March 18 and two kids make a decision. A decision that will alter the course of their lives forever. Together they will face the world. Side by side. Shoulder to shoulder. Whomever is the strongest at the moment will take the lead.
They will laugh. Laughter that will echo through forever. They will cry. Tears that could flood the future. They will love. Hard and fast with a fierce loyalty. Together they will create a world for their son. Together they will create a life for one another. I was one of those kids. My partner in crime is gone. Far too soon.
Today is my wedding anniversary. Just because he is gone doesn't mean it's not my anniversary. As I look back over our years together, I am prone to analyze. The decision we made to face this world together. The decision to fight that monster because we went into the situation with our eyes open. The odds were not in our favor. I was 20 and he was 21. Young marriages fail. Our son was born the following year. Young marriages with children fail. They said we'd never make it. They said we would divorce in a year. We were immature. We were children. But we meant those vows. We said them with our hearts. "Until death do you part" meant something to us. For all of our faults, our mistakes, missteps, and failures, we succeeded. We made 20 years.
That day it rained. I stood in the shower and cried. I was frightened. Was I making the right decision? Could we do this with the world against us? Would love really be enough? The officiant had laryngitis. Barely a whisper for our vows. But we made them. As the years passed it became the words that bound us when it got hard. We could not let them win. No marriage is easy. None worth having.
We dug deep when it counted. When there was no money. When he was sick. When things were hard between us. When his grandfathers passed away. When my brother shot himself in our backyard and left me so broken I could not see. We held together when they said it would tear us apart. One of us could always see our way clear.
I was talking to a friend of mine earlier in the week about the weight of my anniversary bearing down on me. First you must know that he is at midlife, never married and no children. He said something that sat me back in my seat. He said "I was thinking.. if someone told me.. "Here .. you can have 24 years with this person that you love and trust.. you will have a kid.. and a wife that misses me as much as you miss him.. but I would lose her.." I would do it in a heartbeat.. I've done and seen and had alot of things.. but Never anything like that.. I wish I could find someone to hurt over like that..." So I have been mulling this over in my mind. Had I known at the beginning, that it would be this way, would I still make the vow?
I can tell you I would do it again. Every step. Every tear. Because I had the laughter. I had the love. I had the life. I have known love that knew no bounds. I have seen the genuine article. I know it exists. It's not the holy grail. I still believe in love. Would I put my heart in harms way to have it filled with what others dream about? In a heartbeat.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Saturday, February 11, 2012
It's not Thursday anymore
As I look back over the past almost three years, I can see how far I have progressed down this road. I truly did not think I would survive. There were times I didn't think that I could take another step. There were mornings when I dreaded the sun like nothing I have ever known. Yet, here I stand.
I count the things that were the hardest. They were small and simple. The day after the funeral was a nightmare. Because at 10 pm that night, my heart expected to hear his truck in the driveway. It never came. The clothes in the closets. The medicine in the fridge. The nightstand with his messy odds and ends. I was in such deep shock. The hits just kept on coming. A particular phone call comes to mind. A bill that I was clearing up for him. I wasn't on the account so I had to say the words. "He died." She asked me "Oh I'm sorry. What happened?" I couldn't breathe. As I was mustering my strength, I said "I need to speak to your supervisor." That question is never okay to ask. Now I ignore them.
That was the first of the explosions that turned my world into a wasteland. That Easter, they found spots on my father in laws lungs. A year later everything I knew as my life was gone. In July he went to his son. My son and I were in shock again. That week his step father was diagnosed. As I slowly but surely found my way thru the fog of grief, my relations improved with my mother in law. She needed me to listen. To tell her the truth as she fought this monster. I found my grace in a box that I had packed away. I held her hand as best I could and this January he went to his step son. Three years. Three gone. Three times I held my son close but I couldn't say it would all be okay.
Some lessons come hard. They come so that you will do what you must, when you should, because tomorrow is promised to no one. I've learned to say "I love you" when I should not when I am sure it will be returned. I don't say it if I don't mean it. But, if I do, you will hear it often. I have learned to live without regret. I don't believe in tomorrow anymore. I believe in today. I believe in right now. I believe in my friends. I believe in my son. And I believe in love.
I am open now. Open to see what life has for me. Open to new things and new people. I have learned my strength. What I can bear and what I cannot. What I will tolerate and what I won't. What is worth fighting for and what is not worth my time. I have learned that people do actually love me. They see me and it's okay if I am not perfect. I have reached back and helped a few. I have given some wisdom and listened to some stories. I have told quite a few more they are not insane. I have learned that we all grieve. Death, divorce, it's all relative. You grieve the person, but moreover, I believe you grieve your dreams. You grieve your hopes and plans. I have also learned that if I don't work my grief it will work me. If you know me at all, that's not an option. Nothing works me. I run this.
In a long conversation, I was asked "When will it be alright?" and I answered "When it's not Thursday anymore." He collapsed on Thursday and he passed away on Friday. I counted Thursdays. I dreaded them. I held my breath at midnight and on Saturday I would let it out. I wouldn't leave the house. Then I counted 20th's. The 20th of the month ripped me apart. Another month. The calender flipped pages and I stood still. The world stopped.
I had another conversation with God. I told him how awful it was of him to take Rich when we were still young. When we had just found the door. How dare he do this to me. To rip me in half and bury the part I needed the most. I was so angry. He sat me down. He said "It could have been so much worse for him. What you see as cruelty was mercy." In my tears I said "But I didn't get to say goodbye." and he said "You will never say goodbye because he is not gone from you." Slowly I came back to the realization, I had him well over 20 years. His death was not about me. It was about what was best for him. The flash of selfishness passed. I became grateful. I have our son. The greatest gift I have ever been given. Without the decision I made so long ago, to face what would come with his diabetes, I would not have him. I made a promise. "Till death do you part." I kept my promise. I didn't know how badly it would hurt. But I kept my end of the bargain. I fulfilled my contract.
For all the bad there is good as well. I am closer to my son then ever in my life. We have withstood the worst hand in hand. I would never say it has been easy. But its been worth the struggle. I have cried a river of tears. But now sometimes they are from laughter or joy. I am no longer easily led. I don't fall for just anything. I don't bleed on command anymore. So as I look back at these three years, I can say that I am still standing. I didn't die. I didn't give up. I survived it. I made plans for next weekend. Only today did I realize the dates and I am okay with it. You know what, it's not Thursday anymore.
I count the things that were the hardest. They were small and simple. The day after the funeral was a nightmare. Because at 10 pm that night, my heart expected to hear his truck in the driveway. It never came. The clothes in the closets. The medicine in the fridge. The nightstand with his messy odds and ends. I was in such deep shock. The hits just kept on coming. A particular phone call comes to mind. A bill that I was clearing up for him. I wasn't on the account so I had to say the words. "He died." She asked me "Oh I'm sorry. What happened?" I couldn't breathe. As I was mustering my strength, I said "I need to speak to your supervisor." That question is never okay to ask. Now I ignore them.
That was the first of the explosions that turned my world into a wasteland. That Easter, they found spots on my father in laws lungs. A year later everything I knew as my life was gone. In July he went to his son. My son and I were in shock again. That week his step father was diagnosed. As I slowly but surely found my way thru the fog of grief, my relations improved with my mother in law. She needed me to listen. To tell her the truth as she fought this monster. I found my grace in a box that I had packed away. I held her hand as best I could and this January he went to his step son. Three years. Three gone. Three times I held my son close but I couldn't say it would all be okay.
Some lessons come hard. They come so that you will do what you must, when you should, because tomorrow is promised to no one. I've learned to say "I love you" when I should not when I am sure it will be returned. I don't say it if I don't mean it. But, if I do, you will hear it often. I have learned to live without regret. I don't believe in tomorrow anymore. I believe in today. I believe in right now. I believe in my friends. I believe in my son. And I believe in love.
I am open now. Open to see what life has for me. Open to new things and new people. I have learned my strength. What I can bear and what I cannot. What I will tolerate and what I won't. What is worth fighting for and what is not worth my time. I have learned that people do actually love me. They see me and it's okay if I am not perfect. I have reached back and helped a few. I have given some wisdom and listened to some stories. I have told quite a few more they are not insane. I have learned that we all grieve. Death, divorce, it's all relative. You grieve the person, but moreover, I believe you grieve your dreams. You grieve your hopes and plans. I have also learned that if I don't work my grief it will work me. If you know me at all, that's not an option. Nothing works me. I run this.
In a long conversation, I was asked "When will it be alright?" and I answered "When it's not Thursday anymore." He collapsed on Thursday and he passed away on Friday. I counted Thursdays. I dreaded them. I held my breath at midnight and on Saturday I would let it out. I wouldn't leave the house. Then I counted 20th's. The 20th of the month ripped me apart. Another month. The calender flipped pages and I stood still. The world stopped.
I had another conversation with God. I told him how awful it was of him to take Rich when we were still young. When we had just found the door. How dare he do this to me. To rip me in half and bury the part I needed the most. I was so angry. He sat me down. He said "It could have been so much worse for him. What you see as cruelty was mercy." In my tears I said "But I didn't get to say goodbye." and he said "You will never say goodbye because he is not gone from you." Slowly I came back to the realization, I had him well over 20 years. His death was not about me. It was about what was best for him. The flash of selfishness passed. I became grateful. I have our son. The greatest gift I have ever been given. Without the decision I made so long ago, to face what would come with his diabetes, I would not have him. I made a promise. "Till death do you part." I kept my promise. I didn't know how badly it would hurt. But I kept my end of the bargain. I fulfilled my contract.
For all the bad there is good as well. I am closer to my son then ever in my life. We have withstood the worst hand in hand. I would never say it has been easy. But its been worth the struggle. I have cried a river of tears. But now sometimes they are from laughter or joy. I am no longer easily led. I don't fall for just anything. I don't bleed on command anymore. So as I look back at these three years, I can say that I am still standing. I didn't die. I didn't give up. I survived it. I made plans for next weekend. Only today did I realize the dates and I am okay with it. You know what, it's not Thursday anymore.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
The Owl, The Exorcist and The Ghost of Christmas Past
As I sit here on my quiet tiny Christmas, my third as a widow, I am surprisingly not melancholy or drenched in tears. I ate a hotdog, some chips, drank a pot of coffee and am watching "Mildred Pierce." Last night, my son and his friend were here and we laughed, truly laughed over stupid things. Nothing from the past. We laughed in the here and now. It makes me smile.
Our Christmas times were always a struggle. Being the parents of a first grandchild, of families that by and large did not get along well, we were always on the road. This caused great stress and issues between my hubs and me because they were making us crazy trying to make them happy. But things happened, as they always do, so that we could find the levity in any situation. We had to be at my father in laws for Christmas Eve. We had to be with my mother in law for Christmas morning. We had to be at my parents for Christmas night. Now, that doesn't sound bad until I tell you that the first house was in West Virgina. The Second house was in Virgina. The third house was in Tennessee. We live in North Carolina. Ahhh.. now it's all coming into focus huh? My son never opened a present in my house on Christmas morning until he was 18. Go ahead, say it. "I would never have done all of that! My children have always had Christmas at home." Shut up. We were young kids. We had a kid. We made our parents happy. We went through 4 states in, if we were blessed with either Christmas eve or the day after Christmas off, in about 36 hours. I don't care who you are, that just sucks.
However, because we financially struggled, we never knew what might come out from a Christmas tree at any given house with either our names on it as givers or receivers. When Mawmaw wanted to hide she had spent more money on someone than someone else, we were the givers. When Pawpaw decided we needed something for the house that we couldn't afford Santa would deliver a package. However, sometimes this meant that we gave strange things to people we hardly knew as we only saw them once a year. Rich got his first cousin's new wife underwear one year. I bought his brother a jockstrap. Drew bought his aunt her first bra. On and on it went. Year after year. Until it became quite the game for us. Santa on the other hand showed up with washing machines, vacuum cleaners, hydraulic jacks, or pots and pans. One year he bought a transmission for my car and the next, tires for Rich's truck. Santa was very practical.
Our road trips however lacked organization. We woke one Christmas morning at Pawpaws, very hung over from a night of rummy with the family. There were 7 inches of snow on the ground. We had to go, NOW. So we packed up like the traveling pack of gypsies we were at that time of year and off we went to the next place. Now to say there was a disparity in the families would be a misnomer. Dad's side drank the holidays into oblivion. Mom's side are holy rollers. My parents are hillbillies. So hung over as we could be, we bowed our heads for Christmas dinner. They prayed so long that we dozed off. I eventually awoke to the sound of Rich's snoring and the entire dinner table howling with laughter. Every prayer from then forward started with, "Are y'all awake?"
The next year we were driving on the interstate and an owl hit the windshield of the car tearing the wipers off. I thought we had been attacked by the Taliban. We stopped at a truck-stop and Rich rigged up some tractor trailer blades to flop about so that we might be able to see something of the road. Due to the late hour when we arrived we spent the night at my parents home. I awoke at about 9 and staggered to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. One sip and I had to run outside. I was standing in 8 inches of snow reenacting scenes from "The Exorcist." Food poisoning. Frozen pipes in the house. Need I elaborate?
Two of my favorite things concerned Rich and his dad but on separate occasions. The first was an Emory & Henry ballcap that made him drop Dallas Cowboy tickets into the tornado of wrapping paper that caused a near family riot. He cried and so did I over a simple part of his past. He wore it until it fell apart. Our last Christmas we bought Pawpaw tickets to the Daytona 500. I packed them into a half eaten box of Cheezits. (a private joke between rich and him) When he opened the package and it was a box of crackers he laughed that laugh that only family knows. I was so anxious, that I had to tell him to open the box. Inside was a card that read "You've watched it on the couch 100 times, get out in the sunshine for once." He found the tickets and was so awestruck that the room went silent. We rendered him speechless.
Rich would pull out Drew's toy's and play with them. Firetrucks that made noise or video games. Then he would put them back. His green eyes would dance when they were opened. Drew thought his Daddy knew everything because he knew how everything worked. They would play deep into the night on the floor while I curled up with a new book I wanted to finish. The world was right.
I remember these things without pain. I remember them with a smile. Drew and I are making our own memories now. But now it's not about presents. We might be alone, but we know that together we are stronger. We might have hot dogs on Christmas eve with some Doritos, but we do so with a light heart. We might be forgotten by the world we used to know, but in our new reality, we are a family. We choose who we allow to be family. Family is not blood and bone. Family is laughter and tears. Family is smiles and jokes. Family is a hand on your shoulder as you watch the family you thought you knew turn their backs and walk away. Family is knowing that in the heart of another you always have a place to call home.
Our Christmas times were always a struggle. Being the parents of a first grandchild, of families that by and large did not get along well, we were always on the road. This caused great stress and issues between my hubs and me because they were making us crazy trying to make them happy. But things happened, as they always do, so that we could find the levity in any situation. We had to be at my father in laws for Christmas Eve. We had to be with my mother in law for Christmas morning. We had to be at my parents for Christmas night. Now, that doesn't sound bad until I tell you that the first house was in West Virgina. The Second house was in Virgina. The third house was in Tennessee. We live in North Carolina. Ahhh.. now it's all coming into focus huh? My son never opened a present in my house on Christmas morning until he was 18. Go ahead, say it. "I would never have done all of that! My children have always had Christmas at home." Shut up. We were young kids. We had a kid. We made our parents happy. We went through 4 states in, if we were blessed with either Christmas eve or the day after Christmas off, in about 36 hours. I don't care who you are, that just sucks.
However, because we financially struggled, we never knew what might come out from a Christmas tree at any given house with either our names on it as givers or receivers. When Mawmaw wanted to hide she had spent more money on someone than someone else, we were the givers. When Pawpaw decided we needed something for the house that we couldn't afford Santa would deliver a package. However, sometimes this meant that we gave strange things to people we hardly knew as we only saw them once a year. Rich got his first cousin's new wife underwear one year. I bought his brother a jockstrap. Drew bought his aunt her first bra. On and on it went. Year after year. Until it became quite the game for us. Santa on the other hand showed up with washing machines, vacuum cleaners, hydraulic jacks, or pots and pans. One year he bought a transmission for my car and the next, tires for Rich's truck. Santa was very practical.
Our road trips however lacked organization. We woke one Christmas morning at Pawpaws, very hung over from a night of rummy with the family. There were 7 inches of snow on the ground. We had to go, NOW. So we packed up like the traveling pack of gypsies we were at that time of year and off we went to the next place. Now to say there was a disparity in the families would be a misnomer. Dad's side drank the holidays into oblivion. Mom's side are holy rollers. My parents are hillbillies. So hung over as we could be, we bowed our heads for Christmas dinner. They prayed so long that we dozed off. I eventually awoke to the sound of Rich's snoring and the entire dinner table howling with laughter. Every prayer from then forward started with, "Are y'all awake?"
The next year we were driving on the interstate and an owl hit the windshield of the car tearing the wipers off. I thought we had been attacked by the Taliban. We stopped at a truck-stop and Rich rigged up some tractor trailer blades to flop about so that we might be able to see something of the road. Due to the late hour when we arrived we spent the night at my parents home. I awoke at about 9 and staggered to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. One sip and I had to run outside. I was standing in 8 inches of snow reenacting scenes from "The Exorcist." Food poisoning. Frozen pipes in the house. Need I elaborate?
Two of my favorite things concerned Rich and his dad but on separate occasions. The first was an Emory & Henry ballcap that made him drop Dallas Cowboy tickets into the tornado of wrapping paper that caused a near family riot. He cried and so did I over a simple part of his past. He wore it until it fell apart. Our last Christmas we bought Pawpaw tickets to the Daytona 500. I packed them into a half eaten box of Cheezits. (a private joke between rich and him) When he opened the package and it was a box of crackers he laughed that laugh that only family knows. I was so anxious, that I had to tell him to open the box. Inside was a card that read "You've watched it on the couch 100 times, get out in the sunshine for once." He found the tickets and was so awestruck that the room went silent. We rendered him speechless.
Rich would pull out Drew's toy's and play with them. Firetrucks that made noise or video games. Then he would put them back. His green eyes would dance when they were opened. Drew thought his Daddy knew everything because he knew how everything worked. They would play deep into the night on the floor while I curled up with a new book I wanted to finish. The world was right.
I remember these things without pain. I remember them with a smile. Drew and I are making our own memories now. But now it's not about presents. We might be alone, but we know that together we are stronger. We might have hot dogs on Christmas eve with some Doritos, but we do so with a light heart. We might be forgotten by the world we used to know, but in our new reality, we are a family. We choose who we allow to be family. Family is not blood and bone. Family is laughter and tears. Family is smiles and jokes. Family is a hand on your shoulder as you watch the family you thought you knew turn their backs and walk away. Family is knowing that in the heart of another you always have a place to call home.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Tomcats, Tobacco and A Clean Plow.
I have not lived this long, nor survived what I have, to not learn a few things here and there about this world. I am the answer woman. I have a working knowledge of a lot of subjects and I tend to retain most of what I read, hear or watch. Don't ask me why, I have simply always been this way. The other thing I have retained is what my Daddy refers to as "good old fashioned horse sense." My beloved Granny instilled information in my head that comes to the forefront of my brain when dealing with different situations. My heritage is that of a resourceful people who learned at the knee of their elders and passed that knowledge on to those of us who would listen.
Some things come from being raised on a farm with lots of animals and lots of different things going wrong. For instance, a calico cat, that has more than three colors, is a female. We learned this when our cat Tom, had a litter of kittens under the bathtub. My Uncle had a belly laugh and said "Ain't no tomcat that has ever had more than three colors." I crawled under the tub and retrieved the kitties. Then Tom promptly stashed them under the stairs in the can closet and ran to the road finding a car tire at 3am. I crawled into the closet again retrieving the kitties. We raised them on a bottle. To this day, I have never seen a calico that did not fit this rule and I can raise any orphaned pet without its mommy. I have the formula in my head, if you need it, email me. I also know that doing a self medication of any cat is a bad idea. Again, it's a bad idea. Daddy and I decided to give an injection of antibiotics as advised by our large animal vet. Yes, I now know a cat is not a large animal. I have scars. It's a bad idea. I know that burnt motor oil kills the mange on dogs that don't bite, (make your own joke there please) and that the ball of fur on a cows tail will in fact come off at the worst possible time during a surgery (don't ask don't tell.) If you are from PETA, please do not email me. Horses love cold biscuits and will try to come into ones house for garden fresh corn. Chickens actually do come home to roost and a pig raised for food should be named Porkchop. A mouse can be killed with a hairbrush but won't die of fright from a hammer. A bat won't get out of your house if all the lights are on but you will break all the pictures on the wall with a broom. A blacksnake found in the bathtub at 4am will die a horrible death and maybe who brought it into the house as well. A bird will go to sleep if you cover the cage and won't wake up to fly on demand if you grab it out to toss it into the air for an Easter play. Not even for Jesus and John the Baptist.
Then there are the Mama things I have learned through the years. My first serious home remedy that I remember was when I was assaulted by a bumblebee the size of Mothra. (It was huge. I swear Granny. A MONASTER!! I was 4.) My beloved Granny grabbed a cigarette and crushed it. She took the tobacco from the paper and added it to a small amount of water. Voila! Miracle monaster bumblebee paste! She put it on the sting and within a little bit the swelling and pain were gone. I've used it 100 times in different situations. Still works. Any kind of tobacco product. If you burn yourself use vanilla extract to take the burn out. High blood pressure can be treated with vinegar and fresh garlic. (Again email me for that recipe.) Bleach kills a bug or fire ant bite. Kraut juice will kill a stomach virus. Cut a tiny notch in the middle of an ingrowing toenail and it will pull it out in a day or so. Socks stop the colic in a baby. (True story. Proven. Again email.) Visine will take the red out of a pimple. Preparation H really does shrink the bags under your eyes. Brandy on a toothache will dull the pain before you swallow it and smoke blown in an ear helps with an earache . Migraine meds with coffee and then a hot bath to make it work faster. But if Mama has a migraine, leave her the hell alone or you could suffer a near death experience.
The Farmers Almanac calendar (google it if you don't know what it is) also dictated alot of timing on things as well. Don't have teeth pulled when the signs are in the head because you will have a dry socket. However you do plant cabbage in the garden at that time. Plant potatoes when the signs are in the feet and they will be all toes. (those little growths on them sticking out all over.) Taking a baby bottle is easiest to take when the signs are in the knees. (I did this and it worked with my son.) A woman on her menstral cycle cannot enter the garden because she will kill the cucumbers and squash. (I know it happens. I can't explain it.) A close group of females cycles will also pull them together so there is generally only one week of hell per month. Allowing someone to sweep under your feet means you will never marry and if you get the front of your shirt wet while washing dishes you will marry a drunkard. A purse sitting in the floor is always empty of money and a man who is disrespectful of his mama is useless. Never give a friend anything sharp like knives or scissors as it will sever the friendship.(Lend it to them instead.) If you thank someone for a gifted houseplant it will die. A wild bird in the house means there is to be a death affecting the household but dreaming of a death means there is a baby on the way. (Very nearly lost my mind with that one. Now two nights of death in my dreams means everyone gets a pregnancy test!) You carry a girl in front when you're pregnant and a boy you carry allover.
My Appalachian heritage made me resourceful in many aspects of my life with simple common sense and remembering what I over heard as a child. I learned a lot about people and what causes certain behaviors to be displayed. Sayings that they used I remembered and I use them to this day. "A hit dog will hollar" states that the person who told your business will be the first to contact you. (Don't contact anyone when you've been betrayed. First one to contact you is the Judas.) "When you sling shit, you always get some on you" says that when you're talking trash behind someones back, you're the one who smells like garbage. If someone says to you "I'm going to clean that there boy's plow" call the police because there is going to be a fight. (A plow is actually cleaned with a hammer.) "Well bless your heart." translates into "Well aren't you stupid." (Regardless of what you think, that's what it means.) "A hard head makes a soft ass" fits someone who does the same stupid stuff and gets bit in the ass again and again. "Pot meet kettle." is used when someone is bitching about someone doing exactly what they themselves are doing. The best phrase I ever heard was "You can't save face and your ass at the same time" which means you can't have your pride and your ass when you've made a mistake. One will always pay for the other. You need to decide which is most important to you.
Some things come from being raised on a farm with lots of animals and lots of different things going wrong. For instance, a calico cat, that has more than three colors, is a female. We learned this when our cat Tom, had a litter of kittens under the bathtub. My Uncle had a belly laugh and said "Ain't no tomcat that has ever had more than three colors." I crawled under the tub and retrieved the kitties. Then Tom promptly stashed them under the stairs in the can closet and ran to the road finding a car tire at 3am. I crawled into the closet again retrieving the kitties. We raised them on a bottle. To this day, I have never seen a calico that did not fit this rule and I can raise any orphaned pet without its mommy. I have the formula in my head, if you need it, email me. I also know that doing a self medication of any cat is a bad idea. Again, it's a bad idea. Daddy and I decided to give an injection of antibiotics as advised by our large animal vet. Yes, I now know a cat is not a large animal. I have scars. It's a bad idea. I know that burnt motor oil kills the mange on dogs that don't bite, (make your own joke there please) and that the ball of fur on a cows tail will in fact come off at the worst possible time during a surgery (don't ask don't tell.) If you are from PETA, please do not email me. Horses love cold biscuits and will try to come into ones house for garden fresh corn. Chickens actually do come home to roost and a pig raised for food should be named Porkchop. A mouse can be killed with a hairbrush but won't die of fright from a hammer. A bat won't get out of your house if all the lights are on but you will break all the pictures on the wall with a broom. A blacksnake found in the bathtub at 4am will die a horrible death and maybe who brought it into the house as well. A bird will go to sleep if you cover the cage and won't wake up to fly on demand if you grab it out to toss it into the air for an Easter play. Not even for Jesus and John the Baptist.
Then there are the Mama things I have learned through the years. My first serious home remedy that I remember was when I was assaulted by a bumblebee the size of Mothra. (It was huge. I swear Granny. A MONASTER!! I was 4.) My beloved Granny grabbed a cigarette and crushed it. She took the tobacco from the paper and added it to a small amount of water. Voila! Miracle monaster bumblebee paste! She put it on the sting and within a little bit the swelling and pain were gone. I've used it 100 times in different situations. Still works. Any kind of tobacco product. If you burn yourself use vanilla extract to take the burn out. High blood pressure can be treated with vinegar and fresh garlic. (Again email me for that recipe.) Bleach kills a bug or fire ant bite. Kraut juice will kill a stomach virus. Cut a tiny notch in the middle of an ingrowing toenail and it will pull it out in a day or so. Socks stop the colic in a baby. (True story. Proven. Again email.) Visine will take the red out of a pimple. Preparation H really does shrink the bags under your eyes. Brandy on a toothache will dull the pain before you swallow it and smoke blown in an ear helps with an earache . Migraine meds with coffee and then a hot bath to make it work faster. But if Mama has a migraine, leave her the hell alone or you could suffer a near death experience.
The Farmers Almanac calendar (google it if you don't know what it is) also dictated alot of timing on things as well. Don't have teeth pulled when the signs are in the head because you will have a dry socket. However you do plant cabbage in the garden at that time. Plant potatoes when the signs are in the feet and they will be all toes. (those little growths on them sticking out all over.) Taking a baby bottle is easiest to take when the signs are in the knees. (I did this and it worked with my son.) A woman on her menstral cycle cannot enter the garden because she will kill the cucumbers and squash. (I know it happens. I can't explain it.) A close group of females cycles will also pull them together so there is generally only one week of hell per month. Allowing someone to sweep under your feet means you will never marry and if you get the front of your shirt wet while washing dishes you will marry a drunkard. A purse sitting in the floor is always empty of money and a man who is disrespectful of his mama is useless. Never give a friend anything sharp like knives or scissors as it will sever the friendship.(Lend it to them instead.) If you thank someone for a gifted houseplant it will die. A wild bird in the house means there is to be a death affecting the household but dreaming of a death means there is a baby on the way. (Very nearly lost my mind with that one. Now two nights of death in my dreams means everyone gets a pregnancy test!) You carry a girl in front when you're pregnant and a boy you carry allover.
My Appalachian heritage made me resourceful in many aspects of my life with simple common sense and remembering what I over heard as a child. I learned a lot about people and what causes certain behaviors to be displayed. Sayings that they used I remembered and I use them to this day. "A hit dog will hollar" states that the person who told your business will be the first to contact you. (Don't contact anyone when you've been betrayed. First one to contact you is the Judas.) "When you sling shit, you always get some on you" says that when you're talking trash behind someones back, you're the one who smells like garbage. If someone says to you "I'm going to clean that there boy's plow" call the police because there is going to be a fight. (A plow is actually cleaned with a hammer.) "Well bless your heart." translates into "Well aren't you stupid." (Regardless of what you think, that's what it means.) "A hard head makes a soft ass" fits someone who does the same stupid stuff and gets bit in the ass again and again. "Pot meet kettle." is used when someone is bitching about someone doing exactly what they themselves are doing. The best phrase I ever heard was "You can't save face and your ass at the same time" which means you can't have your pride and your ass when you've made a mistake. One will always pay for the other. You need to decide which is most important to you.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
The Hellidays and Some Oil of Okay
With the "Helliday Season" upon us, I am quiet. This is number three since I became a widow. It doesn't hurt quite as badly but the loneliness is setting in for a long winters rest. I am alone. It would be nice to say that I am doing well but I most certainly not out of the woods yet. The day after Thanksgiving, I got a call from one of my old friends and this person said perhaps the most ignorant thing I have heard uttered from a human tongue. "You okay now though right?" What in the hell does that mean? Define "okay" for me is what I should have said, but this person did not deserve to see my pain. So I said "I'm as okay as I'm going to be this year."
This year has brought many challenges and some I have conquered and some I have not quite mastered yet. I am learning to be alone. I met my husband at quite an early age so alone is not something I have ever really done before in this life. When I am sick, there is no one to make the chicken soup or to aggravate me on the phone every time I fall asleep by calling to ask if I am feeling better. I don't have that hand to hold in the emergency room or to tell me they are going to the sofa because they don't want to be sick as well. People say "Why didn't you call me?" "Because I look like the wrath of God and don't want to see you" is what I'd like to say. Instead I mutter something polite as I rush off the phone with something about needing to sleep.
I'm learning to value my true friends. The ones who get angry if I haven't been in touch. Lately I am bad about returning calls or even text messages. I am self isolating but it's for my own sanity. I cannot solve your problems today. I cannot hear you whine about your relationship today. I cannot hear that one more person is unwell or that you don't care what someone thinks about some petty issue. I have always been the problem solver among my friends. I am the strong one who is an adult. They turn to me for answers or just a sounding board. It's not that I don't care, but that the noise in my head will not allow me to hear you.
My relationship with my son has never been on more solid ground in his life. But, this year he has seen me vulnerable. He has seen me cry in the night and asked me what was wrong. I did not give him the standard "Nothing baby" mama answer. That is probably what I am most grateful for in this entire year. I've watched my son become one helluva man. I have actually patted myself on the back and said I did a good job. I let him comfort me. I let him tell me everything would be okay and I actually believed him. We got on a human level more than a parental child level and are so much stronger for the effort. I don't have to be a tower of strength in front of him anymore. I can be scared and its okay.
Right now, more than anything I am looking for something solid. I am unteatherd from things that keep me grounded. I've always put my worth in my family. Now I am without family. I am looking for true north it seems. The star that will always lead me home. I am not okay. But the truth is I don't know what okay looks like at this point. So bear with me as I travel up and down the isles looking for this mythical thing. What is okay to you may not be okay to me. Everyone gets a custom made piece. But what is home is the question now.
A while back one of my widowed friends was tweeting from her I-Phone and the auto correct sent "Oil of Okay." We laughed about it then but it was prophetic. This time of year I need some to rub into my emotional legs that are tired from this widows walk. Some days I take 10 or 12 steps forward on these platform heels, others I can not make it a single step and I must be content to stand. But that's the point, I'm still standing.
This year has brought many challenges and some I have conquered and some I have not quite mastered yet. I am learning to be alone. I met my husband at quite an early age so alone is not something I have ever really done before in this life. When I am sick, there is no one to make the chicken soup or to aggravate me on the phone every time I fall asleep by calling to ask if I am feeling better. I don't have that hand to hold in the emergency room or to tell me they are going to the sofa because they don't want to be sick as well. People say "Why didn't you call me?" "Because I look like the wrath of God and don't want to see you" is what I'd like to say. Instead I mutter something polite as I rush off the phone with something about needing to sleep.
I'm learning to value my true friends. The ones who get angry if I haven't been in touch. Lately I am bad about returning calls or even text messages. I am self isolating but it's for my own sanity. I cannot solve your problems today. I cannot hear you whine about your relationship today. I cannot hear that one more person is unwell or that you don't care what someone thinks about some petty issue. I have always been the problem solver among my friends. I am the strong one who is an adult. They turn to me for answers or just a sounding board. It's not that I don't care, but that the noise in my head will not allow me to hear you.
My relationship with my son has never been on more solid ground in his life. But, this year he has seen me vulnerable. He has seen me cry in the night and asked me what was wrong. I did not give him the standard "Nothing baby" mama answer. That is probably what I am most grateful for in this entire year. I've watched my son become one helluva man. I have actually patted myself on the back and said I did a good job. I let him comfort me. I let him tell me everything would be okay and I actually believed him. We got on a human level more than a parental child level and are so much stronger for the effort. I don't have to be a tower of strength in front of him anymore. I can be scared and its okay.
Right now, more than anything I am looking for something solid. I am unteatherd from things that keep me grounded. I've always put my worth in my family. Now I am without family. I am looking for true north it seems. The star that will always lead me home. I am not okay. But the truth is I don't know what okay looks like at this point. So bear with me as I travel up and down the isles looking for this mythical thing. What is okay to you may not be okay to me. Everyone gets a custom made piece. But what is home is the question now.
A while back one of my widowed friends was tweeting from her I-Phone and the auto correct sent "Oil of Okay." We laughed about it then but it was prophetic. This time of year I need some to rub into my emotional legs that are tired from this widows walk. Some days I take 10 or 12 steps forward on these platform heels, others I can not make it a single step and I must be content to stand. But that's the point, I'm still standing.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Victims and Volunteers
I am told, that at this point in my life, I have great clarity in the way that I see things. Issues in my life are becoming more clear as I dig within myself in order to create a healthier me. I have an intimate knowledge of what has made me any unhealthy companion for myself. However, doing this work on myself has been a two edged sword as it opens my eyes to seeing mistakes others have made, are making or will be making in the future. I would rather shine the light on the things I have done with a bit of levity so that I can laugh and learn simultaneously.
As I said earlier, I have ventured a tad into the dating world. These are people I have never mentioned and there will only be thumbnails here as the names have been changed to protect the not so innocent. These appear to be archetypes that visit everyone in the journey through widowhood. If you see a man here you think you may know, you might, but that's alright. He's who you think he is.
First was a horrible mistake that took forever to extricate myself from it seems. This is the dreaded FWB. For those of you who live under a rock, this is a "friend with benefits," or as I prefer to call it, a MBP. My term means "Mistake Bearing a Penis." I kept him at arms length emotionally. I was trying to fill an emotional hole by plugging a physical one. Except this plug had a voice and personality, neither of which were compatible with my own. Getting out of that situation taught me quickly that being detached emotionally from the physicality that I craved was more damaging to me than starving for affection. Lesson number one learned. I cannot separate my heart from my body and be healthy. One needs the other to live. Was I a victim? No. I was a volunteer. I set it in motion myself and it was up to me to end it.
Second was an older man. He was 15 years my senior. We had a kinetic energy. We talked for hours. He could calm me. Married unsuccessfully three times, he was strong, wise and honorable. But we had never been in the same state never-mind the same room. He found me smart and funny. He said I was strong and honorable. Then he ripped my heart out of my chest. "I'm not what you need." That's what he said. I made excuses for him. "He is honorable and doesn't want to hurt me" was code for "He's selfish and doesn't have room for me." Second lesson learned, I had no boundaries at that time. Being your companion does not give you access to my soul. Was I a victim? No. I was a volunteer. I let him dictate the tone and pace of the relationship. My mind carried me the rest of the way.
Then there was the dreaded married man. We entertained each other on the phone. I conducted, for all intensive purposes, a daylight emotional affair. There were all day texting marathons that lasted from 8am until 7pm. I was a stress free female who always looked perfect and always said the right things in his mind. For me I could flirt and emotionally connect with someone without risking really getting hurt. Although the relationship was never physically consummated, many was the time he met my emotional needs as only a lover can. I never questioned his situation at home. But I would never say I didn't endanger it either. Third lesson learned, emotional fulfillment doesn't mean infidelity is acceptable. Was I a victim? No. I was a volunteer. I participated fully with the knowledge he was unavailable and never would be.
Forth was another older gentleman who sold me a bill of goods in many ways. All I will say about this is, I cannot do sick again. Lap band surgery, brain tumors, drug addiction, and rampant ADHD are things that should be disclosed. I did the walk of shame off a fucking airplane. Fourth lesson learned, all that glitters is neither hard nor satisfying. Was I a victim? No. I was a volunteer. I saw what I wanted to see and reality smacked me on the ass for my ignorance.
Next into the batters box was the younger man. 10 years younger is not quite cougar country but its too close for comfort for me. He and I remain fast friends. But he lives in far too high of a gear for me. His past lives in his home and I cannot, strike that, I will not compete. I am much more valuable to him on his shoulder than in his lap. Fifth lesson learned, I am 44 years old. Was I a victim? No. I was a volunteer. I saw a beautiful man and forgot why I loved being a grown woman.
The accumulation of these lessons is at hand. I am slowly building a relationship. Day by day. Week by week. Month by month. This one will last me until I take my last breath. I am not lost with this person and it grows stronger everyday. I am in a relationship with myself. I need to love me. What I don't love, I need to either change or accept. That's the long and the short of the thing. In order for me to be part of something bigger, I must first be whole.
The lessons have taught me the following regarding myself. A man deserves for me to be open emotionally as well as physically. I must be present in the relationship. A man deserves for me to tell him what I need. If I don't know myself, then how is he supposed to meet my needs. A man deserves my emotional fidelity. My heart must be open in order for him to build a home. A man deserves my full disclosure. I must be honest with where I have been and who I am. The last one is the hardest. A man deserves for me to leave my past behind me. There are of course souvenirs, but one need not wear the t-shirt every fucking day.
See, the issues I saw were not theirs, but symptoms of the sickness of my self esteem. I had to treat them one at a time to cure my illness. It would be easy for me to say "They all took advantage of my grieving and were insensitive jackasses." But that is simply not true. We all come into these things with baggage and expectations. I no longer look at what Mr Soandso did wrong. The more important lesson is what drew them to me. When I am healthy, I will draw healthy to me. There are no victims here. We were all volunteers at one time or another.
As I said earlier, I have ventured a tad into the dating world. These are people I have never mentioned and there will only be thumbnails here as the names have been changed to protect the not so innocent. These appear to be archetypes that visit everyone in the journey through widowhood. If you see a man here you think you may know, you might, but that's alright. He's who you think he is.
First was a horrible mistake that took forever to extricate myself from it seems. This is the dreaded FWB. For those of you who live under a rock, this is a "friend with benefits," or as I prefer to call it, a MBP. My term means "Mistake Bearing a Penis." I kept him at arms length emotionally. I was trying to fill an emotional hole by plugging a physical one. Except this plug had a voice and personality, neither of which were compatible with my own. Getting out of that situation taught me quickly that being detached emotionally from the physicality that I craved was more damaging to me than starving for affection. Lesson number one learned. I cannot separate my heart from my body and be healthy. One needs the other to live. Was I a victim? No. I was a volunteer. I set it in motion myself and it was up to me to end it.
Second was an older man. He was 15 years my senior. We had a kinetic energy. We talked for hours. He could calm me. Married unsuccessfully three times, he was strong, wise and honorable. But we had never been in the same state never-mind the same room. He found me smart and funny. He said I was strong and honorable. Then he ripped my heart out of my chest. "I'm not what you need." That's what he said. I made excuses for him. "He is honorable and doesn't want to hurt me" was code for "He's selfish and doesn't have room for me." Second lesson learned, I had no boundaries at that time. Being your companion does not give you access to my soul. Was I a victim? No. I was a volunteer. I let him dictate the tone and pace of the relationship. My mind carried me the rest of the way.
Then there was the dreaded married man. We entertained each other on the phone. I conducted, for all intensive purposes, a daylight emotional affair. There were all day texting marathons that lasted from 8am until 7pm. I was a stress free female who always looked perfect and always said the right things in his mind. For me I could flirt and emotionally connect with someone without risking really getting hurt. Although the relationship was never physically consummated, many was the time he met my emotional needs as only a lover can. I never questioned his situation at home. But I would never say I didn't endanger it either. Third lesson learned, emotional fulfillment doesn't mean infidelity is acceptable. Was I a victim? No. I was a volunteer. I participated fully with the knowledge he was unavailable and never would be.
Forth was another older gentleman who sold me a bill of goods in many ways. All I will say about this is, I cannot do sick again. Lap band surgery, brain tumors, drug addiction, and rampant ADHD are things that should be disclosed. I did the walk of shame off a fucking airplane. Fourth lesson learned, all that glitters is neither hard nor satisfying. Was I a victim? No. I was a volunteer. I saw what I wanted to see and reality smacked me on the ass for my ignorance.
Next into the batters box was the younger man. 10 years younger is not quite cougar country but its too close for comfort for me. He and I remain fast friends. But he lives in far too high of a gear for me. His past lives in his home and I cannot, strike that, I will not compete. I am much more valuable to him on his shoulder than in his lap. Fifth lesson learned, I am 44 years old. Was I a victim? No. I was a volunteer. I saw a beautiful man and forgot why I loved being a grown woman.
The accumulation of these lessons is at hand. I am slowly building a relationship. Day by day. Week by week. Month by month. This one will last me until I take my last breath. I am not lost with this person and it grows stronger everyday. I am in a relationship with myself. I need to love me. What I don't love, I need to either change or accept. That's the long and the short of the thing. In order for me to be part of something bigger, I must first be whole.
The lessons have taught me the following regarding myself. A man deserves for me to be open emotionally as well as physically. I must be present in the relationship. A man deserves for me to tell him what I need. If I don't know myself, then how is he supposed to meet my needs. A man deserves my emotional fidelity. My heart must be open in order for him to build a home. A man deserves my full disclosure. I must be honest with where I have been and who I am. The last one is the hardest. A man deserves for me to leave my past behind me. There are of course souvenirs, but one need not wear the t-shirt every fucking day.
See, the issues I saw were not theirs, but symptoms of the sickness of my self esteem. I had to treat them one at a time to cure my illness. It would be easy for me to say "They all took advantage of my grieving and were insensitive jackasses." But that is simply not true. We all come into these things with baggage and expectations. I no longer look at what Mr Soandso did wrong. The more important lesson is what drew them to me. When I am healthy, I will draw healthy to me. There are no victims here. We were all volunteers at one time or another.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Flashes in a Fog..
Some time ago, I was invited to write a guest post regarding surviving a suicide. A friend of mine who helps me with my posting from time to time, made me promise that I would publish it here. Mudgie, this one is for you.
I have just passed the eighth anniversary of that day. The day the world stopped the first time. When who I was ceased to exist. When the future I saw in my minds eye faded to black like a television screen. When I was no longer capable of believing that everything would be okay. A single shot gun shell ripped my life apart just as it tore thru my beloved brother’s chest.
Truthfully, the first 24 hours are more than foggy in my recollection. I quite simply don’t know much of what happened. I have bits and pieces of a shattered picture. I remember hearing a sound that was absolutely gut wrenching and thinking “Holy God, someone should help who ever that is.” Then I took a breath and it stopped. That howl of agony was coming from me. I couldn’t make it stop. Gradually it moved from an audible sound to my soul screaming to the heavens. There were police officers holding a letter and telling me I couldn’t touch it and they would read it to me. As they read I told my husband to call my relatives and to find my parents. Someone offered me water and a friend gave me a big cup of coffee and lit a cigarette for me.
Rich said “Your Mom is there. You have to talk to her.” I took the phone and told her to sit down. She questioned me. She was so happy. Laughing. I said “Sit down Mom. Now.” I was three hours from home with the worst news a mother can ever hear. I couldn’t find gentle words. I couldn’t form them in my mouth that would make this easier. “Mom, John shot himself in my backyard. He’s dead.”
She had a hundred questions and I had no answers. I simply hung up without another word. The police continued to read. I began to shake. They gave me drugs. Everything simply faded into noise as I searched my memory for a hint, a sign, a clue. There was nothing. I was simply empty.
The circumstances and what caused this cataclysmic event in my life at that point were really not even within my scope of thinking. What I knew was the letter to the family was type written 13 days before hand.. He wrote to me in longhand on the back of their letter that day. He could not find a way to say goodbye to me. He simply said “It is finished.” Three days later, before they closed the book on his life forever, I stood in a funeral home alone with him for the last time. I told him, “Rest now brother dear, I will take it from here.”
When I returned home, the silence was deafening. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn't eat. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t function. There was no rest. I was hollow as I said polite words and accepted condolences. The world went on like it never happened. As though he never existed. I had a husband and a son who needed me. My brother’s son needed me. All I needed was what I couldn’t have. I needed to hear John laugh. I needed to see him smile.
I was so angry with God. It was a seething, black, empty anger. How dare he take him from me. How dare he take my best friend and closest confidant. How dare he. One night as I drove home from work it began to audibly spill out of me in the car. I screamed. I yelled. I cried. I had to pull over because I almost had an accident. Then there was a lock that clicked and released in my head. My anger turned to gratitude.
People look a lifetime for an unconditional love. For a heart that will love you regardless of what you have done. It can’t divorce you or leave you. It doesn’t judge or condemn you or your choices. It supports you. Makes you secure. I had that. He and I had not even had so much as a disagreement in more than 12 years. We held an unedited conversation in writing for the last year or so of his life. We poured out the secrets of our hearts. For 35 years I knew this love. Why must I focus on the 35 years or so I will spend without him when I can remember the 35 years I had with him?
I would never tell you that I was then, or am now over the loss of my brother to a completed suicide. What I will say is that you can survive it. There will come a time when you can let the anger go. When you stop making excuses for their decision. When you can look at your loved ones realistically, When you will stop hiding the flaws that you saw in fear of disgracing their memory. The tears will not stop, but they will change as they lessen. When you might not understand the choice they made, but you will come to accept the experience it created.
Once the fog of grief has lifted, something wonderful will give you tears of a different sort. Some time after John’s death, I was sitting in the kitchen talking to my son. He laughed. I heard John. I could think of nothing but to make it happen again. I noticed his hands. John was there. The same long fingers. Later, I helped him get ready for Prom and he looked so handsome in his tux. He smiled at me. Laughing welsh eyes and there was John. I see him in his son as well. In his measured countenance. In his sense of humor. In his reasoning. In his quietness. In his caring manner. John lives on in our boys. He’s there in bits and flashes. When I looked beyond my grief, I could actually see. He has not left me.
I have just passed the eighth anniversary of that day. The day the world stopped the first time. When who I was ceased to exist. When the future I saw in my minds eye faded to black like a television screen. When I was no longer capable of believing that everything would be okay. A single shot gun shell ripped my life apart just as it tore thru my beloved brother’s chest.
Truthfully, the first 24 hours are more than foggy in my recollection. I quite simply don’t know much of what happened. I have bits and pieces of a shattered picture. I remember hearing a sound that was absolutely gut wrenching and thinking “Holy God, someone should help who ever that is.” Then I took a breath and it stopped. That howl of agony was coming from me. I couldn’t make it stop. Gradually it moved from an audible sound to my soul screaming to the heavens. There were police officers holding a letter and telling me I couldn’t touch it and they would read it to me. As they read I told my husband to call my relatives and to find my parents. Someone offered me water and a friend gave me a big cup of coffee and lit a cigarette for me.
Rich said “Your Mom is there. You have to talk to her.” I took the phone and told her to sit down. She questioned me. She was so happy. Laughing. I said “Sit down Mom. Now.” I was three hours from home with the worst news a mother can ever hear. I couldn’t find gentle words. I couldn’t form them in my mouth that would make this easier. “Mom, John shot himself in my backyard. He’s dead.”
She had a hundred questions and I had no answers. I simply hung up without another word. The police continued to read. I began to shake. They gave me drugs. Everything simply faded into noise as I searched my memory for a hint, a sign, a clue. There was nothing. I was simply empty.
The circumstances and what caused this cataclysmic event in my life at that point were really not even within my scope of thinking. What I knew was the letter to the family was type written 13 days before hand.. He wrote to me in longhand on the back of their letter that day. He could not find a way to say goodbye to me. He simply said “It is finished.” Three days later, before they closed the book on his life forever, I stood in a funeral home alone with him for the last time. I told him, “Rest now brother dear, I will take it from here.”
When I returned home, the silence was deafening. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn't eat. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t function. There was no rest. I was hollow as I said polite words and accepted condolences. The world went on like it never happened. As though he never existed. I had a husband and a son who needed me. My brother’s son needed me. All I needed was what I couldn’t have. I needed to hear John laugh. I needed to see him smile.
I was so angry with God. It was a seething, black, empty anger. How dare he take him from me. How dare he take my best friend and closest confidant. How dare he. One night as I drove home from work it began to audibly spill out of me in the car. I screamed. I yelled. I cried. I had to pull over because I almost had an accident. Then there was a lock that clicked and released in my head. My anger turned to gratitude.
People look a lifetime for an unconditional love. For a heart that will love you regardless of what you have done. It can’t divorce you or leave you. It doesn’t judge or condemn you or your choices. It supports you. Makes you secure. I had that. He and I had not even had so much as a disagreement in more than 12 years. We held an unedited conversation in writing for the last year or so of his life. We poured out the secrets of our hearts. For 35 years I knew this love. Why must I focus on the 35 years or so I will spend without him when I can remember the 35 years I had with him?
I would never tell you that I was then, or am now over the loss of my brother to a completed suicide. What I will say is that you can survive it. There will come a time when you can let the anger go. When you stop making excuses for their decision. When you can look at your loved ones realistically, When you will stop hiding the flaws that you saw in fear of disgracing their memory. The tears will not stop, but they will change as they lessen. When you might not understand the choice they made, but you will come to accept the experience it created.
Once the fog of grief has lifted, something wonderful will give you tears of a different sort. Some time after John’s death, I was sitting in the kitchen talking to my son. He laughed. I heard John. I could think of nothing but to make it happen again. I noticed his hands. John was there. The same long fingers. Later, I helped him get ready for Prom and he looked so handsome in his tux. He smiled at me. Laughing welsh eyes and there was John. I see him in his son as well. In his measured countenance. In his sense of humor. In his reasoning. In his quietness. In his caring manner. John lives on in our boys. He’s there in bits and flashes. When I looked beyond my grief, I could actually see. He has not left me.
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