In Memoriam

Today would have been my step-dad's 61st birthday. But he died 11 days ago. I keep saying I lost my step-dad, but in reality I lost my Dad. My closest friends know that my biological father bailed when I was 6 and has shown no interest since then in doing the dad thing. At least not with me. He has some other kids and I hope he's a better person in their life, but that's neither here nor there. 

My mom has been married 4 times. Her second husband did a little of the raising me part when I was a kid, but he's gone to ride motorcycles in the sky too, many years ago. And I haven't seen him since I was 17. He never met my kids and he never got to see me as a grown woman. But Ron did. He's been in my life for over 18 years. He was my kid's Grandpa. He danced with me at my wedding. And he taught me to be brave and patient when they thought I might have Lymphoma when I was 20. He was the only one that could get my son to stop screaming when he was 3 months old and had colic.

The part of me that goes outside and walks around in the grass with bare feet when I'm stressed is his. The part of me that loves watching the wind in the trees and listening to the sound of the rain and finds all of those things to be what de-stresses me is his. When things get hard, I still look around and find joy in the simple stuff and that's because of him.

When I was 20 I had a growing mass on my the side of my neck. It was a really scary time and one of the things on the table was Lymphoma. Ron had survived his first bout with Cancer then and he gave me the ability to be brave and strong and patient. He was the calmest, most serene, peaceful person I had ever met and that came from him finding his way through his cancer. What he gave me then still lives in me and has gotten me through 5 more surgeries and some really scary tests. He gave me the ability to just breathe and let go of the little things.

The Father-Daughter dance at my wedding was with him to Louie Armstrong's "What A Wonderful World" because he taught me so much about seeing the beauty of creation and the ability to immerse yourself in the everyday miracles when the rest of the world is kicking your butt. It wasn't your typical 'I love my Dad' wedding song, but it was perfect for our relationship.

In my early twenties, before I met my husband, I dated a couple of guys and one night one of them decided to throw a fit over me dancing with somebody else and left me at a club 45 minutes from my house. I called home at 11 o'clock at night and asked may I please be picked up. Ron didn't even hesitate. He grabbed a shirt and jumped in the car and came and got me. Instead of making it into a thing, he just joked with me on the way home and we ran through Jack In The Box for a midnight snack. That's one of my favorite memories of him.

He taught me to drive a stick. He carried me into the ocean (against my will) when I cut my foot and taught me that Hawaiian ocean salt water can cure almost anything. He took my kids to fly kites when they were little. He taught me how to make really good huli-huli chicken and an amazing Ginger Stir Fry. Those recipes will live on and get passed down to my kids.

And his favorite meal in the whole world was poi with sardines and dried shrimp (it's a Hawaiian thing). When there was a poi shortage in Hawaii, I figured out where to get him poi when he wanted some. That was one of our things.

He was my Dad and I will miss him so much.



Rest in peace, Kumu. I hope you're surfing in Heaven now.

*post note: Ron's funeral will be the 11th and he will be buried in Temple Valley that afternoon.

Ripples

We get taught that one grain of rice can tip the scales, that one person can make a difference, but if you're like me you've thought to yourself "But I am just one person. How does that matter in a world of 7 billion people?". So, how can one person really make a difference?

Think about it....how many people do you have in your life? Your kids, friends, family, your spouse... In thirty-something years on the planet, I have people who are still in my life that arrived into it at various stages of said life. I have people that have known me since childhood, people I met in high school. Friends from my early twenties. My three kids and my husband. My ex-husband and his family that still stays in touch with me. My birth family (my mother, my MIA father, my grandmother, my uncle, my cousin). If I die tomorrow, every one of those people would be impacted somehow. It might be just the sad news of my passing and maybe a few minutes to think of a couple of memories. Or for the people closer to me, my husband and kids especially, it would impact them a great deal. Those are my ripples.

I can only hope that my ripples have left the people inside of them better for ever having had me in their lives. I hope that I have taught my people good things and that I have been worth the journey in their lives. But either way, I have left ripples. Or if the person has been a negative enough influence in your life, you might think of it more as shock waves.

I have learned in the last year and a half that certain people (read: my mother ) have done a lot more damage than I thought they ever would have. Or could have. And it has left shock waves. I came into some more info recently that just really sat me down. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide. I heard about all of the horrible things my mother really thinks of me. I thought that these were just things she might have hurled at me in a moment of anger, but no....they were all true, at least in her mind.

And MAN, did that hurt. I realized that she really didn't know me at all. She has accused me of everything I have ever really been afraid of. She hit me where I live and has told a lot of people that I'm a really terrible mother. If you know me, darling readers, you know that if nothing else about me is ever true, this is: I have been a mother longer now than I haven't. That's the one big,great thing I have done with my life is become somebody's mom. My kids are everything to me. I'm home schooling my youngest not because it's the easy way to go, but because I truly believe that it's the best thing I could do for her.

It caused me to doubt everything because she knew just enough to hit me where it would hurt the most. I couldn't think and I couldn't breathe. I saw that scared little girl that I knew so well.

 

But then something happened today. I was processing all of this and trying to find my way out. Because when someone hurts you, you can't just stay in that place. Sometimes it might take you a little longer to work through the pain, and that's all right. Just as long as you move forward. And as I was processing I stood there looking in the mirror at the eyes of a hurt, scared little girl. And I realized that I am closer to 40 than to that little girl. I've done a lot of work to be the person I am today.

"I am almost 40 years old! I am not a scared little girl anymore. I'm not afraid of you anymore. You can't hurt me any more. I AM NOT AFRAID OF YOU!"

And Xunnie, being the existentialist Xunnie, realized that you affect everyone you meet. Even if it's just a little bit. How often has someone turned your day around just by holding the door for you or smiling at you when you're having a really bad day? I know that I have been the greatest influence on my husband. He would be a totally different person if we had never met. And so would I because he's done the same for me.

Mind your ripples, and may you always be blessed with gentle ripples from other people.

Somebody's Mom

I just watched the season finale of Private Practice and it was heartbreaking. Amelia delivered a baby that she knew just couldn't survive. And I had tears rolling down my cheeks for the entire last half of the show. It's been almost 11 years, but I will always know what that feels like.

"I had a baby Sheldon. For a few minutes I was somebody's mom" ~ Amelia
"You're still somebody's mom, he's just not here anymore" ~ Sheldon

I knew in that moment that everything I've written in my book is going to get thrown out. The (maybe) two chapters that I've pounded out so far are all wrong. I thought I could write about it in a fictional form. I created characters and I was writing it as a novel and that's all wrong. It has to be my story. I need to write about my experience, my life...it has to be real. It has to be my story.




I have always hoped that I could do some good with my experience of losing my baby girl and now I really, really know that I need to write my story. I have come to learn, in the last decade, that there are a lot of us that have either lost a baby during the pregnancy or suffered the heartbreak of a stillborn. There is a whole nation of women that know what that feel like. I need to tell my story.

Not for the women that will never know what losing your baby feels like, but for the women that go through that soul-wrenching heartbreak. They need to know they're not alone. I needed to know I wasn't alone. I needed to know I wasn't the only women to ever feel like that.

And then when Mason says to Charlotte...



Oh MY Gawd! I teared up all over again. Charlotte never wanted kids, but she has come to love that little boy so much.






It doesn't matter how you get there....giving birth, adoption, coming into a "step-child" that's not really just a step-child anymore. You're a mom. And even if that child goes to wherever we go when we're done in this mortal coil, you're still somebody's mom.

Called Out

It's incredibly difficult to be true to oneself in American culture. I just had an in depth discussion last night with my oldest about being true to yourself in spite of what anyone else (especially someone who does not matter to you) thinks of you.

I did the social facade thing. Years ago when I lived in military housing and I tried to keep up with all the social games and frickin be a Stepford Wife. My house was immaculate, should someone drop by unannounced. My baby girl was dressed and her hair was done. I killed myself trying to be "THE" wife and mother. I pushed myself thinking that if I were harder on myself, demanded more from myself, than anyone else possibly could then I could 1. reach a place that no one could demand something from me because I had beaten them to the punch and 2. find a place that no one could hurt me in. I was wrong.

I survived the ensuing insanity of that thought process and when everyone I knew turned on me for hitting the wall and not being able to be the facade anymore, I quit caring what everybody else thought. I quit driving myself crazy.

Almost. My mother was still in my head. So I went back to school. And I pushed myself. Like throw-your-algebra-book-across-the-house push yourself. What? Like none of you ever threw your college algebra book across the room? No? Just me then? Oh well.

Anyway.....

I pushed hard through school. getting my Associates in 20 months with a 3.9 g.p.a. And you know what? It wasn't enough. And I learned that those that would have something to say about you will find something no matter what you do. No. Matter. What. You. Do.

So I reached a new level of not caring what other people thought.

So my new philosophy is: Is this going to matter tomorrow? In a year? In five years? Are these people still going to be in my life, judging me and refusing to accept me? NO. Because if they can't love you when you're on your knees, they're not going to love you when you're on top of the mountain.

Haters gonna hate, potaters gonna potate. No, that's not right.

I'm gonna be who I am no matter what anybody else does to me, what they say or what they do is not going to change who I am.

To thy own self be true. Yep. 

Serendipity Is My Stripper Name

It's been a rough couple of weeks. Hell, it's been a rough couple of years. 2011 did its very best to kick my ass, but somehow I kept going. I've been through so many surgeries and scary tests. Last year alone I was under some form of anesthesia 11 times. ELEVEN times.

I just had my second set of shots in C6 this last Tuesday. The first set (about a month ago) were epidural steroid injections. Meant to inject steroid and pain relievers into the epidural space in my spinal column. This last set was meant to inject steroid and anesthetic in the facet joints at C6, or to most people ....that spot at the bottom of your neck, just about where the bumpy vertebrae is. The doc injects into my spine on both sides and I'm supposed to be sedated, but I wasn't really. Wrong drugs or not enough, but I was awake this time, and it frickin hurt.

Fast forward 3 days and now I have yet another infection and I end up in my primary care doc's office (herefore known as my PCM) to get antibiotics today. On top of that, I got told today that I was "severely dehydrated" and fussed at by the nurse to drink more water. Not so dehydrated that it was admit me and stick another IV in me, but dehydrated none the less.

I bawled all the way off base. (Probably not the best thing to do if I'm already dehydrated but oh well.) I was just so tired of fighting with a body that clearly hates me. It's been one thing after another for the last 10 years. And I'm never going to get "better". I have a chronic, severe, progressive, degenerative (is that enough adjectives?) disease that will end in my death. I'm one more bad case of pneumonia from being dead at any time. And I have shit for an immune system. I was just so overwhelmed and tired of fighting with it *all* *the* *damn* *time*. 

I cried as I drove off the base (between that and the days that I'm car dancing, it's great fun to be next to me in traffic) and though to myself "what's the point of fighting all this?". I fight every day. In between raising 3 kids and being married to the Navy, I fight with my own body, every single day. Once in a while it gets a good shot in, but I win on a lot of the days.

But sometimes it's just really hard and I get whiny (yes, like now) and overwhelmed and once in a great while, I feel like giving up.

But as luck would have it....

...tonight was family pizza-and-movie night. And we (or they) decided to watch "We Bought A Zoo" because my oldest saw it in the theatre and recommended it to all of us so we put it on our Netflix and it came in today.

In case you haven't seen the movie (and without giving it away in case you do want to see it), it's about a guy struggling to put the pieces back together and raise his kids after his wife gets sick (we assume cancer in the movie) and dies.

It really put a few things into perspective for me, not the least of which is how my family will put themselves back together when I do go. Understanding that gave me the courage to fight for one more day.

Because, really, when you think about it all you need is a little bit of courage sometimes. Just enough to get you through that moment.

~Benjamin Mee (We Bought A Zoo)

And the truth is this can apply in every area of our lives. I haven't been writing. P says for me writing is like breathing, and I *need* to write. But I haven't been and part of the reason why is because I keep psyching myself out with fear of failure....or success.

I watch people around me struggling with their own demons. But I'm telling you....just be brave for 20 seconds. Crazy, insane, hopelessly brave for just those few seconds when you really, really need it. And watch what happens. 

Prayers & Hope & What the hell do you do....

I got a phone call from my step-dad today. He was calling for a couple of reasons. One was to update me on his condition. He's fighting cancer and it's not looking good. It's in his lung and now in the bone in his arm. I'm scared to death that I'm gonna lose the only guy that's ever stuck around for more than a couple of years. So if you have an extra prayer in you or some positive energy or good karma or whatever you can send up, it would really mean a lot. Right now I'm seeing a trip out to Hawaii to see him before I can't anymore on the horizon.

I haven't been out there in five years. Partly because my mother and I don't talk anymore. I haven't talked to my mother in almost a year and a half. And it's impossible to explain to anybody that hasn't been in my life in close quarters what happened or how my mother and I got to this place. But I guess the easiest way to put it is that I just can't have her hurting me the way that she has anymore.

But trying to explain that she does things that most people can't understand is hard. The general consensus is "that's your MOM", but I argue that the ability to pop out a kid does not immediately make one a better person. You are who you are whether you poop out a kid or not. And sometimes you can rise up to the challenges of raising people, sometimes not. And sometimes you're just really messed up like my mother and need some help.



The point of all this rattling on is that my mother , anything to do with my mother right now, causes me a lot of stress and anxiety. And I don't know what to do. I keep waiting for her to reach out and get the help she needs, but according to my step-dad she's doing even worse than she was last year. She's left him and gone "home" to the state she grew up in. But you can't go home. Nothing is the same anymore. And she's losing friends. I guess she needs some prayers too come to think of it.

I know that I don't usually reveal so much in my blogging but like I said, anything to do with my mother instigates anxiety right now. So I'm writing it out and hoping for prayers for my step-dad and inspiration or maybe just the ability to breathe when it comes to my mother.

“After careful consideration and many sleepless nights, here’s what I’ve decided: There’s no such thing as a grown-up. We move out, we move away from our families. But the basic insecurities, the fears and all the old wounds just grow up with us. Just when you think life has forced you to truly become an adult, your mother says something like that. We get bigger, taller, older. But, for the most part, we’re still a bunch of kids, running around the playground, trying desperately to fit in.”

—	Meredith, Grey’s Anatomy

I had no idea....

"I had no idea that the night would take so damn long..."

So, my darling readers, how do you figure out how to live with somebody in your head that doesn't go away? Everything I have seen in our society tells me that they should eventually go away, but they haven't yet. Years have passed and they are still there, still inside of me.....my heart, my mind. How do you deal with that?

I started my book. I'm so proud of the fact that I have a working title, characters that are named, and a scenario. It's coming together and some times I feel like I'm pushing myself pretty hard because my goal is to have this damn book written by the end of the year. I have a story to tell and it's time to figure out how to write it. But the problem lately is that I seem to be spending a lot of time inside of song lyrics. I almost wish I could write music instead of ....well, whatever it is that I'm writing sometimes. I'm great with poetry, which I guess is pretty close to music but I'm missing the ability to create rhythm.

But so much of what's in my head, so much of what's in my soul, exists in lyrics.....
"But in another life, I would be your girl. We'd keep all our promises, be us against the world..."

"And my mates are all there trying to calm me down, Cause I'm shouting your name all over town...."

" Light up, light up, as if you have a choice, even if you cannot hear my voice..."

And we won't even get into all the other noise that's in there....a lot of Skrillex, E Nomine. It depends on the day, but there's always a song playing in my head. My own personal soundtrack? How awesome would it be if I could figure out how to broadcast all the music inside of me? But if you know me at all, it would almost be like walking around naked. Everything that I am would be exposed. Maybe that's too much.

I've been writing a blog in my head for a week but it keeps changing, which is why this one is probably bouncing all over the place. But the idea I wanted to regurgitate into my keyboard was pondering the idea of living with somebody in my head that is still there after a lot of time. Whether I want them or not, there they are. Sometimes in the back, in the dark. Quiet. Sometimes they make a lot of noise and I feel like if I close my eyes I can almost touch them.

Do you ever really lose somebody, even if they walk out of your life?