tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37524409336490809312024-03-13T01:57:07.944-07:00After WordsLove, Life and What Comes AfterAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-154811108528171382018-02-17T14:04:00.001-08:002018-02-17T14:05:06.895-08:00Five<p dir="ltr">Jason died 5 years ago today. </p>
<p dir="ltr">It seems like another lifetime now... and at the same time there is so much that I can remember like it was yesterday. </p>
<p dir="ltr">We had a good life together... it wasn't perfect, nothing is, but it's a life I will treasure forever and it's made me into the person I am today. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Sometimes I wish I had taken videos of him & recorded our conversations those last weeks. Sometimes I'm happy to keep them all to myself. He had such a beautiful mind & his ability to deal with reality of the worst kind was powerful. If I face my own mortality with half the strength & love he showed, I'll be proud of myself. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I'm so very lucky to have had him as my partner. He cherished me & our children. Together we learned what real love, the day-in day-out in the trenches kind of love. Love that is hard sometimes. Love that takes work and, in other ways is easy, because your home is in each other & you've developed your own shorthand. Love that binds you as a team, makes you think of the other by reflex & inspires you to be your best. I am incredibly grateful to have had that and feel like a lottery winner to have that again. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Many of our conversations in those last days involved the 'after'. He would sometimes insist I make notes: here's where you find all the information to file the taxes, remember to only pay the minimum on these bills but this amount on the others. Don't sell the truck until you have to, try to sell it as a package with the work trailer & make sure you save these things, give this person that, remember to get your oil changed. I have some of these notes still. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The thing he was most insistent on was drilling into me that I had to find a way to be happy. That someday, he didn't know how long it might take & neither did I, I had to live a life I loved again. That I could not give up, not fade into the shadows or let the circumstances of his death be an anchor of pain, let it drag me down & destroy myself. The kids. You have to be strong for the kids. The panic & pain in his eyes when he talked about how much he didn't want to leave us, but he knew he had to, was what I imagine when I think about something happening to me & them being without us. It freezes me into despair. At the same time... he trusted me. He believed in me. He knew I could get through this, that I would do whatever I had to do to help them make it through & become good people. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I didn't believe him... and for a long, long time I certainly didn't live up to his wishes. But, I'm making it. It took a long time to love my life again. I'm there now & with a much deeper understanding of what that means & how I make that happen. It's a huge gift & one I sometimes wish had never had to happen. </p>
<p dir="ltr">It is what it is. He took life as it came & knew himself. He lives in our hearts & memories now, but we take them with us everyday. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Sleep well my love. </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7vakRSVc4AXDl_yqKGfzvGgDeapuTKqHubhVmPsXt4TtHHNZrzuPIdk-MmyBSdSEgR-85j8aB9xA2NjH06JFoxEwJwkY65FFmp6hlTUTfBSHV_jklBvZwS8T3ZoM_p-3BXTPcgVe9LhBp/s1600/1518905067747.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7vakRSVc4AXDl_yqKGfzvGgDeapuTKqHubhVmPsXt4TtHHNZrzuPIdk-MmyBSdSEgR-85j8aB9xA2NjH06JFoxEwJwkY65FFmp6hlTUTfBSHV_jklBvZwS8T3ZoM_p-3BXTPcgVe9LhBp/s640/1518905067747.jpg"> </a> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-25913929242611040902017-08-13T20:54:00.001-07:002017-08-13T20:54:22.568-07:00Happy Birthday <p dir="ltr">He would have turned 43 today. Maybe he'd have lost some hair, possibly gained a little belly from his late night Oreo habit. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The truth is I don't spend a lot of time imagining what it would be like if he had lived. He's gone & that finality robbed me of any sweetness in thinking about our future together. It's a cold, hard fact that I can't make sense of or explain away with platitudes. Losing him destroyed me in ways I never imagined and it feels like a slight to the life I've fought to build, the progress I've made in wanting to live again, to imagine anything else. </p>
<p dir="ltr">But I can remember all the goodness & the beauty & the love. I get to see it every single day in our kids. And on days like today I know just how lucky I am to be their mom. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Happy birthday Love. This one hit me hard. It's never going to stop hitting me and I think that says a lot about the impact you left on the world. </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-57897987831491899512017-07-03T10:40:00.001-07:002017-07-03T10:45:23.771-07:00Long Time Gone<p dir="ltr">I haven't written in ages, I know. There are reasons for that, some good, some lazy, some just because I plain didn't want to. I tend to come to this place when I'm in pain, when the words bubble up & I can't stop them. Life has been happening & this place is somewhat a memorial for me, a shrine to chaos & gutwrench & healing. </p>
<p dir="ltr">It's been 4 years, 4 months & 16 days since our world exploded. Time has passed, the way it does, the world has moved along, and I often marvel at how incredibly different this life is than the one I thought I had ahead of me before cancer & death. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I've watched our children grow into bona fide teenagers. Our son is taller than most adults & is looking for a job. He crafts music feverishly, with the passion of someone who has both a gift & a message. I'm trying as hard as I can to help him hold on to that little fire in the face of this ugly world. Our daughter starts high school this fall. She's insanely smart & funny & a talented artist. She's going to be a force to be reckoned with with. She already is. </p>
<p dir="ltr">About a month ago, we moved about 40 minutes north to Stockton. I met & fell in love with a man who's lived here for over 20 years & all the pieces fell into place. The time was right, everybody was ready & willing, so we jumped in headfirst & made the move. It's working out wonderfully. We are making friends, adjusting to "city life" & getting settled in our new home. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I'm working part time in Modesto & have started taking baking orders again. I'm taking steps to start a new career in something, not sure what, but it'll come to me. I've recently taken up hula hooping & discovered I'm quite good at it! I'm drawing and reading and exercising and meditating every morning. I love my life. I love everything about it. And yet my brain feels like it is betraying me. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I weaned myself off my last anti-depressant about 2 months ago... so slowly. I thought things were fine, that with all my new ways of coping, with all the skills I'd learned I'd be able to handle the ups and downs and loop-de-loops & constant barrage of negative thoughts & mania that my brain seems to thrive on. </p>
<p dir="ltr">See, not once, not twice, but 6 times, I've been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Something I've just flat out rejected because I know better. "I've never been psychotic!" I say indignantly. "I'm just naturally high energy & I get depressed sometimes!" Oh you mean cycling? Like rapid cycling? Like predictable, I'm Invincible & Sure I Spend Money I Don't Have & Can't Finish Simple Tasks & Can't Find Anything & Can't Make My Words Come Out Right & Fuck Anything That Moves & Make Grandiose Plans That I Can't Possibly Follow Through On then crash, can't stop crying, can't get out of bed, can't stop repeating how stupid I am, can't return phone calls, stare at the walls for hours, don't eat, sleep all day, start thinking about how it would be better for everyone if I wasn't here, start thinking I should drive off an overpass, start thinking I should just die because I'm never going to be anything do anything I just can't. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Oh. Wait. That. Maybe. Maybe they have a point. Maybe it's a spectrum. Maybe I'm so, so incredibly fortunate to live in a time when taking that simple medication softens the valleys & peaks enough that I'm able to do all the things I want to do without it being such a struggle. Maybe I stop making it so hard on myself. Maybe I internalize all those messages about "you wouldn't tell a diabetic they were weak for using insulin". Maybe I utilize the medication in conjunction with all the tools I've learned and I'm unstoppable, I go further than I ever thought possible, because I just accept this one little thing. </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-48442596352993176142016-06-15T21:45:00.000-07:002016-06-15T21:45:11.054-07:00RememberLife changes so quickly.<br />
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I've been at ease with my grief... it's become a part of me, something natural, another facet of my being. I suppose that's how you live with it, another scar, precious and ugly all at the same time.<br />
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I forget how violent it can be. How wrenching. While I glide along living life as well as I possibly can... and I'm proud to say I AM living well... the pain wells up now and then and stops me in my tracks.<br />
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My heart remembers you. Saying I miss you isn't big enough... the words fall flat. My soul screams and shudders and longs for the one thing in the world that it cannot have. The sadness is so enormous it is almost enough to crush me. I don't know how I made it through when every moment was like that... remembering the agony of that time is enough to forgive myself for all the mistakes I've made since we lost you.<br />
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Forgive me, my love, I was drowning.<br />
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There is the smallest hint of sweetness in that pain now. It means you mattered. You were vital. The world is better off for your having been here.<br />
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Remember when you took me to the seawall and I was too scared to let go? You held me and we went down together, to see the crab with only one claw. When we drove to Knights Ferry and roamed around at midnight & laughed hysterically because we were far too old and married and responsible to act like silly teenagers. When you would flip your eyelids inside out & make me scream because UGGGH! Gross! You had a terrible voice and you never stopped singing out loud and telling me one day you were going to be a star.<br />
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You mattered. You are loved.<br />
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I miss you.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-43986421689245622432016-02-07T13:24:00.001-08:002016-02-07T13:24:42.257-08:00Kidney BeansI am heading into the third week of a flareup from hell. It couldn't come at a worse time... I am BUSY and have a million things that need my attention. And I feel too crappy to do much of anything. <div>
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Silver lining? I am healthy enough much of the time to really get an effective break between attacks and I bounce back a lot better. But sometimes, things get complicated and life isn't as awesome as this piglet taking a bath.<br /><div>
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This time, the stone(s) were stubborn and took their sweet time. I don't go to the ER or doctor unless absolutely necessary so I'm pretty much a giant ball of misery. But! My <a href="http://www.kionafoundation.org/" target="_blank">naturopath</a> makes an herbal pain blend that makes it bearable. Then comes an infection, almost guaranteed after passing a stone. Easy enough, I've had around 9 zillion infections, got it. But then... I wake up and can't walk. My back is completely locked up, something I've managed to avoid for over a year. i'm stretching, taking all my potions and powders and drinking more water than should be possible and it's. just. dragging. on. </div>
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I start to get panicky. What if it doesn't get better? What if I'm stuck like this again? What if my spell of good health was just some cruel cosmic fluke and I have to learn to adjust, to always be in pain again? I can already feel it draining me... I don't want to take this downtime to write, to finish my website, to use my brain, everything just hurts too much. Then the berating begins. You are just lazy and weak. You are just doing this to yourself, somehow. It becomes easy to hate your body, to feel it is the enemy. At the very time when you most need to love yourself, you begin to hate yourself. </div>
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I am so very lucky. I have a partner who loves me unconditionally and takes amazing care of me. I can actually focus on healing because he has no qualms about stepping in to help... a gift beyond measure. It doesn't sound like a great deal on paper... "I'm a lot of fun but I'll be out of commission </div>
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25-40% of the time!" :)</div>
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Fingers crossed I'm on the road to recovery. There are a lot of emotions that come up this month and I'm sure that has a lot to do with it do. I intend to do some kind of memorial project this year to commemorate 3 years. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-77349338584914123462015-12-28T14:54:00.002-08:002017-03-23T09:10:12.199-07:00Merry Christmas <div dir="ltr">
I've always been a bit of a humbug around the holidays... the buildup and expectation that everything be perfect is draining and more than anything just means a lot more work for me! The past few years have been unbearably sad... with bright spots and lots of good memories (ask my mom why we don't drink tequila on Christmas Eve anymore hahaha!)... but it is a descent into a time of year that is for us steeped in pain.</div>
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I'm happy to say that this year was very, very different. We pulled off a great Christmas... a good balance of business and low key fun that allowed us all to relax and just enjoy the time together. My kids didn't get a ton of gifts... but they were really happy with what they got. Ivy made her own beautiful presents for everyone and our Asian themed Christmas dinner was so good I'm pretty sure i'll be working that off for the next few weeks. True to form, we started talking about what we're going to have next year before dinner was even finished! </div>
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If there is one piece of advice I can give to new members of this awful club it is this: There is no shame in finding that spark. It may take a long time. You will have to force yourself and you will have to pretend for awhile. It will not be easy. You will have to shed beliefs about yourself, about your world and be truly fearless in doing so. Some of the people you love may disapprove, they may be scared for you. They may fade away. That is OK. You keep going. You check in with yourself, you feel your pain but you also feel immense joy as the broken, empty places scream within you and you treat yourself with love and compassion. Do not wait to love yourself. You are perfect as you are, amidst your struggle and chaos.You must be very, very brave. You've done hard things... and you will do more. You must treat yourself as the sacred being you are and find a way to enjoy your life, just as it is, every single day. I can't tell you how long this will take but I can tell you that it will never end. You will never stop feeling helpless and frightened and anxious and sad... but you must learn to live within that space and love your life with all those dark feelings. They've made you who you are and they will soften. And one day, like a seedling sprouting from the ground and seeking light, you will begin to bloom. </div>
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Who knows what you will become?</div>
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I wanted to do this all by myself. Truthfully, I was terrified to REALLY love anyone. Loving someone means that I can lose them... that I very well may someday be tossed back into that vortex of pain. That is my greatest fear, going back to that place. But to deny myself this love... that would be like cutting off my oxygen. I had already decided, a long time ago, that I would live the rest of my life happy. Gaining that happiness means taking risks... I just have to meet the person worth taking that risk for. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-39406916418077396792015-12-14T09:12:00.001-08:002017-03-23T09:08:42.623-07:00It's A Jungle Out ThereDating. DATING.<br />
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Ugggh.<br />
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It was rough as a teen, rough as a young adult & by God, rough as a mid-thirties widowed single mom.<br />
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A funny thing happened though... at some point, I just relaxed and began to enjoy the process. If you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince then I've become quite familiar at avoiding catching any warts.<br />
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I figured out that I actually enjoyed getting dressed up & having a drink with interesting people... the key is leaving it at that. Not every dinner date has the potential to be your soul mate & once that pressure is off it's actually quite fun to swap stories and meet new people. Plus the stand up material is pure gold. I went out on a date with a guy who brought me a tie dyed rose dipped in glitter & two questionairres (along with pencils!) for us to fill out... it wasn't the worst date I've ever been on!<br />
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What dating has done is given me the space & experience to really sort out what *exactly* I want in a partner & a relationship. What I'm willing to compromise on & what I'm not. It's taught me to rely on my instincts... if something is feeling off, it's because something is usually WAY WAY OFF. That doesn't mean they aren't a wonderful person, it just means they aren't the person for you. I've also made a couple really good friends & you can never have too many of those!<br />
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Four months ago I sat down and wrote a letter... to God, the universe, whatever... laying it wall out. This is what I NEED in a partner, the must haves. And these are the things I WANT... would be nice but I not deal breakers.<br />
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More than anything, writing that letter made me feel good. I know who I am & what I want & most importantly I've come to a place where I feel good about my life exactly the way it is now... having someone would be wonderful but I'm in a really great place. Life is not what I thought it would be, but it's mine & I'm making it a good one.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-86367791394286208642015-11-03T12:30:00.001-08:002015-11-03T12:43:57.372-08:00Welcome To Parenting, Valerie Style Hi Folks!<br />
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It's your friendly widow blogger with a post less likely to induce depressive disorder and more likely to just piss you off instead. A refreshing change of pace right?<br />
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So. Maybe you are like me and you look around and see a sea of other parents out there, struggling under the weight of their ergo baby carriers and organic juice boxes, pleading in a non-confrontational voice with little Skyler or Gavin (so as not to inhibit his burgeoning sense of self esteem or creativity) to please stop playing call of duty in 10 minutes so you two can sit down and do homework together (Which really means you're going to do his homework while he whines and shuffles and says "I don't knoooooowww! It's too haaaaaaard!!!" Right? Yeah, I know. I get it.). I have sat in gyms full of parents one-upping each other on everything from their kids grades and touchdowns to learning disorders. Munchhausen's anyone?<br />
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Let's take a little quiz, shall we?<br />
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<i>How many times, when asked about yourself or your hobbies or interests, have you answered by describing your children and/or their hobbies? How many of you simply drew a blank?<br /><br />How often is your free time/weekend time completely consumed by your kids activities?<br /><br />Do your kids schedules dominate your families routine? </i><br />
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<i>When was the last time you completed a project of your own? Spent a half hour wandering aimlessly in a museum? Went to a film that wasn't animated?</i><br />
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Ugggh. Do you hear that wooshing sound? That's your life, passing you by.<br />
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Becoming a parent is one of the purest, most difficult joys a person can experience. It is a process of immeasurable love, nobility, patience & humility. But the truth of it is that our kids need us far, far less than we need them.<br />
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See, I have this crazy notion that your children may have come from you but they are. not. you. I've met some parents who forget that. They seem to keep trying to re-live their past through their kids... pushing in places that just don't need pushing and ignoring truths that would create an even richer, more dynamic relationship with their children. Don't get me wrong... everyone needs guidance and direction. But acknowledging that you have this amazing, nearly independent little human running around that has their own thoughts, feelings, intrinsic values, outlook... we can influence, we can gently suggest. We sometimes have to draw the line and take a hard stance. We often have to be the bad guy. But there is nothing as magical as the selflessness involved in loving this alien being you've helped to bring up... watching them thrive & loving them as they are.<br />
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Our culture currently promotes the ideal of the frazzled, chronically busy and burnt out parent as some sort of badge of honor. We are to sacrifice our sanity, our health and our happiness on the altar of success as society dictates: the job, big house, flashy cars, cool gadgets & kids who are perpetually BUSY.<br />
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Do we ever stop to think if that is what is actually good for our kids? How about encouraging a few healthy passions? How about making time for boredom as a learning tool? I can't tell you how often my kids have built amazing things with cardboard and duct tape because they were bored and I didn't rush in to entertain them.<br />
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I have a confession: I have never enjoyed "playing" with my kids. Set me up with a board game or a craft, making dinner together or hanging out doing something we all enjoy and, especially as they get older, we have a great time. But playing kitties or superheroes or whatever? Nope. That's what you have playmates, each other and imaginary friends for. And frankly, my kids have never needed anyone to play court jester. They have big brains they put to good use and a healthy expectation of what Mom will and will not do for them.<br />
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Becoming a single parent has been, by far, one of the greatest challenges I've faced. I'll admit that sometimes I simply throw my hands up and yell "I can't do this!" Having my life derailed means figuiring out exactly what I need to be happy & knowing that in just a few short years, if I do my job right, my babies will leave the nest and I'll only be able to embarrass them when they come home to raid the fridge and do laundry.<br />
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So, call it selfish if you want. I'm cultivating a life that is definitely centered on my children but with plenty of room for me. Figuring out what I want and where the yellow brick road is leading me. Interestingly, I've found some fellow travelers along the way. Our kids may not be the future Ivy league-rs (or they might!) but they are INTERESTING PEOPLE. And the world needs more interesting people.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-72472503482348039732015-09-21T15:52:00.001-07:002015-09-21T15:52:27.968-07:00Different AfterWordsWriting this blog has been, by far, the healthiest way I have coped with Jason's death. The earliest posts are things I find difficult to read at times, yet I am strangely and fiercely proud of them. I'm still not certain it conveys a completely accurate look into my life, because I am usually writing when overwhelmed by emotion, when the words almost bubble over and I can't type fast enough. But it isn't sugarcoated. It isn't dressed up or down. It's a chronicle.<br />
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It's been 946 days since Jason died. 2 years, 7 months and 4 days. Yesterday and an Eternity. Sometimes contemplating the mere passage of that time is enough to bring on panic, time is something I have never been easy with. On better days it feels merely perplexing... how is it possible that he has missed so much? And shouldn't we get a little break now? Shouldn't we get a five minute phone call, a check in at least? It's absurd still, to think that I will never talk to him again. It is still unfathomable.<br />
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There is so much I want to write, yet I don't. Sometimes I feel like I shouldn't pollute this space with anything but my pain, but that pain is the same thing that keeps me away from writing more, on the days I feel hope and determination to carve out space of my own in a new life I didn't want and didn't ask for, but am living nonetheless. And that is the crux of it. I won't accede to that old cliche: time heals all wounds, I still want to punch people that say that to me. But time has given me the breathing room to look around, take stock, and decide that I need to make some happiness happen.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-61467731803490457032015-08-14T23:26:00.001-07:002015-10-27T09:39:57.704-07:0041 aka Some Terrible Poetry<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
When I look at the blinking planets<br />
I see the stars that were your eyes<br />
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Swirling eddies and streams of light<br />
Your soul now in the jewels of the universe<br />
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If only the gentle fall of the atmosphere<br />
Held some semblance of your touch<br />
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Created and never destroyed<br />
Loved and never lost<br />
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<i><span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Happy birthday, my love. I still miss you the way I did just moments after you left us. I'm beginning to realize most of us just learn to go on carrying that void, that </span></span></i><span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">emptiness</span></span><i style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">, with us for the rest of our lives. Is this the price we pay to know love in our lifetimes? I don't know.</i><br />
<i style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Maybe, for me, it is. </i><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-60412940713391681692015-07-26T16:14:00.000-07:002015-10-27T09:40:52.495-07:00From the Depths of the Drowning, That We May Reach LandI haven't written since April? That doesn't surprise me all that much, summer has been action packed and flown by. Bullet points then:<br />
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<li>I started my own <a href="https://www.facebook.com/asyoulikeitcater" target="_blank">business</a>! Go take a look and then <a href="mailto:asyoulikeitcater@gmail.com" target="_blank">book an order</a>! </li>
<li>I also got a new job as the office manager for local Modern Woodmen of America financial representative <a href="http://mwawebapps.modern-woodmen.org/prjspfindanagent/PopUpRepresentative.aspx?ID=6996&SiteXmlId=33529865" target="_blank">Lisa Minardi</a>. So if you need insurance or magic money help (cause seriously, she's amazing...), I can hook you up with that too!</li>
<li>The kids are in Jujitsu 3 days a week, 2 separate youth groups & Ozzie's just finished up football conditioning, which trained twice a week. They each went to camp, went out of state for a big family vacation and we got to go to our beloved family camping trip with dear friends this year. I have basically been a taxi service for a lot of it (shout out to my parents, who also get in on the taxi rotation) and my kindle and TED talks on my phone have been my best friends. I joke about it a lot, but I'm thrilled that they are busy and happy. </li>
<li>Ozzie has caught the fishing bug from his Papa and Uncle's and is bugging me for rides to the river constantly. Ivy gave it a try and decided books, crafting and AC are more her speed (takes after her Mum). </li>
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Things have been for the most part good, just like life I guess. This Fathers Day was certainly more sweet than bitter. We got Jason a balloon, wrote notes to him and tied them to the string, went out to our spot and each told a favorite memory, said a prayer, shouted an "I LOVE YOU!" and released it into the sky. There were tears, but mostly memories, and the knife didn't cut quite so deep.</div>
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A couple of significant things have happened for me.</div>
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I <i>think,</i> 2 years and 5 months later, that I am finally in a place where I have accepted that he is gone.<i> </i>If you have never experienced loss this may seem silly or even dumbfounding. "Yeah, of course he's gone. He's dead. What did you think happened?" Well, prior to Jason's death, I would have been right there with you. </div>
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I always liked to think I was a very practical, pragmatic person, who could be faced with a setback or problem and simply take a minute and then take stock and either begin again or look for a solution. I know now that facing how very much I am actually <i>not</i> like that began 6 years ago, when I was diagnosed with a rare birth defect/kidney disease. I thought I could simply do what I always did and knuckle through, ignoring it until it took me down. Instead it began slowly chipping away at my health in a way that has left me battered and abused by the medical system and questioning my own sanity. It has also led me to a place where I now know that doctors have only this tiny little finite amount of help to offer. I am chronically ill and in pain every single moment of the day and I am the only one who can make a good life out of that fact. It is very difficult to know that, but so freeing at the same time. I trust God and I am <i>trying</i> to care for myself as he/she would. </div>
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So, where were we? Ah, acceptance. Well, yes. It's taken a lot of hits, awful losses, huge and tiny ones, a lot of times where I felt punched in the gut and I simply didn't want to get up to realize that much of what I blustered and built up as practical was actually denial, deflection. Pushing things down and putting them off. Dealing only with the now when an eye on the tomorrow would really have been the brave move. You can see something with your own eyes, you can speak it, you can live without someone... but in your heart and soul, you still may not accept it. It may take a really long time. And it REALLY hurts when you finally do. But until you do, you cannot begin to heal. </div>
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Which leads to another part of acceptance. I think the night I made the first move toward acceptance was when I was finally able to verbalize why I was stuck where I was. It was something that hadn't even really been a fully formed thought in my head... but when I said it out loud it was one of those "Oh Shit!" moments, where you gasp and shock yourself with your own truth. My mom and I were talking, err, she was talking and I was sobbing, and she asked me why I didn't think I deserved to have a happy life. Because I was (and sometimes still am, working on it) convinced that I didn't. That I would raise my kids to be happy, healthy adults and then I could just fade away somehow?! And I said it "Because that would mean I didn't love him enough!" Sad. And not true. Even I know that and I'm just like Jon Snow. </div>
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So, those two things kind of lifted the darkness for me a bit. Enough to give me some momentum. I'm doing good work, physically, emotionally, spiritually. I'm trying, and I''m happier than I was. And I know THAT is what Jason would want, because that is what he always wanted when he was here. </div>
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<3</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-8179422480092703572015-04-23T11:58:00.001-07:002015-04-23T12:00:25.985-07:00A Little VentingHow's this for a dark thought? Sometimes I think "I only have to keep living until the kids are grown up with families of their own. It will still hurt, but it won't be as devastating then. Then I can let go." Sometimes, that thought is the only thing that keeps me going. As if by putting some finite amount of time that I have to keep living will make it easier to bear.<br />
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I wish that thought didn't bring me so much comfort. I wish I could feel excited for what lies ahead in my own life. But I'm not quite at that point yet. I hope that someday I will be. But right now, it feels like I've had all my innocence burned away. I know now, that the worst really can happen. And that it can happen again. I am TERRIFIED of losing anyone else. I don't think I could come back from that. I'm certainly not coming back from losing Jason, not much at all. And that is why there is a wall building ever higher within me. As much as I try to remain open to the blessings of my life, at my core I am scared and angry and so incredibly sad that most of the time I don't understand why anyone would want to be around me. I need love and I love desperately and at the same time I hold some part of myself back because how do you regrow parts of your soul that are lost?<br />
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I engage in ritualistic thinking, torturing myself and pretending that I am just being prepared for when something happens. Forcing myself to think about my children, my family and friends dying or just no longer wanting me around. It won't make me ready. You don't get to be ready for that. It just makes me sad and paranoid and cold. Very, very cold.<br />
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I'm still smoking and I am so disgusted with myself. And yet I get irrationally angry if anyone dares to mention that I need to quit. I wake up at least a few times a week, heart pounding and imagining the day I get my own cancer diagnosis. Or the day the emphysema or COPD leaves me unable to breath. It is SO STUPID. I hate how weak I am. I don't want to be a burden to anyone.<br />
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All I want is to protect my kids, to love them and hopefully help them to become the people they are supposed to be. And maybe, be happy. Be happy again. I will never get to be that person that I was, that trusted in the future. That felt lucky and safe and secure. There are boogeymen out there and they are real. But some day, I don't want to be so scared anymore.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-10854845579013047432015-03-28T14:41:00.002-07:002015-10-27T09:44:39.141-07:00Faith... It isn't just an awesome George Michael song. (Oh my, I'm really dating myself now aren't I?)<br />
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I've never been religious, but I've always had a keen interest in the purpose of life and the various philosophies that we humans employ to make sense of our universe and our place within it. I read the Bible as a teen, along with the Qur'an, books about Jewish faith (our ethnic heritage on my mothers side), Wicca, New Age religions, Native American traditions, Agnosticism, Athiesm and Buddhism. I always manage to find something useful and inspiring in the studies I've made into various spiritual paths.<br />
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But I've never been an absolutist. Let me rephrase that: I am definitley capable of absolutism, but I am very fickle within that mindset. I have a tendecy to vaccilate between absolute belief and outright disbelief. I don't think this is neccesarily a bad thing. I've always had the ability to see things from many different sides and question my perception. As I get older this trait becomes stronger, as I accept how much I really don't know about anything.<br />
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We weren't raised in any one religion. My father came from a Christian background, while my mother was raised in the beliefs of reincarnation, karma and meditation. I went to church on sundays with my grandmother and remember my mom teaching my brothers and I how to relax into a meditative state.<br />
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For most of my adult life, I have called myself an "open minded, hopeful atheist". Or maybe Agnostic. I have always believed that there is something beyond our physical plane, some higher purpose for our daily struggles. And it has always been apparent to me that the major religions all have similar tenets regarding birth, death, sacrifice and afterlife.<br />
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In the hardest moments of my life, I have unfailingly turned to God. What or who that God is, I was and still am not completely certain. And I'm ok with that. But there has always been a part of my soul that, fundamentally, believes in God and destiny and fate and the purpose of suffering and sacrifice to advance toward enlightenment.<br />
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Some time after Jason died, I began to have odd little moments of peace and understanding. I began to see that even though one of my greatest fears became a reality, that I was not completely alone. I began to pray more often, oftentimes feeling silly. But it helps. It isn't always pleasant... there are many angry thoughts and feelings that surface, times that I have to just ask "Why?". In my darkest moments, it is the loving presence of grace and mercy that have given me the strength to sob and rail and keep putting one foot in front of the other. I have no real explanation for it. I still question whether it is real or simply a feeling my brain manifests in order to protect me from myself.<br />
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After the very real moments of feeling the presence of something so much bigger than myself, I realized one night that it is ok for me to have faith. That it is required for me to continue on, to make myself happy, to raise my kids to become strong, independent people with a moral compass and compassion for themselves and others. That fellowship and worship and reaching out to God doesn't make me weak or silly or wrong in any way. That sometimes, you just have to go with your gut. I did just that when I married a man who I had only known for 5 months and the reward was a love that shaped me into who I am today. I've done just that everytime I've stepped out of my comfort zone and taken on a new challenge that has made me stronger and happier or at the very least a little wiser.<br />
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I am human and I will make mistakes. I have the right to change my mind, I have the right to follow my instincts and listen to my heart. I have the right, no... the responsibility to continue seeking a higher power to guide me and reveal to me my true purpose in this life.<br />
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I go to church now (not often, but I don't believe that church is the only way to connect with God... for me, it feels more important to incorporate a love for God in my everyday, mundane life) and a few months ago I my son and I were baptized together. That doesn't mean I will ever be religious. But I DO have faith. I have learned to quiet my soul and reach out for a power that no earthly thing can give me. I've developed a relationship with God that feels just intrinsically RIGHT. I absolutely feel a connection with the teachings of Christ, Buddha and the solidification of a spiritual journey that lifts me above the pain and heartache of the everyday.<br />
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I fully admit that at times, I have been embarrassed by my change of heart. I have feared the judgement and derision of the people in my life that do not share those beliefs, but it is something I have to let go of. Because my journey is mine alone. I would never, ever belittle someone else for their beliefs or seek to change thier minds. If I am asked, I will freely share what God has done in my life, but I absolutley understand that everyone is different. I also don't ever want to feel that I am better than anyone else because of my beliefs. I truly believe that a life well lived, with compassion and love and kindness toward others is the only requirement for being a good person. I don't agree with many many of the fundamentalist laws of the Christian religion (that a loving sexual relationship outside the bonds of marriage is a sin, that loving someone of the same sex is a sin, that there is only one true path for salvation)... and I realize that some people will not see me as a moral human for those beliefs.<br />
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But I really don't have a problem with that.<br />
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God gave me the mind & soul that I was blessed with and I truly believe that acceptance, love and compassion for ones fellow man and generosity of spirit carry far more weight than strict adherence to rules written by man millenia ago. I believe that following Jesus's example of service to all mankind and boundless love and sacrifice are the most important lessons that one can learn and seek to emulate.<br />
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This new-found faith is helping me to heal and accept. Life will always be hard, we will always have struggle. But accepting and moving on from our setbacks, our mistakes, our own little tragedies... there is where we can show our strength. In the hard moments, that is where we can seek to be more than the sum of our circumstances. Faith bolsters me to accept and perhaps even welcome the hard stuff, knowing that I then have an opportunity to learn another lesson, to become stronger and appreciate all the blessings that I have been given. Amen!!<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-30196755693422749382015-03-28T14:41:00.000-07:002015-12-27T12:46:47.249-08:00Testimony<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">
This is something I wrote that I got to share with our congregation before my son and I were baptized. As I tried to make sense of the fledgling faith and hope that I began to feel, I realized that I've been on this spiritual journey for far longer than I thought and I'd like to share a little bit about that process.</div>
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When I was a little girl my brothers and I would often go to church with Grandma on Sundays. I'm sure, in its own way, it is a good church... but it wasn't good for me. There was music, but it was somber, a constant theme was how lowly we humans were, how imperfect and flawed. Maybe it was just my age or the way my brain works... but I never felt God's presence there. I didn't feel the glory of the Lord, the Love he has for us. All I could feel was how imperfect I was. And I internalized that feeling. I grew to hate church. I felt a false truth... that I didn't deserve God's love and grace. That I could never be worthy of it. </div>
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I was a particularly sensitive kid. I swung between extreme shyness and a love for being the center of attention. I was odd, I loved reading and digging up worms and pretending to make magic potions and drawing by myself at recess. I didn't have many friends, but I did have a big chip on my shoulder. I felt worthless and awkward and different. Over the years, I rejected God. I grew a thick skin and a "Don't mess with me" attitude. I felt the pull of God, but down deep, I just knew I didn't measure up. I had no faith. So, I rejected religion. I prostelysed science and believed I was better than the silly believers while secretly yearning for the peace and conviction they seemed to have. It wasn't something I would admit, even to myself.<br />
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I met the man who was my best friend, my soulmate, at 19. We married 5 months after we met and we made a beautiful life together. We became the parents of two amazing, dynamic children. We were Atheists. My husband had endured a hard life, full of pain and rejection. He was hardened by the circumstances of his life and he was very much a self made man. He was amazingly intelligent and he blazed his own trail out of an early life full of pain, addiction and poverty. The little family that we made together was the fire that led him to become a successful business man and an excellent father, protecter, provider. He encouraged me in every new passion I had, but for most of my 20's my focus was being his hearth and home. He made the money and I was a stay at home mom, student and eventually found my way into a field I loved and excelled in. We were happy. We fought sometimes, of course. But we had a strong marriage and great plans for our future.</div>
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The first time I truly felt the presence of God was when my children were born. That first breath... It was miraculous. It was something I couldn't explain away with science... the magic of a new life, born of the love we shared, it was otherworldly. I prayed silently, almost embarrassed by my impulse to plead with a God I wasn't sure existed to give me the strength to be a good mother.</div>
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In December of 2012 my husband, a man who rarely got so much as a cold or flu, began having a strange stomach ache. Two weeks passed, as the pain got worse, before I finally convinced him to go to the doctor. He was diagnosed with diverticulitis but, 2 rounds of antibiotics later, the pain was steadily getting worse. He was finally rushed to the hospital after a botched colonoscopy for exploratory surgery on January 25th 2013. Two hours later, I sat outside with a doctor who told me my 38 year old husband was riddled with cancer. There was no mass to remove, it had grown like a clinging vine and it was everywhere. In shock, I asked if he was going to die. The doctor told me "Not on this admission". He gave me no hope, no assurances that Jason would come through this. He knew what he was looking at, but he wouldn't tell me the truth. I knew it anyway. I knew, in my very soul, that the man I had loved for the past 13 years, the man who was as necessary as the air in my lungs, was going to die. I didn't want to acknowledge it, but somehow I just knew. The doctors gave him a colostomy and closed him up and told me they wouldn't have a treatment plan until his biopsy repport came back and an oncologist looked at him.</div>
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My brother Nathan was the first to come be with me while they finished Jason's surgery. I sank to my knees when I saw him, sobbing, and we prayed. Funny how my first instinct was to plea to a God I was certain didn't exist. But I did it anyway. And I kept praying over the next week, pleading for a miracle, promising the changes and sacrifices I would make if he would heal my love. Asking to switch places, because I couldn't bear the thought of a life without him. We got the final diagnosis two days later... Stage 4 pancreatic, stomach and esophageal cancer. The prognosis was that with chemo, if his body could survive it, he would live another couple of months.</div>
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Obviously, our world shattered. Jason tried a round of chemo, which only speeded up the process of his death. He chose hospice when it became clear that he was not going to survive. He quietly and bravely accepted death and chose to live out the rest of his time on earth as he wanted it... at home, where he could hug and love on his children and sleep beside me. For three weeks, we got to say goodbye. We said all the things that we needed to say, he tried his best to prepare me for the things I would need to do after he was gone. He wrote the letters he needed to write and basked in the love of our family and friends. I cared for him at home, with a lot of help and support. Our family was changing, growing tighter. Jason spoke of how loved he felt, how proud he was of me and our children. A staunch atheist, he began to think about the after. He felt a strong sense of serenity. He told me several times that he didn't know what would happen when he died, but that he felt a strong presence of peace... the conviction that he had been a good person and had done his best and that he felt he was moving on to something good. God was with my husband, I know that now. God was guiding him to acceptance and giving him the strength to say goodbye. I know that in the end, he knew it.</div>
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Jason died at home February 17th, 2013... three days after our son's 13th birthday and a week before our thirteenth anniversary. My entire life lay in shattered pieces. I didn't know what to do, how to comfort my children, how to go on living when I felt dead inside. </div>
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My family and friends are amazing. <span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">They held us together and rallied around us. The shock set in and I was in such a fog, such enormous pain that I didn't know how to deal with. And I was angry. If there was a God, how could he do this to us? Why did my husband have to die when there were so many bad people out there who got to live?</span></div>
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I ran from the pain, in whatever way I could. I drank, did whatever I could to ease the pain. But it didn't work, and it was eating me alive. </div>
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There has been a lot to learn. I have stumbled and fallen, over and over. My children and I have been in therapy, support groups, whatever we were "supposed" to do to go on. I've been suicidal. I'm heartbroken in the very literal sense of the word. I have a chronic illness that has spiraled out of control over the last few years, a physical representation of a life upended.</div>
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I can't tell you when it happened. There has been a quiet yearning for a long time, a wish for peace and understanding. All I know is that for the first time, I felt an answer. I felt God's graceful, loving presence. I watched my kids get involved with church and youth group and begin to heal in a real way. I started praying. Something cracked open in my soul and God's love rushed in to begin to heal me, to help me understand, to help me accept and let go. I feel God's presence now. I understand that I don't have to be perfect to feel his grace.</div>
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Things have been happening as my soul opens up to accept God's love, to understand the saccrifice Jesus made for our salvation. It is really hard to ignore and explain away when God is making himself known in your life everyday. I'm never going to be perfect. I'll probably never be a perfect Christian. I still have questions. I'm still not sure of what I'm doing. But for the first time in my life, I have faith. I know that my husband is at peace in God's grip. I am putting myself into His hands. I am beginning to heal.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-43507461738644571152015-03-18T13:03:00.002-07:002015-03-18T13:03:32.423-07:00Stuck, Kind Of.I'm having a bad time of it all. It's been going on for much longer than I'm comfortable with. I feel just absolutley washed out and pathetic and whiny and angsty and ANGRY. So, so angry. I'm trying really hard to keep my head up, but I'm not doing a great job.<br />
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It's gorgeous outside, but the only time I feel comfortable is at night, like a vampire. I desperatley want cold, wind and rain. The world is shining too brightly and I'm dead set on shutting it out.<br />
Stupid things make me mad, send me into ugly crying fits. My truck won't start. My son is going to be in high school. I can't find my favorite black sweater and I can't quite remember what his voice sounds like anymore.<br />
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I can't stop reprimanding myself: You should be able to handle this. You shouldn't be this sad, unbalanced. You should be doing more. You have so much to do and you are just dragging yourself through the days, it's dramatic and embarrassing. You know what's important and you let yourself get completely overwhelmed by the small stuff. IT'S BEEN TWO YEARS YOU SHOULD BE BETTER.<br />
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IT'S BEEN TWO YEARS, WHEN WILL IT STOP HURTING SO MUCH YOU CAN'T FUNCTION?!<br />
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I don't know. I really don't. I pray, I ask for help. I feel like a barnacle stuck on a huge rock, drying out to a husk and getting pounded by waves I have no control over. I'm embarrased to be so sad still, but I may be this sad forever and eventually all the people who love me will be sick of it. I feel selfish and self absorbed and ridiculous. Things haven't healed right or maybe they just aren't healed yet.<br />
<br />
It will be ok. It will, I know it will someday but I'm impatient. So just let me rant and rave a little more and make it through this day and then the next.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-13975227773626020592015-02-18T17:53:00.002-08:002015-02-18T17:56:11.971-08:00Another YearYesterday was two years.<br />
<br />
I feel the way I imagine a hiker lost in the woods does. You follow a direction, you're making good time, you might even be enjoying the fresh air and the world around you. You're scared, but you're pretty sure you're figuring it out. And then you see the tree you marked a few days ago and you're plunged right back into despair and terror.<br />
<br />
I think, anyway. I've never been lost in the forest. But I've definitely been here before.<br />
<br />
My natural response is to batten the hatches and hide. To curl up and hang on until taking a shower or grocery shopping or having a normal conversation with other people doesn't paralyze me with anxiety and the utter apathy lets up a little.<br />
<br />
I've been told I'm strong.<br />
<br />
I'm not.<br />
<br />
I fake it, a lot. I feel it, every now and then. Mostly I'm just holding on by the skin of my teeth and I truly don't understand how everyone around me doesn't see it.<br />
<br />
For me, being strong is action. It is taking the bull by the horns and wrestling it whichever way I want it to go. Strength is getting things done. It isn't crying every time the wind blows. It isn't hiding and staring at the walls and waiting for the storm to pass. But times like these, I just <i>can't</i>. It is all I can do to keep breathing, keep praying for light, keep my brain from going over all the mistakes I've made and will make again.<br />
<br />
It isn't any easier yet.<br />
<br />
I bounce back a little faster maybe. I know there will come a time of reprieve, when I will feel stronger, have more hope. Be able to pat myself on the back now and then.<br />
<br />
I wish I had the strength to get back up right away. To trust in peace and security and all the things I know to be right in my little world.<br />
<br />
See that's the thing that all the inspirational stories don't tell you. You may win the war but you will not win every battle. They gloss over the parts where you feel so broken and pathetic and awful that you wake up wishing you didn't. So maybe there is some strength in admitting that. Acknowledging that you won't always want to fight on, to keep going. That you won't always be able to. That you may get knocked down and lie in the dust awhile. You may get grimy. No one, especially yourself, will want to look at you. You will hurt and hurt and hurt and day by day you will try a little bit more.<br />
<br />
Until you see that damn tree again.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-12294033171687603432014-12-26T14:24:00.001-08:002014-12-26T14:26:46.648-08:00Spoons<p dir=ltr>I had seen this thing called The Spoon Theory all over the Internet for years before I finally one day decided to look it up. Basically,  the premise is that we begin each day with a certain number of spoons, everyone,  healthy people as well. But when you are chronically ill, be it physical, mental or emotional, you may begin each day with a limited number of spoons. And each task you  complete,  all the parts of daily life that are so often taken for granted,  costs you a spoon.</p>
<p dir=ltr>As my kidney disease has progressed,  and as I was plunged into the difficult work of grief, depression and ptsd, my spoons have been drastically reduced. And they cost me more. Right now I am struggling with what is most likely advanced endometriosis or adenomyosis and am scheduled for a hysterectomy next month. I'm hoping this will ease the chronic pelvic pain and dangerously heavy bleeding,  the awful pain of cysts constantly forming and rupturing, the flaring up of kidney issues with each cycle. By eliminating that problem,  I am hoping to gain some ground and get physically stronger. The mental agony will continue,  as I learn to live & work with my loss... especially as pain often begets depression,  anxiety and isolation. There are risks involved.  I may be plunged into early menopause if my remaining ovary fails to produce the hormones I need. (And won't that be fun on top of everything else?) But it's a risk I'm willing to take to try and gain more control over my life. </p>
<p dir=ltr>Right now,  I am extremely limited in what I can do, physically. Exertion means a steady spike in pain and possibly hemorrhaging. I am bedbound some days. Ok, many days. On the outside,  I look like a normal,  healthy person (sometimes). On the inside,  my life has become a study in compromise.  If I clean the house this morning,  it means I will most likely have to spend the remainder of the day resting. If I want to be social,  I have a time limit before my body starts screaming "ENOUGH!". Every mundane activity costs several spoons and if I am not careful, a deficit that will likely put me in the emergency room or stuck in bed for several days. I am on winter break from work and as much as I love what I do,  I've had to start coming to grips with the fact that I will no longer be able to have a physically demanding career. </p>
<p dir=ltr>A dream... of a small cafe, a commercial bakery,  a career in a field I have loved and excelled in for over 10 years... is dying. How that hurts. I've already had the life I knew upended and yet again,  here I am, trying to navigate and repair shattered pieces. I am preparing for a new career, one that will demand less from my body, and I am excited about it. Terrified,  nervous,  but still, excited. I'm going to have to start at the bottom all over again. Work my way up. Hope that I am good enough, that trading passion for better life balance won't break me further. </p>
<p dir=ltr>I have become exquisitely familiar with change.  I am becoming more adapt at rolling with it instead of giving into my natural instinct to fight it. To control. Control is such an illusion and such a difficult one to give up.  </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-14498182066168276702014-12-21T16:10:00.001-08:002014-12-26T13:37:19.766-08:00Grandma<p dir=ltr>On January 6th, barring any new horrors my body decides to bestow upon me, I will be flying up to Idaho to visit my Grandma.  She will most likely not know who I am. I'm hoping that she may have a few moments of clarity and remember me, but I'm trying to keep my expectations low.</p>
<p dir=ltr>Alzhiemers and dementia have ravaged her mind and it's been a long time since she's been the beloved Grandmother I was blessed with growing up. But I am holding out hope that the special bond we shared may triumph,  even just a bit, and she will know me and let me curl up next to her and hold my hand. </p>
<p dir=ltr>My cousin lost her beloved Abuela this week and my heart hurts for her. She was a beautiful woman, a cuban matriarch that I remember as exotic and always so warm. Elena had the same relationship with her Abuela that I have with my grandma and I am deeply saddened to hear of her passing.</p>
<p dir=ltr>My Grandma Margie was from Missouri and moved to California with her family as  a teen. She was intelligent,  loving, fiercely independent and will always be one of my favorite people in the whole world. She loved and married a man who was not worthy of her, who cheated, lied and abandoned her. She was the single mother of 5 children whom she raised to be exemplary humans. She never spoke of my grandfather with hate, even though there was a lot of pain there. She simply said it was his loss, that she had her children and it was sad that he missed out on them. She never remarried.  I wish that she had found someone to love her as much as she deserved, but she had a happy life, full of grandchildren,  the fellowship of her church and a long career. I am her oldest granddaughter and some of my earliest memories are of playing dress up with her, singing along with her to her favorite hymns and old country western records. My brothers and I spent a lot of time with her. Our sleepovers were a staple of my childhood and teen years... we would put special conditioner on our hair, put on face masks & play at being beauticians. She was a fanciful dresser and her favorite color was a shocking fuschia, we would watch the Grand Ole Opry, The Golden Girls and her favorite westerns and I would paint her finger & toenails carefully for church in the morning. She loved to dance and we often pushed the couches to the walls in her living room and did aerobics and line dancing together. She secretly loved Melrose Place & if it wasn't too racey an episode, she would let me watch it with her. Her fridge was full of drawings from all her grandkids and as the years passed, great grandchildren. She loved music and played a variety of instruments. She would patiently listen to Ozzie play as he learned and heaped praise on him and ivy. She loved Jason as one of her own... he painted her bedroom a shocking lilac shade that she adored as a surprise one weekend and she never forgot to tell him how much she loved it. It was feminine and beautiful and matched her personality to a t. I lived with her for a few years, I think all of brothers and I did at some point, a safe nest to begin our journeys into adulthood. </p>
<p dir=ltr>She loved me, always. Even when I was a naughty child, a difficult teen, an exhausted new mother... she always loved me. She always told me how special I was, smart and beautiful and encouraged me in whatever new passion I took up. I could do no wrong in her eyes, even if she didn't always approve of my choices.</p>
<p dir=ltr>She began to behave strangley a few years ago and it became apparent that she was suffering the cruelty of alzhiemers and dementia, slowly at first and then frighteningly fast. She was independent and sometimes proud to a fault and every new loss of independence was very, very hard on her and our family as a whole. She finally got to the point of needing round the clock care and as we were unable to find a suitable facility here to care for her,  she moved to a very nice place in Idaho,  near her oldest daughter. I've not seen her since she moved. I've tried to talk on the phone with her a few times,  but it is very difficult,  as she doesn't really know who I am. Once, in the middle of a conversation she exclaimed "Oh Valerie! " and it was so good to know she knew me again, even just a little. </p>
<p dir=ltr>But I've been a coward.  Watching her slip away from herself, especially after Jason's death... it is just too painful. I want my Grandma back, I want to curl into her soft arms and have her rock me as she did for so many years, always there when I needed her. I didn't know how to reconcile my memories with this illness that was taking her away from herself. She was frightened, all the time. She was anxious and could quickly lash out physically when she felt threatened. One day I stopped by to visit and she was on the phone, talking with someone. I waved and waited in her living room but when I realized she wasn't talking anymore I went into the kitchen and put a hand on her back to say hello. She had forgotten I was there, screamed and punched me in the face. It took several minutes before she realized it was me and then she cried and cried. I cried too, but I was able to make her laugh and calm her down a little. </p>
<p dir=ltr>I miss her so much. I am really looking forward to seeing her, she is in better spirits these days. (She's apparently been telling everyone that she is a famous country singer and I will gladly play out that dream with her. She deserves it.) I hope for a good visit without too much confusion. </p>
<p dir=ltr>Even though she is no longer here, near me, I dread the day she moves on. I will no doubt hate myself for not calling, not writing, not being there for her. All I can hope for is that in the release of her spirit she will know how much I love her, how much I always will. </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-7991092702183993142014-12-13T19:41:00.001-08:002014-12-13T19:41:48.551-08:00A Little Clarity<p dir=ltr>So, it's almost Christmas. It's THAT time of year, the time when I want to just curl away and hide until spring, when hopefully my emotions won't bubble quite so close to the surface and we'll be through the second year of missing Jason. A little more distance from all the pain that crashes into us, knocking away our breath and clinging to memories that hurt so much and at the same time feel so heavy and important and huge that they drag behind us like boulders attached to an ankle chain. </p>
<p dir=ltr>This year, I feel... different. The wound is still very much fresh, still bleeding over everything at times. But I feel just a little bit stronger. A little more accepting. A little more settled into the after instead of pushed down by the weight of before.</p>
<p dir=ltr>I still miss Jason. My kids still miss their dad. Our friends and family still miss his presence... and I'm glad for that. Because he was a beautiful, amazing person and he mattered. He will always ALWAYS matter.</p>
<p dir=ltr>Sometimes Ivy asks for a story at night before bed. I tell her about her father. The little things he did, the funny shared memories, the things he loved and the things he hated. She remembers most of it, but I will tell my children these stories until I die. Because they need them and I need to tell them. He is still, and always will be, tethered to our hearts in this way. And every story weaves a new thread into that connection, keeps it strong. </p>
<p dir=ltr>In the aftermath of Jason's death I became a single mother, something I never ever wanted to be. Something I never thought I could be. But life is life, and fair or not, I didn't get a choice. </p>
<p dir=ltr>You know what I've realized? I'm not alone. God willing, I will never be truly alone. My children and I have only grown closer and I pray that continues. </p>
<p dir=ltr>But again, I'm not really alone. </p>
<p dir=ltr>I'm so very lucky. Right now, I'm hanging out with my boyfriend, eating chinese takeout and having some much needed couple time. And the reason I can do that? I am incredibly lucky to have a strong support system. My parents, who I will never be able to repay for all the support and love they have given me, take care of my kids A LOT. Way more than they should have to. But they do it because they love my kids as much as they love me... and they are always there to pick me up when I falter. My brothers and sisters, they will rush to my side at a moments notice. They are willingly helping me to bear my pain with me and I can trust them with my children because I know they love them as much as I do. So many of our friends, old and new, they help me whenever they can. My children not only have the blessing of a father who loved them unconditionally, they have such great role models who selflessly help me guide them through these rocky times. </p>
<p dir=ltr>So yes, I am a single mom. But I'm not doing this alone. And someday, I will get the chance to be the strong one for them. And I will do it with a heart brimming with the strength of love and family and friendship. </p>
<p dir=ltr>In this season of sorrow, I am giving thanks. I love you all, so very much. Even when I am mean and irritable and full of feeling sorry for myself... I thank you all so much. You are the reason I can do this.</p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-50087523742315168952014-11-27T10:45:00.001-08:002014-11-27T11:53:50.007-08:00Why I Keep Bringing Up Ferguson and Annoying Everyone<div dir="ltr">
Because it's a horrifying miscarriage of justice and just a small example of racial inequality and police brutality IN 2014. NOT 1965, 2014.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Because <a href="http://www.upworthy.com/the-truth-about-the-ferguson-case-that-some-people-really-cant-accept?c=fea" target="_blank">black kids, ages 15-19, are 21 times more likely to be fataly shot by law enforcement than white kids in the same age group</a>. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Because as a white woman, if I'm wearing a hoodie and have my hands in my pockets, people just assume I am lazy and didn't shower that day (they would be right) and not that I have stolen something and/or are carrying a gun.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Because it's somehow ok for white people to own guns, 2nd amendment ya'll! But black people who own guns are obviously criminals. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Because self segregation still exists in most of the United States. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Because I live in a conservative area of California and I'm tired of hearing about how the people of Ferguson SHOULD respond to an obviously wrong grand jury decision. Yes, there should be personal responsibility. Yes, it would be better if people came together and supported and built up their communities. Because peaceful protest SHOULD WORK and sometimes it doesn't. People get pissed. People make bad decisions. This doesn't negate the fact that an unarmed member of the community was following police instruction and was <a href="http://youtu.be/tWUkBxmFUvU" target="_blank">brutally murdered by an officer</a> who took an oath to protect and serve. That, my friends, is still a fact... no many how much looting and burning occurs. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Because in the United States every citizen is innocent until PROVEN guilty. That is a unique facet of our justice system and a constitutional right that sets us apart. You know when that doesn't matter? When the person proven innocent or guilty is already dead.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Because Trayvon Martin was only 4 years older than my son when he was shot and killed for No. Fucking. Reason. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Because. Just, because. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-4358577481174404322014-11-02T18:24:00.001-08:002014-11-02T18:24:45.232-08:00MSK, You're Breaking My Balls<p dir=ltr>Metaphorically,  of course.</p>
<p dir=ltr>So, I have a wonderful new primary care doctor.  I have mostly adequate pain management.  I have a good nephrologist and a so-so urologist.  I may get to be in a clinical trial soon that may help. My kidneys are not good candidates for the two experimental surgeries available for this condition and would most likely make things worse. I can't get a transplant because my body would most likely either reject it outright or begin calcifying the new one if it did take. Surviving on one kidney is a last resort for me, not something I want to contemplate. One day I may be on dialysis. I will do whatever I have to to stave that off, but it may happen. </p>
<p dir=ltr>Some days, I'm really good about my diet: no sugar, very little protein, nothing high oxalate.  I've given up my beloved tea and drink more water than should be humanly possible. I take a probiotic, am trying out some herbs that may help with keeping reoccurring infections at bay and choke down apple cider vinegar daily. </p>
<p dir=ltr>Some days,  I'm not so good about it. I still try to keep my sugar low and definitely no caffeine,  but the siren song of french fries are too much to resist. I snack on bacon at work. I can't force down another freaking banana. </p>
<p dir=ltr>I would eat better if I could cook more, but I feel mostly awful most of the time, so I don't cook much.  I struggle through work and then I try to lie very still for awhile so my body will calm down. Sometimes it works.  Often, it doesn't.  </p>
<p dir=ltr>I'm exhausted,  all the time.  I wake up exhausted. Exercise?  Yeah. I try to do some yoga. Occasionally I'll try to go for a walk. But everything hurts. And laying around makes it worse. </p>
<p dir=ltr>So the serpent swallows its tail and the cycle begins anew. </p>
<p dir=ltr>I do have good days. But, most of my time is spent carefully planning out my day so I don't have to do too much. And there is always too much to do, too many balls to juggle.  (See what I did there? Another balls reference.... badda bing!)</p>
<p dir=ltr>I hate this disease. I hate that I have it, I hate that I can no longer power through it. It's making me hate my own body and that is just not healthy. </p>
<p dir=ltr>I'm sure stress & grief are a big factor,  but there is not much I can do about that. I was pleased that after totalling my car this week I was able to center myself after only a few hours of sobbing and worked through a panic attack without drugs. My chiropractor/wise woman/awesome friend did some energy work on me and was really proud of how strong my center has become.  </p>
<p dir=ltr>But, I'm having flare ups every 2 to 3 weeks.  It is maddening.  I may be biased, but I think I deserve a little break.  Just one. Universe? God? Ya listening?  You've given me enough to handle for now.</p>
<p dir=ltr> Let's pump the breaks big guy, deal?</p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-51695503725492625312014-10-25T14:41:00.001-07:002014-10-25T14:41:34.479-07:00Grace<p dir=ltr><br>
Telling our story is cathartic for me. So, when I find someone I can trust, I tell it. Over and over. I don't know why it helps,  but it's a little like letting some steam out of an always boiling pot. <br>
Sometimes,  when I don't feel I can trust the person or when I simply don't feel like telling it all again. I give the abridged version: my husband got sick and he died.</p>
<p dir=ltr>Something I've had to try to come to terms with is how fast it all happened... and sometimes I wonder if people think he just gave up. It shouldn't matter, and it truly doesn't, but if it is someone who didn't know Jason it hurts to think that they might be thinking "Wow, he didn't even try?". To be completely honest, I've wondered that once or twice myself. But then I remember.</p>
<p dir=ltr>My husband was no quitter. He left a comfy corporate job to start his own company the very year that the housing market crashed. He didn't give up. He reworked his business model and thrived in a market when contractors were going belly up left and right.</p>
<p dir=ltr>He started working on his bachelors degree while working 70+ hours a week, with a depressive wife and two small babies at home. He didn't give up, he graduated with honors.</p>
<p dir=ltr>He overcame a few years period of addiction long before I met him, pulled himself up by his bootstraps and didn't give up.</p>
<p dir=ltr>Whenever he picked up a new passion, he had incredible hyper focus until he mastered it. He learned and failed and sometimes got yelled at by his wife for neglecting family time and while he would sheepishly pull back and re prioritize, he did not give up.</p>
<p dir=ltr>He found poker when he connected with a group of old friends and found something that would be a true passion in his life. He studied game theory, applied it to both his game and business and quickly became a better and better player. He learned the wisdom of when to fold, when to bluff, when to go with gut instinct and when to choose analysis and odds over gut instinct. He was an excellent player and would sing me that terrible song "know when to hold em, know when to fold em..." and I would throw a dish towel at him and laugh.</p>
<p dir=ltr>When he was first diagnosed, he was ready to fight. Had the circumstances been any different,  he would have won a few more years at least. But as the horror of what was happening to his body increased daily, as we got more and more confirmation from the medical community that all pointed to the same end, he chose to fold. He made his decision and it went against his fighting spirit in every way. But, with the grace of someone far past his age and wisdom, he chose to let go.</p>
<p dir=ltr>I was, and still am, fiercely proud of him. I hope I can be half as gracious when my time comes. To me, he is a warrior... no less than those who battle for years, trying everything they can and enduring so much to simply stay alive.</p>
<p dir=ltr>He saw what could be and chose the path that he could live with for what remaining time he had.</p>
<p dir=ltr>So in this season of awareness, of celebrating survivors, of raising money for more education,  more research,  more more more... I raise a glass to the ones who could only choose to let go. To the ones who simply didn't get a chance to fight.<br>
To you, my love.</p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-69927636184818369942014-09-16T18:04:00.001-07:002014-09-16T18:04:10.688-07:00Werk It<p dir=ltr>So, there have been some big changes at my workplace.  Corporate came in and cleaned house and none of us lowly grunts really knew what to expect. I miss my Chef Connie but I am proud that she is off to a new adventure.  I hope someday our paths cross and we can work together again. </p>
<p dir=ltr>So, before the semester began they changed the hours of my position,  baker, to a schedule that is impossible for me: 3am -11am. I could have done it, but I wouldn't be able to see my kids because I would have to go bed so early. This summer I've learned a lot about self care and one thing that I learned is that right now I need a lot more sleep than I used to. I used to be able to function on 5 or 6 hours of sleep,  no problem.  Now, I need 8 to 9 hours. Whether it's the medication I'm on, the depression,  the fact that my body is in a constant state of trying to heal itself or whatever... I don't know.  All I know is that I need my rest.</p>
<p dir=ltr>I also need balance.  I need time to be a mom, a lot of time to myself and time to be a student. I'm no longer interested in throwing myself 100 percent into a job that does nothing but take, take , take. I'm tired of constantly being stressed, overworked and grossly underpaid. Of staying late and coming in early and constantly coming to the rescue. I've no more to give. I love what I do and I'm good at it... but it's time for something new.And getting there requires time and energy. I am somewhat of an overachiever and a people pleaser.  No more. I work to live, not live to work.</p>
<p dir=ltr>So, I took the assistant baker position. It's 5am to 11:30 am (although I get a lot of extra hours whenever I want), so it allows me to keep my health insurance. It hurt to step down. It felt like a demotion,  like I was giving up my rightful place. My pride and my ego was bruised. But I felt it was the right decision. </p>
<p dir=ltr>Luckily,  my gut was right this time.  Not only that, but the man they hired to fill the baker position has turned out to be a gift from the universe. I was very nervous about having to work with someone new... I'm a bit of a lone wolf and I like to do things a certain way. I work clean.  I am very organized and don't tolerate mess or chaos very well. I can be a hard person to work with,  it's something I'm working on, being less rigid in the way I do things, but the way I work is what has made me successful. Surprisingly,  he and I have the same outlook & philosophy on baking & pastry. We work great as a team and he has made it very clear from day one that we are equals. I learn from him and he learns from me. We are making great strides in making our production more efficient and working as a team allows us both the opportunity to try new recipes, make more scratch goodies and really take control of our department. I'm actually really happy with the way its going, though our kitchen as a whole is struggling a little to adjust to the new ways of doing things. </p>
<p dir=ltr>But it has been a good thing for me so far. Working as a team is new to me, but it feels good. It takes a lot of the pressure off. I'm home in time to rest up a bit, do a little  house cleaning (sometimes), pick my kids up and be more present... or trying at least. </p>
<p dir=ltr>So far, I'm good.  I'm rolling with the changes. Although I'm still pretty upset about the no facial piercings rule.... switching out nose rings all the time is a drag. </p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-71531969670576791662014-09-03T18:50:00.001-07:002014-09-03T18:50:10.120-07:00Talking to the Wind<p dir=ltr>Today, as I was folding laundry in my room, I felt the pinpricks of tears, the sadness start to well up. So, I did something I've decided I am going to do when the need strikes: I went to talk to my husband. </p>
<p dir=ltr>Some people have grave sites to visit, we don't. We have a lovely urn picked out that looks just like a beautiful galaxy... a perfect place for his ashes. But for me, talking to a bottle of ashes feels silly. He's not there for me.</p>
<p dir=ltr>There is a spot on our farm where I can sit and look out at the field, the sky, the hawks and trees and feel the wind. I sat there for a long time on the day he died. It is, forever whatever reason, where I feel he can hear me. And no one else can hear me. Scream, sometimes. Cry, mostly. Tell him how much I miss him and love him and beg for help to get through one more day. To tell him how much the week sucked or how we've acquired yet another animal or how much his son is looking more and more like him and how much his daughter misses him, even if she can't say it. <br>
How I hope he's ok, at peace. How much I want him to be free and how much I wish I could feel him, one more time.</p>
<p dir=ltr>It's a little strange, because that hill is a mess of weeds, tall grasses and anthills. But that spot, my spot, remains bare. Waiting when I need it.</p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341098434499039714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3752440933649080931.post-53819272961550328932014-08-17T21:52:00.001-07:002014-08-17T21:52:49.976-07:00Scared<p dir=ltr>I am just feeling like a big mess. A big, raw puddle of nerves, sadness, pain, longing and despair. I am not ready to work. I'm not ready to pretend to be ok. I am terrified and I hurt, all the god damn time. I feel crazy. I feel small. Incapable. Useless. Terrified. </p>
<p dir=ltr>I visited my brother's church today. I sobbed through all of the songs... they all reminded me of him. </p>
<p dir=ltr>I don't know how to be alive anymore. I hate waking up in the morning. The only peace I feel is at night, when the darkness matches my mood. </p>
<p dir=ltr>My kids start school tomorrow. I start work Tuesday. I see my pain management doctor friday. My soul is pleading: Please let me be ok. Please let me handle it. Please let me find a routine again. Please help me keep my kids safe and happy. </p>
<p dir=ltr>I'm surrounded by love and support and I still feel so alone. So lost. So broken. </p>
<p dir=ltr>Please. Just, please. </p>
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