Grieving…

Tomorrow I go say goodbye to my oldest cousin.  How old is he?  I honestly couldn’t tell you…. What I can tell you is he was to young to die.  He was to young to experience the pain he felt before his death and he was to young to say goodbye to his children, sisters, brothers, and family. 

Ray is the oldest of 50 plus cousins, first and second generation.  When his dad died I didn’t live in state and didn’t go to the funeral.  When his dad’s brother died I lived out of state and didn’t go to the funeral and when his other dads brother died I again lived out of state and wasn’t there to go to the funeral.  Now at 33 I’m going to say goodbye to Ray Jr. and feel like I’m saying goodbye to all of them at once.  To my uncles, all 3, whom I have very fond memories of.  My uncles who loved me and wanted to protect me.  My uncles who knew the secrets I was facing but had their own.  There’s still 7 more brothers and sisters alive and well.  There’s still 50 plus cousins alive and well but I can’t help but realize this is the beginning of me having to say goodbye.  I can’t mentally or emotionally wrap my head around that.  

Since his passing days ago I’ve been in a daze, I’ve been torn and in shambles.  I don’t want to go say goodbye.  I don’t want to go and look in the eyes of one of my closest cousins, his brother, and say I’m sorry when for over 7 months now I could have went to see Jr. but never did.  I’m an empath to the core and will leave there taking every bit of pain, grief, emotion everyone is feeling and not know where to place it for days.  I will be so frustrated with myself if I go on with life and don’t continue to mourn “properly”. 

I just wish sometimes I was still far away. That I still had an excuse not to look reality in the face, or in this case the casket.  RIP Jr. RIP Uncle Ray RIP Uncle Ed and RIP my beloved, favorite(shhh), loving, amazing Uncle Joe 😘😘 

Until we see each other again.

I’m Guinevere…

“For as much as she stumbled she’s runnin’ For as much as she runs she’s still here Always hoping to find something Quicker than heaven To make the damage of her days disappear….Just like Guinevere….Just like Guinevere”

No I’m not Guinevere because I’m out slutting it up with married men. No I’m not Guinevere because I’m sleeping around. The history of Guinevere is that she ran and ran looking for a way to right her wrongs. She wanted so badly to make things right.  
I listen to the words of the song by Eli Young Band over and over and can’t help but relate. I run, I hide, I reject, I move.
I don’t hang on to anything that requires commitment. So many times I find myself in a position where someone just wants to love me but I turn away. My life has become a habit of catch and release. I don’t mean it, it’s not intentional. I hate what I’ve become, I hate that I can’t stop the behavior. I hate that this is what life has become and that I madly, truly, deeply want to find someone to love, to hold and to share my life with. I hate that I blame my past on my reality. That my only definition of love has been hurt, neglect, abuse, pain, dishonesty, ….
I don’t want to hurt others because of my hurt.  That’s not who I want to be.  That’s not me.

….”Following the death of Arthur, Guinevere entered a convent, where she spent the rest of her life praying and helping the poor. Filled with remorse for the trouble she and her lover had caused, she vowed never to see Lancelot again. When Guinevere died, she was buried beside King Arthur.”

In the mind of my Fatherless son…

Dear Dad,

Mom told me I have your hands and sometimes when I laugh I sound just like you. I overheard her telling someone you said I was your pride and joy, but I’m not sure what that means because I’ve never met you. I dressed up for my Christmas play today and put on a tie, mom didn’t know how to tie it, I told her if I had a dad he’d do it for me so it’s ok. Don’t worry dad, I pray for you every night and ask God that you’ll be good.  Someday we’ll be together and I’ll get to hold that hand that looks just like mine.

Love,

A Fatherless Son

Hate

I hate you.

I hate what you’ve done to me.

I hate that you made me leave you.

I hate that you moved on.

I hate that I blame you still.

I hate that because of you I sleep with one eye open.  That because of you every room in my home has a knife, or hammer, or escape route.

I hate that our sons hands look so much like yours.  That our daughters desire for attention resembles your neediness.

I hate that you never learned to take responsibility.

I hate that I still wonder about you.

I hate that our children don’t have you but you decided to go have another child.

I hate when another child mentions their father our kids change the subject.

I hate how you expected me to throw this all under the rug to be there for you.

I hate the way you look.  The way you smile.  The arrogance you portray.  

I hate that I cannot get over this fear that you put in me.

I hate knowing that one day I will have to face you.  That one day our kids will want to know where you are.  Who you are.  What you do.  Why you couldn’t be in there life.  

I hate that you will blame me.

I hate you so much for that.

Don’t touch me…

Have you ever said that to your child?  Have you ever pushed their hand away when they are reaching to hold yours?  Have you ever pushed away their body when they are coming in for a hug?

My daughter was writing a birthday card to her grandma the other day and it was a questionnaire that went something like “My grandma gives better hugs….” and she had to fill in the blank.  She filled it with “then my mom”.  A little heart wrenching to read and take in.  She’s right though, I hate being touched.  I push away affection.  I push away my kids.

It’s not something I do on purpose.  It’s not something I don’t try to catch and correct.  I want them to know I love them, I want them to come to me for hugs and kisses and I love you’s.  I never want them to seek affection and attention elsewhere, especially my beautiful little girl. 

I feel like time is moving so fast.  Time to tell them I’m wounded and have no excuse not to show them the affection and love they deserve.  That my words aren’t empty and I’ll do better.  That I’m terrified of the day that they stop asking and maybe even stop wanting it.

It’s not to late and being honest, because well these are my words, I cringe at the thought of someone laying at my feet or on my arm or leaving me feeling suffocated I know it’s something I have to move past.  

💙

Home …

In the past two months my level of anxiety has increased, my OCD for a perfect space around me has gotten out of hand, and my nights of restless staring at screens or flipping through channels until 5am have become a norm.  I almost feel manic.  

On one hand I’m feeling like I’m literally in the best head space I’ve ever been in.  I’m feeling alive, beautiful, like my life has purpose.  I feel like I can take on the world.  At work things are going better then ever, at home my kids are behaving and happy.  

On the other hand I walk in the door to my home and look around to find a million things wrong with what’s supposed to be my safe haven.  The dishes aren’t done, there is a shirt on the floor, there is a book bag on the table, the backyard has water balloons everywhere… 9pm rolls around and I grab my nightly wine and the remote.  I read every single storyline for movies on Netflix just to choose some sort of crime or series killer show.  This goes on until 1 maybe 2 sometimes until the sun comes up.  I fall asleep on the couch.  I am not at peace.

Today I realized this is the longest in my adult life that I have felt tied down to a place.  I’ve been able to move and move and move.  I’ve been evicted, I’ve ran away, I left mid-lease, I’ve been kicked out, I’ve left in hopes to make life as a single parent easier.  I don’t like the feeling.

I’ve ran and ran away from the place that was supposed to remind me of a safe place, my “home.”  Now I’m feeling conflicted knowing I can’t push my fears of my past on two little people who just want to call something their own, their home.

If I could just say what I was thinking…

I’ve never said exactly what I was thinking.   There were times when I just wanted to grab you, shout at you, and make you see what I see.  I tip toed around and around, swept things under the rug over and over, and never just sat across from you and directly said the things that I needed.  My non-negotiables.  My boundaries.  My wants.

When I’m ready, and hopefully one day I am, I’ll tell you all the things I wish I would have long ago.  I’ll tell you about the pain and hurt I felt by your lack of sincerity.  There are so many times I think about when I go back through our time growing up, some happy, some sad, and some I wish I could forget.  Many situations when your actions were down right cruel and unforgiving.  When I think back of the things I’ve wanted to say, I can’t believe I didn’t set my boundaries long ago.  If I could just say everything I was ever thinking…

I would tell you that you’re selfish.

I would tell you that I’ve never really counted on you for valuable advice.

I would tell you that I’m disappointed that you’ve chosen to be so cold hearted.

….that you’ve sat around feeling so sorry for strangers, but you never showed me the compassion I needed for what happened to me.

…that I could never count on you.

I would tell you that I don’t understand why you’re so emotionally unavailable.

I would tell you that I hate how defensive you are.

….that you lack empathy.

….that you self absorbed, fake, and probably just have no idea your self worth

I would tell you that you have no idea how much I love you.  That I never wanted recognition for the things I did for you, I just wanted you to give me the same effort I gave you.  That since I first met you I couldn’t take my eyes off of you because whether you believe it or know it or don’t you really are beautiful, but I want your soul to reflect how beautiful you are on the outside and I know that it can.  I would tell you that I can’t accept any less any more.  That for so long I’ve allowed such a lack of respect and unconditional love that you gave me what I allowed.

Someone recently told me I’m at a turning point in my life, the scariest part is setting boundaries for the ones I love the most and would do anything for.  People like you.

 

 

 

Soul Searching…

How do you find yourself at 32?

Small memories of my childhood peak through, occasionally I question if the memories are in fact memories or dreams of what I wished for.

At 4 I tried to suffocate my baby brother by putting a pillow over his bassinet, ok I don’t think in the mind of a 4 year old I had any intentions of hurting him but that’s the way he remembers it.

At 5 I got these cool, probably lame, biker shorts.  That’s alllll I wanted for my birthday.

Sometime after that I moved to Oklahoma.  I remember a water bed, my little brothers vivid nightmares that terrified me, my aunt coming to visit and letting me have wine coolers, my sister pulling me into the restroom and telling me if anything ever happened to me that I promised to tell her.  I had no idea what she was talking about.

At 11 I remember sleeping on the floor.  I loved soccer, boys, and my big sister.  I couldn’t decide if I was goth, a prep, athletic, or a nerd.  Back then at that age you felt like you had to decide.  I remember girls running from me so they didn’t have to eat lunch with me.  I remember eating against a brick wall with the group that liked to listen to Nirvana and paint their nails black.  I remember being called to the office and them telling me that someone said my dad touched me, I lied and said that the bruises were from playing and whoever said that was lying.

At 13 I was distant.  I hated life, people, where I lived, my dad.  I loved my best friend Andrea and my big brother.  Things were never normal.  Things were never going to be normal.

I never had the opportunity to figure out who I was, who I am.

I never had the opportunity to be a child, to want to “marry my dad”, to dream of my future husband, white picket fence, and kids running in the back.

32 and soul searching, not feeling sorry, or sorrow.  Just wanting the opportunity to know myself.  Wanting to know what I wanted to be when I grew up, or my absolute favorite food as a child, maybe even remember a day when I felt beautiful and not shamed or used or violated.  Patience.

 

 

 

N****R

Let’s just be honest… Let’s just be real…

My kids are bi-racial.  They have a little spicy Hispanic and a little beautiful African American.  They are intelligent, loving, wild, bold, and a pain in the ass.  No not because they’re biracial but rather because they are 9 and 11.  They’re kids.  They’re confusing.  They’re resilient.  So when I went to go shut off my 11 year olds light tonight and she opened her eyes and told me blah called her a nigger today, I was crushed.  I’m a jokester and my first response was “Do you want me to kick her ass?”  My daughter laughed and said “NO Mom!”  We talked a bit about it and I asked her if she knows that comment was wrong and not true, she said I know and moved on.  The fact is I’m her mom, I know what keeps her up at night.  That statement confused her and she didn’t know how to deal with it.  The other fact is kids learn their behaviors from home, and this little girl might have zero knowledge of what it means to say that to someone.  She may just think she’s heard it at home and there was no consequences for it being said.  In my house we don’t get mad at children for racial comments instead we educate, tell an adult, and work through how we feel about what was said.

So pay attention.  Educate. Love.  

Remind your children they’re more then a label.  Remind them they are worthy.

I’m doing the best I can…

I feel like around every corner there is someone who wants to judge my efforts.  That between the hours I spend working, driving, getting the kids to appointments, getting myself to appointments, getting them to sports, finding ways to let them have fun, and giving myself a break that it’s not enough.  I don’t go out, I don’t hang out, I don’t have friends, I don’t party, I don’t date, I don’t sleep, I don’t have sex, I don’t think, I don’t have time.

Sometimes I drown myself in work and sometimes I drown myself in a bottle of wine.  Other times I drown myself in a game on my phone or put on headphones to drown in the noise.  The word mom plays over and over in my head, the word mom rings over and over in my ears.

There is no mercy.  

There are only high expectations.  

I’m expected to be aware.  I’m expected to be present.  I’m expected to give 150% of my whole self every day.  But not just to parenting and providing, but both at the same time.  Stop thinking work is the only thing that matters!! What about your kids?!!  How are you going to pay for that?!! Work harder!! Mom I want a dog, can I have it?! Mom I want you to quit your job and stay with me all day, please mom please … 😢

I’m doing the best I can, that’s all I can do.