Hard Choices

 So, I bought this book, "Burn After Writing" off Amazon. I'm not sure it was worth $16.99 but it's been pretty interesting. It's a book to write in and it gives you these little prompts so I thought I'd use one and expand on it. Here we go.

Pg. 29. The hardest choice I have ever had to make.

Sending my son to a residential treatment center. I've written about this before but it really was a tough decision. Making the decision took a lot of thought, heartbreak, courage and desperation. I couldn't think for the life of me how I could have raised this sweet terror. And what I could have done to cause it. After holding a knife to his sister's throat, I had to keep both my children safe and this was the only option I could figure out. I hate the events that transpired after, I hate what happened as a result and I hate that I no longer have a relationship with my son. I hate it because he's created this narrative in his own head that I sent him to a psych ward and abandoned him. I hate it because sometimes I find it easier to say, "Oh well" and not worry about what he's doing any longer. I also hate the fact that no matter how much I still love him, I know that he'll never forgive me. I also know that the events that transpired are not my fault and that I can't control the outcome. So all I can do is deal. 

That's the hardest choice I've ever had to make. 

Thanksgiving

 It's Thanksgiving. My first holiday without you. I'm just sitting here in my house by myself watching movies to try and forget that you're no longer here. This time of year will never be the same again. I hate this holiday now. 

Everyone is posting on Facebook and everywhere else about the holiday and how grateful they are for their friends and family and all whatever, but I don't feel grateful. I feel empty and hollow. A shell of a person who no longer has any ounce of gratefulness in her. How can I? My sunshine is gone. 

Childhood

 I'm on break. Thanksgiving break. The 10 glorious days between the start of the year educational year and the winter holidays (I don't like to say Christmas because no everyone celebrates). The first real break that educators get for the year because every other time there is a "day off", there are meetings, professional development, planning, and grading to do. It's Wednesday as I type this and I've done absolutely nothing except be alone with my thoughts. Oh, and cuddle with Harry but that's because he doesn't give me a choice. 

Anyway, while I sit here, I decided to start writing at least once a day. Kind of like my therapy before I actually go to therapy (I've got an appointment in January). It's actually helping (thanks sis!) and I think I'm going to try to continue after work starts back up. So, on to today's story.

Yesterday, I wrote a modified version of life after I "left" home. I left a lot of details out because I didn't feel as though they were necessary. But today, I feel like airing out those details. If anyone sees this, know this is MY truth. 

So I grew up in a household where I had two parents that didn't love each other and it was pretty apparent from the time I was young that resentment was the major feeling. My parents got married very quickly for reasons that they think are vague but are pretty clear to my sister and I. I was the reason. My mother trapped my father (in the 70s, that's exactly what it was) into marrying her because she got pregnant and my father was (is) a decent man and "did the right thing". It's pretty evident to me that it wasn't an ideal situation but he made the best of it and he loved me, mostly. To my mother, on the other hand, I was a prop to be used to get what she wanted. 

From the time I was a very young girl, my mother wasn't kind to me. She didn't love me the way other mothers loved their children. She treated me as if I were a little doll at first, dressed me up in cute clothes to show me off, made sure I was always clean and had my hair all done up, but that's what the world saw. Within the four walls of our home she called me names, smacked me around and generally treated me with disdain. From the first time I can remember I was fat, ugly, stupid, and no one would ever love me. And this is when I was three. My cousin came to visit once, and told me this story. I don't remember it but she told me about it when I was older. I wanted some milk and my mother wouldn't - or couldn't - give me some so I decided to get it myself. Of course, being three, I spilled it all over the flor, and my mother went batshit. Started yelling and screaming at me, with those words and made me clean it up on my own. Again, I was three.

When I was seven, a girl I was friends with dared me to write a "nasty word" on the side walk in front of a neighbor boy's house. He was a bully and I didn't like him - I also didn't know what the word meant so I agreed. I wrote, "Wade L. is a bastard." right on his front walk. That ended in me, seven, being beaten with a wooden paddle until it broke, then being sent off to school like nothing happened. I couldn't sit down for several days and had bruises from the top of my butt to the tops of my knees for two weeks. That's the last time she beat me but not the last time she hit me. 

Most of the abuse wasn't physical, just emotional or manipulative. She was great at the manipulation - people call it 'gaslighting' today. She would say one thing but another really happened and she'd accuse me of lying. She'd pit me against my sister and force me into things I didn't want to do. OR she would not allow me to do things I wanted because of the being fat, stupid and a big screwup thing. I remember when I was in my young teens living near St. Louis, my sister was modeling in a mall fashion show (they had those back in the 80s) and I was asked if I could model for one of the stores. She said she didn't think any store had clothes that would fit me. This is the kind of thing I lived with for years. 

Other things - reading my diary, going through my room, "cleaning" out my closet and drawers to look for something that she said I'd taken (I hadn't but that didn't matter) and not allowing me to go to prom or homecoming just because I didn't have a date (or was too fat and ugly to get a date in her words). In fact, the reading the diary thing was the reason I got kicked out of the house. 

I stupidly created a journal from a three pronged folder thinking that would deter her from reading but it didn't. She read it and found out that I was having sex (gasp!) and that I did it in my bed (stupid) and decided that it was time I lived elsewhere. I didn't have a place to go, no friends to crash at, but that didn't matter. To further this humiliation, she body checked me to make sure I didn't take anything that wasn't "appropriate" and didn't belong to me (i.e. money, jewelry, cigarettes - yes I smoked, etc.) then set me on the way down the road with my suitcase. I didn't know where to go. Fortunately, there were some neighbors that saw me, invited me in and helped me get in touch with my church pastor who took me to Covenant House. 

I'm sure there are many, many things I'm leaving out - OH! I just remembered the ski trip! Damn, that's a nothing thing. 

So, my dad took my little sister, my half-sister, and I on a ski trip to Colorado one spring break. No mother thank goodness. It was going to be 7 days of freedom from her. Anyway, I wasn't athletic by any means and though we had lessons, I wasn't a great skier. One day we all decided to ski as a group (we were with my dad's friend and his family) and set off for another day of adventure. Unfortunately, I fell, a lot, and the others were getting frustrated. So I told them to go ahead and I'd catch up. Except I got lost. I ended up going the wrong way and taking an expert slope instead of an easy one. And it was bad. Racing down slopes going way too fast because my brain didn't remember what I was supposed to do, and I ended up falling again. By this time, I was well and truly lost. I took my skis off and started to walk down the mountain. Did I say I was lost? I was extremely lost. And in my mind, I though, the best path between two points is a straight line so I cut through the woods. Lost even more in the trees. But finally, finally found a path and followed it to the trails where there were ski patrols who had been looking for me and took me to the bottom. 

My dad and the rest of the group was waiting. I'd never seen my dad cry before but when he swung me up into his arms, I saw the tears. At that moment, I felt more safe than I ever had in my entire life. 

Later that night, we called my mother to tell her. Boy the yelling coming out of that phone. How could I be so stupid? How could I be so fat that I couldn't keep up with the rest of the group? Was I a moron? No concern for my safety, no "I'm glad you weren't seriously hurt". Some mother, huh?

Again, I'm sure there is a ton that I'm leaving out but needless to say, this is what I wanted to get out today. 

Life story

 On this day, in June of 1989, there was a lonely girl looking for her whole world. She didn't know anyone and was just hanging out at the homeless shelter because there wasn't much else to do. She had. been kicked out of her home a few weeks earlier and set off on an adventure with some other teens that she'd met along the way. They had ended up in Denver and decided to stop - well, really they were forced to because the car conked out. Since then, they had secured day labor jobs and gotten a spot at the local homeless shelter. Every day was spent working or roaming the streets, panhandling, and trying to keep busy. This girl hadn't made any "real" friends because she was kind of aloof and kept to herself. She'd grown up in a middle class background, but the maternal unit was pretentious and liked to think she was better than others so the girl had a bit of an entitled attitude. This girl didn't really trust others and thought she didn't really belong in this world, but was trying to make the best of it. 

Being homeless really was an adventure for the girl. She actually liked the freedom of movement and the interesting things she'd been able to do now that she was out from under her parents' (maternal figure really) rule. There were new streets to walk, new places to see, mountain views, and interesting people to meet. All walks of life were represented. It was so new, so intense, so fascinating after living in such a closed little world. Then there was HIM.

The boy was not that great looking, but would look at her with this gleam in his eye, he wasn't that smart, but he would say things that made her FEEL more. And she was vulnerable. They got together. She thought they were in love.

Several months later, they got married. They moved back to her original home, but parents disapproved. The maternal figure demanded the marriage license before they could sleep in the same room. And soon she found herself pregnant. Despite the maternal figure's claims, she was NOT pregnant when they got married, this occurred shortly after the wedding. They looked forward to starting their family. But. 

He decided to join the military. This was the first step towards the destruction of the marriage. Over the next several years there were heartache and tears. A child lost (not gone forever), vows not kept, more children arrive, more heartache, ambition for more, a period of eight years that went through highs and lows, love and loss, and slowly, movement towards the sun. The girl made the decision to leave and take the children so they wouldn't be harmed and moved back towards home. 

More parent pleasing, she went back to school. Discovered she like it and liked being a single mom. Her kids were happy and healthy and loved. She, herself, was discovering who she was liking what she was finding. But. She was still ashamed of herself too. 

She was extremely lonely. This consumed her. As soon as the kids were asleep for the night, she lost herself in the world of chat rooms. She "met" people online and they became her friends. She got involved in the online world and developed relationships. She even thought she fell in love. But that, like dreams, don't last and she went back to the routine of raising her kids, attending school, visiting the parental units and coasting through life. Then one certain email arrived that changed her life.

The email put her in a difficult position because it wasn't particularly a nice email but it was intense and kind of strange actually. So she responded, but wasn't very nice about it. The person replied and a correspondence chain started. And lasted. And became something more. A fairy tale.

Her prince charming. Life with the man was the true adventure. Something new every day. Love. It was an amazing, wonderful, fantastic experience. And there was no doubt of the love. This was love that many people aspired to. There was never any doubt about the love the man had for the woman or the children. And life got better. 

Oh there were ups and downs along the way. She couldn't have any more children, he wanted some. She was pretty unadventurous in certain areas, he was more so. But the love was always there. Until it wasn't. Divorce. Alone. Again. The children were out of the house and decisions had to be made. 

Off on another adventure. This time in another country, another culture, another world. More new people and places. Places she'd never dreamed of visiting before, friends made, dreams coming true. More darkness on the horizon. A drinking problem develops. Friendships fall apart. Then light breaks the darkness and a ray of hope shines through. The light shines brighter and freedom comes.

The Call to end all Calls. Threats to the child, the one who is her sunshine, her hope for the world, her baby girl. The woman comes home. Her child fights and fights, but to no avail. Two years pass but the light dims and then extinguishes. Her world is shattered. 

So now she sits in her lonely space thinking about what she's lost. Trying not to let it interfere with the other parts of her life but it does. And she's extremely sorry but can't help it and life is too hard to think about others. So mired in her own grief, she can't muster up the energy to care. 

So forgive me please, if I don't want to get involved in your drama or your selfishness, I've got my own right now. I'm not going to sympathize with your issues, I've got my own of those too. Just give me my space and I'll come out to live again when I'm ready...if I'm ever ready. 

I still feel that every day. I miss you every day.

Watching the Harry Potter movies because I always enjoyed them and now they just make me sad. The scene where Harry brings Cedric back to the castle and his dad finds out - it made me start bawling. Because I know exactly how he felt - even though it was scripted. I could feel that ripping of the heart and the separation of soul. I still feel that every day.

But I'm trying. I am trying to maintain a brave face. Trying to get through each day without tearing my hair out, without losing my shit. Work helps some but not much. I'd much rather sit in my pajamas in my house and mire in my grief. Not speak to anyone, not go out, not socialize. But, I'm trying. I went out on Saturday with a friend to a float spa and dinner. I check in with my best friend every day. I text my sister, my eldest daughter, and my dad and try to make a point of calling my dad once a week.

... Family, that's another thing. Family pisses me off. Not the above mentioned family members but others. We had my daughter's wake last weekend. NOT A SIGNLE ONE OF THEM SHOWED UP. No one called me. No one texted me. No one even bothered to email me. To be clear, these are the ones on my maternal side. Half siblings and their kids. No one. The only one who bothered was my nephew's wife. She volunteered to do the slideshow for us. But the others, not a one. I want to know why.

Is it because she was gay? Is it because she was married to a trans man? Is it because she didn't "accept Jesus Christ as her Lord and Savior"? Is it because she was MY daughter and you could give a shit less about me? That part you've proven time and time again. The words that come out of your mouth don't match your actions and I've always been a big believer in taking actions over words any day.

So who cares if my daughter was gay? She was kind, considerate, honest, open and loving. So what if her husband is trans? He's the same and she loved him with her whole heart and he loves her. So what if she wasn't religious or didn't believe the same as you did? Your religion is close-minded, self-centered and egotistical. Just because she didn't share your beliefs doesn't mean she wasn't worthy. She was a better person than you'll ever be with your hypocritical, elitist, entitled attitude.

Your kids are no better than mine. The one that's no longer with us and the one that is are both worth just as much if not more than yours. Just because I didn't raise them the way you would have doesn't mean they aren't. I raised my kid(s) to be open, honest, caring, and to make their own decisions about the world. Not to fear things they don't understand. They learned about their worlds through experiences, not parental decree. You'd never understand that because you aren't human enough to.

So, dear half-sister, half-brother, and all the others, you can kiss my fat, LBGTQ-

ally, everyone deserves to be treated with respect and dignity ass. You can text me as much as you want. I've turned off notifications. You can try to call, I won't answer. You can run to "mother" and cry about how unfairly you've been treated, I don't care. As far as I'm concerned, you're no longer in the realm of my family.

 

This song by P!nk says it all.

There's a whole 'nother conversation going on

In a parallel universe

Where nothing breaks and

nothing hurts

There's a waltz playing frozen in time

Blades of grass on tiny bare feet

I look at you and you're lookin' at me

Could you beam me up?

Give me a minute, I don't know what I'd say in it

I'd probably just stare, happy just to be there, holding your face

Beam me up

Let me be lighter, I'm tired of being a fighter

I think a minute's enough

Just beam me up

Saw a blackbird soarin' in the sky

Barely a breath, I caught one last sight

Tell me that was you sayin' goodbye

There are times I feel the shiver and cold

It only happens when I'm on my own

That's how you tell me I'm not alone

In my head I see your baby blues (hazels)

I hear your voice and I, I break in two and now there's

One of me, with you

So when I need you can I send you a sign?

I'll burn a candle and turn off the lights

I'll pick a star and watch you shine

This sums up exactly how I feel. Give me a minute and I don't know what I'd say in it except I love you, I miss you, and I wish you were here.

A mother should never have to bury her child. It isn't the way life is supposed to work. A thousand times a day, I reach for my phone to call or text just to find out about her day and I can't. I want to send her a fun meme or a funny TikTok video and I can't because she isn't there. She is somewhere else. Somewhere I can't go. Somewhere that I want to be because her precious life was so much more important than mine is. How is it fair that she only got 30 years on this earth and I have to keep living? Her life was so much more valuable than mine. I'm just a regular person, a regular woman who hasn't ever made much of a difference to anyone. She was a ray of sunshine who brought people together.

We had her wake last weekend. It was so hard and so awesome to see so many people show up to celebrate her. I had many people tell me how wonderful she was, how loving, how joyous and how much of a difference she made to them. She was a rock, a sounding board, and a soulmate, a wife, a beatfriend (yes I know that's spelled incorrectly but that's what they called each other), and someone who would always be there. I was constantly told that she was such a light - and they all told me how much she always said that I was her hero, her rock, her source of comfort. I don't know about that, because she was mine.

Kaitlynn was the hero. She fought her illness with heart and courage. Every day she went through hell and she stayed as positive as she could. She took things in stride. She fought like a warrior against the enemy that is synovial sarcoma. She learned to live with a limp, then with one leg until she was almost ready to face life again. Then that torturous cancer snuck up and struck her again more quickly than any of us expected. Three days. That's all it took. Once day she is calling me from the hospital waiting room then three days later, she's gone.

She's gone. It's so hard typing those words. I don't like it. I hate it. I'm so tired of telling people that she's dead. I'm tired of trying to remind myself of that. I'm tired of people asking me how I am and how I'm dealing. How does everyone think I'm dealing with this? I'm devastated. I'm devoid of feeling. I'm desperately trying to figure out how to survive. How to live each day without one of the people in this world I loved the most. Mostly I'm just trying to survive. I don't know if I can.

Kate, I loved you your whole life and then some. When I first found out I was pregnant with you, I was so excited. I was ready to be a mom. I knew I would never be the mom that my mother was. I would be better and I think I was. I like to think that we had the kind of relationship that made us comfortable enough with each other that we could tell each other almost anything (well, leave out the sex stuff because you were kind of a prude lol). And we did. And now it's gone. I don't know what to do now.

looking at photos, i can't help but be happy and a little sad too smiling so beautiful in your white wedding dress embarking on your brand new adventure sadness enters my heart as i remember that i'll never see your smile or hear your laugh that life will never be the same again God help me i'm moored in grief putting on a happy face for the rest of the world