just a little thought for now.

So I didn't really over eat last night.  But I did way over drink.  And I over drank the day before.  But ya know what?  That's okay.  Because tonight, I am having one glass of wine as I wind down from a long drive, I will watch some silly t.v. and then I will go to bed.  Tomorrow, because I want and need to, I will bust my ass cleaning up, doing laundry, changing bed sheets.  And some people out there will always see what I am doing as not good enough, or they will see me as falling into the alcoholic denial that my mother lived.  They can be wrong, I'm okay with that.  Because I am my mother's daughter, there will always be things about me that are like her.  However, some key differences:  my husband died, he did not cheat on me repeatedly and leave me.  I do not live with my over bearing mother.  I will never deny the possibility that I am messed up, or the possibility of and desire to find love again.  I am adventurous, strong, and I reach out to the world and ask for help.  These are all things my mother lacked.

I find that right now, my insides are confused and sort of numb.  The responsibilities that I have to carry, now that John is gone, feel just massive most days.  I have three kids to raise, not enough money, no family that can be here on a regular basis to lend a hand.  I have amazing friends and a loving community who do everything they can to step in and support me.  But, like I said before in this blog, I am the only one who can truly carry this weight.  I do not give my young son attention when he doesn't eat.  I put down healthy options including veggies on a regular basis.  I yell too much and get too angry too fast, but I tell the kids that I am fighting a hard battle right now and that I will always work on trying to not be that way.  Would you like to know what will really help me mellow those things?  Finding a partner.  Finding my groove.  Time and hope and love.  And even with those things, I will screw up.  Because that is what humans do.  We mess up.  And if we are open to the pain and processes of life, we attempt to learn from our mistakes and do better the next time. 

The difficulty is that life never ever slows down.  And I will just not be able to accurately keep up.  That does NOT mean I will ever stop trying.  I won't.  But I am a good person.  I am real, honest, strong, quite a bit on the crazy side of things, smart, beautiful, and far more able to do things on my own than either my mother, or than anyone would ever have believed, given how emotional I have always been.  But here is the thing:  being emotional does NOT mean you are weak.  I am often vulnerable in ways that others are not.  But that also enables open pathways for me that others don't even see.  It doesn't make me better.  It just makes me, me.

I deeply wish that everyone could see that.  John saw that.  And his love for me made me whole, gave me a foundation like I have never known in my life.  And I will try my very best to build on HIS foundation, not the other one.  I will find my way, one mistake, triumph, and hissy fit at a time. 

Just thought I'd like to put that out in the universe before starting my silly tv shows.

Good night. 

cold weather fire

I called to scale down the cable content, and thus the cable bill.  I had to change it from John's name into mine.  I will have to send them a copy of the death certificate.  So of course,  I had to look at the death certificate.

Getting the kids' haircuts, I had John's name on the frequent customer card and before I could say anything, the ladies just kept saying his name and I thought my brain would explode- pulling on my ears, I said "That's my husband and he is dead, will you please stop saying his name?!"

Driving to the store, I had tears pouring down my face.  When I stopped the car, Cecilia unclipped and reached across from the back and put her head on my shoulder.  Such comfort, such tiny hands, so sweet to kiss.

Sometimes, not that I would do anything because it would be a slap in the face to him and to everyone fighting cancer for their lives, it is so very hard not to wish that I were dead with him.  I just have such a hard time understanding this new world, that seems almost the same in way too many ways, which does not include him.

I lay down to sleep, and wake up in the morning, longing for his hand to reach for, wishing I had him to talk about the day with...so I pick up the phone and check in on the world through facebook and email.  It is a comfort, but a lonely, cold, strange one.

I dreamed last night of a tall, strong man offering to hug me, crying on his shoulder...feeling the pull to have him touch me, pulling back and saying perhaps my father will offer me his shoulder this weekend.  But he didn't want to let go, and he did reach for me, although it was forbidden.

My broken heart is melting.

Perhaps that means that some day, I will be able to pour the liquid remnants of it into a new mold, to have new hope.

Now, it is just an all consuming burn, fire in the middle of everything I do, a secret and searing quiet death in my chest.

a sort of marathon

too much for a facebook post.  Will the pain of losing him ever be gone?  I know it won't.  But my heart still asks that.  And the reality is that I believed in marriage, so much...I believed that I would have him by my side forever, that I chose so well in the man I married that I would never have to wonder again if I was lovable, if I was attractive, if I was special...because I could always call to him and it would be there...the day he touched me so well I didn't know if I would see straight again, and we took a video after and he pretended to put his shirt on with his head through the arm hole because the earth had moved...I said, in that video, "the man of my dreams"....and I knew...and we hadn't even made love yet...almost, but not yet. 

And he made me laugh, and made me BELIEVE.  That last one is so damn huge...it isn't just a regular loss.  I mean, perhaps it is, but I feel like I have been through a lot.  And I feel like his patience and purity, his stubbornness and love for me lifted lifetimes of disbelief...I feel like even if I knew someone had fantasized about me for decades, their desire wouldn't be enough...all I have right now is dreams, memories, fantasies...those are very, for lack of a better word, nice...he was nice.  But that was the least of him.  He was powerful, fulfilling, annoying, frustrating, self centered, sexy, and so much more real than anything I ever thought I could have...

It has been six months.  The pain keeps taking my breath away, keeps bending my knees.  As the evening progressed last night, I undressed and stepped into the hot water of the shower and the tears started in a trickle...which did not last.  I was overtaken, a torrential downpour of pain cascaded through every pore and I couldn't even stand.  So I sat, a folded sobbing mass of pain, on the floor of my shower.  And then, this morning, walking the dogs...normally tears stay away when cold air is rushing into my face, but they came today, cool snake lines down my hot cheeks as I noticed the third quarter moon hazy in the bright blue sky.  To my knees, again...and my dog stopped and looked into my eyes.  I tried to start walking again, but he just looked at me and wouldn't get up.  So I stayed down and cried onto his soft dark fur, stroking him.  He stayed close by my side for the last leg of the walk. 

Why does it seem to get harder?  It's like a marathon of grief.  I imagine, if I were running an actual marathon, there would be moments where I would forget the pain of my muscles and breath and just enjoy the motion...and others when the pavement pounding beneath me would be like sledgehammers swinging at me...or something like that.  A marathon of finding a way to be weak in the right ways and ask for help, strong in the right ways and figure it out when no one answers my calls, of finding the balance between embracing the grief so that I don't lock it up and have to deal with worse later, and of breathing deep and moving on so that I do not dwell when there is no fix to anything.

heavy.  it is just so heavy to carry.  and friends and people walk beside me, hold my hand, offer water, make me laugh, offer encouragement, wipe away my tears...but no one else can offer to carry it for me.  no matter how heavy it is.  no one.

cerulean recollections

the glass in my hand
so smooth
blue
cerulean
hand blown from Mexico
where I have never been
had a twin

an evening bath
twelve years ago

sitting on a windowsill
beside blowing white curtains
and a bit more wind
than I expected
brought the sibling to a
shattering end

that room where he and I showered
brushed each others teeth
bathed my screeching cats
the house were we were one
for the first time
and it seemed that dreams
might live and walk
 make me laugh and make me
split into a thousand glowing pieces
to come
back together
in a whole better than I ever believed
possible

those moments of pure hope
trust
magic
sensation and dreams mixed into midnight pool water
rippling and touching

they still live inside me
connected to a clear blue glass
smooth cerulean
hand blown
from Mexico
were we have never
been.

fluttering fire

the day began
to wind down
and something spiraled in
my insides

I could see just fine
yet my vision was blurred
there were no tears
no connecting moments
yet

there was a fullness in my chest
burning, burrowing
there was a fluttering fire
like dying wings
drifting down each finger tip

some sort of lead
pooled through my veins

and it hurt

like your soul was reaching for me
from somewhere so far away
trying to find a way
to hide in me
pulling and tugging at my
everything

my heart tightened
my eyes began to burn
a fluttering fire filled my fingers
singed my soul and
burned at the peripherals
of my brain
making function a fool's dream

without you
I know it isn't true
but I feel as if I am nothing
I am no one
I am night buried in desert
crumpled and burning and broken
and lost

grief grew solid inside me
for a bit
and all I could do
was wait while the fire fluttered out
and the ashes
became the ballast.

with my eyes closed

When I close my eyes
I see
the life that was torn
from me
I wish there was a way
to truly ask for help
But how can that be
when no one knows my path

There are so many things
that I see I do well
there are so many things
that fall into the cracks

so many kind souls
reach out to offer me
some sort of sweet
comfort
but nothing touches me
like he
did

it is touch that offers peace
and no one touches me
the way the he knew how...
so
I close
my eyes.

Not to feel the loss.
But because
he is there.

breaking the broken

sometimes, I step up very close to photos of him that hang on the wall, frozen smiles, magical moments long gone and empty now...and I whisper that I miss him.  I stare deep into his eyes.

what I want is to feel something like stable.
to believe I know who I am and where I am going
to trust that this lonely journey is not meant for me alone

we all have a path to walk.  I am so damn grateful to have had the chance to have him by my side for the last part of his life.  I so desperately and sincerely HATE that "the last part of his life" came so fucking fast.  Too fast.  Not fair.  Nothing is fair.  Who can truly stand in judgement, telling me that things happen for a reason?  My kids will grow up without their dad.  The reason is that we haven't cured cancer yet.  That's the reason.  Nothing else.

I sometimes feel so strong- moving forward, laughing, working, trying, doing...but that feeling doesn't last.  There is too much to keep up with, too many moments filled with decisions I would have turned to him for bouncing ideas off...there is a certain autonomy in making the decisions myself.  But there was such a comfort knowing I had him to help with the processing...

none of this is doing my thoughts justice right now.

There is an automated rake that claws its way across my heart
randomly
there are earthquakes in here
cracking, tilting, bending things that shouldn't bend
there are ghosts, whispers, demons
ashes with bits of bone

Your one and only- I'm worthy to be that...
and it does not matter
because there are no miles to walk
I can't pretend I might
be able
to belong to someone else.

that rake that stabs and wrenches, bearing bone and blood
bringing to the surface
every insecurity
makes every judgement call
bizarrely unreliable

I am solitary, soulless
wandering the desert sea
blinded by the light
delirious, bewildered, unwilling to lay down
unaware of the distance to
anywhere
burned and broken and lost
beyond all belief...

I am learning to pray.  Not to any sort of god
but there is energy
all around us, in the sea, the desert, lost in the woods
in an empty high school math class
standing  on stage, trembling before an audience with no words prepared
deep in the depths of even everything broken
there is energy.  why not reach out for it?
why not beg and ask for help? Open the doors
to your dry and dying heart...
Either energy
will fill you, or not.
The asking breaks nothing

anger veins

Wow, that was an EPIC parenting fail.  First, let me tell you that I am so incredibly fused with anger right now it is making my legs tremble a tiny little bit.  Then, I found out that my first week's efforts at focusing on calorie counting (using an app, which makes it very easy and accurate) and on increasing the walks I already have to do with my dogs in an honest and fervent desire to lose some of this weight, was a total loss.  I didn't find it particularly hard most days to eat the 1435 calories.  One day, I even had to down some peanuts in order to make sure I wasn't down below 1200, which a friend said would "turn down the furnace".  The walks hurt though.  My shin splints are acting up on both legs, my knees aren't as bad as I thought they would be but they do hurt, and I have had two splits in the skin on my feet from my psoriasis, as in, they tore open to blood.  I have been doing planks every few nights for as long as I can hold them, kicks and squats while I wait for the dogs to do their business, and even did some push ups last night.  Got on the scale today and haven't lost a single pound.  Which is all I was really hoping for- a pound.  I honestly would have been happy just to see that tiny little progress.  But nope. 

So then I am trying to get ready to walk the dogs, and Neil won't stop crying.  He doesn't want a hug, he wants "buppy" (me to pick him up).  So he is doing his tantrum thing, which I just <<love so much.>>  (I already had to diffuse Cilly's tears because she wants to come with me...I told her I would rather have her come with me, but I am really trying to get some exercise and she wouldn't be able to keep up with me)  Now he is on the floor crying and I am trying to ignore him and my foot cuts hurt and I'm just so MAD that John isn't here to help with any of this that I just need to do SOMETHING.  I have this big plastic cube that has rounded edges and is a dog toy of sorts.  I figure that it is sturdy enough I can throw it pretty hard and have no problems, right?  Not so much.  The f*cker bounces. 

I watch in pseudo slow motion as it rebounds up towards the table with all sorts of special framed photos and secretly beg it to not hit them.  Which it doesn't.  Instead, it collides with the glass globe on the gumball machine we have had forever.  And shatters the glass, spraying shards everywhere.  After which, time speeds up again, along with my mouth, whose controls connecting it to my brain seem to have been severed,  because I start spouting anger at Neil for crying, then at me for being a bad mom and an awful person. 

I pick up the shards, hoping to cut myself in the process and failing to do so, then vacuum the rest.  Then, Neil finally consents to the hug I offered in place of "buppy" before.  So I call him to me, and Cilly comes too, and I at least have the wherewith all to apologize for being crazy, to tell them I do NOT think I am a bad person and a bad mother, I'm just angry that daddy isn't here to help and I am overwhelmed and that really, NONE of this is their fault.  I told them I am NOT really actually angry at them right now, but at life.  Then I walk the dogs.

Who had already pooped in the house before I got downstairs.  At 7:30 on a Saturday morning, because the kids woke me up, screaming and crying and fighting over glow sticks in the bathroom at 6:40.  Which could, quite possibly, have helped contribute to the anger stew that has been running in my veins.  I don't think you should have to get up before 8 on a weekend unless it is for something fun and exciting.  My kids disagree.  Just wait till you are teenagers, guys.  Payback is gonna be a bitch.

It's been a while

moments go so damn fast.  days are longer than years used to feel.  and everything is just harder and more confusing.  But still, there are good days, where I mostly smile and I actually laugh often.  I went back and read the very first entry I made here.  I'm not sure where it put me, where it brought me.

I want to be someone's favorite.  More than anything.  and I have no idea how to find that.  I'm listening to Sweet Jane...I remember all the lives I have lived.  I feel them all inside me...I just wonder where they have gone, those different times....I am almost 40, and I don't want to be in a place so lost and broken.  I may have already shared this, but some friends tell me I am not broken.  That is very sweet and kind.  It is also untrue.  I am not a shadow of what I was, I am shattered pieces. I try to think about what I believe, and the person I want to be, the person I am.  I feel this incredible gratitude toward so many parts of the universe.  I think about how, in comparison to the world full of people loving and suffering, to the multiverse full of, what, maybe billions of Goldilocks planets, I am so much less than nothing.  But no matter how many Just Right planets there are, no matter how many people who love more, lost more, hurt more, I am still here, and I have my own heart to deal with.  I try to look beyond me.  I want to help people.  But if I hadn't donated to the Malaria site, I wouldn't have been in the negative this month.  I'm not sure that would have changed my mind, because dying of malaria is a greater need than having your bank account in the black.  But still...I need to refocus on my life and my kids.  People in my theology class say that being a teacher, and I extrapolate to being a teacher who loves what they do, is enough...I don't have to spend so much energy on wishing I was giving more, because I already give every day.  But I need to see my pain as small in the cosmic picture.  Because it is...

I know that there are some people that see me as beautiful, stunning...and that fills me.  I think John saw me that way.  And that gives me hope that someday, someone will love me again, if I can find a way to see that in me.  When I met him, I was so happy....I was struggling to deal with old shit, yes, but I was also filled with the joy that comes with finding your calling and getting a job that pays you to do it.  That is a wonderful gift that not everyone realizes.  I know that.  But I have always felt that the goals you meet inside the home and heart, with family, are far more important.  And now, I don't have a damn clue what to do with that part of me.  I get on dating sites, and the men are showing pics of their guitars and their junk in red underwear, or they tell my I should have the profile name "sexyfrederick", and don't say much more...and the ones that have interesting things on their profile, say nothing to my messages...I assume because I carry my baby and stress weight like a badge of horror....but even with the weight, I think I am lovely. And so I feel confused and lost and annoyed that I have to even think about this kind of thing.  Which I don't.  But it is going to take me a while to truly be ready to jump into the idea of dating again, and it seems like a good idea to daydream while testing the waters and all...so...confusing.  All over the place.

I don't know how to believe.  I don't know how to love, or to love again.  I have NO clue how to trust.  I feel like John was a magical gift and I know there are other gifts out there, but finding them is like going on a scavenger hunt across the WORLD with only three clues:  I am smart, I am broken, I want to love honestly...try finding something in a haystack THAT big with those clues. I dare you.  Yeah, giving up looks mighty good, right?  If only it weren't for that Divine Connection thing, where all I want is to feel the soul of another touching my own soul and needing me...because that is the only thing that matters at the deepest level of being.  And as grateful as I am for the friends filtering in and out of my life, babysitting, helping me clean, laughing and crying with me, because I am MASSIVELY grateful for you, my connections are only brief touches right now.  And what I want is to be touched completely, to be tangled up in and with someone again.  Intertwined.

Intertwined trees painted

by Spitenmalice