my dads funeral because I was not wanted. She could not be the grieving widow-if I was going to be the grieving daughter. I would steal her thunder. I am still so angry at the situation. I have spent the past two and a half years really being angry. It was unfair that I had finally found my dad, only to have him ripped away from me again. I also began to wonder if some of mine and my fathers problems were not partially instigated by her. She had some real problems when it came to me. Serious ones. I couldn't believe that I had never known that before.
On to the last part of the story....Over time I have kept up with Barbara, Dorothy's sister. She has had a rough a time with Dorothy and she has seriously been trying to help her out. Eventually, Dorothy ran her off....she spewed nothing but venom towards her. And guess who Dorothy turned over power of attorney to? You guessed it. Kathy and her husband, Randy. The owners of the funeral home. He was my dad's good buddy, and she was my dad's lover of more than fifteen years. Also, the entire estate has been willed to them. I did not/would not get one little thing. Mostly, I wanted a couple of things that belonged to my dad and to my grandmother. There is a photograph of my father and the late, great Dale Earnhardt that I would give just about anything for. But it is not meant to be.
The very idea of the two of them having my fathers estate makes my blood boil, and I have not let myself think about it for the past two and a half years. I know that the money should mean nothing to me, and really, it is just money.But I never understood the dynamic of what should be "rightfully" mine, until now. I know that sounds selfish....but I am being honest here. NOT necessarily just the money, or some of the money, but some of his things, the ones that meant something to him, or the things that were once MY grandmothers. These people have obviously taken advantage of a mentally deranged human being, that wouldn't give them the time of day if she were in her "right" mind. I am slowly getting over it. Writing it all out here is helping alot. I think the story is quite unique, one that might make a good movie...but like I said before, it is the truth. My dad should have handled things prior to being sick, he should not have been afraid of his wife's wrath, and frankly, if I meant anything to him at all, he would have taken care of it. That's what the real truth is.
History...Part 4
I suppose at this time I should explain a few things. They did not have a family, and the two of them really did love their money. And they were good at making it. Dorothy had been no dummy, she worked ALL her life, at an outside job that she kept for more than forty years, and she had a tax service that she built up over the years. He was a great business man, and a great engine builder, and he know how to save and they had a lot of money. Alot. At the time that I am speaking of, there was more than eight hundred thousand in cash in their accounts. They had land that Walmart wanted, and I suppose by now it may have already sold, but the amount being tossed around was seven hundred thousand. This was just what I knew about. To me, at least, that was and still is alot of money.
I want to explain something to you here: his money never did make any difference to me. I learned a long time ago, that it couldn't do anything of any real importance, certainly not keep anyone from being lonely, it couldn't love you back, it can't save your life. It just was his money. My mother has always said to me "at least your father will be able to leave you something of value, considering the piss-poor father that he has been to you all your life". That really held no weight with me.
So, back to the story: My father really didn't believe that he was going to die. I know he didn't. I really couldn't either, but what I saw when I visited said otherwise. Sometime around Thanksgiving, my dad and D went back to the lawyer to sign the papers. Once again, Sarah took them, so I know I get the correct information. When they got there, the lawyer presented Dorothy with the papers that he had drawn up for her first. She went ballistic.....accusing her sister of wanting her money, accusing me of the same thing. This reaction took my father by completely by surprise...as I said before....they had discussed this previously. So, they left the attorney's office at that time. Nothing had been handled, nothing had been signed.
Throughout the month of December I visited as often as I could. The holidays were fast approaching. I knew that things were not looking good for my dad. The doctors reports were not good. H and I went to see him on Christmas night. I will never forget even one little minute detail of that evening, as long as I live. He was sick. I mean, really sick. He had waited for my arrival all day, H and I got there about six pm. He was unable to get out of bed, and had in fact fallen several times trying. I sat down on the floor beside him, and he put his huge, huge, huge bony hand on the top of my head. I was crying. He looked at me for a long time. He said "you know I love you, right?"
I answered "Yes. And you know how I feel about you, is that right"?
He shook his head that he did. He said "do you have any money?" I said I did, and asked if he needed some. He laughed and said "no...you little shit, you know what i mean." I did know what he meant...he was always trying to give me money. I told him I didn't need any. He fell asleep. I sat there and cried for a long while. I knew I would never talk to him again.
I was right. On the Monday after Christmas in 2004, he was transferred to the nursing home, he was too ill to get up. I made one more trip down to visit on Wednesday of that week. I stayed two days, he never woke up. He died on the first day of January, 2005, at nine that morning. It broke my heart, and I mostly hoped that he had made his life right with God before he went to meet him.
To be continued.....
I want to explain something to you here: his money never did make any difference to me. I learned a long time ago, that it couldn't do anything of any real importance, certainly not keep anyone from being lonely, it couldn't love you back, it can't save your life. It just was his money. My mother has always said to me "at least your father will be able to leave you something of value, considering the piss-poor father that he has been to you all your life". That really held no weight with me.
So, back to the story: My father really didn't believe that he was going to die. I know he didn't. I really couldn't either, but what I saw when I visited said otherwise. Sometime around Thanksgiving, my dad and D went back to the lawyer to sign the papers. Once again, Sarah took them, so I know I get the correct information. When they got there, the lawyer presented Dorothy with the papers that he had drawn up for her first. She went ballistic.....accusing her sister of wanting her money, accusing me of the same thing. This reaction took my father by completely by surprise...as I said before....they had discussed this previously. So, they left the attorney's office at that time. Nothing had been handled, nothing had been signed.
Throughout the month of December I visited as often as I could. The holidays were fast approaching. I knew that things were not looking good for my dad. The doctors reports were not good. H and I went to see him on Christmas night. I will never forget even one little minute detail of that evening, as long as I live. He was sick. I mean, really sick. He had waited for my arrival all day, H and I got there about six pm. He was unable to get out of bed, and had in fact fallen several times trying. I sat down on the floor beside him, and he put his huge, huge, huge bony hand on the top of my head. I was crying. He looked at me for a long time. He said "you know I love you, right?"
I answered "Yes. And you know how I feel about you, is that right"?
He shook his head that he did. He said "do you have any money?" I said I did, and asked if he needed some. He laughed and said "no...you little shit, you know what i mean." I did know what he meant...he was always trying to give me money. I told him I didn't need any. He fell asleep. I sat there and cried for a long while. I knew I would never talk to him again.
I was right. On the Monday after Christmas in 2004, he was transferred to the nursing home, he was too ill to get up. I made one more trip down to visit on Wednesday of that week. I stayed two days, he never woke up. He died on the first day of January, 2005, at nine that morning. It broke my heart, and I mostly hoped that he had made his life right with God before he went to meet him.
To be continued.....
History...Part 3
Hang in there, readers, there really is a point to this story. At least for me. Also, it really does prove that sometimes Truth IS Stranger Than Fiction.
Anyway, I was quite surprised at Dorothy's attitude. She blamed ME that she had been stuck in that place. I got the hell out of that hospital as soon as I could. I spent the rest of that weekend taking care of my dad, and honestly enjoying his company. I was amazed at the relationship we were beginning to have. As far as the situation with my stepmother, I had nothing to do with it. I had not been involved in their lives for quite some time, and she was "placed" at the hospital before I arrived the second time. I discussed this with my dad, and he said that she was really in bad shape, but that hopefully her thinking would improve with medication. I was surprised at the loving way he spoke of her, and I really thought that maybe he was learning how to care about people.
Over the next few months, H and I or just me, by myself made more than twenty-five trips to visit. His attitude remained good....and he did not believe that he was going to die. I spent the best times with him, early in the mornings, before anyone else would be awake. Dorothy had returned home within a week, and she seemed to be doing better, as well, as long as she remained on her medication. He still had several people in all the time to help them, the friends i originally spoke about, Barbara-Dorothy's sister, etc., and they all worked very hard to get them to dr appointments, bring food, help with cleaning. He told me numerous times that he loved me, and wished very much that things between us had been different. That was all that was ever spoken at that time about our past, and i felt it was enough. To use his favorite expression...."what is, is." , or was, in this case.
At one point, the friends told me that he had gone to his attorney to put legal affairs in order, just in case. Sarah, the female half of the couple, went along with him. She sat there as he told the lawyer, that in the event of his death, he wanted me taken well care of, and when Dorothy died, the bulk of his estate would go to me, since I was his only child, and she had none. She also only had one sister, and a few nieces and nephews left---no one else. The attorney agreed to get things drawn up asap. They also spoke of the possible need in the future of Dorothy needing a power of attorney, should her disease progress any further, and should that happen after his death, then Barbara or I would be the natural choice. He told the lawyer that the two of them had discussed this previously, and that Dorothy had agreed.
To be continued....
Anyway, I was quite surprised at Dorothy's attitude. She blamed ME that she had been stuck in that place. I got the hell out of that hospital as soon as I could. I spent the rest of that weekend taking care of my dad, and honestly enjoying his company. I was amazed at the relationship we were beginning to have. As far as the situation with my stepmother, I had nothing to do with it. I had not been involved in their lives for quite some time, and she was "placed" at the hospital before I arrived the second time. I discussed this with my dad, and he said that she was really in bad shape, but that hopefully her thinking would improve with medication. I was surprised at the loving way he spoke of her, and I really thought that maybe he was learning how to care about people.
Over the next few months, H and I or just me, by myself made more than twenty-five trips to visit. His attitude remained good....and he did not believe that he was going to die. I spent the best times with him, early in the mornings, before anyone else would be awake. Dorothy had returned home within a week, and she seemed to be doing better, as well, as long as she remained on her medication. He still had several people in all the time to help them, the friends i originally spoke about, Barbara-Dorothy's sister, etc., and they all worked very hard to get them to dr appointments, bring food, help with cleaning. He told me numerous times that he loved me, and wished very much that things between us had been different. That was all that was ever spoken at that time about our past, and i felt it was enough. To use his favorite expression...."what is, is." , or was, in this case.
At one point, the friends told me that he had gone to his attorney to put legal affairs in order, just in case. Sarah, the female half of the couple, went along with him. She sat there as he told the lawyer, that in the event of his death, he wanted me taken well care of, and when Dorothy died, the bulk of his estate would go to me, since I was his only child, and she had none. She also only had one sister, and a few nieces and nephews left---no one else. The attorney agreed to get things drawn up asap. They also spoke of the possible need in the future of Dorothy needing a power of attorney, should her disease progress any further, and should that happen after his death, then Barbara or I would be the natural choice. He told the lawyer that the two of them had discussed this previously, and that Dorothy had agreed.
To be continued....
History....Part 2
Okay, to tell this saga correctly I need to say that over the past few years, when I would have contact with my dad and stepmother, I would notice that Dorothy (stepmother) would repeat herself, occasionally. And then more often. For example, within an hour of conversation, she would say the same thing or tell the same story four or five times. I realized and even had a conversation with my dad about the possibility that she had Alzheimer's. He could not get her to go to the dr, she didn't realize that she was doing it.
So, back to the story...
We got up early the morning after the phone call from my dad's friends, and left for the little town in southern Missouri. It's about a six hour drive from here and we arrived about noon. I couldn't believe the condition my father was in. He was always a huge, scary man...at least six foot, four inches and a good 275 pounds, not fat, just solidly built. But the man that i was looking at then was a skeleton....and he was old. He looked really old. It had only been perhaps a year or two since i had seen him, and I couldn't believe the changes. And I knew he was gravely ill, the moment I saw him. He was happy and stunned to see me. He asked why I was there, and I told him that i had heard that he was not well, and that I was worried about him. It was a good visit, he seriously was happy to see me. We only stayed a few hours, but left with promises to call, and I told him I would be back soon. Dorothy, on the other hand, did not seem so happy that I was there. Her condition at that time was just downright looney. Seriously. A complete whack job. I met her sister for the first time that day, her name was Barbara, and I could tell that she cared about my dad very much, and also had a difficult time getting along with Dorothy.
Again, to tell this story correctly, I need to say here or at some point, that my dad and dorothy had a strange relationship, I rarely saw little, if any love between them, and he wandered, ALOT. Everyone in town knew that he screwed around on her, and I know she HAD to know about it as well, but never let on like she did, at least with me. He had at least two long term relationships that I knew of over the years, with women that were also married, and one of them, I believed he really loved. She was married to a friend of his...some friend, eh? Her name was Kathy. Okay...so on with the story.
Within days, I got a call from Barbara, telling me that my dad had a hard-to-diagnose form of lung cancer. Prognosis----not so good. Aggressive chemotherapy, perhaps radiation....time would tell. My dad called me and told me that he had loved seeing me and wanted me to come back soon. So, I did-the very next weekend. By that time, Dorothy had taken a real turn for the worse, and Dad a Barbara had forcibly taken her to the retirement home/nursing home so that some tests could be ran, and get her help with medication. She was furious, and really didn't believe that anything was wrong with her. It was a temporary move, one that hopefully wouldn't last too long, but dad needed real help, and she had lost it. She also needed help, hell...she was going to burn the house down, and had no idea that she was out of her mind. She couldn't/wouldn't get him his medications,would not make his meals, or get out of bed when he threw up all night....and when I got this time, Dorothy was already gone. H and I took over for the weekend, and took care of him. It was hard for me to see this, big, scary intimidating man needing anything from anyone. But I did discover, that at least for the time being, he was quite decent to me, and quite grateful for us being there. I was seeing a new person...someone that I didn't know ever existed...one that i even felt a little love from. On that Saturday, I went to the nursing home to see if Dorothy needed anything, and holy-shit was she ever hostile to me! It was my fault she was "put" there, I wanted him all to myself....heavens, I did not expect this. To be continued....
So, back to the story...
We got up early the morning after the phone call from my dad's friends, and left for the little town in southern Missouri. It's about a six hour drive from here and we arrived about noon. I couldn't believe the condition my father was in. He was always a huge, scary man...at least six foot, four inches and a good 275 pounds, not fat, just solidly built. But the man that i was looking at then was a skeleton....and he was old. He looked really old. It had only been perhaps a year or two since i had seen him, and I couldn't believe the changes. And I knew he was gravely ill, the moment I saw him. He was happy and stunned to see me. He asked why I was there, and I told him that i had heard that he was not well, and that I was worried about him. It was a good visit, he seriously was happy to see me. We only stayed a few hours, but left with promises to call, and I told him I would be back soon. Dorothy, on the other hand, did not seem so happy that I was there. Her condition at that time was just downright looney. Seriously. A complete whack job. I met her sister for the first time that day, her name was Barbara, and I could tell that she cared about my dad very much, and also had a difficult time getting along with Dorothy.
Again, to tell this story correctly, I need to say here or at some point, that my dad and dorothy had a strange relationship, I rarely saw little, if any love between them, and he wandered, ALOT. Everyone in town knew that he screwed around on her, and I know she HAD to know about it as well, but never let on like she did, at least with me. He had at least two long term relationships that I knew of over the years, with women that were also married, and one of them, I believed he really loved. She was married to a friend of his...some friend, eh? Her name was Kathy. Okay...so on with the story.
Within days, I got a call from Barbara, telling me that my dad had a hard-to-diagnose form of lung cancer. Prognosis----not so good. Aggressive chemotherapy, perhaps radiation....time would tell. My dad called me and told me that he had loved seeing me and wanted me to come back soon. So, I did-the very next weekend. By that time, Dorothy had taken a real turn for the worse, and Dad a Barbara had forcibly taken her to the retirement home/nursing home so that some tests could be ran, and get her help with medication. She was furious, and really didn't believe that anything was wrong with her. It was a temporary move, one that hopefully wouldn't last too long, but dad needed real help, and she had lost it. She also needed help, hell...she was going to burn the house down, and had no idea that she was out of her mind. She couldn't/wouldn't get him his medications,would not make his meals, or get out of bed when he threw up all night....and when I got this time, Dorothy was already gone. H and I took over for the weekend, and took care of him. It was hard for me to see this, big, scary intimidating man needing anything from anyone. But I did discover, that at least for the time being, he was quite decent to me, and quite grateful for us being there. I was seeing a new person...someone that I didn't know ever existed...one that i even felt a little love from. On that Saturday, I went to the nursing home to see if Dorothy needed anything, and holy-shit was she ever hostile to me! It was my fault she was "put" there, I wanted him all to myself....heavens, I did not expect this. To be continued....
Sunday, July 15, 2007
History, Part 1
This is going to be a long post, and I am trying to decide if I should write it in chapters or parts; long posts can be tedious and hard to read. I will see how it goes. It sounds like a made up story, and I swear on the lives of my children that it is the truth, and not some stolen soap opera storyline.....
If you have read my blog from the beginning, then you already know that i was born to a great mother and a son of a bitch for a father.I have not previously posted all the gory details of my life, but I have told of a few....I have two sisters, and each of us have different fathers, my mother was married to all of them....MY father was particularly assy...he beat the hell out of my mother regularly, he molested my older sister and I....just a mean, mean man. My parents divorced when I was six, and my mother encouraged a relationship between he and I. Yes, I know...I think she tried in her own way to protect me...but that is for another blog post. I grew up afraid of him, guilty for unknown reasons, meek, scared...you name it. Once I was grown, I decided that he was the only father I had and he could no longer hurt me. I tried the best I know how to have any relationship with him. He remarried when I was eight, and I spent a good amount of time with her over the years...she was okay, but I could always feel some sort of undercurrent running between she and I...when I was young, I didn't understand that she was jealous of me...heaven knows why...he didn't care about me any more than he cared about her....maybe it was because she could not have children, which in my opinion was the best thing that ever happened to her, considering who she was married to.
Once I had children, she jumped into the grandma role and my kids really loved her. I tried hard at that relationship for them. She and my dad were pretty wealthy, he had a knack for making money---as far as I could tell, the only thing he really ever had going for him. My stepmother provided alot of things for my kids back when we were struggling. I don't know what we would have done without her, and again, my kids really cared about her.
Over the years, my dad and I attempted some kind of relationship, but I was never good enough. The first strike against me was the fact that i was a girl. Hence, the name Jamie. His name was James, I was to be James, jr. Except for one small problem---I didn't have the correct equipment in the important areas. The day that I was born, he lost more than a thousand dollars on bets with his friends that I would be a boy. In 1960, that was ALOT of money. He never got over that, or missed an opportunity to tell me that i was born wrong. He blamed my mother and I----the stupid shit, as if SHE was the determining factor.(I never said he was too smart :))
We would get along somewhat, then something that i did would set him off....and we would not speak for a while. My ex-husband and I even ended up living in their town, WORKING for him for awhile, but again, that is another story. After I could no longer take his mental and verbal abuse, we left the area, and our relationship became sporadic again. I used to berate myself for not being able to be good enough to keep him in my life, and I would feel such a strange love/HATE when I was around him. Mostly, he and my stepmother made me nervous. I could not relax when I had to deal with them. Once I realized that, I had a long talk with God, and I came to understand that for me, the relationship was not healthy. By then, my kids were grown, and they could choose to be around her or not. I just couldn't take any more of the guilt, my nerves.....and I never formally ended it, I just quit trying to communicate with them. One of them would call from time to time and sometimes I would take the call, sometimes I wouldn't. But I felt that it was okay...the whole mess was okay...I had made my peace with God about it, and I wasn't doing anything wrong. I really did love him, I never doubted that. But he was not possible to love---at least not to show love to, or be kind to....he was such a screwed up human being. It still hurt that he didn't care about me,but some things are just not meant to be.
Fast forward to 2004. I got a call from a good friend of his, they are a wonderful, wonderful, did I mention WONDERFUL couple...that loved him, were seriously FRIENDS of his....and had been for many years. I know them pretty well from being there...and I often wondered how they managed to be close to him, and no one else could. At first I thought that there must be something wrong with them...but I am serious when I say that their friendship was genuine, and so was his with them. They had kids that cared about him (daughters....and sometimes I wonder about that, but again, I am getting off the subject)so I knew that in some ways, he could be normal, apparently just not with me. But anyway, they called me in August of 2004. They said that he was quite ill, and the medical community was unable to figure out why. They asked that I call him, and please don't tell him that they called me. I talked with H, and we decided to make a quick trip there the following morning. They live in a small town in southern Missouri, the town that I am from, sort of, and the only place I ever felt a real connection with, by the way, but that is of no importance to the story. To be continued.....
If you have read my blog from the beginning, then you already know that i was born to a great mother and a son of a bitch for a father.I have not previously posted all the gory details of my life, but I have told of a few....I have two sisters, and each of us have different fathers, my mother was married to all of them....MY father was particularly assy...he beat the hell out of my mother regularly, he molested my older sister and I....just a mean, mean man. My parents divorced when I was six, and my mother encouraged a relationship between he and I. Yes, I know...I think she tried in her own way to protect me...but that is for another blog post. I grew up afraid of him, guilty for unknown reasons, meek, scared...you name it. Once I was grown, I decided that he was the only father I had and he could no longer hurt me. I tried the best I know how to have any relationship with him. He remarried when I was eight, and I spent a good amount of time with her over the years...she was okay, but I could always feel some sort of undercurrent running between she and I...when I was young, I didn't understand that she was jealous of me...heaven knows why...he didn't care about me any more than he cared about her....maybe it was because she could not have children, which in my opinion was the best thing that ever happened to her, considering who she was married to.
Once I had children, she jumped into the grandma role and my kids really loved her. I tried hard at that relationship for them. She and my dad were pretty wealthy, he had a knack for making money---as far as I could tell, the only thing he really ever had going for him. My stepmother provided alot of things for my kids back when we were struggling. I don't know what we would have done without her, and again, my kids really cared about her.
Over the years, my dad and I attempted some kind of relationship, but I was never good enough. The first strike against me was the fact that i was a girl. Hence, the name Jamie. His name was James, I was to be James, jr. Except for one small problem---I didn't have the correct equipment in the important areas. The day that I was born, he lost more than a thousand dollars on bets with his friends that I would be a boy. In 1960, that was ALOT of money. He never got over that, or missed an opportunity to tell me that i was born wrong. He blamed my mother and I----the stupid shit, as if SHE was the determining factor.(I never said he was too smart :))
We would get along somewhat, then something that i did would set him off....and we would not speak for a while. My ex-husband and I even ended up living in their town, WORKING for him for awhile, but again, that is another story. After I could no longer take his mental and verbal abuse, we left the area, and our relationship became sporadic again. I used to berate myself for not being able to be good enough to keep him in my life, and I would feel such a strange love/HATE when I was around him. Mostly, he and my stepmother made me nervous. I could not relax when I had to deal with them. Once I realized that, I had a long talk with God, and I came to understand that for me, the relationship was not healthy. By then, my kids were grown, and they could choose to be around her or not. I just couldn't take any more of the guilt, my nerves.....and I never formally ended it, I just quit trying to communicate with them. One of them would call from time to time and sometimes I would take the call, sometimes I wouldn't. But I felt that it was okay...the whole mess was okay...I had made my peace with God about it, and I wasn't doing anything wrong. I really did love him, I never doubted that. But he was not possible to love---at least not to show love to, or be kind to....he was such a screwed up human being. It still hurt that he didn't care about me,but some things are just not meant to be.
Fast forward to 2004. I got a call from a good friend of his, they are a wonderful, wonderful, did I mention WONDERFUL couple...that loved him, were seriously FRIENDS of his....and had been for many years. I know them pretty well from being there...and I often wondered how they managed to be close to him, and no one else could. At first I thought that there must be something wrong with them...but I am serious when I say that their friendship was genuine, and so was his with them. They had kids that cared about him (daughters....and sometimes I wonder about that, but again, I am getting off the subject)so I knew that in some ways, he could be normal, apparently just not with me. But anyway, they called me in August of 2004. They said that he was quite ill, and the medical community was unable to figure out why. They asked that I call him, and please don't tell him that they called me. I talked with H, and we decided to make a quick trip there the following morning. They live in a small town in southern Missouri, the town that I am from, sort of, and the only place I ever felt a real connection with, by the way, but that is of no importance to the story. To be continued.....
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
History.....mine
Well, well, well---can you tell that i am caught up at work? Two days in a row, I have been here in the middle of my work day. It is slow today, Tuesday's usually are. And hotter than blazes outside and in the service department, so I am trying to stay in my office, at least for the time being. I was part of a conversation today about concert's and live music shows, and that got me to thinking about all that I have been to over the years. I don't do them anymore, large crowds and noise and live music are no longer my thing, but oh...so many years ago, they were all I thought about. And I have certainly done my share of concert going. I decided to try and remember them all, but I'm not sure that I can. I grew up in Phoenix, remember...and that town is a performer's dream, outdoor arenas, good weather year round....
The first one I went to was Nazareth back in 1974. I was fourteen years old, and not smart enough NOT to stand next to the amplifiers, I went home deaf that day. I was shocked at the drugs---for sale, being used...home made signs advertising what was up for sale. I was too young to be a druggie (yet) and I never really was too interested in them, I honestly did go for the music. I fell in love with live entertainers on that day and it was a love that lasted a long, long time. Why my mother ever let me go in the first place, I have no idea. But I sure was glad she did.
Over the years I saw many, many more. One of the best: The Eagles. I saw them twice. I saw ELO, Thin Lizzy, Golden Earring---they were a one hit wonder, I know, but they put on one hell of a show. I saw Merle Haggard, many times, Willie and Waylon, many times, George Jones, George Straight, Alan Jackson, Garth Brooks, Brooks and Dunn, Dire Straights, Bruce Springstein---another of the better shows, ever---KC and the Sunshine Band, yes I know, Disco Sucks, but it didn't back then, Bad Company, Yes, and on and on and on. Oh, and I saw Elvis. I waited in line for two nights and three days in a parking lot for those tickets, for my mother's birthday, and I sure was glad I had---I saw him in April of '77, and he died in August. He was one hell of a showman, something I will never forget. Just a little bit of history....about me!
The first one I went to was Nazareth back in 1974. I was fourteen years old, and not smart enough NOT to stand next to the amplifiers, I went home deaf that day. I was shocked at the drugs---for sale, being used...home made signs advertising what was up for sale. I was too young to be a druggie (yet) and I never really was too interested in them, I honestly did go for the music. I fell in love with live entertainers on that day and it was a love that lasted a long, long time. Why my mother ever let me go in the first place, I have no idea. But I sure was glad she did.
Over the years I saw many, many more. One of the best: The Eagles. I saw them twice. I saw ELO, Thin Lizzy, Golden Earring---they were a one hit wonder, I know, but they put on one hell of a show. I saw Merle Haggard, many times, Willie and Waylon, many times, George Jones, George Straight, Alan Jackson, Garth Brooks, Brooks and Dunn, Dire Straights, Bruce Springstein---another of the better shows, ever---KC and the Sunshine Band, yes I know, Disco Sucks, but it didn't back then, Bad Company, Yes, and on and on and on. Oh, and I saw Elvis. I waited in line for two nights and three days in a parking lot for those tickets, for my mother's birthday, and I sure was glad I had---I saw him in April of '77, and he died in August. He was one hell of a showman, something I will never forget. Just a little bit of history....about me!
Monday, June 25, 2007
Monday memories
I have been working my 'lil butt off today, as often as I say that, you would think it would be getting smaller, now---wouldn't you? But anyway, it is five pm, my brain is dead, and I am here for another three hours....I hate when I have nothing to do, or when I can no longer do it. Actually, I am pretty caught up, and that's unusual. I was just sitting here, wondering what I am forgetting....
It is hot and miserable here, rather unusual for the first part of summer, way too early. I am wondering what July and August will be like if the heatwave is so strong now. I hate humid weather, and really don't love the heat anymore, although that is a new development, one that has apparently come about with age. I grew up in Phoenix, Arizona, and the heat was just part of life....it never bothered me. My family moved there when i was fourteen, and i was a bit of a tomboy---and I never, ever wore shoes. As soon as I could get out of class, I always took them off, and I walked home. It only took one time in Phoenix, I burned my feet so badly that I had bags of water hanging off of them, and I was out of school for more than a week after that, My mother, being the sweet, kind, loving mother that she was said, "Idiot----what were you thinking? Wasn't the sidewalk hot"? Well, it wasn't. I couldn't feel it, and yes, I really probably was an idiot....And i say that about my mom in jest, she really was loving, but she had a bit of a rough way about her....I look back on that memory with grin. There were so many times that she said that to me....I was always doing something rather stupid. :) I tried to remember that when my kids were growing up...and I certainly had plenty of times to do that!
I hope that you all have had a good day, I shall get on with mine----later!
It is hot and miserable here, rather unusual for the first part of summer, way too early. I am wondering what July and August will be like if the heatwave is so strong now. I hate humid weather, and really don't love the heat anymore, although that is a new development, one that has apparently come about with age. I grew up in Phoenix, Arizona, and the heat was just part of life....it never bothered me. My family moved there when i was fourteen, and i was a bit of a tomboy---and I never, ever wore shoes. As soon as I could get out of class, I always took them off, and I walked home. It only took one time in Phoenix, I burned my feet so badly that I had bags of water hanging off of them, and I was out of school for more than a week after that, My mother, being the sweet, kind, loving mother that she was said, "Idiot----what were you thinking? Wasn't the sidewalk hot"? Well, it wasn't. I couldn't feel it, and yes, I really probably was an idiot....And i say that about my mom in jest, she really was loving, but she had a bit of a rough way about her....I look back on that memory with grin. There were so many times that she said that to me....I was always doing something rather stupid. :) I tried to remember that when my kids were growing up...and I certainly had plenty of times to do that!
I hope that you all have had a good day, I shall get on with mine----later!
Sunday, June 10, 2007
1983
It was 1983---I had been married for four years and had a three year old daughter. I was 23, my husband was 33. We had a pretty good marriage, he was the older one, I took most of my direction from him---it seemed a natural fit, almost like a father. I loved him----and he knew it, each and every day. We had a small circle of friends, I had not been overly social growing up, but the few that we did hand around with were good friends, we had alot of fun together. Husband worked with them, I worked elsewhere. One weekend, we made plans to go away together, but I was unable to get away from work. He decided to go anyway, which was unusual. I was young then, I didn't ask many questions. I was okay with it. They were gone for two nights, and I didn't hear from Husband except for one, short, terse, tense phone call. It worried me, his strange mood, but then all of his moods worried me, because if Husband was upset, EVERYONE was upset. The moods were generally directed at me, or at least taken out on me, and I reacted ALWAYS trying to fix things. Everything. He got home late on Sunday, and he was in a foul mood. As usual, I pussyfooted around him, trying to figure out what was wrong, but he went to bed. On Monday morning, the same thing. We both went to work, and I went on about my day. After work, I picked our daughter up from daycare, went home to make dinner. He was not there. Unusual. I cooked and waited, and he was still not there. I called the friends that he had spent the weekend with. I was quite worried, he ALWAYS came home, he was never late, but then he had been acting quite strange. Talking with the friend on the phone, I could tell that SOMETHING was wrong, as they sounded cold, distant, and rather pissy with me. They had not seen him after work. I didn't know what to do, but I knew that the friends knew what the hell was up. So, I took daughter and drove over there. They looked rather sheepish and surprised to see me. I screamed that I wanted to know what the hell was going on...and the male half of the couple, who really was a good, good guy, sat me down and asked how our marriage was going. I told him things were fine, great, except for the past few days, which I had no idea why, or what was going on. He very gently told me that husband had spent the weekend with them at this great hotel a couple of hours away, WITH ANOTHER PARTY FROM OUR GROUP, a single woman that I didn't know too well, that worked with husband and friends. I was stunned. STUNNED. He went on to explain that Husband had told them that we were separating, our marriage was over. That certainly was news to me----as things had been just fine. I assumed that he was currently with her, and asked where to find her---and friend have me Betty's address. Betty, how I fucking hate that name to this day---it sounds old, and ugly, but I am getting ahead of myself. So I left daughter with friends and I drove to her home. It was a nice place, and there was the little red 1965 corvette that husband drove, sitting right there, plain as day, in the driveway. I knocked, and her daughter answered the door. She was about twelve---I had met her before, she had been to my house with her mother once before, when we had a barbecue for friends. I asked to see her mother, and she told me that her mother was "busy". I pushed my way past her, went into the kitchen, which was a freaking' wreck, they had obviously had a fried chicken dinner, and all things were left where they were, three plates, three glasses, bowls still half full sitting on the dining table. I had never been there before, but I assumed that they were upstairs as I didn't see them anywhere, so I went upstairs, with the daughter telling me that I couldn't do that. There was one closed door---and I burst through it. There was my husband, in a bed, with that fucking woman. Naked---both of them, but he was trying to get his underwear on, and not succeeding very well. She laid there like she was made of stone, afraid to move, covers pulled up to her chin. I just stood there, and I didn't say anything for a minute.....and he was sputtering and stammering, and still trying to get those damned underwear on both legs. I very quietly said "at my house, we clean up the dinner dishes before we fuck." He started screaming at me to get the hell out---and I asked him how he liked forty year old saggy tits, to which he replied something really ugly...and I hit him. In the face, with my inch long fingernails, and drew blood right down the side of his face, then I left. I drove back and picked up my daughter and went home. That has to be one of the ugliest memories I have, and I have many. I couldn't understand what he wanted with HER. She was old, fat, not very attractive. I was young, and back then, pretty damned hot. I learned alot from that experience. Alot. In many ways, it has shaped what i am today. I don't trust anyone, and I mean ANYONE. I also learned that there are many women that can and will lure stupid men away....not all men....just the stupid ones. I also learned that I don't like drama, and I will no longer participate in it, because that scene wasn't pretty. He eventually came home that night, slept on the couch, and I threw his ass out in the morning. We separated and divorced. Three months after we were divorced, I married him again. I know, I know. It's a long story, that involves love and stupidity, and fear of losing my daughter, as I still believed his shit, to a degree. We went on to have two more children, and many, many good years before it happened again. Fool me once, shame on you, Fool me twice, shame on ME, but how can I feel that way when I have two more of the greatest kids on this planet? I loved him, through and through. Dumb, dumb, dumb, but not really. I would probably do it again....without a few of the "rough spots, that is. We eventually divorced for the last time in 1993. Live and learn. Love and learn. Same damned thing.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Peace
Holidays that fall on Monday always seem to strange to me, like I SHOULD be getting myself to work, but I'm not....a little like playing hooky, but without the fun. I am really not in the mood for a day off today, how strange is that? I frankly have too much to do. I could go in today, anyway, but H would rather I didn't, and I guess it will all wait. All things on the job front remain a little messed up, and i will be glad when all the crap is over.
I DID have a good time yesterday, it was quite nice, and the bond that my sisters and I share never cease to amaze me. The older we get, the more we understand it. It is a bit of a surprise to me---as my older sister and i really have never been anything like the other, but that seems to be a narrower gap with age. And it really doesn't matter. She and I went through so much during our young lives, and that really does make a difference. Our younger sister was a part of a different life, the later one, the much better one. Certainly not her fault, but she was not there for most of the issues of before. But anyway, it was a good day. Well worth the seven and a half driving hours.
I would like to be able to take this Memorial day and do the traditional-----I am six hours aways from the cemetery where my father and brother and grandparents are, but I would like to be there----I obviously could, but someday I will explain why I feel I can't, it's a long story, much more involved and raw than I feel like going into today---but I guess it really doesn't matter. Family relationships can be such a mess at times.... I despise the drama that goes along with all of it, and i have spent my adult life running from the bullshit of it all. I learned a long, long time ago, that confrontations with family members leave me feeling bad-the understatement of the year-and that in 99 percent of the cases, it just isn't worth it. I know what I know, and that cannot be changed. I have tried in the particular case i am talking about, I can do no more. My motto of my forties: Let it go. So I have.
I hope that each of you have the best of Memorial days, and that if you are into the traditional doings of this day, that it leaves you feeling peace. For those of us that have family members in the military, I thank you and them for all that you have sacrificed----without them, none of us would be what we are today.
Peace.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Eyes wide open
I am becoming my parents. Shit. Not just my mother, or my father, but a combination of BOTH of them. And while each of them has/had many qualities that I wouldn't mind carrying forward, I am NOT talking about those. No, I am talking about the BAD ones. It sucks when you realize that a statement you just made could have come out of your mother's mouth. Or the attitude you are wearing on a particular day was your father's, exactly. How in the hell does that happen, when you have spent very LIFE trying NOT to be what they were? But you know the really, really scary thing about this discovery? I don't care. I really don't care that I am more like them every day. I am what I am. (Green eggs and ham). Seriously, I just am. I am tired of having to "fix" me. I am a kind person, I am not purposefully mean spirited, bitchy, or the tyrant that either of them could be at any given time. But I am very strict with myself, (my father), and I am pretty strict with those around me,(again my father), and I expect everyone to do the right thing (good old dad, again, although he expected that of others, never himself), and I am the glue that keeps my family together, (my mother), I love my kids more than life itself (my mother, which really is a terrible burden sometimes, but that's another post), and i just want to be left alone for the most part (my father), and i think most relationships are not worth my time (my father)...shall I go on? It's interesting to me that i am more like my father than my mom---years ago, I would have shot myself for thinking like this. But while he was a true prick with a capital "P", even the bad in him can be turned to the good. He could make any problem go away-he was a rescuer-my mother was ALWAYS the rescuee-and thank goodness that if I have to be like either one of them in that respect, I am also the rescuer. I hate helpless women, people in general....In any event, just an interesting train of thought while I couldn't sleep last night.....
New medication is creating problems with sleep, and I don't need help in that area. I already have enough sleepless nights. My pain level is through the roof, so far NOT the results I had hoped for, but I plan to give it waaay more time, frankly - if this one doesn't work, I don't know what will.
Work is making me crazy, also don't need any help there - I've got plenty of crazy to spare.
Damn, I am tired this morning. I may try to sleep a little while longer, I have about an hour before I need to get it in gear. Have a wonderful Thursday!
New medication is creating problems with sleep, and I don't need help in that area. I already have enough sleepless nights. My pain level is through the roof, so far NOT the results I had hoped for, but I plan to give it waaay more time, frankly - if this one doesn't work, I don't know what will.
Work is making me crazy, also don't need any help there - I've got plenty of crazy to spare.
Damn, I am tired this morning. I may try to sleep a little while longer, I have about an hour before I need to get it in gear. Have a wonderful Thursday!
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