Tag: love

March On

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As February is preparing to make its exit into March, I am taking a few moments to think about the good things I managed to do for myself. Instead of wallowing in the sorrow I allow to consume me every year on Brenda’s birthday, I went back to WWs. I wanted to do something positive for myself on her day. Put a different twist on the day. I made a commitment to myself. Live for the day you awake to. Do the best you can with the moment you are in. Be kinder to yourself. Everyone makes bad choices but one bad rock does not spoil a stone wall. Listen to how you feel. If you are angry verbalize why. Even if no one else is listening, you hear you. It’s OK to let go.

Let go of the emotions that keep you tied to the version of yourself that you don’t like. Stop calling yourself bad names. When left alone with my thoughts sometimes they (I am)are mean to me. I alone allow myself to be negative over small slights of weakness or anger or sorrow. Why? Have you ever just asked yourself why?  No? Me either. Odd but true the people in your life love you just as you are. So why do I suck at liking myself? I set my self expectations way too high above my limitations that’s why.

My back is finally on the mend, most of my mobility has returned which is just wonderful.  Every February during school vacation a group of gaming geeks gather for a weekend of gaming. It is about the  exchanging of ideas, bad food and the great company of people you love that you haven’t seen in a year. Not my cup of tea but it makes the hubster happy so I tag along. I spend my weekend being the trophy wife and running around fake shopping and exploring with my best gal pal, Jadira. This year my bestie was ill with a bad bout of bronchitis and I was a stiff painful back muscle cramp. We both tried to have a great weekend but in truth I would say on a scale from disastrous to cool we mellowed out somewhere around ehh, it was ok.

I tried to stay on program as much as possible. I even went to a WWs meeting on Saturday just like I was at home. Yippee for me. I am trying to stick to my guns, to become a better version of myself. For the first time in more than a few years I feel like I can do this.

That Unknown Part of Me I Can’t Let Go

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You were like a Spring rain. Intense with high potential for damage. Just like a storm you left someone else to do the clean up, me. In your wildest dreams I bet you never imagined one little girl could leave behind such devastation. Hearts were broken, lives ruined; and yet the sun came out. The sun always shines after a storm. Even the heavens want the world to know there is light after darkness.

You taught me to be brave. You forced me to embrace my life. You have brought me places I wouldn’t go myself, you made me participate in my own life. All it took was you dying. So very sad , so very true. Why did you self destruct? Why didn’t you try harder to leave him? why didn’t you value yourself like I valued you? why didn’t you believe in the wonder that was you?

I have lost my way without you. I like to pretend I am above my feelings. I am drowning in my own pool of denial. The more I try to lie to myself about how I am doing the deeper the pool becomes. My tiny craft is taking on water. I am unable to bail the water fast enough. I am circling the drain wondering where all my time has gone off to adventure without me.

I am becoming an old lady without you. I used to wonder what that unknown part of me was. I finally figured it out. It’s the shards of my broken heart. Just when I think I am in a good space, I feel their pain as they push against my soul. Your laugh I hear only in dreams. Your smile a faded memory that mocks me from photographs. I miss the sound of your voice. I am afraid if I let you go, I will lose what little I have left of you.

Is It Okay?

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…if I decide that I am good enough JUST as I am? Is IT? I am done. I find myself on the path of middle age. Some of my dreams, wishes, desires will never come to fruition. I am many things. I am funny. I am a worrier. I obsess about things that worry me. When I love I throw everything that I am into it. Hurt me and it takes near a lifetime for me to trust you again. I am loud. I love to laugh. I love to sing. I love the people in my life. I guess I just want to know that the people in my life love me just as I am. Hot mess and all. I will always be overweight. Does that make me less valuable than someone who will always be skinny?

I am tired of rowing my boat in a circle. I have come to believe I have put my health on the skids by trying to hard to make changes to the ways I eat instead of the whys. I think it is time I under take a new approach by …yeah what should I do?

I feel like it is time to throw my hat into the ring and give this eat better to be better thing another go round. I miss feeling healthy. I miss my ankles and my skinny jeans. I miss laughing and meaning it. I miss the me that was smaller and full of life and hope. I am READY to try again.

Once Upon a Time…

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when I still believed in magic.

It is Christmas time at my house or should I say apartment? I am very young probably between four and six years old. I am still too young to understand the nuances that come with reality and make believe. I am more than content to take “make believe” at face value and buy it all; hook, line and sinker as Gospel truth. I mean what four or five year old wouldn’t? Santa wouldn’t stand a chance without plausible deniability.

As December ticks off its days my imagination soars. If we have no fireplace how is Santa supposed to get in? Will he bring my “Kenner Give-A-Show Projector” and my baby dolls and popcorn balls? I try to be a good girl and do as I am told. At night my mother plugs in our tree, as I wait for sleep to close my weary eyes I watch the ceiling and the patterns the blinking lights make with the tree. I am happy; my tiny heart filled with joy. I am safe and loved and well cared for. My faith in the intangible magic of Christmas unshakeable.

Sometimes at night if I am restless my mother comes in and warns me that the footsteps I hear faintly above my head belong to one of Santa’s helpers sent to spy on little children. I gasp and try with my grandest of effort to be still. I am too young to see my mother’s mental illness or to know my dad works long hours and odd jobs just to put food on the table. As I look into my mother’s face I see her beauty, her eyes filled with love for us. I see my dad handsome and strong. They are everything to me and my sisters. I still don’t know how Santa got in but he always did. I got all of things I ever wanted. Clothes, boots underwear, art supplies, LPs, cameras, watches, basketballs, dolls, games, oranges, sweets, popcorn balls, silver half dollars, PJs, sleeping bags…

We had many Christmases together as a family. Some were over the top grand, others not so much. We had aunts, uncles and family friends, they were more like family than friends, who chipped in and helped my parents to make Christmas magical. As a child I never saw that part of the people in my life, I just believed everything would be OK. I was even fortunate enough to have a godmother( a fairy godmother; well, to me anyway ). Every Christmas she would bring a special gift just for me.

This is for my parents June and Roger and to everyone I could think to add : Terry, John, Veda, Fran, Charlie, Meredith, Maryann and Roni, Dolly, Mary, Edgar, Cecile, Nap, Bobby, Monica, Sophie Smith, Cleo…

I wrote this to say thank you to all of the people in my life for always being there for me even when I didn’t see.
Thanks for all the magic you enriched my life with. Love is the greatest gift.

Happiest of Holidays

Sharing

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I talk too much. I know it. Anyone who knows me has felt the pain of my inability to just be quiet. I have an opinion about most things. I am oddly happy when I am in the midst of an adventure with my bestie. I talk to people I do not know as if we are life long friends comfortable with each other that only familiarity gives you. I can’t contain my joy; it tends to spill out. I chat up whomever we come in contact with. Today my bestie and I went on a road trip to one of my favorite nearby destinations, Pickity Place a little slice of happy away from the crazy busy world. I love this place.

When we are there I feel removed from all the stresses of adult responsibility. I feel lighter in spirit. We walk the grounds and visit the herb shack and the little gift shops; there are two of them, each with different surprises. I feel like I can relax and draw breath and just BE happy. The staff are wonderful here, friendly and inviting. This place is more than just a unique dining experience. I step through the looking-glass to a time in the distant past before the madness of modern conveniences.

After our luncheon, delicious to say the least, we decided to pop into White Home Collections an old white house transformed into a shopping adventure. Here they offer antique clothing, dishes, furniture and one of a kind objects and objets d’art. Each room a different sellers niche. Beautiful arrangements of the Christmas kind to be found there now. There are even spaces in the attic full of interesting, thought provoking, inspiring items. An artist’s heaven. An antiquer’s paradise a dreamer’s wish come true.

Make someone’s day. Take them on an adventure, make a memory. Talk too much, be in your moment. = )

skip that rock

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Thanksgiving is less than one week away. I am struggling with reasons to be thankful. Big holidays are supposed to be filled with relatives and food and stress and love. Intangible things you can’t quite put a finger on, like the smell of that favorite holiday stuffing that makes you miss your Mom. Or the grin that Cool Whip brings to your face just by thinking about it. Or the memory of parades of days gone by like the Macy’s floats, big and grand.

I know that my Dad is safe. I know somewhere in my heart he is better off being looked after; I feel deserted. I have been left all alone. Not by him but by circumstance.  Life is what happens when you make other plans. Thanksgiving is a time for family. Once upon at time I had that. I MISS them. I MISS the hot mess that made them MY family. I hate Thanksgiving; it makes me sad. Thanksgiving should be about the fullness of your life not the emptiness.

I am grateful to still have my Pops in my life. I am thankful I have a hubby who stands by me no matter how bad the storms get. I am humbled to be honored with the Best best friend anybody could ever hope for. I am thankful for all the great memories I can still look back on and bask in the glow of that love. I have so much yet I struggle. I yearn for the simple things that were once part of my everyday life.

Cherish the moments in your life. All of them. Holidays often have moments that hurt. Someone you love may not be able to handle all of the false hopes a holiday tends to pin on one’s soul. I know I used to put too much emphasis on the perfect. I wanted the perfect family, the most perfect meal in the most peaceful, loving, giving atmosphere. I guess nobody else got the memo.

In my family if we made it to the end of the meal in one piece without any yelling or crying it WAS the perfect day. Too bad none of us realized it then. We had some moments. Stuffing on the floor. Gravy boats smashed. Pies eaten by Tuesday. Mom who only ever copped to,” It was just a taste. I swear!” Only thing is she tasted ’til it was nearly gone as if the single pie section she left was evermore than a taste for the rest of us.  Stress of being perfect always made her nuts.

I stopped trying to have perfect holidays after my sister died. Didn’t seem to be any point to that stuff and nonsense. I want to enjoy my life. As messy as my life is sometimes at least I can say I try to live in the moments. Ruined holidays, there were many, taught me to see the humor in everyday challenges. It built a strength in me that helps me to see a difficult time through to its finish, whatever it may be.

Life is like a ripple in the water caused by a rock you just skipped across the surface. Be that rock. Test the water, be alive in your life. Skip along the surface of the water. Be awestruck by the beauty of it. See the ripples you create.  I want my ride to continue on so I can see what adventure is next. Even as I glide I am losing momentum, soon I  will break below the surface and sink to the bottom. My glorious ride will be over. I am not ready to be added to the other rocks at the bottom, left in a heap to be forgotten. Looks like I will just have to get a new rock.

Enjoy the people in your life while they are in your life. I am thankful for you = )

 

 

 

One of Those Days

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It has been one of those days. Lately everyday has been one of those days. I don’t know how to get off the merry-go-round. Have you ever put something off, you know, didn’t do something or fix something simply because you held onto the silliest belief that the problem would just go away? Funny how life doesn’t work the way we want it to. My Dad will never be younger or healthier or more mindful. His yellow brick road has less turns left to it. His journey more complete than just begun. Once upon a time not so long ago he was a giant amongst men. He had a wife and children, a job that kept us all cared for. He loved to laugh and sing. In my eyes he could anything. As I sit across from him at the eye doctor I see him for the first time in a long time.

He has aged. He is still strong but is now shrunken in his frame. His eyesight betrays him and his hearing is off. His ears seem large to me but I am sure it is that silly straw cowboy hat he insists on wearing. His hands which once held me are now twisted from years of over use and arthritis. He asks me often why they ache. Maybe they are a reflection of the pain he has had in his life. I try not to think about my Dad someday being to old to be. I try to be in the moment whenever we are together. Make a new memory, forgive an old disagreement. I tell him often how much I love him. It is the one thing I fear he will forget. It would break me.

The only gift we have is TODAY. Live it, enjoy it, savor it, do something with it. Just don’t throw it away.

Who Is This Man?

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I haven’t written a post in quite some time. I told myself I need some time off to regroup and enjoy my summer. As many of you know I had to place my Pops into a nursing home. Never an easy decision to make. The paperwork long,tedious and intrusive. I have always resisted placing my Pops because I didn’t want to lose him to the system. I have already lost more than I have ever imagined I would. My kid sister and my mother passed away. I have an older sister that I am not close to (my choice). I have distanced myself from her children as well. I can not live with their baggage and try to fix my baggage as well. Growing up in a dysfunctional family environment with no set coping skills will do that for you. My family’s way of getting through tough things together usually involved more yelling than conversation and lots of name calling and blame throwing. Counter productive to say the least. Not a real esteem builder either. I had to learn to accept and like myself on my terms.

I took the summer off from writing so I could find a way to set myself free from feeling guilty about what happened to Pops and I. I have not been handling our new living arrangement well at all. There are things about it I really like. I no longer have to meal plan for him or assist him in his bath. I get to eat supper with hubby every night and mostly I don’t have to worry Pops might roll away from his apartment for places unknown.

Do you have any idea how hard it has been for me to let go? Who is this man,that can’t remember my mother’s name? or that my kid sister had red hair? or that they both died too young and tragically? For my Pops it is a blessing but for me it is a curse. It only increases my sadness not dispels it. Who is this man? Dementia has changed everything about him I knew. This man is my Pops. I love him. I cry for the people he no longer remembers to miss. I cry for all that we have lost. stuff 005I cry because even though I see him whenever I can I MISS the man he used to be.

My Soul Music

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I have never tried to write my blog while listening to music before. I thought I would give it a try. I am listening to In Blue by The Corrs. I love this CD. It helps to put me in a better mood when the thick fog of funk rolls in. I have the sound turned down a bit so I can process my thoughts. It is true that you never forget a good lesson learned. I used to sing, listen to music in high school to help me prep for tests. Feels like home, who knew? I switched to my go to gal…Streisand. Her music gives me something no other music has ever given me, the ability to believe in myself.

Lately, ok maybe that is a bad reference for time. I have not been getting along with myself for a few years now. This rift in my being has caused me turmoil and self-loathing. One would think that I would have learned to set myself free from that bullshit already. I think I have finally realized it is part of the mystery I call me. I lost faith in myself. I got lost on my journey. I am in the deep woods surrounded by mosquitoes and other wild life with no FECKING idea how to get back to the main road… except, I know the way. I have been unwilling to “fix” my course. Listen, I was in the middle of a first class pity party. I had balloons and snacks and more snacks and more snacks, well I think you get the idea. Eventually it was time to crawl down from my perch in the tress and rejoin the world around me.

I choose my life. Every crappy, wonderful, screwed up minute. I want to be healthy. One of my mother’s last wishes for me was to be well. She knew she was fading and her time was drawing to a close. She gave me one of her best Junie hugs. “I love you, Trish. I know you will take care of Daddy but I worry you won’t look after you. Don’t become me. I can’t walk. I struggle for breath. Someone has to help me with every small thing. Do you want to end up like me? unable to live like you want?” I brushed it off at the time. Mom being dramatic with all the trappings. She died three months later. I started WWs March 3, 2007. My mom passed away June 11.2007. In that short time I lost 50 pounds. I continued to lose for her, for me until I left behind 145 pounds. Hold your applause. Yes, I lost all that weight and then I walked away.

Funny thing about grief after awhile your mind softens the sharp edges so you can move on with your life. Unfortunately, I chose to move in the wrong direction. I had my reasons; ill conceived most of them. Shortly after my Mom’s passing I began taking care of my Dad. In the beginning he only needed gentle reminders and help with his shopping. I was on course. I managed to lose 145 pounds. I was 6 pounds short of reaching lifetime goal at WWs when my Dad had a cardio-vascular accident that changed our lives. He nearly died on me. I was thrust into full time caregiver with part time hours. Where was my rock? Suddenly I felt so useless and small. Dad got better physically but his dementia…well, that is an ongoing adventure = (

I coped the only way an addict knows how. I FELL off the wagon. No, that’s a lie. I JUMPED. It has taken eight years to regain most of the weight I lost. I didn’t want to deal with all the sadness, disappointment and loneliness that comes from taking care of an ailing loved one. There is no one to blame. It is what it is. I allowed myself to fall short on purpose, fulfilling my own doom theory. Well guess what? Screw that shit. I have things I want to do. Things I need to fix. Adventures to take. People to love. I accept I will always have to fight my need to “fix” my problems with food. Food is the worst friend, ever. I can’t live without her. She won’t change so I need to learn to give her space so my soul can have peace.

She

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She used to be here. Now she is not. She used to love me; now her love lives in my heart. With her I never had to be anything more than who I already was. She never wanted anything from me other than myself. She was my biggest fan and my best friend. The youngest of three. She was known as kid sister to me.

One might think that eleven years later my sister’s death would be easier to live with. I move through life. I am still waiting…for the pain to be less, for the sting to fade but it lingers.

I am that favorite vase. Shattered and cracked. Fused back together with Superglue and good intentions. Like the vase I look ok but if you get close enough things might let go and spill its contents over the floor.

She had a way about her. She was so shy almost timid when she was a little girl. Fragile. I always felt like I had to protect her. She got hurt anyway. I couldn’t save her from that. People played on her vulnerability. She knew how to be defiant. She would fight with her whole being to suppress a tear if it meant she held the upper hand. When she would allow herself to cry it was usually in my embrace. Me, her safe haven.

The saddest thing? She never understood what SHE was worth. I know what she was worth. My time, my life, my joy, my laughter was better with her in it. She is still missed. I still look for her in a crowd, certain she is out there somewhere just out of reach, waiting for me.

Wish You Were Here
Wish You Were Here