On any lazy afternoon sun beating down I would find a reason to run from the house out to the backyard to the path that led to Big Rock. Big Rock had a flat ledge you could walk out onto. If you were careful and the sun had been out long enough you might just find the right spot to place your jacket to cloud surf and day dream. The rock warm from the sun and the sky so vibrant blue it hurt your eyes. I loved running to that rock when I needed to feel free. It’s funny how the world seems magical when you are seven. Everything is possible. You can be a princess or a model or a mad scientist. Your parents arms around you make you feel safe and protected and you know in your heart they will always be a shout away.
I would trade everything I have if I could feel like again. Carefree, wrapped in a blanket of naïve. Not knowing the road of life gets rough. To believe that if I want something enough anything is possible. I want to look skyward, cloud surf and dream.
IF. Who knew a tiny word could cause such big problems? Life is fluid just like quicksand. Both look and feel like solid ground but sometimes the slightest wrong move gives you that sinking feeling. I have been stuck for a very long time afraid to make a wrong move. What IF I fail? What IF I don’t ? What IF truth be told I have come to believe that I don’t have it in me? What IF I am trying desperately to change the unchangeable? You know what I am talking about. You can’t change a tiger’s stripes or a leopard’s spots. I started writing a blog to help me help myself. I toyed with the idea of having followers but never really put much faith into that notion. Now I have followers. You make me nervous. Yes, you out there just beyond my senses. What if I don’t write often enough? will you leave? What if I run out of things to fight with myself over? what then? What if I just crawl back outside of my own head, follow my instincts and just let my thoughts take me where they may? Why not? It has worked well for me so far. I am writing this for me after all. I just let you peer over my shoulder to check my grammar. =)
Yesterday was rude awakening day for me. I took Pops out for a haircut, lunch and to the optician to pick up his new glasses. My Pops has been in an alternate living situation since right before the Christmas holidays. Yes, that is my fancy way of saying nursing home. Ok, so it is taking me a while in the acceptance department but I am working on it. I am. I promise. I say it was rude awakening day because I guess I never realized before how draining being with my pops can be. I enjoyed his company while I was with him but I felt so tired and sad after I returned him to his place. I am still working on how our relationship has changed. What part I play now versus the role I used to have.
Sometimes the people that a person works with can become like family. Over the years I have grown close to quite a few of my fellow employees. We have formed our own unique family. I would be lost without them. We help each other through some pretty large mine fields of BS. Anyone who works for their $$ knows what I am saying without having to put it to words. More importantly my framily have been there for me when I needed a shoulder to cry on. I like to think I have provided them that same support. The flip side of that closeness however, is that one or two people that runs through the vein in everyone’s family tree; the nay sayer, the contrary Mary, that one person who makes it their personal mission to tear people down.
I have personality quirks, who doesn’t? When someone goes out of their way to sting home a point, I hold onto those biting words, turning the selfhate over and over in my mind trying to figure out why or what I did to this person to make them act this way towards me. I believe that her personal burdens of hurt, anger and disappointment run deep. Striking out at me eases her own self loathing I am guessing or perhaps it may fuel it. Either way I have been a willing target. It is my own fault. This person pretends to want closeness and friends but strikes out at people to keep them at arms length. She can be helpful as long as you are on guard for the payment she seeks. That jibe to your personality that she just can’t stomach. You’re too negative, or too funny or too cute or too smart. I have never met anyone like her and I hope someday to leave her and her pettiness behind. As I try to come to terms with what is going on with my Dad her words roll around in my head like an old album with a skip that you are sure won’t ruin the soundtrack. That skip bothers me a lot. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITH YOUR LIFE WHEN YOU CAN’T USE YOUR DAD AS AN EXCUSE ANYMORE? hurtful, uncompassionate, cutting and true.
I put my life on hold to take care of my Dad. In more than a few ways he did become my excuses. I couldn’t go away for any length of time. I had to have a cell phone for those in case moments. I lost time from my job to run errands for him and take him to appointments. I lost time with my hubby and my friends. I forgot how to be in my own life. What am I going to do now that I can’t use Dad as an excuse? I honestly have no idea. I can read a book now whenever I want. I can go to dinner and a movie with friends. I can go on long walks in the evening with my bestie. I am free to become that girl I have always wanted to be. TruthI am going to work on the things I want to be and the things I want for myself. Every new day opens with endless possibilities for amazing things to happen.
helpIf I had a white flag or the strength to hoist it above my head I would throw it out there. I need for the snow to stop showing up wanting to play. I am old. The snow reminds me of just how old. My poor old lady body hurts everywhere. The time has come for me to deal with the mess I have become. I have been afraid for my well being as of late. I let the stress in my life steer my life. I have willing placed my tortured body in that precarious position of ill health looming. I have gained a lot of weight for no good reason. I like to punish myself for my short comings by not dealing with my problems as they are but rather as insurmountable walls of can’ t do, won’t do, doesn’t matter if I do. I always say no one can lie to you like you can lie to yourself.
I have grown tired of my lies. I seek peace. I want Spring and the beauty of new growth. The sun in my face. I want to wear a sun dress and walk the beach.my happy thought I want to be young again with the whole of my life in front of me instead of behind me as I now find it. I walked away from my best success at losing weight because I was afraid of who I would be. I am still the same lost girl I was in grade school. who I am…… who I wish I could be
There are many things in my life that I don’t like to deal with. I have a difficult time putting my anger to rest. My ability to hate surprises me, sometimes. I have an older sister that most of my friends know nothing of. I like to pretend that we are not related. She is the skeleton in my closet. When we were younger we were closer but time and events of life changed all that. There are things that I wish I could tell her but we don’t speak; we yell, we judge, we let the pain in our lives keep us separate. She doesn’t know me anymore as much as I don’t know her. Sad I know. How could I love my kid sister so much but my older sister not at all? I don’t really have an answer for that. I am not sure I want an answer for it. I have grown accustomed to her not being a part of my life.
Her birthday has just passed. Her smile haunts my dreams. I am eleven years without her now,my heart still broken. The days and months got easier to live in but not her day. Every year I promise myself I will get through it without crying. Every year I fail. I miss her. I feel alone now. My secrets safe in the silence of her death. Things about me that only she ever knew. I wish I could let her go but I find that I can’t. I find myself talking to her whenever I am afraid or uncertain, like she is nearby.
As the years march by it gets harder to recall what she sounded like. In dreams we are free. In sleep every whisper is vibrant, every smile bright. I remember her love for me. She was the light in my soul. She knew I was broken but loved me anyway. Like a chipped cup you just can’t throw away. She made me feel like I could do anything. She looked up to me, not at me or through me.
It is the shadow of her smile that gets me through the tough days. I cherish the dreams in which she stops by. Young and happy she waits for me. Together we adventure. In my dreams we are the sunshine after the rain. I love you Breny. ❤
You sit there with that smug look of achievement. Oh how happy you are. Well I, I AM NOT HAPPY. Do you remember as a child how happy you were to see snow? I do. It meant no school and hot cocoa. It meant sledding and earning money shoveling walks. It was great to be young in the snow. I would be out in the snow all day and into the night.
Not any more. Now I am young-old. I have to work to keep the heat on and pay for things that keep my life filled with the things I have grown accustomed to; for instance, bread and milk and electricity. Snow is NOT my friend. Once Snow broke my leg. Now she goes out of her way to hurt me and make me miserable with pain, anger, disappoint and missed work. We used to have such fun adventures together. I recall the winter the neighborhood kids, my sisters and I built igloos and snow forts. Or the year we iced a toboggan run with water from a spray bottle so we could sled faster. Where have the good times gone?
Spring is the friend I eagerly am waiting for. I wish she would get her ass in gear. There are things to do.
Music has always been very important to my well being. Magical is the only way I can convey what it means to me. A depth of beauty many seek but only a few find. I discovered I could sing when I was twelve. I have near perfect pitch and recall. It sets me apart from other people. I am a misfit. I always have been. Music makes me feel like I belong. That somewhere just beyond my reach I am normal. I am well loved and wanted. During the empty years of my youth, before I left high school and ventured into the stark realities of adulthood, I spent most of my free hours singing all things Streisand. I found I could sing just like Streisand. Every note. Every inflection. Singing helped me feel less lonely, less unloved, less unwanted. Not everyone has a wonderful childhood. In fact, I bet most don’t. Yet we mostly survive. Scars only serve as a reminder of past pains and how to avoid them if one can.
Music and singing help me to deal with the burden of sadness that I keep well hidden from most. I learned to laugh to hide the tears, to sing instead of wail, to joke instead of cope. I have never learned to enjoy a moment, to be alive in the midst of something wonderful as it happens. When I sing my soul is at peace. I feel a freedom I don’t want to lose sight of. I am me. I am no longer that lost girl. I am that woman found. Everything seems possible and in an order I alone understand. When I SING I am every single thing I ever imagined I could be: beautiful, well spoken, intelligent. I sing to calm myself, to love who I am. Into everyone’s life rain will fall. Sunshine is always just around a corner waiting for its moment to shine. Sometimes I make my own sunshine by singing.
it was never about the food. All these years I have held myself separate from all of the things I wanted or needed or cared about. It is not the story but the telling of the tale that matters. I was never taught how to manage my feelings. I was raised to believe my feelings had no place. My wants, needs, desires were of no consequence. I was supposed to learn how to table them not handle them. I think that is one of the reasons that I grew up feeling uncomfortable in my own skin. I was a fraidy-cat when I was a kid. No adult ever explained to me that a human body goes through many changes as it develops and grows. I was so fearful I often obsessed with my own untimely demise. My mother just called me ‘Camille”. I was overly dramatic and needed to get a grasp on reality. If it had only dawned on her that I was apprehensive about the changes I was experiencing maybe she would have been gentler with important info, maybe. I taught myself to eat instead of feel. If I eat I won’t need to be in my moments. I won’t get hurt. Turns out the only thing I taught myself was how to buy a bad lie.
Have you ever stood in front of an audience and spoke at great lengths on a subject only to realize that no one is listening to you? Story of my life. I have always felt invisible yet I am not Trish alone. I have my constant companions Fear and Loathing. They seem like nice girls but one never wants to do a thing outside of her comfort zone and the other; well, she just hates everything. It is tough to get one damn thing accomplished. These two scream in my thoughts for attention. Thank Gawd for that ray of sunshine called Hope. I love her. She makes everything seem possible. She speaks quietly, determined to be heard, she lurks in the background waiting for her moments. Her moments are the life changing ones. That voice in your head that says, “I can do this!”, ” I am worthy.” “I crave acceptance not food.”, “I am somebody.” I wish I could learn to listen to her more.
When you take Hope by the hand and embrace all that she has to offer, the possibilities seem endless. Live in the moments that make your life better.
Today I took Hope to a WWs meeting. It’s time for her to make another appearance in my life. I lost my way. I tabled the belief I had in myself because my life got hard. I have taken care of my Dad for nearly eight years. He lives with dementia. Over the Christmas holidays my Dad was placed into a nursing home. For the first time in a very long time, I can relax a tad. Enjoy my moments, have some Hope that tomorrow will be better. I learned a lot about myself in those eight years. I am stronger than I thought I would ever have to be. I can be tough. I am a loving person. I learned how to hug. I lied to myself for years that I was unhuggable. Hugging someone means being so close to a person that you share the good vibe, exchange chakra. There is a warm glow sensed between the hugger and the huggy. A good hug equals total acceptance from me. The person who I am hugging has earned my respect, my trust. I also learned that sometimes when you hug someone you give them a little of your Hope. In the giving of a small part of yourself you make someone else’s battle seem worth the fight.
I made boats out of paper when I was a child. I liked to float them in the gutter after a rainstorm. I’d skip along the sidewalk and watch the little boats tumble over the debris in the water. I used to like to pretend that I was on one of those boats in the midst of an adventure looking for unicorns and dragons searching for uncharted land to call my own.
Children are birthed into this world knowing all the secrets. They carry all the wonderful things about humanity on their tiny shoulders. Not knowing of what the world holds for them infants sleep, they coo, they cry, wanting for their basic needs to be taken care of. It is in the growing up into a person that they learn disappointment, deceit, love, kindness, confidence, anger.
What a wonderful thing it would be if humanity could start raising their children to be more humane. Patience, love, acceptance, and understanding in healthy doses instead of anger, disappointment, cruelty. How amazing we would all be.
As the stream of hot water cascades down my body I begin to relax. The tension that I have been carrying around in my muscles begins to ease. I stand there with my back against the flow of water. The heat feels amazing and for the first time I cry. It rains in my shower. I am so sad that I can’t share my sorrow. I feel like I have no one to talk to. I have anger I don’t know what to do with. I feel defeated and small. Even when life seems to be moving along a set path the wind changes course and the path moves. Its subtlety goes unnoticed until it blindsides me. I try to pay attention as closely as I can. I am constantly making lists. Dad’s needs, hubster’s needs, my needs. What both households are out of. A list of bills to be paid, when to pay these bills when I can, if I can. The last eight years have not been an easy ride.
Dad’s dementia has pretty much been of a certain level. He is pleasantly confused. More often than not he is happy and a tad confused. He doesn’t know what day of the week it is. He doesn’t remember how my Mom or my kid sister died. My Dad thinks that they are out somewhere having lunch. Who am I to correct him? Ignorant bliss. In my humble opinion, this is the ONE blessing of dementia. On the other hand, he forgets my birthday, holidays, anything of importance. His reality is unlike those around him. His world is only about his wants, his needs, his anger. Dad gets angry. It doesn’t happen often. Usually it is over trivial things that have importance only to him.
I couldn’t find him. I called his apartment that morning on schedule. By 11:15 I was beginning to worry. I called the neighbor. The horror thoughts raced through my mind. Maybe he fell and couldn’t get up; maybe he felt faint and then passed out; maybe he had wandered off: maybe he died. After the fourth ring the neighbor picked up. She scarcely got out a hello before I blurted out, “have you seen my Dad today?” Yes she had. Right before my every morning call he had an episode of weakness and a sudden feeling that he was going to pass out so my Dad( king of can’t remember shit )dialed 911 unassisted. She had tried to get over to his apartment before the first responders came but they beat her to his door. She tried to reach me but my cell went straight to voicemail. After the third try she left a voice message of her own for me to call her ASAP.
The paramedics took him to the hospital ER and thus my life, his life changed forever. He was admitted with the possibility of a mild case of pneumonia. In all likelihood my Dad would be just fine after a few days of meds. He would once again return home to live in harmony with his altered reality. That, however; is not what happened.
My mother died June 11, 2007. I started taking care of my Dad the day of her funeral. Maybe that’s the day his soul gave out. He couldn’t handle that she passed. My Dad loved my mother with his whole being and when she died I think he broke. He has never been quite the same,not for one minute or one second of any day. As time marched on he got a little more forgetful, a little more fearful, a tad bit more frail. I took on more responsibility. I made out the grocery lists. I made sure his pills were matched out correctly. I made out the bills. I took him for haircuts. I took him to all his doctor appointments. I shopped for his clothes. (Yes I have great taste) I took him to church. Just me and Dad against the world. Until this last trip through the ER.
My father, whom I have cared for and loved and did my best to keep safe was being taken away from me. Okay so maybe that’s a little harsh. A case manager and a social worker at our local hospital felt that my Dad was now too frail of body and mind to be allowed to be released on his own recognizance and needed to be remanded to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. To be placed in a facility with around the clock supervision. Yup, you guessed it, a nursing home.Once upon a time in a land far far away there lived a giant of a man. My Dad
I can’t lie. I have thought about it. I am getting tired. I am not Wonder Woman. I wanted to fight the good fight. I didn’t want to give up on the man who never gave up on me.
Does in rain in YOUR shower? It does in mine everyday.
notsolargemarge 