Nearly there

It's almost Christmas, and I'm just not feeling it. I have a few paltry decorations up, but can't put up my tree because the puppy would destroy it - she is 60 lbs of destruction. I don't know if that's it, though. The boys will be with their dad, and I have no plans. I may see this fella I've been seeing, but it's so early for something like that.

A few days ago was her 19th birthday - my best friend's daughter. Last week we learned one of her cancer markers went up. It wasn't totally unexpected; she'd reduced her chemo so she could actually have a life. But it was hard to hear. She'd been feeling pretty good, and when your kid is sick (or your friend's kid) you just take tiny specks of hope where you can, and try to turn them in to giant orbs burning with dreams of the future. That blood test brought reality back.

So her birthday...I cried that day. Because I think - and I'm sure she and her family do to - "What if this is her last one?" We don't really know how long it will take this cancer to kill her; we only know that it very likely will. So every birthday, holiday, everything is the most bittersweet thing I've ever seen.

Her younger sister wrote an essay about the cancer ordeal that won an award. She won't let any of her family or friends read it. I get it. A lot of my writing when I was young was about losing my mom, and I was ok with writing for teachers or contests, but I doubt I could have shared it with those closest to me. She's such a precocious kid - I am sure it was a brilliant and sad piece. I wish I could read it, but I respect her desire for privacy over it.

In spite of these things, I'm actually pretty happy most of the time. I've had some losses, but on balance I'm ok. And as horrible as the last couple of years were, I'll take it.

Ask me

Sometimes I am almost desperate for someone to ask me how I'm doing ... and really mean it.

And other times I'm scared someone might actually do that.

It's been a long time since I've felt this low, for this long. Probably 16 years...when I dealt with postpartum depression after having Quent. Part of me wants to seek help; part of me wants to just push through it, knowing - or maybe just hoping - it will eventually get better. But last time, I knew it was all chemical. I knew it wasn't about what was actually going on in my life, because my life was pretty great. And now it's different. Now, I have real reasons to feel the way I do. And I'm coping; I'm getting through. I am presenting a pretty normal face to the rest of the world. Mostly.

I have withdrawn from my friends, and I don't even know if they've noticed. I seem to be able to really connect only with my children, and the comfort and safety of that is what's keeping me afloat (even if their problems are a major part of why I am feeling this way).

I know that I can choose not to be subject to my emotions, but when I can't, it's a bigger problem. But I don't know if I can or want to do the things that might fix it.

Loud

I woke up this morning at 3:30...and before I knew it, my body was wracked with loud sobs. So loud I feared Joey in the room next to mine would hear. Not that he would care, really. The sobs have subsided, but the feeling of hopelessness remains.

When I let myself feel

I think: why did you do that to me? Leave without a trace, with no notice? Jump ship on a friendship, especially after you'd complained your friends were "largely absent"? But you went and did that to me. And I did nothing to deserve it  - not a single thing. I was never needy. I never demanded anything of you. I was nothing but kind, and thoughtful and gave you all kinds of space. But I did enjoy your company, and you made me believe we were friends. But then you just left. And I want to just raise my chin and say it doesn't matter, doesn't hurt, doesn't register...but it does. I am strong enough, mature enough, to be vulnerable. And guess what...I know you read this sometimes. I wish that you would choose to still be part of my life, instead of a voyeur of it.

It has been a really hard couple of days. My son has been struggling with normal daily activities - so many seizures, so much weakness. I can barely keep my tears from making an appearance when he's in my presence. I have cried more than I care to admit. I love him so much, but his life...it's so difficult. I can't help him do the things he needs to do. I can't work and be that person too, but I need to work to support my family.

What is it like to have a life that you mostly get to choose? I had a taste of it, and it's gone again. I worry it will never be back. This is our normal, again: lots of seizures, lots of weakness, no making plans, no hoping for the next thing. Our life revolves around what his brain allows his body to do. And it's not much.

I want something to look forward to and I just don't know what that could possibly be. My usual means of support aren't here anymore. I am alone, and I have to figure out how to keep putting one foot in front of the other. But I just don't want to.

Losing it

A little more each day.

I know how she feels, really. That there isn't anything to look forward to except more stress, more strife, more heartache. I know that he needs me now - more than anyone else, he needs ME. I wish that he didn't, but he does. And I will stay, for him. But I honestly don't know if I would, if he ceased to be.

And I fear that very thing an awful lot, these days.

Too many seizures today. Too little school. Quite possibly, a broken foot.

And that goddamn dog who destroys everything she possibly can.

I need hope. I need something to look forward to. And I keep looking and I can't find a goddamn thing.

Learning and leaning

Educating a 9th grader through online/homeschool is, so far, harder than doing it for a 5th grader. I've done it before - I know that I can - but I had a partner before. Now, everything is on me - money, education, discipline, activity. All of it. And doing all of that while keeping another child from a bottomless downward spiral.

Added to that, my very best friend has "simply decided" that when her daughter dies, so does she. No amount of my pleading that bereaving your surviving children on purpose will do them irreparable harm seems to matter. I can't judge her; losing a child is a special kind of torturous pain that never, ever goes away. But damn if I will not try to change her mind, no matter how "decided" she is. Her family needs her. I need her. I knew when we first discovered just how bad it was, that the best friend I knew might be gone to me forever. And I grieved for that as much as anything else. But I don't want to have to grieve losing her living self.

Life is hard right now. It is. But I am strong, and when I am not, I will weep as long as I need to, and get up and face it all again.

Down

The weight of all the stuff...it makes me sad. I know I'm depressed, but at least I have reasons this time.

A good friend disappeared, left me, abandoned me, for no discernible reason.

My best friend's daughter...they can't really help her.

My son's health has taken a nosedive.

I am alone, without a partner, and I've given up on trying to change that.

It feels like things are only getting worse, not better. I try to see the bright side. I practice gratitude. But right now I will admit the future just looks so goddamn dim.

Why

Why do people have to leave without a trace, especially people who made it a point for you to mean something to them, and they to you?

Is it so hard to say, "I'm going to be gone for a little while, but I'll be back."

No...they can't do that. They disappear, not caring the damage they are doing to others.

Men are especially good at this. Is it in some handbook you guys all get? How to completely fuck with people's heads?

But then I suppose when she's no longer flirting with you, she served her purpose and she's no longer useful...friendship was never what it was, but you sure did a good job of faking it. Your arrogance and ignorance about who and what you are is astounding.

Limited time

Sometimes the reality of it just punches me right in the gut. In the face. Both. It leaves bruises and wounds and a battered heart. I don't want her to die. I want her to live. I don't want her family to be bereaved. I don't want to see her mama's heart break. I can't take it. I hate that I can't be there.

I've been feeling sorry for myself over various things, while my very best friend is in danger of seriously losing her shit, because she is facing losing her child, AND her father.

I know what it's like to need to fall to pieces because everyone needs you and you can't. How many times have I left the room so Aaron wouldn't see me cry?

She cannot change what is happening to her daughter but she needs to be allowed to fall apart. I wish that I could be there and give her a day or two of freedom to do that.

disposable

unimportant, insignificant

i let you draw me in
flesh me out
open heart, open door
time spent
or
time wasted
maybe i just
don't
know

but to feel discarded
like a scrap
thrown out
forgotten
cast aside

i knew
people did that

i didn't know
you did.

Friends, attachment, and reality.

Recently I received what I perceived to be a fairly significant cold shoulder from someone I considered a friend. It was someone in whom I had a romantic interest to begin with, but it became clear that was not going to work out. And I thought we'd settled into a good, deepening friendship.

And then he sort of disappeared. Not completely, but there was a measurable decline in communication from him, and no reason for it. I was told there was some physical ailment, but nothing serious. So I kind of let it go, even though my feelings were a bit hurt. I didn't want to be clingy or needy.

Even so, I'd invested time, emotion, and myself into this friendship, and I felt I wasn't treated well (and I had done nothing to deserve this, as far as I could tell). So after a fairly abruptly worded request from me, I was given an explanation that he had been feeling low and missing local friends and needed to figure some things out "IRL."

And I thought...I ~am~ "IRL." Though we don't live geographically close and therefore don't spend (much) time in each other's physical presence, it's not like we haven't met. We have. We've spent hours chatting via text, video chats, etc. Over a period of months. He was a real person in my life, and had come to mean something to me - to be one of the people I consider a friend (and I do not use the term lightly, ever - I am careful to use the word "acquaintance" when I mean it). And I thought I was to him.

But I think I have been assigned to this realm of "not quite real" that diminishes my place in his world. I myself make no distinction between friends I see in person often, and friends I communicate with online or on the phone often. And so yes, this whole thing hurts.

I responded to his explanation with my honest feelings, and I offered words of support, but I think I maybe held back too much, not wanting it to be a big thing. And now I don't know quite what to say or do except to let it all go, and focus on people who really do want me to be part of their lives.

You're not different

It really does suck, and I try to be cool and say "no it doesn't" but yeah...it sucks.

I thought we were, at least, friends. Yes, we did more than friends do for awhile, but on a deeper level, I thought we'd become friends.

And then you acted like I barely existed. I didn't count. And I know I did nothing to cause that. What I suspect is that you found yourself a girlfriend (or something like it) and you, or she, or you and she, decided you couldn't be friends with me anymore.

But did you have the balls to tell me, after the incredibly personal things I told you? Of course not. Even though you knew all about MY dating life - you refused to share that part of yourself with me.

You draw women in, you let them care, and the minute it stops being convenient, you're out. Cowardice.

You made me feel like I don't matter - at all, in any capacity - after you made me feel certain I did. That's a really shitty way to treat someone.

I won't be a Girls Like Me anymore...I'm just worth more than that.

Tonight

I'm thinking about cancer and seizures and the cost of medical care and missing my sisters terribly and wishing for different outcomes for all of those things.

Casual

I haven't had much of a sex drive lately (which is probably good, as I've no willing partner). But it has got me thinking: maybe I am done with it not meaning anything. Maybe I'm done with it being just fun, and nothing more. Because the last few times, I realized I did want it to mean more. And it stung when it didn't.

And now...I haven't been craving it like I did. So maybe...I stay celibate for awhile, until and unless I find a man who's worth it.

So many just aren't.

Salty.

I feel like I could cry a million tears, and there is no one to see them, or feel them.

And it makes me want to cry a million more.

These children...they break our hearts.

I need her.

I don't know which is worse: the heart-rending, gut-wrenching sobs that were so deep and profound she couldn't talk, or the peaceful resignation in her voice when she said, "She asked the doctor if she'd make it to 20."

Once again, I find that I am beside myself with grief. There is nothing else to try; this sweet girl is dying. And this sweet girl - a firecracker like her mom, really - well, her mom is losing a daughter. My best friend in the entire world. The woman who made me believe in real friendship will have to wear that horrible, awful title: bereaved parent. Not today and probably not tomorrow, but soonish. The one glimmer of hope they had is now gone. That was it. And it's not going to happen, because it won't help.

How in the world could this have happened to her, to this family, this generous, fun, incredible, never harmed a soul family?

I am in pieces. Between my own son's horrible health this week, and her daughter's imminent death, I just want to give up.

I want to call my Grandma and I can't. I need her. I need her so much and she's already gone. There is no one for me take this to, not anyone who understands the way that she would, having buried two children of her own.

So I will sit and have a glass of wine and a good cry, and then try to go and be a mom.

Neuroinsanity

Sometimes I wish I could kiss the top of his head, like I do a lot with all of the boys, and his brain would magically work like it’s supposed to. Not misfire neurons and send his body into uncontrollable tremors. Not break at the moment he needs to use his right hand, or walk down the hall. Not be completely contrary to all the Things He Wants to Do. He’s only 14, you know? Almost 15! He should be driving soon, and he won’t ever. He should be dreaming of all the adventures he could take, and instead he’s worried about how they’ll get the leads unglued from his hair next week.

I know we all want normal for our kids. Maybe better than normal. But when your kid has been sick for 2/3 of his life, you crave it in a way you never knew was possible.

I just love him so much. I worry so much that one day it will be too much for him. That he won’t believe it’s worth it to keep going. So many people with epilepsy do. The first time I read about how much higher mortality epilepsy patients have, it broke my heart. So I try not to think about it, because my heart breaks enough already.

It’s just a rough patch, I know. They pass. They always do. But I still fear that there will come a day they won’t. That he won’t wake up. That I will lose him.

And it fucking wrecks me.

Lost.

The thing is, I never cared if you were popular - I never was. I cared that you were kind, and friendly, and smart. And you were all of those things - AND popular. Your teachers praised the way you were with your studies and with other students. You impressed everyone.

You moved 1000 miles away from everyone you knew and loved when you were 6 years old. You went from only child to big brother to 2 in less than 2 years. You watched your parents' marriage crumble. And through all that, you smiled and laughed and made us all marvel at the absolute Joey that you were.

And now...I don't know where he is. I know kids grow up, and they change. I know we all grow less open, less fun, less ... lively. Well, most of us do.

But I don't know what to do with this version of you. I have tried so so hard to help you. Hours and dollars and tears  - more than I can count - I have spent trying to find you again. To help you be you. And it's as though it was all wasted. You are chained to your room, emerging for only the essentials, not speaking more than a few words to me at a time.

As your mother, I am so incredibly lost. I have utterly failed. Whatever the scarlet letter is for failed mothering...that is on my forehead. It's with me all the time.

I hide it pretty well most of the time. But it never really leaves.

I miss you. I love you. You're my son. My first. And I wish like hell I could find you again.

Tell the boys I'm sorry

Sometimes I still fantasize about going away, and not ever coming back.

Girls Like Me

Girls like me aren't hard to trust
Your deepest secrets safe with us
And when it's time we set you free
You can always count on girls like me

On a loop

For the past few days...

I am 8 years old. And a few months (those few months are important when you're 8). Mom is really sick - she has cancer. She wears wigs all the time, because she doesn't have any hair. I remember the first time she went totally bald - the chemo made most of her hair fall out anyway, so she and dad went to the bathroom, closed the door, and a few minutes later both emerged. Mom had no hair at all. So, yeah, she doesn't. The wigs make her look old. Maybe everyone over 30 looks old when you're only 8.

So I'm eight years old. And my mom is leading my dad out the front door, her tiny 5-foot frame pulling all 6'4" of him toward the front door to leave. And he is crying, and saying, "I'm sorry" over and over. I don't know what is happening but I love my dad and I'm sad and scared. I know they fight a lot. Is this about that?

Later, when he is gone and mom is home, I beg her to tell me what happened. For the longest time, she won't tell me. She doesn't want to hurt me. She doesn't want to scare me. She doesn't want to destroy her little daddy's girl. But I persist, and she relents. And all of the sudden I am terrified of my dad. I can hardly believe he did those things, but my mom loves me, and she wouldn't lie to me, and I can tell by how sad she is and everything that has happened, that she is telling the truth.

Suddenly my feelings for my dad are a tornado. I love him but I fear him. Not in the way I usually do - not in the better behave, better show respect, better be good or you'll get in big trouble kind of way. No, I'm scared of him because he hurt my sisters, my best friends.

I don't see him again before we move from our home in Virginia to my grandmother's home in Illinois. Nobody tells me this, but we are moving there so that my grandmother can take care of me when mom dies. Nobody tells me mom is really going to die. Nobody tells me if I will ever see my dad again.

We start seeing a social worker. She asks if he ever touched me. She asks all kinds of questions that I don't really want to talk about. And I hate talking to her. I hate that she thinks my dad is a monster. I hate that we can't have real milk at Grandma's house, because she is poor and we get water mixed with powdered milk. I hate that everything is different here. And I hate missing my dad.

A few weeks after she dies, my dad calls. He wants to know how I am, how mom is. Nobody told him she died. None of the adults, the ones who are supposed to love and protect and care for me, told him. I have to tell him that his wife died. I have to hear him cry.

I am 8 years old.

I wish

That it could be my turn again. I know it might not ever be. I am constantly trying to be ok with that. I'm forgettable to the one(s) I want(ed), and seem to be attracting the ones I don't.

I want to be loved. I want to love. I'm good at it - I like having someone to love and care for and hold and screw and talk to.

But it seems so elusive, and the older I get, the less likely it seems it will be.

Moral weight

I'm reading this book right now - Big Brother. It was slow getting started (to me) but wow, it has made me think a LOT. In the book, a woman who lives with her husband and his two teenage children has a brother come for a lengthy visit.

The woman was once a caterer and is now a successful business owner, making pull-string dolls. Her family lives comfortably off the money she makes; money not made by any massive ambition but rather, mostly luck. She loves to cook and resents the health and fitness freak side of her husband, often taking it as an affront to her own 20-pound weight gain as well as her culinary expertise.

Enter the brother. Edison is a jazz musician who is between homes, and between gigs. Her husband is not happy that he's coming for an extended visit, and unhappier still when Edison shows up as an obese person nobody recognizes. He finally snaps and unloads on Edison, in front of the whole family. And Edison's response is that his weight is not a character flaw. He (rightly) points out that he's not a pedophile or thief or murderer.

That scene made me think a lot. I myself am overweight, and it's relatively new. I'm 42, and was fairly thin my whole life til my mid 30s (I am about 30-40 pounds heavier now than I was then, depending on the year). I can attribute this to a lot of things, but I've always felt it boils down to a lack of self control. I eat and drink too much, and don't move enough. Pretty simple. But I have often thought of it as a character flaw; after all, gluttony is a "sin," right? A lack of self discipline over something that seems like it should be simple almost seems juvenile.

Even so, the one thing Edison got wrong was that his being overweight didn't hurt anyone but himself. It hurt his sister to see him clearly not himself (at least, not the "himself" that she had known her whole life to this point). It hurt his brother-in-law because his immense appetite made messes in their home and left a dent in their budget. His weight broke a beloved, unique chair that his brother-in-law had made himself. And, if left long enough to cause health problems, it would cause both his sister and niece (both who loved him and enjoyed his company) immense emotional pain.

Of course obesity is not on the scale of jailable offenses. But to say it's a harmless thing gets it a bit wrong too. I don't know that my weight issues extend to the point of a "sin" because so far I can't see that it has a measurable effect on anyone else in my life. And to be fair, we all have some character flaws - to look at a man with 200 extra pounds and say he is worth less because of it, while being ok that our best friend regularly cheats on his wife...that is hypocritical. We all fall short, just in different ways.

So when I look at others who are very, very overweight, and see their bodies and not their personhood...it's just wrong. And clearly I am not in a position to judge, because I'm overweight too - just by a different degree.

Gonna be thinking about this one for awhile.

Please

Please wake up tomorrow.

Please wake up tomorrow

PLEASE WAKE UP TOMORROW.

This is my biggest fear after a day like today: that I will kiss your sweet head, and tell you goodnight, and it will be the last time I ever get to do it.

pleasewakeuptomorrow

"I'm an empath. I can't help it."

I say those words a lot. I don't know how to not take on the pain and stress of my loved ones myself.

Today I got a call from one of my employees, a young man we hired a little over a year ago. While he worked for us, I became somewhat close to him and his little family (he has a wife and two babies), so I consider him more than a coworker; he is a friend. I even had them over for Christmas dinner last year, as they didn't really have anyone here. He's such a good man, a good employee, and due to the nature of our work he's been moved from place to place.

I just found out that his contract was ending early - like, today. He knew it was coming and has been looking for work, but while he waits for his citizenship (he's a foreign national), it's been difficult.

I just like him so much and it makes me so sad. I know he's worried about taking care of his family, and how they will manage (especially after we moved him half way across the country to work for us, then moved him back). I know they will be ok, I am sure of it, but at the moment it just sucks and my heart hurts for him.

I sure hope he gets some good news soon.

Can't say it out loud

So I write it.

The thing is, I do care. About you. There. It's not a bunny boiler, stalker, obsessive thing. But I do care. It's a lot easier to NOT care, believe me - I've gotten pretty good at that. But I do, and I keep it in check because...

...because I live here, and you live there.
...because I've never met you in person (more on this later).
...because a good connection isn't always IT.
...because I keep hoping we'll each meet someone where the logistics are easier.
...because I think - maybe I even hope - your nights are sometimes spent with a lover.
...because no matter what, I think I'll always want you to be my friend.

I read a lot about whether you can truly know someone if you haven't met them in person. Some think you can't. I would argue the opposite. And furthermore, I think there are plenty of people we DO know in person, that we don't know as well as we think. One of my best friends in the entire world, I've never met in person. He's no less real or known to me than the people I see every day. He knows pretty much all my secrets. He knows what moves me, what I value, what I think. He often knows what I'll do next before I do. He knows me. And I know him. Never having been in the same physical place doesn't change that.

I fell in love with my 2nd husband online. Being in person with him was no different. I loved him before I ever held him. It happens. I think because of the way it ended, I'm reluctant now, but I am smart enough to know it wasn't the method of our introduction that caused the problems.

So I'll care about you, and it's ok if you do, or if you don't. But my heart's big, and it's strong.

Here I Am

Say this to me...

I've waited longer for lesser things
But here I am
Who really knows what tomorrow brings
But here I am
Just in case you were wondering
Just in case you got lost again
Just in case you run out of friends
Here I am
It's so easy just to rip and to tear
So here I am
What you need the most disappears into thin air
So here I am
Maps and compasses may stay true
It doesn't really matter what you do
I have never forgotten you
Here I am
Some days our reach is bound
To far exceed our grasp
I gave up hoping long ago I could fix the past
Here I am
Today I called you for the very first time
In a million years
You would never know if I told you so
'Bout these million tears
Life doesn't wait as it's speeding by
Better grab on fast to hold on tight
And don't let it forget to fight this good fight
Here I am
Here I am
Here I am
Here I am

I still don't know

I still don't know what to do...what I will do.

I haven't spoken directly to my sisters about what I learned. My sister closest to me texted and asked if I'd had a good vacation - I texted back yes. That's it. I haven't made any big proclamations. I haven't talked about the fact that now She Knows.

The fact is, I don't know what to do. I know my stepmother would understand me not wanting to cut ties with my sister (or sisters). But I feel that it would be incredibly disloyal to her.

My whole life, a big part of my identity is the youngest of 4 sisters. They were my first best friends. We have fought and loved and suffered together. And when the one who did this horrible thing stopped speaking to me, years ago, for about 6 months, I felt like I'd lost an arm. At the time it was more difficult because we lived about a mile apart from each other. Living so far away now, it would probably be easier. But still. I've been losing people all my life, most of the time having done nothing to cause the loss. And this is actually my choice.

I'm forgiving by nature. I can't hold grudges. I find it very difficult to hold on to anger because it takes so much energy, and bitterness is simply not part of who I am.

I wish I could talk to someone about this. I wish I could talk to the girls about this. But I fear if I do, the decision will be made for me - that I will lose a sister, whether I want to or not.

And none of this, none of this was anything that was my fault. But holy fuck, does it hurt.

The Holy Longing

Tell a wise person, or else keep silent,

because the mass man will mock it right away.

I praise what is truly alive,

what longs to be burned to death.

In the calm water of the love-nights,

where you were begotten, where you have begotten,

a strange feeling comes over you,

when you see the silent candle burning.

Now you are no longer caught in the obsession with darkness,

and a desire for higher love-making sweeps you upward.

Distance does not make you falter.

Now, arriving in magic, flying,

and finally, insane for the light,

you are the butterfly and you are gone.

And so long as you haven't experienced this: to die and so to grow,

you are only a troubled guest on the dark earth.

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

What I really want

The map of my heart looks a lot like yours
from the one way streets to the old detours
to the dark dead ends with their missing signs
the sun and the moon and the roads that wind
like the stories we tell tracing the routes
wind in my ears, dirt on my boots

The map of my heart is torn at the corners
from ignoring the warnings, disobeying the orders
I’ve been lost in a crowd, found in solitary
I learned how to travel with just what I could carry
towards the vast unseen and the great unknown
the map of a heart is all that we own

Leaving safety to chance and reason behind
x marks every spot I thought I’d lost my mind
I didn’t think that I could but I couldn’t stop trying

And I can’t stop trying to hold in my hands
that moment I could feel my heart expand
with more love than I thought could exist in the world
the hollows were gone, the emptiness filled
a life transformed down to the bone
this map of my heart is all that I own

Do we ever stop longing and looking for home
do we ever stop feeling apart and alone
do we ever stop dreaming of where we belong
This map of my heart looks a lot like yours
This map of my heart looks a lot like yours

Maybe

I was just having some wine and watching a show (Casual on Hulu) that often leaves me a little emotional. It's touching and funny and sort of where I am in my life right now. And I just started thinking about things, maybe things I shouldn't. But the mind wanders.

Sometimes I still miss him. Before, I never would have believed there'd be a day I didn't know him anymore. I always kind of knew it would eventually end. I hoped it wouldn't, but I knew it probably would. I bet against the odds thinking that this time would be the exception. And I lost. Oh, how I lost. And this is where he sat, and that is where he held me when my father died, and over there is where he sent my sons into fits of giggles. And now he isn't. Not in my world, anyway.

And I know this is good for me, best for me. I know I'm ok just the way I am: raising my boys, working, enjoying my days and my moments and doing things and meeting a few people. Maybe even "meeting" Him, even though I don't know what that is, only that it makes me happy and that I think it can be enough for now...even though I wish for more.

It's Friday night and I'm doing my usual thing: Hulu, wine, writing. It's enough for me, even though it's not enough for some. I'm weary from travel, and need the down time. I've had to be "on" nearly nonstop for over a week, and it exhausted me.

Maybe that's my trouble. Maybe I need to be a little more quiet, a little less ravenous for connection.

What to do

Sometimes, I just want someone to tell me: what do I do with all that pain?

Clearly, writing has helped me create a space for it. If I can write about it - even just for myself - I can keep it from choking me. But this...I have not written much about this. I think some things are best left unsaid. Some people say secrets are poison, but I've never quite believed that. Sometimes, hurtful truths can stay in the darkness. Even so...

She knows. She now knows what he did, many years ago. She spent decades with this man, and had no idea. She came after the abuse. After the pain. After the horrible, family-shattering, shameful period of my life that doesn't get talked about. Not anymore. Not for a long time. The man she knew was not that man. He couldn't possibly have done those things. All this time we assumed she didn't know, and we saw no reason to tell her. He was a different man with her. A better man.

And then he went and died. And he wasn't rich, but he was comfortable. And there was some money to be given to us - only the youngest two of us. Not to the oldest, who no longer had a relationship with him and hadn't in decades. Only she didn't have it liquid right away, and I was fine with that. I was fine with waiting. I didn't want his wishes of an inheritance to us to be a burden on her, because there were extenuating circumstances. My sister did not feel the same way.

She wanted that money to pay the sisters who were abused. She wanted to provide some restitution for actions she had nothing to do with, to pay for our father's sins. She thought giving money to the other girls was the right thing to do. I disagreed. No amount of money could undo what was done. No amount of cash was going to fully erase the horrible memories. And it wasn't theirs, and our father was more than that.

In a moment of hate - not particularly out of character - one of the sisters divulged the secret to her, my stepmom. And my stepmother assumed it was a lie. She told me the messages she'd gotten were full of hate and lies, and I  - maybe I shouldn't have, maybe I should have let her believe it was a lie - had to tell her it wasn't a lie. He really did those things to her. And I cried, and she hated that I'd gotten upset. And so we decided not to talk about it anymore. But part of me wants her to understand what my co-inheriting sister was trying to do - that she was trying to pay for the things our father did. To do something small to make it right. It's not that she was greedy, necessarily. Her perspective was different.

So now she knows. And it wasn't her choice to know, and it wasn't mine, and part of me hates my other sister for disclosing hurtful information that had nothing to do with my stepmother. I don't know what to do with it. I don't know what to do with the relationship. I don't know what to do with the pain.

I don't know.

Mommy Issues.

A repost from somewhere else a few years ago...

After watching too much news last night (and consuming too much Facebook), I was so anxious and depressed that it took me a long time to fall asleep. My heart just hurt. It still does.

I was talking with someone yesterday about my mom. I was asked if I see a lot of her in me (she had 4 kids with 4 different men, all before her death at the ripe ol' age of 37). It was a really thought provoking question for me. In some ways, yeah. I think I do. Daddy issues (you do the math there, lol). Her dad was around, at least until she was 24. But he was a preacher, so she naturally went wild. I said something that, after I wrote it out, was a little bit of a shock to me:

"I honestly don't know how much of her I see in me. I think I am a lot more willing to sacrifice myself and my own happiness for what's best for my kids, and I have to say she spent a lot of years doing what seems like the opposite. Don't get me wrong - she loved us very much, but the part of her life I remember most was the part she was trying to get right because she was dying."

When someone dies, especially at a young age, we tend to put them on a pedestal they may not deserve. Now, my mom as far as I remember was wonderful. She had 4 kids, she loved us to bits, she worked, she fought cancer. I remember her as gentle and fair and always letting us know she loved us. But she made a lot of BAD decisions before I came along, decisions my sisters had to live with. And she made a very bad decision in marrying and staying with my dad. I think it only just occurred to me yesterday how unstable she was for a long time. People tend to start putting things right when they fear their life is ending, and she was no different. I got to see the best of her. Who knows if it would have lasted, had she survived.

Even so, I miss her. Almost my whole life, I have craved knowing my mother as an adult. I got cheated out of that, and it hurts. I love my grandmother to pieces, but it is not the same.

Maybe there is some Suzy Seafler Moore in me, but I hope it is more of the good parts.

5 am tears

"I can't live without her," she said through sobs. "I don't want her to go alone. I can't let her go alone. Would you be mad at me if I went with her?"

'You'll come to the funeral, right?"

Never in my life did I imagine these words coming out of the mouth of my best friend. They were foreign words, foreign sounds, a grief so deep not even I can touch it, sobs wracking her body so badly I could feel them through the phone. I can't fix it for her, I can't take it on for her. I can only try to be there with her and let her cry. "She's still here," I simply said. "All I can tell you is right now, she is still here, and we HAVE to hold on to that." I love her daughter myself. And I can't stand to know that she is sick and in pain and probably won't survive.

And I am sick to pieces for my very best friend.

FUCK CANCER.

Losing

My best friend's heart is breaking daily and there's not a damn thing I can do about it except listen when she cries, and try like hell to make her laugh. I know what it's like to have a sick child, and to be afraid for his life. I do not know what it's like to have a child with a death sentence. I do not know the level of excruciating pain, from a number of sources, she's under.

I love her so much and all I want to do is wave my magic wand and make everything better. Why can't I make everything better?

Randoms

I'm at that point again, where I think I maybe want to give up on online dating. It seems to be a waste of time. The ones I am interested in aren't interested in me, and vice versa. It creates a low level tension that permeates far too much of my mind and my days, and leaves this normally content woman very...wistful. Not a good place. It's hard for me to meet anyone in other ways, but I'm just starting to not care. I've been single nearly 2 years now and definitely in a much better place about it than I was then.

Speaking of dating and time...I have been thinking so much lately about not having much time left. That I am 42, and it's not inconceivable that I'm closer to my death than to my birth. I am starting to understand why some people have midlife crises, and I hope I don't become one of them. I think I'm responsible enough (3 kids makes that sort of necessary) that I won't do anything stupid, and yet...sometimes I feel like I need to do something drastically different. I'm hyper aware that I am coasting and have been for awhile, and I feel stagnant. In a rut. It's a bit soul crushing and I want to experience something new and that makes me feel alive. Not that I don't want to be alive now; I have things to do. But I'm a bit bored with it all.

I think of all these great things to write about when I'm doing something else, and can't write at that moment, and then I forget. I need to get better at jotting down notes on my phone.

I bought a dress today. Don't know if/where I will wear it. But I tried it on, it made me feel pretty, and it was only $15. So I bought it. Dressing room, being nearly naked with mirrors everywhere, was so depressing, though. I'm far too heavy and I keep eating more than I should to lose it and it sucks.

I miss my usual blog site. It's been down for months, with no indication it's ever coming back. I think I can handle the not being there more the loss of all the things I wrote - there was no way to print an archive (that I know of) so I never had a backup of my blog. Oh well.

Maybe I'll write again when I remember all that stuff I thought of when I was drying my hair.

I need to purge

Words, that is. I need to purge words. My usual blogging community has been down for too long.

In the past couple of years or so, whilst learning my new identity as a single person, I've come across a lot of different kinds of people (well, they are men, because I only date men, but I say people because I'm not sure their gender has anything to do with their behavior).

Some I saw once and never again, whether by mutual choice, or one sided choice, it doesn't matter: it just wasn't going anywhere.

And some I've become good friends with - and feel so lucky to have done so.

And then others...I thought were friends. I thought, in our 40s and 50s, that these men would have learned by now what it means to be sensitive, thoughtful, caring. But some just never have. Hey, maybe that's why they're single! But - and maybe I have too much faith in people - a few surprised me. They SEEMED thoughtful, caring, emotionally and mentally intelligent.

One in particular acted like a complete asshole (more than once, but again recently). I called him out on thoughtless behavior, and his response was one giant excuse - no regard for me or my feelings, no "I really didn't mean to make you feel that way, and I'm sorry." Just "This happened. Feel sorry for me." Yeah, no. Not going to happen.

The thing is: I have friends. Most of my closest friends are not local, and when I finally have a few local ones, I want to hang out face to face sometimes. I don't wanna be their texting or email or chatting buddy. I don't need that. I need face to face, and a hug now and then, and real life interaction. So when someone shies away from that (when I know they aren't socially awkward or have anxiety about it), I do take it personally. As I should. And I won't participate in that relationship any longer.

Because I'm strong and loved and cherished, and I won't waste my time attempting to share myself with those who don't see or do that.

Wednesdays, man...whatareyagonnado?

Quiet Farewell

Today I said goodbye to you
In a quiet moment
In the solitude
of my own space
Tears cascading down my face

You may not know
You didn’t hear or see
But then
You never really did

Your face was turned away
Nothing unusual about that
Not for you

You may try to say hello again
And I won’t be unkind
But neither will I be had
By someone who cannot hear
the sound of love
and the sound of goodbye.