Mom

My mom insisted on living independently. She wanted to live in the two-story house she and my dad built in the 70s, despite the fact that dad has been gone since 2016 and that house is far too much for her. Her care providers all kept telling us she was competent and there was nothing wrong with her making her own choices, despite our lifetime of knowledge of our mother, our love for her, and our desire that she be safe. 

So...she chose. 

She chose to be independent through her recovery from triple bypass surgery...independent while caring for diabetic wounds that wouldn't heal...independent while recovering from leg amputation...independent dealing with all the everyday activities that get harder and harder for us all as we age. She chose not to have professional in-home care. She wanted to be alone. People applauded this "independence" despite any concerns to the contrary. "She's tough...stubborn," they said, as if it was something that would protect her in her physically fragile state. 

And then she had a stroke and fell on the bathroom floor (or fell and had a stroke...we do not know the order of things). 

"She's so strong...she's so independent!" became "She was all alone!? Where were you children!?" Suddenly those very same independent choices people applauded became a condemnation of us...the people who literally begged her to choose otherwise (I want to physically fight everyone who says, "I'm so sad about your mom.") 

And mom...

She literally can't see...or remember. 

And there are no more real choices to be had. 

Because she laid on the bathroom floor alone for too long. Because she didn't get help soon enough. She is here...but not really. Now she really is alone...even when we are in the same room. 

From her hospital bed, she said to me, "I never thought this would happen to me." And I smile all the while I want to scream at her. WE knew. WE tried to get her to see this very possibility. But we were left with NO choice because she was beyond reason and made foolish...selfish...choices. 

I'm SO SO SO SO ANGRY about it. I'm SO SO SO SO ANGRY at her. And I'm SO SO SO SO SAD. I feel like she stole from us all. The pleasure of her company. The warmth of her heart. Her killer sense of humor. The light in her eyes. What remains is a fraction of what she could have had. 

And once again I come to this space (that I know she hasn't read in a very long time...that I know she CAN'T read now) to put "it" somewhere safe. To once again mourn what might have been...to let go of a life that only existed in my dreams. 

Later I'll go visit and she'll tell me the same stories two or three times...and I'll force a smile. And tomorrow we'll celebrate Mother's Day in the best way we can figure out how to do in this new normal. 

Because it is what it is and, as I've already learned all to well, there is no turning back time. 

But if anyone reads this...if you take nothing else from here, please take this advice...

Do not do this to your family...to the people that love you. Listen to them and respect them enough to really hear their concerns. You don't have to live in fear...you don't have to give up your independence entirely. But at least be realistic and put some plans in place to at least give yourself a fighting chance that your golden years will be golden...rather than filled with pain and sadness.

Holiday breakup

I read somewhere that watching sons grow up is like the longest slowest breakup you'll ever go through. And it's true. 

Sam has informed me that "steak and sparklers" is a boring holiday...and my heart is breaking.

It's always just been me...trying my best to keep my head above water and appreciate what we have...trying to make the most of this imperfect life. 

But I know I could've done better. I know I could have made better choices and not wasted so much precious time.

And I know he'll never understand. 

I'm glad for that. 

But the way he said "steak and sparklers"...with such derision in his voice...💔

Just an underachieving Gen X blogger with stories to tell

My children have baby books that have only a handful of entries. I haven't written them letters every year on their birthday like I planned. I don't know why that's relevant, but it feels like it is.

------------------------------------------------------------

I tried a handwritten journal. I made it through half the year. My purple pen ran out of ink and that was my excuse to stop.

I picked up a gratitude journal this year and have been doing pretty good remembering to fill it in. I used a blue pen so I wouldn't have an excuse to stop.

------------------------------------------------------------

Before instagram and twitter and tik tok and clicks and likes and monetization, I started this blog as a means to talk about the fun in my life. Then life took me down a very dark and twisty road and this blog became a sort of therapy...allowing me to type out all the dark and twisty thoughts...giving them a place to go so they wouldn't rattle around in my brain and steal my joy completely. But then Lisa died. And Jill died. And friends drifted away for a variety of reasons. And I just couldn't continue here. 

Through the years, I keep coming back here randomly. But then something stops me from posting. This isn't the place for clicks and likes and monetization. And it feels almost dishonorable to take this place back to the everyday nonsense. I'm fairly certain I have no fan base clamoring for me to add my voice to the internet cacophony. 

But I feel like this is my story. And I don't want someone who stumbles on this place to think the dark and twisty place was the end. It's true I've written posts here while sobbing. It's also true I've written posts while laughing hysterically. More importantly, I've felt a special kind of peaceful magic when I connect with kind people here. 

I won't try to tell you that time heals all wounds. I won't have words of wisdom or direction for anyone. I myself marvel at how I've made it to 49 years old...with two amazing living children...and a husband who still puts up with my brand of crazy. 

There are so many stories to share. And I feel like I might want to share them. 

So maybe it's time to reclaim this place...

No clicks...no likes...no monetization.

Just me.

I did my job

I had a toddler at home...and I did my job.

I welcomed foster animals and sent them to adoptive homes...and I did my job.

I lost grandparents...and I did my job.

My husband contemplated a job in Atlanta...and I did my job.

I grieve for three babies...and I do my job.

I adopted horses...and I did my job.

I gave birth to a living baby...and I did my job.

I lost my dad...and I did my job.

I lost pets...and I did my job.

I opened (and closed) a photo studio...and I did my job.

I have adapted to four different management styles over the last 18 years...and I did/do my job.

I'm not perfect...But I do what I can.

I dare you to come at me about my job performance.

Last chance

For his entire life, I have given Sam "one more chance." I have helped him as much as I could to succeed. Maybe that's why he didn't believe me when I told him that if he lied to me again he would no longer be welcome in my house.

He lied...again. He had NO response...no explanation...no remorse.

He was given 30 minutes to leave my house and he left without so much as a word.

I am broken.

It's always the mother's fault, right?

Everything is most certainly NOT under control

I feel like it's all slipping away. The harder I try to maintain control, the worse it gets.

Quarantine #1 due to the 7th grade basketball team.

My mother is aging and slipping into her own world where we cannot reach her.

My "adult" son failed out of his first semester at college.

There's a global pandemic and my social 13-year-old son isn't handling isolation well.

My job is in jeopardy because I don't have the right political affiliation.

My husband is a saint who takes care of so much...and yet I can't stop finding fault (only a very small portion of which is actually deserved).

Quarantine #2 due to 18-year-old's poor decision making skills.

Christmas is postponed for, at best, 14 days. At worst...forever.

That feeling of death stalking me is back. The fear is back.

I'd like to say I'm at peace no matter what happens. But that would be a lie. 

If something bad happens to my family (again) I don't know what I will do. 

The worst feeling is that I could've tried harder...done better...been kinder...seen more...worried less...

COVID emotions

Myles has been asked by the Middle School to quarantine due to possible covid exposure from an adult at his school. He will be in quarantine through his 13th birthday next Friday. By extension, I will be in quarantine because that\"s the safest thing to do. I can\"t help but feel all the feelings...

~I want to rant. Wear the damn mask. It doesn\"t take anything from you and it\"s such a small ask.

~I want to thank the contact who DID wear a mask. If we don\"t get sick it will be because s/he wore a mask and followed health protocols. I hope s/he has mild symptoms and recovers quickly.

~I want to cry because Sam can\"t come home from college for the weekend and Myles will miss his first basketball games (and any sort of birthday celebration). It\"s nothing in the grand scheme...I know...so many have lost so much...it all makes me so sad.

~I want to acknowledge my privilege. I currently have a job that allows me the flexibility to work from home so that I can do my part to stop this damn pandemic. (Thanks

Cecilia

) I also have resources and friends I can call on to help with the things that need done as the world keeps moving without us for two weeks.

~This isn\"t the worst thing to ever happen to me...so I want to recognize that with a grateful heart.

~I want to draft my will...because there is that fear.

~I want to talk about veterans...and how our society doesn\"t take care of them...and how shameful that is. See Faces of Covid on Twitter for profiles of veterans who\"ve been lost to the pandemic. See

Stop Soldier Suicide

and

National Coalition for Homeless Veterans

on Facebook. It\"s nice...the photos and the "thank you\"s"...but we can and should do better.

Living through a pandemic is an emotional roller coaster, that is for sure. Thanks for listening. I\"ll try to keep the belly-aching to a minimum this next week or so. [Posted on Facebook on Veteran\"s Day 2020]

Blog add:

~I want to complain about the election in which an incredibly qualified attorney did not get enough votes to retain her seat. I want to scream about how the person who did get the votes called and expected that she would be trained by the current officeholder! But I can\"t, because friends of friends...you know how that goes...the grapevine in a rural community is a nasty mess. And I need my job for the time being.

~I want to talk about being 48 years old and not wanting my career anymore. About being disillusioned with public service and my fellow public servants. I want to dream about possibilities that are far away from here...that make me smile instead of giving me migraine headaches.

~I want to talk about how it feels to have death constantly stalking you. Waiting for you to forget a mask or miss a streetlight or eat chicken that isn\"t fully cooked. I\"m exhausted. A teeny tiny virus/bacteria/germ killed my babies. I know the power of a teeny tiny virus. I keep trying to avoid the thoughts...but they always find me. Paranoia. Fear. Grief. Sadness. They won\"t leave me alone!

~I want to collapse somewhere and have someone take care of me without having to worry that they are just covering their insecurities too...knowing that they can handle it...and it WILL be ok.

Healthy and happy

"I just want my kids to be healthy and happy."

And then your teenage tells you he want to be an engineer who designs weapons.

You spend countless hours sifting through your memories and wondering where the missteps were.

Suddenly you realize that you've been lying all this time.

You don't want him to be happy if his idea of happiness will bring more pain into this world.

You have to admit that you really just want him to be someone you can be proud of.

You have to recognize your failure...because he doesn't give a shit about making you proud.

So you're a failure and a fraud.