One Year Later
I moved my last post back to the draft folder. I was hesitant to publish it at all, even privately, and bare myself so completely as to the struggle of emotions.
Those of you who read and as usual, supported me, thank you. Your words mean so much and I feel each one of them as a warm embrace.
The sheer act of writing has brought about some form of catharsis. The emotions have shifted to something different, less intense and not quite as crushing.
Life and the act of living it never ceases to ebb and flow. The waters rush in and bring forth a wave of the unexpected and just as suddenly recede and take with them part of me.
***
I so rarely have time to write in this space now. I thought after the divorce, it would be the opposite.
Work has gotten busier.
Now only having Ava for half the time, I find myself tethered much less to the online world when I’m with her. It’s our time, and it’s precious time. I don’t want her to look back in 20 years and remember me as always on the computer or always checking my phone.
I took a chance and started doing something I enjoy – food blogging. I don’t know where it will lead, if anywhere. But I’m having fun doing it, most of the time, although it does seem to take up time that I used to spend here, writing.
I’ve been working on learning how to use the fancy camera I bought for myself a couple years ago. I would love to be able to take photographs that are frame-worthy, instead of “Oh, dear, I think we’ll just delete that one”.
They say that 40 is when a people really start to know themselves. I’ll be 39 in less than a month, and as I approach that number, I see that there is definitely some truth to that. I think it’s also an age in which we are more easily able to identify the disingenuous in others as well. I see things, and people so much more clearly now than before. Sometimes it comes as a great surprise to know that in which you have counted on was not in fact, what you ever thought it was. Or maybe you did, but you convinced yourself otherwise. It gets harder to lie to one’s self as you age, I think. It’s harder for you brain to play along.
I find I’m much better able to pick my battles. I find myself backing away from things more often, knowing I would be fighting a losing battle.
I rediscovered the pleasure of sleeping alone. At first it was strange, after sharing a bed for 12 years. But after the oddness wore off, I found how much I love it. I can stay up late watching tv in bed, or reading a book. I can toss and turn and not worry that I’ll wake anyone. I don’t have to worry that my body pillow and I are taking up too much room. There is no snoring to keep me awake.
Of course, I enjoy cuddling with Ava on our “sleepover nights”, which happen once a week. It’s nice to be able to reach out and have her hold on to my hand as she sleeps. I’ll savor that for as long as she will let me, for I know the day is coming when even a hug from me will seem “uncool”.
I enjoy a girls’ night out with a friend now and then. Something that I never used to do, but I find now to be immensely fun.
I got on a plane last year for the first time in several years. It was terrifying and thrilling and I can’t wait to do it again.
I discovered the kind of friends that all women should have: honest and steadfast. The kind that will tell you when you’re being a jackass, hold you up when you’re falling down, and find places to bury the bodies. The kind of friends that will be around in 50 years when we’re all hard of hearing and are yelling at each other over the breakfast table at I-Hop.
When you’re alone, especially after a life changing event, it’s almost impossible not to do a lot of navel gazing and introspection. I’m not perfect and a lot of my failures and flaws led me right to where I am today.
I’m getting better and discerning what truly makes me happy and what was just filler for when I wasn’t. Maybe that’s the secret of life.
When Words Are Too Much Work
Some days it’s a struggle to even reply to an email, much less start one. Some days I look at the text message on my phone and wonder how long I can ignore it.
It’s not that I don’t want to talk. It’s that using my words is too hard some days. If you’ve never experienced it, you’re unlikely to understand it.
It’s not a cataclysmic event propelling me into a place of quiet. It can be old memories flooding back, creeping into corners I thought had been cleared out.
Small things, little things. Mundane life, death, grief, panic, contentment. The jumble, the tumble of emotions that any given day can wash on shore.
The death of a friend, who left behind a daughter close in age to the 17 year old me who buried her father. The things that never quite get packed up at put away, no matter how many locks you turn and how many walls you build.
The upcoming holidays, which will be different from all previous ones. In some good ways, in some ways that could be better. The uncertainty of how it will feel.
Darker days, shorter days. Cold and cloudy. It fits my mood.
I want to retreat into my shell, except, I don’t. I take breaks, and know that I”m lucky enough to have three best friends who understand, and let me hide for a bit. But never for too long. They always coax me back out into the sunlight.
They get it. They get me. And I need to thank them publicly for that. For supporting me. For picking me up when I fall down. For lying down with me when I couldn’t get up.
For understanding when words are too much work.
Facing Fears
Maybe you’ve heard of Operation Eleanor. If you haven’t I’ll give you the Reader’s Digest version: Do something every day for 30 days that scares you. Megan figured November would be a good month, because, hey, 30 days right?
Well, I started mine in October. What can I say, I’m a rebel.
It all started with a glance at the television. An ad for Toy Story 3 on Ice. Ava adores Toy Story. She loves Jesse and Buzz fiercely. I researched ticket prices and found that they weren’t as astronomically high as I feared. I asked some friends about taking Ava, wondering if 3 1/2-ish was too young. I got great feedback that, no, this is the perfect age.
So, I hit purchase.
Now, that is not the scary part. Nor is the fear of emptying my wallet on merchandise. (although, yeah that happened too, and I may be eating Ramen for the rest of the month)
The show was in Portland. At the Rose Garden. On the easternish side of town, which requires crossing the river. ON A BRIDGE. DANGER WILL ROBINSON, DANGER.
Because we all know that bridges are scary, scary death traps. Cars fly off of them daily and every second one collapses and people plunge into icy waters, right? No? You sure? Because that’s what my brain has been signaling to me for 38 years.
It’s not the bridge itself, really. I can do certain bridges without issue, as long as they are not too elevated, or have girders that encase the traffic as it goes across.
It’s the high ones. And Portland has a couple of doozies. Thankfully, this one was not the worst of the bunch, and frankly I’m not sure I could have done that one, even if it was for Ava. I just don’t know. I’ve always had a problem with heights, for as long as I can remember. I don’t even like standing on a chair. My palms get sweaty, my heart races, my legs and feet get tingly. My brain does some odd mixture of shutting down and screaming in blind panic. It’s not a pretty sight. My ex had to pull over on a freeway once, convinced he was going to have to slap me back to reality, ala Cher in Moonstruck.
This bridge had the added features of height, PLUS! an open airy feeling all around. Not a lot was put into vehicle-stopping devices on this sucker.
It didn’t really hit me until after I’d bought the tickets what I’d done. My brain panicked for a bit, trying to figure out a way out of it. A different route over a smaller bridge? Nope, would take too much time. When you’re in the car with a still potty training 3 year old, time is not your friend. Renting a car and driver was out, the expense alone made me never even consider that one. Nobody I could ask to drive us up there, it was too far and the show too long.
Nope, no way out of it. I had to do it. This is the thing about divorce. Before, I could have had my ex do the driving while I sat in the backseat and covered my eyes. Or hunkered down on the floor till it was over.
(yes, I actually did that once-on this bridge)
But being a single parent means that option is gone, and it’s on me to put on my big girl panties and deal.
So I did. I warned one of my best friends that I might be calling her before we crossed, just to have some distracting chatter in my head. You know, to drown out the internal shouting of “OH MY GOD WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE”.
But I didn’t need to. I stared at pictures of it for two days prior. I mentally pep talked myself. “You can do this.”
Our minds conjure up the worst imaginable and I think that is so that when the actual event occurs it’s never as bad as our imagination has led us to believe.
I memorized the number of feet. I calculated speed. I knew about how many seconds I’d have to be up there. I never looked to my left or right, I kept my eyes straight ahead.
I never panicked. I never even broke out into a sweat. I felt a rush of exhilaration when it was all over and I could not stop grinning. Ava smiled back at me in the rearview mirror, not having a clue what I was so slap happy about. I just whispered to myself ,”I did it.”
I did. I made that bridge my bitch.
What’s up next? I don’t know. Right now I’m still on a high from conquering a long held fear. Pun very much intended.
Bitch, I'm a BUS!
**Ava was enthralled with the show. It was definitely worth all the anxiety.
New Attitude
Perhaps smack in the middle of a very unpleasant cold is not the best place to be making decisions, but nobody ever said I was the sharpest knife in the drawer.
But something clicked in me this morning.
I need to bump the negative out of my life. The sour grapes. The whiners. The complainers. The chronic malcontents, who, no matter what are always determined to find the dark side of everything.
I’m not saying life is all sunshine and rainbows. I know it’s not. I’ve done my fair share of twitter bitching, for sure. But you ever notice that for some folks, that is ALL you hear? Nothing is ever good enough.
Well. ENOUGH.
I’m done with it.
I’m going to focus on the positive. The people who are kind, loving and helpful. The people who engage and participate in give and take, and not just take.
I’m going to say a kind word when I see someone who is having a genuinely hard time. Instead of skipping over it like I am all too often apt to do.
It’s time to encourage and lift up my fellow man. Even just a simple “I’m sorry you’re having a rough time” can mean so much to someone who is having a crappy day.
So, who is with me? Let’s start supporting and encouraging each other.
From One Fatherless Kid to Another
I had intended to write another in the series of Ava-isms, but I just couldn’t let the passing of someone so important simply go by with out any words at all.
By now, I’m sure everyone knows that Steve Jobs passed away yesterday, at the not very old at all age of 56. So much has already been written in the few hours since his passing- about his work, his vision and how both of those things changed the world. I learned of his death from a text message on my iPhone, the very device that has been the flagship of his company for the past 4 years.
And while I’m truly sad that someone with so much talent and drive and creativity is gone, what I am rarely seeing discussed, but what has been floating through my mind since last night is this: The world lost a guiding light of technology, but four children lost their dad yesterday.
He was 56. Much too young to leave your kids. Only three years older than my own father who passed away 20 years ago. I know how they are feeling. Even when you know death is coming, still you can never really be prepared for it. Especially when it is someone so close to you.
I know the uncertainty they must be feeling, facing life without their dad. You can argue that they have just inherited an immense amount of money, and while that may be true, fortunes do not lessen the blow of death. It does not replace a parent.
Money can’t buy you a dad to walk you down the isle when you get married. Money can’t buy you a grandpa to hold his granddaughter for the first time. Money can’t give you a father to turn to for comfort when your life crumbles around you.
I’m very sorry that those children will not have their dad around as they finish growing up and journey into adulthood.
I will think about them, and him, each night, as we use FaceTime to connect Ava with her parents when we’re away. As I take photographs of my sweet girl, I hope, on their phones they carry pictures of their dad that will make them smile and bring them some small comfort in the days, weeks and months ahead.
The grief does get easier. There will always be moments, sights, sounds, even smells that will bring you back to your childhood and make you sad for what you’ve missed, and what might have been. Today is one such day for me.
So, rest in peace, Steve. You definitely left your mark on this planet. And if you run into my dad up there somewhere, tell him I miss him, I love him, but I’m ok. And your kids will be too.
Sad Girl
I’ve seen her twice now. Early morning, sitting on the curb in front of what I assume is her house.
Waiting? What’s she waiting for? The bus? A friend to pick her up? A parent?
It’s not just the fact that she’s there. Her mere presence isn’t what makes me unable to shake her from my head.
She looks…sad. Lonely. Not sad in the angst-y way young teens have of lip pouting and all OHMYGODYOUHAVERUINEDMYLIFE. But deeply sad. It’s evident in her eyes, her slumped, defeated posture. Everything about her seems to say “I give up, I give in.”
I want to pick her up and hug her. I want to sit with her and ask her what is troubling her that she sits there on the curb like a discarded rag doll.
But I don’t. I drive by her on the way to visit my own daughter who is with her dad this week.
I don’t stop and ask her. She’s not my child. I am an old, useless adult. What could I possibly know, she would probably say.
And yet.
And yet I cannot stop thinking about her.
Two mornings in a row. Will tomorrow be three? If she’s not there, what will that mean?
This post is part of Heather of the EO’s Just Write Prompt. Go here for more info.
This town
This town is flags hung from front porches.
This town is manicured lawns neighboring tall grasses and unkempt flower beds.
This town is church bells ringing out on Sunday mornings, softly interrupting the silence.
This town is friendly cashiers, saying they missed you when you didn’t stop in for your daily soda run.
This town is old homes and tree lined streets.
This town is big pickup trucks and motorcycles parked on lawns.
This town is downtown deserted by 9 pm.
This town is big Sunday breakfasts and quiet Sunday nights.
This town is picnics in the park and classic car shows.
This town is about family.
This town is my town.
This town is home.
Imagine
Imagine a world in which your children only were tucked into beds under your roof two weeks out of every month.
Imagine a world in which mornings did not always include a sweet sleepy face saying “Good morning Mommy”.
Imagine a world, in which your baby did, said and tried new things for the first time and you hear about it afterwards.
Imagine not being able to see or touch the soft hair of the person you gave birth to, because the court says it’s not your day.
Imagine walking out of a house, hearing your child screaming for you, sobbing, and having to just keep walking. Because your parenting time has ended for the week.
Imagine having to give up all your carefully laid plans on raising your girl, because now you only have control over her environment on pre-planned out days.
Imagine worrying that her parents living in two separate places and no longer functioning as a family will harm her in ways you can’t even envision yet.
Imagine you go days without physical touch of another human.
Unless you’ve been there. You cannot imagine. You cannot know the heartbreak. You cannot know the tears that are shed, the sobs that echo off walls. You cannot know the longing for the feel of her little hand tucked into mine. You cannot know the twisting of my heart as I smile for her, never letting her know my sadness.
When I say I cry, when I say I shed tears over something, don’t tell me I’m silly. Don’t trivialize my pain.
You don’t know my heart. You’ve no right to judge my heart.
Be grateful for your life. If it’s as good as you say, you don’t need to tear down my already battered emotions with your superiority.
Imagine that small words, tucked into sentences, have the power to hurt.
I hope all you ever have to do is imagine.
Not a step back, but maybe to the side
It’s no secret around here that I struggle with self esteem issues. I have for 38 years. I’ve made some remarkable strides in dealing with those. Life’s circumstances have me facing the world on my own, and a new-found self confidence has been emerging.
However, it’s fragile. Tentative. Which almost seems like an oxymoron, but that’s what happens when you feel inadequate and just LESS than for your entire life. Changes don’t happen overnight and for someone who struggled for so long, it’s not hard to experience something that will knock me back a step.
I’ve been learning how to accept help. I’ve been learning how to take a compliment gracefully. I’ve been learning that who I am is ok, even great at times, and lousy at others. I’ve learned that it’s ok to fail, and to not try to appear perfect.
Today I feel like I just took a leap backward.
A simple comment on a Facebook post. The implication that my daughter’s father is her primary caregiver. The implication that the child doesn’t even HAVE a mother. I wanted to yell, scream and shout at this woman. “SHE HAS A MOTHER! AN INVOLVED MOTHER! A mother who sings her baby girl to sleep every night. A mother who takes her on shopping trips and to the playground. A mother who worries over her, watches her play. A mother who helps her learn things and then stands back to watch her attempt them on her own. A mother who prepares her meals and gives her her allergy meds every morning.
I know it’s not this woman’s fault. Somehow, it’s what she was led to believe.
I don’t have to justify myself to her. Or to anyone. I know what kind of mother I am. I’m a really good mother.
As usual, I have my friends to thank for helping me put it all into perspective. I love that they will tell me when I’m freaking out over nothing.
Thank you for reminding me that what anyone else thinks does not matter.
Remembering to Smile
I have come to realize that I tend to dwell on the negative an awful lot. I’m not a half glass empty person. I’ve always been more of a glass is surely going to break and cut my hand at any moment person.
Yeah.
I’m trying to change that about myself, thanks to some wonderful friends and some good tools from therapy sessions. I don’t always succeed, and lately it has been harder than ever to focus on the positive. With so many changes looming and so much of it being filled with uncertainty, some days I feel simply overwhelmed by all that is happening.
I vented all over one of my best friends in an email today. Poor dear simply emailed to offer some help and I spewed an entire page worth of angst and whines.
I felt infinitely better after doing so, I will admit.
But it got me to thinking about trying to push my brain toward more positive thoughts. To focus on the good things in my life and remember the things that make me smile, even if it’s through tears.
So that I remember them, I’m going to list some here. On days when I’m feeling angry or bitter or just plain melancholy, I will look at it and remember that life has it’s good side too.
Things that make me smile:
- Ava asking to get in bed with me to cuddle.
- My necklace, that reminds me every day that someone loves me.
- Emails from friends, whether they be silly or heartfelt.
- Unexpected sunshine on a rainy day, no matter how fleeting.
- The warmth from my electric blanket on a cold winter night.
- Comfortable new shoes, even if they aren’t the height of fashion.
- The smell of my new soap, which lingers slightly on the skin.
- The jingle of my charm bracelet and the weight of the charm that reminds me of the best day of my life.
- The smell of roast cooking in the crockpot.
- The salty tang of that first bite of salt and vinegar chips.
- Making a friend laugh when she’s had a hard day.
- Warm hugs from Ava.
Last but not least, just seeing this face every day.
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