Knuckles

I called my littlest brother last week.
Weird as it sounds, we haven't said a lot about my leaving home.
We have never discussed why I left, what was going on.
We didn't talk about the screaming, the hitting, the tantrums.
The night time door-slamming, stomping, making Mom cry sessions.

For all these years I have thought things weren't so bad once I left.

The girl child who was outspoken and decided to stand up and defend herself wasn't there anymore, so the angry and mean asshole dad would somehow have improved.

I thought no one else in the family had the same experiences.

That Dad's favorite trick of making a fist with the middle knuckle sticking out and taking jabbing punches at my upper arms as punctuation for his rants didn't happen to anyone else. That the scattering of circular bruises in a place that didn't show was just mine.

Nope.

Anyway. Little brother is 55 years old now.
Told him some of what I was feeling since dad died and how much I regret not seeing him grow up.
How I felt like I lost him. He said, "No, you haven't. I'm still here."

Then I asked him what he remembered about my leaving. All these years I thought he was too young to remember the things that happened and that he didn't even know Dad was so messed up.

Guys, I learned a lot. Not only did Dad NOT improve, he got worse. More abuse. Highlights include middle brother being knocked through the sliding glass door at my grandma's house (he needed stitches and dad concocted a story that middle bro stuck to) and a "pretty bad" beating for baby brother with a deflated bicycle tire inner tube. There were almost daily tantrums and violence. And one by one we left home. I can only imagine how things escalated against Mom, it must have been unbearable. I am sure he hit her, although I never saw it while I lived in their home, all the kids were too easy to smack around.

I don't excuse her for her part in his abuse, she enabled it and was silent so many times when she could have made a difference, but I feel sorry for her, too. She's... not a really smart person in most ways. She was never able to stand up for us or for herself. She was raised that way and never grew a backbone. Her lack of inner strength is an explanation, though. Not an excuse.

I find myself wishing to go back in time knowing what I know now. Knowing that I could have made phone calls, talked to people (the whole don't tell on your family thing was strong) or tried to help get my brothers out of the situation, too.

Anyway, I continue to work through this shit. Next up, I need to call my other brother and have a heart to heart with him. Although I wasn't as close to him as the baby bro (born too close together I think, sibling rivalry) I still loved him and love him now. He's a good man who has done good things in the world. And he's kindhearted and loving to his family.

It's weird to me. I assumed that when Dad finally kicked off, I might feel guilt at not going to see him or not having anything other than a superficial relationship with him over the last 15 years or so. I saw him twice in the five years leading up to his death and talked to him on the phone maybe four times during those five years. Just nothing to say. He was not a healthy person, and I didn't need the illness I always got from being around him. Sorry it took me so long to figure that out.

But I'm not feeling guilt over our estrangement. Instead I'm feeling cheated for all the other years. For the knuckles instead of loving support I deserved.

Processing

I've spent a fair amount of time since November 23rd considering all that happened as I was growing up, the effect having mentally ill parents had, and the really frustrating (to me, anyway) fact that a great deal of that shit was never brought into the light.

I go back and forth between how sad that he died alone to well of course he died alone, what did he expect?

I'm mature enough to know that what other people think of me really isn't my problem, but immature enough to be pissed off about the bad opinions of folks who have no clue about any of it.

Another incredibly frustrating thing are the people who say things like, "It's time to get over it." Or, my personal favorite, "Forgive and forget."

Putting aside the fact that those are platitudes that favor/excuse the abuser, stop and think about why you'd think it's okay to say that to someone who is hurting.

And this one, too. "They did the best they could."
Another platitude.

When I spend time considering what that actually means, I am forced to say no. No, they did not do 'their best'.

Because if the years of ugliness and abusive language and the slapping someone around is not occurring in full view of the entire universe, it's covert. Meaning they KNOW their behavior and actions aren't okay and they're hiding who they really are.

When they saved their best for everyone else, and now they're gone and everyone else thinks they were a saint, there's something very wrong.

I just love when someone adds, "Don't dwell on it."
Who the hell are you? Why are you telling me how to handle things and what to think about the things that happened to me? What the hell do you know about it?

"Why are you still so angry?"

The only answer to that one is, "Why aren't you angry on my behalf? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Well, other people had it worse."
Ya think?
What you're saying is because someone had worse pain, mine is insignificant? Somehow doesn't hurt as much?

I've been reading/interacting on some forums dealing with being an adult survivor of narcissism or borderline personality disorder or other things in the same general categories.

It's been informative.
There's something to be said for knowing you're not alone, too. For me at least, it's been validating and comforting to know that many things I'd thought happened just to me happened to lots of other people. It doesn't make it hurt less, but it helps on a different level.

At this point, an actual diagnosis doesn't matter.
The villain in my story has gone on to whatever there is after this life.

One of the moderators in a forum reached out via PM a couple weeks ago and we shared a bit of what life was like when we were kids.

I told her about the counselor who had helped me get away from my father and shared how grateful I was.

"I looked him up a few years ago to try and write to him, but found his obituary instead."

She asked if he had children. I didn't know.
"Well if he did, you could write to them and tell them how he helped you."

I told her I wouldn't have the first clue how to find any progeny.
"I used to work for a PI," she said. "If it's okay with you, I will see what I can find out."

I told her that would be fine, and the next morning, contact information for my counselor's only child (haha, 'child'... the guy is 55 years old) was in my messages. She had already contacted him to make sure it was okay to pass along his information.

I wrote him an email.

His response was kind. He is a counselor as well.
He was appreciative of me sharing my story and said that if his dad were alive that he'd be thrilled to hear from me and to learn that he'd helped me survive and leave the situation.

Meanwhile, my mother has elevated her dead spouse to the level of sainthood and talks often about how the whole community just loved him and what a wonderful man he was.

I won't be saying anything bad to her. She is hurt and sad and lonely and it would serve no purpose. The person who caused the hurt is gone. Her role as the spineless doormat went on for 64 years and even though it was quite often a shitshow, it was their performance and how they navigated life.

That's also why I worked to write a eulogy that was humorous and true without any pedestals.

My poor mom never had a chance at a normal existence. I'm not going to become an adversary and cause her final years to be worse.

But I'll continue to process what was and what could have been.
It helps me feel better.

Doing something

I know I'm not the only person who's been feeling helpless/hopeless.
This is not a good time for a lot of people.

I probably don't need to tell you that since you are (probably) a people, too.

Although I don't know, perhaps green and scaly monsters from Venus read my blog. Raise your hand if you're a monster?

Yeah, I see you. I had wondered but didn't feel comfortable commenting.
Go ahead and put your hand down.

Anyone else?

Oh. I thought so.

Okay. So things are really tough right now for a lot of us.

People are having trouble feeding their families.
Paying the rent or the mortgage.

When it comes to extras, like a bicycle for a growing child, or a birthday present for a little guy, people just don't have it. They're lucky if they've had three meals today, the power is still on and they have clean clothes.

So now let's add current events.
Not the plague, which is what put quite a few of us into the perpetual too much month at the end of the money, but politics.

I have seen a lot of ugliness in elections. Ever since I was old enough to vote I've paid attention to what's going on.

The lies and the ugliness and the complete moral bankruptcy of our "representatives' just make me ill.

But I've never seen anything as bad as this year's campaign.
Lying assholes, using adversity to score points against their opponent, unable to recall facts or speak coherently for any length of time, willing to say or do anything at all to hold that big stick.

And that goes for both sides.
None of them are worth a shit.

Do I hate some of them more than others?
Yep, sure do.

My feelings about them and their fitness for the positions with which they've been entrusted aren't very charitable, I'm afraid.

You've heard it all before anyway, and not just from me.
Many incredibly eloquent people have said what I'm thinking, only in better words.

What can we do?

Not a lot.
I suffer through at least 10 exhortations to VOTE every damn day. It's on the news, it's on social media, it's on the blogs I read.

And for the same reason that hundreds of thousands of people still pretend to believe in a god and go to church every Sunday (just in case it matters) I do vote.

Do I believe voting makes a difference?

No, not really.

Different people sit on their useless and arrogant asses in offices and pretend they belong there, and shit on different groups according to who their party hates the most. None of them have any integrity or capability of independent thought.

In a broad sense I will agree that my vote *could* make a difference if enough people thought the same way I do on things, but since most of the time the person I voted for doesn't get elected and the things I don't want to see happen keep happening, I'm not terribly confident.
Very little ZERO faith in the system.



Over the years I've listened to a lot of discussions between my work kids. Four years ago, although they were divided, they were able to sit down and discuss the candidates both before and after the election like rational human beings, something that the adults had a problem with.

Our conversations always lead to the same conclusion(s).

We can't control what happens in government.
We can't keep our "representatives" from doing dishonest and harmful things.

This discussion, from 2016, was particularly productive.
We talked about what we CAN do, not about feeling helpless and not being able to do anything with meaning. It was about taking charge of our own spaces and being kind. Being decent. I am tired of overused words such as mindful, but I think it fits here.

If you see something you can do to make someone else's life be better, even if it's only for a little while, then DO it.

I try to keep that in front of me.

Ordinarily if I'm able to do a little something to help, I just do it without comment. It's not about me. The small things I do are usually anonymous if I can manage it, and I don't write about them here.

But I was considering that this afternoon.
I'm not working right now, so these philosophical questions aren't being asked or discussed with 'my' kids in our little group.

I have had some discussion with other adults lately, and I'm sad to say that they're all going through some awful stuff right now. I'm definitely not alone.

I've said before that I will never have a huge amount of money, never be able to make huge, splashy donations. I'd be uncomfortable with people commenting about it anyway.

But I know from experience that doing small things can make me feel better.

So I've decided that YOU would probably feel good if you could help someone, too. This is why I will break one of my rules and tell you about something I did today. A small act of kindness.

On our local buy nothing group, a mom asked if anyone had some used Transformer toys to give her little boy for his upcoming birthday. He's going to be five, and those are his favorite thing.

I asked if I could message her. While I was waiting for her response, I visited Amazon and found a couple really cool things I know my own five year old would have loved.

She messaged me, and I sent her the link. Asked her if he'd like them, or would she rather find a different set around the same price. She was stunned, as that was the exact thing he'd chosen for 'later' because she'd explained to him that his birthday present wouldn't be on his actual birthday because money is tight right now.

I told her if she wasn't comfortable giving me her address I'd have it sent here and we could meet in the grocery store parking lot.

She gave me her address and I had the package sent to her.

It's a small thing to me, but we had quite a conversation after I told her the package would be there Monday.

Right now in her house they have one adult working. The other adult lost their job in March. They've kept the lights on and the mortgage is only a month behind. But there was no extra money. She said he was so sweet about it, "That's okay, Mommy!"

And she's having a baby in 3 months.

So I felt okay about that small gift.

It inspired me to write about it and to challenge all of you to do one good thing for someone.

It doesn't have to be big.
You don't have to write about it.
You don't even have to let me know you've done it.

I just wanted you to know that even in the middle of this horrendous political mess, in the middle of the pandemic, in the middle of the worst feelings of my life at least, there are things we can do to feel better.

The reaction of that mom made my heart very full.
I hope her little guy has a wonderful birthday.

I didn't ask who she's voting for. I don't know anything about her other than what we discussed. Those things don't matter, she's a fellow human, having a difficult time.

Do you know of someone who could use a little boost?

Thin Skin

Any time I was bullied by my dad and I got pissed or finally dissolved into helpless tears, it was my fault and my feelings were dismissed with a disgusted, "You can't take teasing."

Often my mom would agree with him or say it at the same time.
It felt wrong but I didn't have the words or thoughts to explain why until much later in life. I never agreed internally that they were right, though. Never believed I was the problem when Dad picked on me.

However, I grew up resigned to being accused of being some kind of emotional wimp whenever anything hurt my feelings. I worked hard to hide how I really felt, but that didn't help either, he just worked harder to piss me off. So when I finally did lose it, it was better for him (more fun?) than just a regular outburst.

Of course that's not fair (life never is, right?) but that's how it was. When Dad picked at me and picked at me and picked at me and made me angry or made me cry, I was told that it was my own loss of control that was the problem, not the inability of the adult to control himself.

My mom didn't intervene, either.

Whatever crap he got up to was apparently just fine with her.

I suppose that's not entirely fair to my mom, she's a product of her childhood, too.

Mom was raised in a small town in Colorado. Her parents were small business owners. Florists.
They worked very hard to deserve a kind/decent reputation in the community, they were trying to earn a living.

That translated into raising their two daughters to not make waves or call attention to themselves.
And never, ever be involved in confrontation whether visibly or privately.
Back down, walk away, let it go.

Mom learned those lessons about as well as you can imagine.
Lifetime conditioning tends to do that.

Showing anger in front of Mom when Dad wasn't home (trying to get her to say something... some sort of agreement with me that what he said/did hadn't been okay) often led to the simpering Christian platitude about a soft answer turning away wrath.

Another fucking lie from the 'righteous'.

Side note... hearing that bullshit always made me angry and still does today.

Mom's upbringing may or may not have something to do with how she handled life and her marriage. May or may not have something to do with my aunt, her sister, putting up with years of abuse from her spouse before she'd finally had enough and kicked him out.

How we raise and speak to our young humans makes a big damn difference, guys.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I work so hard to avoid those kinds of issues with the kids I work with. I cannot make their whole life better, but I can avoid making things worse for them for a few hours a day.

The actions of an adult who's been placed in authority over a child elicit a response from the child. And depending on how much time that adult spends with the child (and how much control over that child's life the adult has) the child's response, good or bad can become automatic. And then you have the lifetime conditioning that causes the kind of hurt I tried to explain at the beginning of this post. 

As adults we have a responsibility to try to make those interactions respectful and warm and loving.

But that's not always the case.
The adult's actions can be based on a few different things, including but not limited to; is the adult an asshole, does the adult have a vested interest in not making the child feel bad or will he just get away with it if he makes her cry, is the adult having a good/bad day, is the adult employed as a child care provider or is this a parent, does the adult have the sensitivity of a goddamn alligator, and my personal barometer, does the adult remember what it was like to be a child?

That one has been the most useful to me.

Sometimes it's difficult in the immediacy that is a day care situation, (there are usually 10 or more kids who need varying degrees of instant attention, it's noisy, kids who are upset/angry/losing it aren't going to wait ) but taking a step back mentally and considering how that child really feels can help clarify things.

I don't mean superficially. One needs to consider what kind of day the kid has had. What things are like at home. Does s/he have the grumpy teacher in the 3rd classroom on the left? Is it close to snack time? Being hungry at the end of the school day has an effect on everyone.

Later I can try to figure out what set him/her off and make a conscious effort to intervene before that happens the next time, but later is the operant word here.

What all the above really means is, there's merit in pausing to consider your response before actually responding.

I've heard that's true in many situations.

I actually have a favorite joke about flying off the handle, I will try to remember to write it up for you sometime. :)
I think it's important for the adult to remember he is the adult.
And to practice being kind, patient, tolerant for that little person.
I wish I'd been better for my own kids. That I had always remembered who the adult was. I regret every time I snapped at them or failed to consider their feelings before I said something. They were (are) nice people and deserved my best.

I didn't always have that for them. I have apologized to my children for all the times I didn't get it right. I love them so very much and I wanted to be a perfect parent.

Yes, I know that's not how things work. It's part of the reason that I have some sympathy for my own parents. I'm analytical enough to realize they wanted to get it right, too. And I forgive the times they fell short.

What I Really Think

Q: Where do vampires go to learn to suck blood?
A: Law school.

I haven't had anything to say about the work comp shit lately.
Unless I forget something, this will be the last full post about it.

I reserve the right to complain whenever I want to, though.

Of course I still am living with chronic pain and a broken and permanently damaged knee*, it's often full of water, too.

And I'm still just.. gobsmacked at how horrible the whole thing was.

*Damaged until I choose to have it replaced. They try to keep you going years and years and years on the ruined joint, as a replacement only lasts about 12 years. It's gonna be a long road. Much longer than the 5+ years I've been on it already. Thanks, you fucking assholes.

I had never had occasion to look into the whole sordid work comp business before all this shit happened, you see.

Now that I have, I'll tell you and anyone else who is hurt at work, GET A LAWYER. Do it first. In fact, it might be a good idea to research work comp attorneys now, just in case you ever are injured at work. That way, you know who to call. That will take one thing off your plate, and believe me, that's a good thing.

I am not completely thrilled with my choice of attorney, but could have done worse.

Although I think her intentions were good, there were things my attorney did not tell me.
A lot of them.
That lack of knowledge ended up being detrimental to me, because if I knew then what I know now...

I think this is due to the fact that all she does is work comp and takes for granted that people know things that they do not.

And because she's too busy. Too many cases and none of them are personally important to anyone but the person who's been injured and his or her family. There is no one looking out for your best interests but you. No one cares how much pain you're in, no one is going to listen to you unless you yell really, really loud.

Trust me on this.

I will be sending her a letter to try to explain what it would have helped for me to know.

Sort of as a public service for the next person who gets hurt on the job and doesn't know what really happens.

That they're about to be slammed with even more pain and suffering and humongous piles of bullshit. That the attorney(s) who work for the comp insurer (and the comp insurer) don't give a fuck whether you're hurt, what you need, how they can best help make you whole again. All they care about is doing whatever they can to avoid taking care of your injuries in the first place.

In addition, they want you to just take it.
Say nothing.
Go away, be quiet.
Suffer in silence, as it were.

The opposing attorney didn't like me speaking up on my blog.
They started reading it quite early in the proceedings.

It wasn't long before they subscribed via email to avoid showing up in my stats, but I knew they were reading.

The conventional wisdom about knowing your audience and writing for them was not lost on me. ;)

That post kept me from having to attend still another redundant exam.
Idiots.
Left hand, meet right hand.

The comp attorney made vague rumblings about libel. There were comments about me 'badmouthing' my employer.
Which is a complete crock of shit.
I have taken great care not to do that.
I am invested in my program with all my heart and not a small amount of my own damn money.

Is it a perfect company?
No. It's a large corporation, and there's a great deal of left hand not knowing what right hand is doing, but it's not a bad place to work.

I think for the most part, they do a decent job with benefits etc. It *is* hard to be heard, because peons can't talk to anyone, but that's kind of okay, too.

I'm out on my own little island, hanging out with my kids and doing my job. Getting paid to play.

I think Mr. comp attorney was projecting... I'm sure he's not much fun to work for.

No reason for me to say bad things about my company.
My company doesn't take care of their injured workers anyway.
Instead, they've hired an insurance company who doesn't take care of them.

I'm sure once they've handed off to the insurer, they don't even know what's going on. That's why you hire someone else to do things... so you don't have to. Right? Oh, they might get a very sanitized update now and then, but they don't really *know*.

If I ran the world, though,(or at least my own company) I'd assign someone from the company to monitor work comp cases and make sure the people who work for me are being taken care of properly.

And if not, find out why. Make things right.

Anyway, those fucking humanitarians and statesmen of the ever-popular putz and assbite Inc. didn't like me talking about MY injuries on MY FUCKING BLOG. They didn't like the scrutiny and honesty about what was going on and what was being done, er, NOT being done for me.

If me telling the truth was detrimental to them... if the m.i.t.s.c.s was so afraid that one small blog, out of millions of small blogs would shine unwanted light on his operation, then maybe he should consider changing the way he does business.

As for libel, he'd have to prove I damaged his reputation (oh good god... seriously???)
And that I somehow affected his earnings.
Again, nope. The only damages were the ones done to me.

And if the things I wrote about were true (they were, to the best of my knowledge) there *is* no libel anyway. He knew/knows that. He was just doing the standard intimidation that has helped him and people like him be the flowers of humanity they are.

I chose to remove his name from my blog because I was sick and tired of that asshole.

I found even the act of reading his name abhorrent and disgusting.
Like stepping in dog shit.

I didn't want him here anymore.

But gee whiz, I can't imagine why he didn't like me writing about what was going on.

The tens of people who read my blog would never have need of his services, and if a simple google search by someone who was considering retaining him found my blog, why, wouldn't that be to his benefit?

So when I made the decision to scrub the shit off remove his name from my blog, it was for me.
Not him.
He can rot in hell.

I sent a letter to my attorney. Told her to feel free to send it on to him. Instead, she sanitized it and sent him a condensed version.

I've always been sorry about that, I thought he should have seen the whole letter. My guess is that he's still paying some poor asshole to monitor my blog, so perhaps he will see this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear My Attorney,

I received your recent letter in which you passed on the requests made by whosit regarding my personal blog and the comments about libel and/or other possible legal action.

As a public figure who earns a living by doing his best to make sure injured workers aren't compensated for their on-the-job injuries, I'm sure this isn't the first time whosit has been recognized for how splendidly he functions within those parameters.

As the injured party in this particular case, I have gone through and will continue to suffer extra years of pain and disability due in part to his efforts to help the insurer avoid covering my injuries in a timely manner.

I can't imagine why he finds it odd that I don't appreciate his help in keeping me from the care I deserved.

Partly due to whosit's efforts, I will eventually have to have my knee replaced, when if I'd been listened to by my doctors and they hadn't been repeatedly pressured by the insurer and their lawyers to close my case, it may have been possible to salvage my knee.

Nothing I can do about it now.

The irreversible damage to my knee and my mobility is now just another fact of life. It affects nearly everything I do, actually.

I can't imagine how anyone could feel good about that.

But strictly as a courtesy, I have done my best to remove his name and the name of his law firm from my blog.

If one searches my blog now, they will find whosit and his law firm renamed, some old posts changed, and some sections sanitized.

I know my employer is aware of my blog.
In fact, I have discussed it with my employer at great length on several occasions over the past few years.

There are many reasons I have never mentioned the name of the company I work for or our location, and never connected my own name with my blog.

Most of those reasons have to do with the privacy and security of the children I care for, but I also love my job.

The heroic efforts I've put forth to continue working through some horrendous pain probably show that in ways that words cannot.

I don't care if they want to monitor my blog until Hell freezes over.

If instructions for craft projects, stories about the children I care for, and occasional pictures of my family or my artwork are interesting enough to him to continue paying someone to read my blog, then by all means they should feel free to do so. It will add to my tens of readers.

Finally, I may have overlooked something. If I didn't catch all the posts or mentions of whosit or his firm, I will immediately remove those things if notified.

That is much more than was necessary.
And shows far more courtesy to him than he has ever shown to me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And from the other letter I sent to her...

I received the copy of the letter you sent to whosit regarding my blog.

I may have removed his name and references to his firm, but I will always  wonder how someone who hurts people for a living feels okay about it.

I'm sure he thinks I was sufficiently intimidated by his blustering and his thinly veiled threats about libel to remove his name from my writings.

Not so.

He'd have a hell of a time proving I damaged his reputation. If anything, someone trying to decide whether or not to hire him to represent their company would be pleased to see how devoid of humanity he is.
That cold-hearted lawyer stereotype exists for a reason.
I enhanced his reputation.

And let's be realistic.
About 20 people a day read my writings.
18 of those are repeat customers.

I'm simply... weary. Ready to dismiss him from my universe.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And with this post, that's my plan. Obviously the constant and unrelenting pain I have will cause me to remember him from time to time and send out a wish that everyone he comes in contact with will treat him exactly as he deserves. And I know that hurting people does eventually come back and bite you in the ass... I'm sorry I will probably never know when that happens.

Okay. On to better things. I'd mention them here, but I don't want to taint the good things in my life with even a hint of the filth that's surrounded me for the past 5 years.

Well that was difficult.

After going out for breakfast with Matt and Amy, we took Lyssa to the airport this afternoon. She told me that she didn't want me to cry at the airport, because she wouldn't know what to do.

Okay then. I managed to keep from doing so only because I knew it would upset her and I don't want to do that. I didn't want her to leave with mixed feelings or think it was somehow wrong to go. I want her to face her new life with excitement and joy and not be conflicted.

I have cried a little off and on this afternoon.
I'm sure things will eventually be fine, but it does hurt and make me sad. We've spent most of her life together with very few separations, and it hurts my heart.

I want her to be happy, and I know she's going somewhere good, so that helps a lot. I will feel better once she has arrived safely, too.

We went to Goodwill on our way home.
There was a man and woman with a baby. They were making a big deal of the baby while their little girl, about 3, was playing with a camera she'd found. She hid between coats and peeking out, was saying, "Smile!!" to people passing by and pretending to take their pictures. I found her adorable. As I got closer, the woman said to the man, "Where's your kid?" He barked out, "Kaylie!!" She came back toward them. Held up the camera. Said, "Smile!" Her 'father' said, "You might as well throw it on the shelf it's broken anyway," turned back to the woman and the baby. The woman said, "What time do we get to drop her off with your ex?" in a tone that suggested she couldn't wait.

Neither one of them noticed how utterly adorable that little girl was with her camera. How cute her little voice was and how excited she was with that tiny toy camera as she peeked out from between the coats.
They couldn't wait to be rid of her.

I wanted to take them and shake them and ask them what the fuck was wrong with them. To tell them that, "This moment and thousands of other ones are going to pass you by and she will grow up and be gone and you won't even realize what you've missed."  I wanted them to feel ashamed. To see. Of course I said nothing. Swallowed back the tears and went and found my husband and got out of there.

When I have sent Lyssa to visit friends in other places in the past, I knew she was coming back within a certain amount of time. I want her to succeed in life, however she defines it. I take a lot of satisfaction that I am sending out a wonderful and decent person into the world. One who won't hurt other people and be careless with their hearts. One who will notice playful little girls with toy cameras and see them for the wonder they are.

But it's not an easy thing, saying goodbye.

Five Days ago...

Well six, now, since you're reading this on a Sunday...

Lyssa and I stood at the back of my car in the parking lot at the school. Our morning shift was over, we were heading to Goodwill and then home. Our usual routine is to toss our backpacks in the trunk so they're not sitting in the car, visible to someone passing by. It's not unusual for people to break a window in your car to take a purse or pack off the seat.

She tossed hers into the trunk and then I put mine in. Usually by the time I get mine off my shoulders, she is already in the car and buckled up. But she stood there. I turned to her and she said, "I just want to give you a hug."

So we hugged.

And as we got into the car, she started to cry a little.

When I asked her what was wrong, she said that she needed to talk to me about some things.

Lyssa is leaving home. She visited some online friends this summer in North Carolina. She knew them online for quite some time, and they decided to meet. She really hit it off with one guy, and she is in love. She is moving to North Carolina to be with him.

She has been planning it awhile. Hadn't said a word to us. She was afraid we'd be mad. Sad. Would try to talk her out of it. Or think she is stupid.

So after I've had some time to think about it, I am really none of the above. Well, okay, I'll agree to sad. I wish she were not going so far away. I love her, we have a decent relationship, and I have spent most of the last 22 years with her.

I'm not mad, though. She is 21.5 years old. She's not stupid. She's perfectly capable of making choices on her own. I'm not inclined to try to talk her out of it, although I feel pretty comfortable asking her if she's considered this or that. Trying to help her think of everything she needs to bring or do.

Since she told me, I have been trying to help get her outfitted. We've been haunting a few Goodwill stores this week. Found her a great set of luggage. It looks brand new. Four suitcases and an overnight bag for 40 bucks. On Thursday, we found her three pairs of jeans, seven shirts/sweaters, a nice winter coat and a quilted vest for a little under 80 bucks.

She's going through her things, deciding what she needs to take and what she is leaving behind/donating to Goodwill. She isn't sure when she's leaving, they're looking at reservations and deciding soon.

Matt's best man (who is a girl, if you'll recall) lives about four hours away from where Lyssa will be, and she said she's more than willing to be there for her if necessary. My friend Karen in Florida has said the same thing. And I am part of a private homeschooling group on Facebook, and after sharing with the group that she's heading that way and asking for people who are willing to be there if needed, I have a list of names and phone numbers of other homeschooling moms who are local to the area who are willing to provide assistance should it become necessary. It makes it a little easier for me to know she isn't without resources.

I can't stop her from leaving. I don't even want to. She's an adult. So what I can do is help her leave. Make sure she has the things she needs. Give her support.

Yes, they're young. I know at least one other couple who got together very young and are still together many, many years later. My parents were married at 19 and 20, and it's now been 55 years.

Eric and I were even younger. November 1st will be 34 years for us. I know it can work. I also know how hard it is and how many stresses there are. How many things can go wrong. But that if you start from the beginning knowing that the two of you are united against the world and can keep that in front of you, it makes it easier.

She knows that she can always come home.

So that was my week.
How are things where you are?

10 Years Ago

I don't have anything new to say, I don't have a unique way of saying it, and no matter what's said, what happened 10 years ago today will be forever in my heart and soul and spirit.

I have not forgiven. I will not forget. I don't care what's politically correct. I don't believe the bullshit spouted by our politicians and our media that it's wasn't 'all about us'. The fuck it wasn't.

That somehow the 'arrogance' of America meant that we deserved what happened.
No. Not in a billion years.

Everyone has a 'where were you and what do you remember' story. So do I, but I'm not in the mood to tell it here today.

I remember being glad for the only time that my beloved grandfather, Don, had died earlier in the year. It would have broken his heart and soul to be around for the events of 9/11. He was so kind hearted and sensitive. I was glad he missed it.

So am I sitting and mourning today?

No.

I remember daily what happened, and although it no longer has the deep, shocking emotional impact, those feelings still remain in me. And in millions of other people.

And no. I do not forgive. I will never do so. And I'll always tell the truth of what happened when I am asked, no matter how it's glossed over, no matter that today's educational system whitewashed the events just as they have with so many other things.

I read many blogs and a whole bunch of stuff from the left, the right, and the really large amount that's in between. Of all the things I've read commemorating/remembering this day, this seemed to say it best.

Here's an excerpt. But let me tell you, it was hard to try to cut and just put a little here. Go read the whole post.


Leftists in the media, Hollywood, and academia swiftly absolved al Qaeda and Islam from any seriously responsibility for what happened.  While only the Truthers could deny that Islamist al Qaeda members flew those planes, people on the Left knew what really mattered:  the nineteen al Qaeda hijackers were as much victims as we were, if not more so.  It was our overbearing, racist, arrogant, resource-hogging, Israel-loving, capitalist country that drove them to commit their foul deeds.  God damn the U.S. of KKK!  Those chickens roosted but good!
This template has served the Left for ten years now.  The details may vary, but the tone is unchanging.  Americans are bullies.  We’ve bullied the Muslims so much over the past few decades, it was inevitable that they, prodded beyond bearing, turned on us.  And while it’s sad that 2,996 non-combatants (mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, sons, daughters) had to die, that’s what happens when you give your allegiance to — and, worse, make your money from — a system that is inherently parasitical.
It is this paradigm that led the current occupant of our White House to tell us that 9/11 wasn’t just our tragedy, so that our current efforts to mourn prove that we’re not only bullies, we’re also self-centered bullies.  The White House assures us, though, that we can atone for our sins by approaching 9/11, not as a national day of mourning, but as a “National Day of Service.”  The message is clear:  We Americans don’t deserve to mourn.  Not only was it not about us, it was our fault!  This analysis sees just two narrow categories of victims on that fateful day:  those who died and those who killed.  The rest of us were guilty, and we have to work hard to expiate that stain from our collective conscience."

Toys.

We're required encouraged by our corporation to have some sort of ongoing community service thing in our programs.

It's not because they're terribly interested in helping humanity, but they love corporate gestures that cost nothing and look good. Not that there's anything wrong with that, I just don't want anyone to think it's corporate altruism, because I'm pretty sure no such animal exists.

However, it works for me, because of my whole 'try to do something decent when I can' thing.

I was doing my regular morning surfing last week when I found this link on one of the news stations.

Tucker's Toybox 

I went and read the story, corresponded with Tucker's mom and decided that our community service project this year at my site would be this one.

I think it's something the kids would really be happy and proud to participate in, and something the parents would easily understand and be willing to donate to. I've even thought I might try to get the school on board with the project and make it an even larger thing.

This quote got me:
"Tucker's Toybox was his idea to bring a brightly decorated and fully stuffed toybox right into the hospital rooms. Giving each child a chance to escape the stressfulness of treatment thru the enjoyment and simple pleasures of play."

So this year, when my mom or my kids or a friend asks me what I want for my birthday or for Christmas, I know the answer.
Toys.
I want toys.
New ones.
In bright and exciting packages.
That kids would love to have. 

There are so many charities out there that have a board of directors and paid staff and take in so much money... then pay out a small percentage of what they take to the actual need.

I'm so touched by the idea of Tucker's mom taking a load of toys to the hospital every month. What a sweet thing to do. And such a lovely way of remembering her son. It sounds like he was really a neat kid.

Well, did I manage?

Do you remember my resolution from last year?

I sat down and thought about some of the things I've done this year to spread a little of my own good fortune around.

I have tried to be anonymous when I can, but that's not always possible. Some of the small, kind things I found to do this year were done openly. That's okay. They're still a kindness.

Which, if you believe 'them' is never wasted.
:)

I do believe them.

I've tried to keep an open heart and mind to see the opportunities to do a nice thing for someone. To see something I can do to help... a small gesture that can mean so much.

And I don't think I've done enough.

Oh sure, I've made an effort here and there, but I am going to keep the same resolution this year. And do better.

Want to join me?

I can't give away cars.
Big splashy millions.
I'll never be a famous philanthropist.

But I sincerely believe that if everyone tried to do a small thing whenever possible, it would add up.

It's not a new concept. Didn't originate with me.
But I love the way it makes me feel.

So really, doing stuff for other people is selfish.
;)

We interrupt this blog...

I had a post up this week about Renee and her family in Montana. It linked to a post that's no longer there.

Evidently some people felt that perhaps it wasn't all true and started talking about it out here in blogland... and the original post I linked to was taken down, and all the money refunded.
I don't believe it's a scam.
Not for a second.

So I went back to Renee's blog  and read what's there from her and from her hubby.
Found the donation button.
And donated directly.

I feel very much okay with that decision.

Apologies and Baggage

The subject of emotional baggage came up a couple years ago while I was talking to the father of one of my Girl Scouts.

He commented that he's just too damn old to carry all that stuff anymore. It's too heavy.

Of course, me being, well, me, the idea that emotional baggage has actual weight stayed with me all day and into the night and I ended up writing about it.

I'm reposting parts of that post inside this post.

What prompted this voyage to my blog past?

It was this post from Jason .
Go.
Read it.
I will wait.
What he said really touched me, and unless your heart is a brick, it should touch you, too.

Are you back?

Okay.

I don't know if I have anyone to apologize to.
I've tried to be kind.
To be decent.
To have empathy and to be careful of other people's spirits.

I sincerely hope that I've never hurt someone in a way that will stick with them forever.

Since I've been hurt that way more than once, I don't ever want to be responsible for that kind of pain in someone else's heart.

But what's the other side of an apology?

Being able to forgive the hurt.
For me, forgiveness is much, much harder than apologizing.

If asked to forgive, I am graceless and abrupt and almost never sincere, although I try to at least look that way.

I don't want to forgive those who have hurt me deeply.
The minor things... I don't even remember them most of the time. I can easily accept those apologies.

But the life-changing hurts?
The things that ripped out chunks of my heart?
Left gaping holes in my spirit?

I'm still angry over those hurts. Furious.

Right or wrong, it's how I feel.

I've known a few people who don't carry a grudge.
I admire that quality.
I just don't think I have it.

Jason's post led to me thinking about my emotional baggage all over again and wondering if I could ever forgive the hurts.

I am carrying quite a lot of baggage. I spent a good portion of my first 20 years packing everything up and taking it with me... good stuff and bad.

My baggage used to resemble what's in the picture, except my cart didn't have any wheels. I was just dragging all those bags along by a rope, tied to my ankle.




















I've been tossing bags overboard for some time now. Tired of carrying them, tired of wondering what I could add to my cart if I had room.

I have a good man in my life, and he's been there the whole time as I've sorted through what I want to toss out and what I want to keep. By virtue of him being himself, he's added wheels to my cart.

He's not afraid to look through the contents of any bag I open. Not timid or squeamish. Even if said contents are putrid and disgusting after being locked up so long.

Eric never looks at me any differently. His love for me is always there... and he makes sure I always know it.

Because he's willing to help me and support me and love me through every ugly thing I bring out, I've been unpacking those bags for a long time.

I have opened some of the big suitcases and found nothing in them. The contents I had stored there turned to wisps of vapor and sneaked out through the little openings, I guess.

There are bags I packed away with horrible things in them. What's weird is, some of those bad bags have... changed.

They may not have turned good, but the contents are now more benign than malignant after many years of lying quietly inside without being stirred.

Some of the suitcases that look small on the outside are roomy on the inside. That explains why they're so heavy. There's a huge amount of stuff packed inside.

In a sort of weird, treasure-hunt way, there are bits and pieces of certain hurts contained in more than one bag. I have to rummage through a lot of bags to find all the pieces.

Occasionally, I think I've rooted out all the parts of a hurt, only to open an innocuous bag and find traces of anger mixed in with what should contain only happiness.

Evidently, I have a lot more clutter to clear out.

My anxiety and fear have increased exponentially from a 23 year old incident.

I can't go anywhere without the suitcase that is holding that incident.
I hate that.

And if I hate it so much, why am I still hauling it around with me?
I don't know.

That memory has so much... power over me.
So much of my current anxiety is based on just that thing that happened to me 23 years ago.

One could argue that the brutal bastard who hurt me won't do so again and that I'm guarded by a lot of people who love me and care about me.

One could say that I'm not the same gullible person today that I was 23 years ago... and that I'm no longer helpless.

That person would be right on all counts.
But knowing that doesn't heal what hurts me.

Thing is, we all have suitcases.

I'm sure you know at least one person who is carrying a suitcase so full and heavy that just the idea of trying to lift it is astounding. And you wonder how they do it.

Are some people just really strong and able to fling the weight around like it's nothing? Where does that amazing strength come from? Why do some people have so much of it? Why do others have none?

And if we were to forgive the hurts... even if we received no apology... ever, could we stop carrying all this baggage?

Imagine that.

Go do this!

Amy posted this on her blog Friday. Please go read it, and even if you're not into baking cookies at least send a card.

It's a way to personally thank a soldier or more than one soldier for his or her service to our country. Regardless of what your feelings are about our current military campaigns, these people put their lives on the line every day because they've been ordered to do so. They're incredibly dedicated and deserve our thanks.

I appreciate their service with all my heart.

I know that I've mentioned my brother Jim here before. He is currently serving on US soil, but has been many places in service to our country. Last year during the holidays he was in a cold country on the other side of the world. He's also been to hot countries... including Iraq.

And everywhere he's been, ordinary people like my family and yours have sent cards, letters, cookies, supplies and their good wishes and thanks for what these people are doing.

He said the boost to the morale of the men and women with just a card is an amazing thing to see, and that it's appreciated like you wouldn't believe.

So send a card. Bake some cookies. Send your love and thanks to these people.

Go now and do it.

Thank you. 

Here's another thing (or five) dragging me down...

This isn't a good time of the month for me.

I'm heading into the week-long screaming hell that some euphemistically call PMS week.

(Because women in a murderous rage need an innocuous acronym... and because Mad Cow Disease was already taken.)

So I'm less rational than usual anyway, but damn.

I'm really down again.

You know... feeling hopeless, sad, grumpy, disgruntled, out of sorts, bad-tempered, sullen, cantankerous, truculent, crabby, sulky, crotchety, dissatisfied, grouchy, peevish, grumbling, petulant, cross, querulous, surly, testy, irritable... I could come up with more, but I think you get it.

(If you don't, email me and I'll try to help you understand.)

First, the refinance thing. Jesus. What a pain in the ass. I talked to our guy on Friday, and I'm hopeful we can resolve all the shit this week, but it's been awfully stressful for me. I don't need more stress. It makes me edgy. Keeps me awake at night. Wakes me UP at night, too.

I'm tired of sleep deprivation. (no pun intended)

Between the surgery recovery and my natural need for a little extra sleep and the sleep deficit I ran on from April until last week, I'm still tired.

I didn't have a full night's sleep in that entire time. Before the surgery I woke up five to eleven times every damn night feeling like someone was sticking a hot wire into my knee.

It wasn't the worst pain I've ever had, but it just got so old. Dragged me down a little, I think. Made me feel discouraged.

Now I've done sleep deprivation before, of course. Matt didn't sleep through the night for a whole year, and Lyssa for about three months. But this is different.

I don't seem to have caught up on my rest yet.
I'm actually a little impatient with my progress on that front. It pisses me off that the only guarantee of a full night's sleep is to take some kind of medication.

I am officially off the pain pills. Don't want to start taking them for sleep. Terrible idea, slippery slope.

But sometimes when I'm awake at eleven, and one and three and four and can't seem to find my way back into dreams, I look longingly at that fat bottle of oblivion pills sitting conveniently next to my bed.

And my knee still hurts. It does not hurt like it did before the surgery, and I feel some improvement every day (except when I first wake up in the morning and ask it to function...) but after I've been on it for any length of time, I have to stop and put it up and let it rest.

I hate being limited in mobility. I can't even go for a walk unless it's to the mailbox and back, or through the grocery store. My knee hurts enough still that it's not a possibility to go hiking or to get down and scrub the bathroom floor or the tub, and just forget things like trying to put the pots and pans away in the low cupboards in the kitchen. I'm not supposed to be kneeling or squatting... and even if the doctor hadn't expressly forbidden it, it wouldn't be possible because
It.
Fucking.
Hurts.

And it pisses me off that I'm not 28 anymore and able to heal overnight. I'm 48 and not getting any younger. Only seven years away from being able to live in an old-people trailer park, if that should be my desire... and by the time I reach that age, I may not be able to afford the trailer and I'll be living in a van down by the river. Or maybe in a rusted out sedan, with flowers growing where the tires used to be.

Who knows?

With a foul black cloud of anticipation hanging over me, I'm dreading the medical bills that (surprisingly enough) weren't already in my mailbox when I got home from the hospital. I know it won't be cheap, and I utterly loathe myself for dragging my family down like this.

Yes, I know it's not like that, and that I didn't mean to hurt myself, and that none of them blame me or anything, but it's how I'm seeing it right now. It's shitty timing for sure.

Speaking of self-loathing, I had lost about 20 lbs with the Yoga that I stopped doing at the end of April when I hurt myself. I found out when they were completing paperwork and made me step on a scale at the hospital that I've gained every single one of them back.

Every.
Single.
Fucking.
Pound.

You hear ignorant people on television or in public say things like, "My god, why doesn't she just stop eating." or "If I looked like that, I'd do something about it."

Of course if the solution was as easy as 'move around more and eat less' we'd all be thin and healthier as a nation.

I don't feel any hope anymore that I'll ever, ever get smaller.

None.

It's almost enough to make one hope for a year's worth of stomach flu or an intestinal parasite.

And in case you were wondering, I do know that my little stuff that's going on isn't all that important in the general scheme of things, and that there are people all around, probably within just a few miles of me who have things a lot worse. A lot.

I get that.

But I still feel crummy and negative today.

It's only love.

I believe that any consenting adults who wish to be married and spend the rest of their lives together should be able to do so.

They should be able to raise a family, make medical decisions for their spouse, and be given the rights of any other married couple.
Why shouldn't they?
Why is it even a question?














Edited to add this family picture, swiped from Jason's
blog (with his permission.) If you have a good half hour to an hour to read, go to his blog and read his story, linked on his sidebar. You'll laugh, you'll cry... you may even gain new understanding.


If you believe homosexuality is wrong, and as impossible as it seems to me, some people actually do believe that... how is it your business?

If your religion says it's wrong, please point out any biblical reference that makes you the judge or gives you the right to decide who is allowed to be in love?

Show me where it says you have the right to legislate your definition of love and marriage on anyone else.

(Generic you, of course... I'm pretty sure that everyone who reads here has an open mind and heart and would never deny basic rights to adults who want to be married.)

So I went to the Courage Campaign and signed the petition.

They do ask for your email address and zip code. Your name is optional. I had no problem putting my name on there.

If you think like I do, please go sign.
And if you don't think like I do, why are you reading here?

From the website:

("Fidelity": Watch the video and join our letter to the (California) state Supreme Court, signed by over 250,000 peopleTell the Supreme Court to invalidate Prop 8, reject Ken Starr's case, and let loving, committed couples marry. DEADLINE EXTENDED: March 2)

I think we should allow all people the right to love and marry the person of their choice.

As it says on my sidebar... It's okay. It's only love. The whole world could use more of it.