Monthly Archives: May 2016

World domination.

I have something to say again.  Oh damn.  Plug your ears boys,  the men are free to listen though.

Women have been taught from a young age to fight each other.  There is a sick competition amongst us that I don’t agree with or understand,  but I have a theory as to where it came from.

“They” saw the power in us.  From the very beginning our strengths were obvious.   Bearers of life and intelligent as we have always been, brawny things with testicles saw the threat of losing their place of power the moment we moved out of the cave and evolved into an age where their muscles didn’t matter.

The only way to combat our brilliance was to pit us against the only formidable force that they could find.  They taught us to fight each other. They knew they couldn’t win the battle so they forced us under and turned our attentions inward,  hoping we would implode and destroy ourselves.  Those bastards.

So,  stop it.  I’ve made sense of it.  The behavior is unacceptable and the reasoning is nonsense.  Knock it off. Stand up for each other.  Lift another woman up.  Quit the catty cliques and join forces.  We could rule the world.

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Dad

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I’m a single mother now.  This is new for me.  Sort of.  I was prepared.  I knew it was coming.  Even still,  I sit here,  exhausted. 

Three kids,  one woman,  and my 66 year old father.  We live in a trailer.  I’ve recently applied for food stamps.  I’ve been a stay at home mom for 10 years so the job hunt isn’t really panning out at the moment.  I’ve even applied for fast food and chain mega stores.  No word. 

We won’t starve due to the generosity of my daddy,  my hero.  We won’t be homeless either because of his kind heart.   But,  he’s not responsible for these kids.  I am.  I feel like a leech with three baby leeches attached to me just SUCKING EVERY BIT OF LIFE OUT OF THE OLD MAN’S BONES.  Christ. 

I have an abundance of faith helping me sleep at night and my father shares the same virtue so he walks around sharing the same smile I wear.  Which is nice. I just can’t help but wonder when I see him mowing my lawn,  when will he get his day of rest?  

He loves helping us.  He was born to serve.  A United States Marine in his teens and a dedicated father throughout my life.  He’s amazing.  It’s his birthday tomorrow.  I have nothing to give him.  He won’t expect anything but I feel bad,  nonetheless. 

When I’m exhausted it’s become a tendency of mine to focus on the plight of others because sometimes I’m just too tired to be optimistic and focus on the good stuff. Its everywhere.  It’s easy to see.  It’s all around me literally screaming in my face but when my wretched soul gets weary,  I have a difficult time focusing on it.  It’s just easier to look at the struggles of others and feel grateful in that sense while doing whatever I can to help them rise as altruism is a state of mind most fulfilling.

And my father,  he’s the closest.  The nearest and dearest. Someone who has sacraficed great things and has basically been forced out of retirement to help myself and my children survive.  He’d never complain.  He doesn’t show any sign of pain.  Much of the empathy I’ve felt for him is based on what I would feel in his situation and have surmised.

The thing most unfair for him in this situation isn’t in the work,  physical labor,  or financial worry.  He has watched his daughter suffer,  too long,  too great.  As a parent myself,  I can tell you that sh** hurts.   I would do,  and have done, incredibly painful things to make sure my children won’t suffer but,  sometimes we’re helpless in the struggle to keep our kids safe.  Sometimes,  they’re in God’s hands and it hurts like hell to turn over that control.  To allow an angel to guide and guard them.  To let the Creator form and mold them through pain.  It hurts.  It hurts like hellfire. 

My entire family feels helpless.  They’re so far away.  Here I am,  fighting for my life, and they can’t reach me.  But,  I believe I was meant to do this mostly on my own.  I have had tremendous help and support.  We’d be homeless and hungry without my father.  But,  for the most part,  this fight is mine to wage.  I’m not alone in it.  The back up and support I’ve received has been life saving and some of it has rained down from God Himself.

Tomorrow is my Father’s birthday.   I have nothing material to give him.  So instead of material nonsense,  I’ve decided to gift him with words.  They’re all I have to offer,  as usual.

I have always been a daddy’s girl and a tomboy.  I followed him around the garage with eager ears as a child.  He taught me to fix things,  properly,  to last   and to be reliable.  Most of all,  he made me laugh. That has been an invaluable gift for me throughout my life,  as I often found it difficult to smile from the inside.  

If I had a question,  and I had many,  he always had an answer.  Sometimes he made the answers up entirely,  as I discovered when I learned to read,  but with his willingness to be ready with these responses,  often humorous,  he showed an attentiveness and interest in my learning that created this knowledge thirsty beast I’ve always been. He never shushed me or turned me away,  he always answered.  He always answered with a proud smile. 

He worked hard everyday and he did it for us and refused to carry stress into our home.  He didn’t have the heart to punish me,  rarely ever raised his voice.  He was wrapped around his girl’s little fingers and he didn’t care who knew.  

He loved my mother,  with all his heart.  For a little girl,  that’s an important thing to see. He treated that amazing woman like the queen she was,  every day,  every way,  until the day she died,  he never left her side.  He made it damn near impossible for my sister and I to find any man good enough for us as he treated us all so well.   But,  he also taught us that we didn’t need to go looking because within ourselves we would find everything we would ever need. 

As a child,  his life story amazed me.  I couldn’t believe anyone could be that good and that strong.  To briefly sum things up,  as if I’m any good at that,  he’s a total badass with a soft heart and selfless nature.

He left his family when he was 15.  Never graduated high school,  dropping out in the 9th grade,  but he had to take the military intelligence test twice because he had such a high score that they thought he had cheated.  He enlisted in the Marine Corps as a minor and went to Vietnam as soon as they could send him.  He stayed for over 2 years in that jungle.   He hasn’t said much about his time there.  The veterans of that war rarely do.  He came home to cruelty and dishonorable treatment, but he still went where directed as an honorable man does,  battling forrest fires with his fellow soldiers.   They were the only cats crazy enough to drive into the flames.  Thank God for brave men like my father.

He had some wild years then.  Some turbulent ones.  I understand it all too completely.  And his understanding of my trying times was something that kept me alive.  There was real empathy there,  between him and I,  and it was the only thing that made me feel I wasn’t alone.  It kept me from giving up when he’d tell me,  “You’re strong and you’ll make it through this.” I KNEW he knew.  I KNEW he felt it.  I KNEW he meant what he said and even though he had to say it hundreds of times,  those words, from him, never lost their meaning.  His words saved my life,  many times.

He has always been present.  He has always been kind.  He has been my biggest fan and comedian during very dark times.  He’s come to my rescue every time that I’ve called,  even if the best thing to do was to make me suffer my own consequences.   He had, and still has, the strength to let me fall and the intelligence and knowledge to know just when to step in. 

He’s my hero and the only real hero I’ll ever have because,  to this little girl,  he has been and will always be, the picture of exactly what a man should be.  He’s been treated poorly so many times but he refuses to be unkind.  He has had to endure incredible suffering but he still laughs from his belly and makes sure others smile.  He’s cooked my meals and tucked me in without shame or any fear that these acts would damage his masculinity.  He made sure we knew that a man’s measure isn’t in muscles,  bank statements,  or power.  His ability to love and protect the lives he’s been charged with caring for is what really matters in the end.  My Daddy,  well I measure his ability to do this in the way his daughters and wife love him in return.   

Love ya Dad.  You’re my hero.  The words “thank you” can’t express what I feel.  You’ve saved many lives while you’ve lived your own with integrity and decency and you saved mine a hundred times with your kindness,  encouragemnt,  unfailing love,  and clear example of exactly what a person should be.

Losing a mother.

I’ve never experienced pain like I felt when I lost my mother. People who haven’t experienced it will not understand until they feel it themselves.

A mother is special. A mother is irreplaceable. That bond. There is nothing to compare to it.

I knew my mother before I was born. She is deeply set in my memories. Her heartbeat and muddled voice were the first sounds my developing mind ever heard. She held me in her belly before anyone had the chance to place me in their arms. She was the only familiar one I met when entering into my new life. The only one that needed no introduction. The only one I had ALWAYS known.

It was her voice singing me lullabies. Her face peering into my crib hour after hour, night after night. She woke repeatedly to feed me, change me, bring me comfort if she could figure out how.

I was a fussy baby so this bond was very strong because she had to spend extra time holding, bouncing, swaying, rocking, singing, patting, burping, feeding, smiling, crying, breathing calmly while she wept furiously in exhaustion so I wouldn’t sense her fear.

She continued to grow in patience, strength, and love as I grew in inches, pounds, and feet. No matter where I wandered or wondered, her watchful heart was with me. No matter what I said or did, she loved me openly, loudly, without conditions.

She was the one who did the most so she was the one who took the most blame. When my rowdy teenage years hit, this woman who was in charge of figuring me out, well, she just couldn’t. So, of course, in my desperate state, I blamed her. I blamed her for not fixing me. I blamed her because I was broken though she tried every possible thing to mend my broken heart.

I couldn’t see how much love was in every gentle nudge and hard shove that led me in the right direction until I became a mother myself. Looking down at my baby who was crying in that crib, I’d wondered if she felt the same. The overwhelming amount of affection and protection that are born in a mother when given a child to care for. She had it, I have it, we bonded again. This time as mother’s, the two of us.

Then I moved away to try to keep my family together, for the first time my hard heart missed someone. Not my hero, my daddy. Not my best friend, my sister. But the woman I was just starting to know as she really was. My mother. I missed my mother.

I remember the first time that missing someone brought me to tears. I got sick and used chest rub and the smell overwhelmed me. Euphoric recall of some sort set in. I felt like a child. I remembered the soothing sense that came as my mother rubbed it on my chest and sang over my bed. I finally missed her. I finally knew her. I finally appreciated her as ALL of the memories flooded in.

Then the bad news came. I was desperate to keep her. Desperate to be with her. It just wasn’t possible. They said she had 6 months. I was on my way to the airport. She died before we got on the plane.

I felt shame and guilt like never before. Impossible for my softened heart to bear. I felt like I’d hurt her. I owed her my LIFE, literally. I was supposed to be there. All of the years I had struggled while blocking out her voice must have felt like torture.

I heard that as she lay dying she hallucinated about me. About myself and my children being in that room. That thought killed me inside knowing how badly she wanted me and sadly, I wasn’t there. Later on, I reflected, I felt grateful for her imaginings. To her, we really were there.

The most powerful thing I inherited from my mother was not money. I got her fire and strength. And as I battle real demons, as I fight for my own, I intend to use it. Without hesitation.

She’s with me when I need her still. Butterflies and red birds appear every time I feel weak. Every lesson she taught me flooded back to me.

Her words have been uncovered, once buried in my subconscious, no longer lost under resentments and fear.

I miss her every day. I will never be able to thank her. No one with a great mom can truly repay what’s been freely offered. The sacrifices, the hours, the damage to her body, the exhaustion on her spirit, I cannot repay. But, I can do my best to be as loving as she was with my babies whom she loved as much as she loved me.

I’ll repay her by being the woman she raised me to be. I’ll repay her by making her proud one more time by being her reflection, using the lessons and gifts she gave me to make the lives of her grandchildren great. By making the life of her baby girl great. By being happy, joyous, and free as I was when she rocked me in her arms as a child. Because, as a mother I know, that is our one greatest desire. For our children to be whole and happy as I finally am. Because of her.

Even as I sit here now without her I realize, she gave me everything I need. She protected me by teaching me how to protect myself and anyone else that I feel needs protection. I suppose she did as I have done. Whispering promises into an infants ears. I won’t fail because of her. She never failed me.

I was crying on the steps as a blue bird came near. Honestly. It sat close by. Closer than a wild bird should. It looked at me. It stayed still. Then I smiled and said, “I love you” outloud. THAT is when it flew away.

Thank you, Momma.

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Goodnight

Man.  I’m sleepy.  So good night,  all.   I hope you go to sleep with a smile on your face, one that carries you through your dreams until morning.  And I hope you feel it there first thing upon waking to remind you of what a great day you will have again if you hold on to it. That cheesy grin is powerful.  Be happy. Sweet dreams.

Darker than the darkness

Silence woke me today.  The darkness became even darker and jolted me from my sleep. I looked outward, pillow in my peripheral, still and silent.  Afraid to move.

The feeling of oppression lingers.  Heaviness that labors my breathing lays atop my chest.  It feels like my heart is barely beating at times, then it begins thumping wildly. It’s about to burst.  I can hear it pounding in my ear drums.  I can feel it’s frightened rhythm banging on my brain.

There’s a shadow in the pitch black and it stares at me. I feel it and wonder when she’ll leave me as I lay petrified there, in shock.

I recognize her essence, lonely-dark and angry.  She’s fearful, lost, and worthless.  Broken without bandage.

Her eyes, they never open, though they’ve seen it all.  All terrifying, awful-dark. Like a black hole absorbing light.

She’s trapped within her memories. Too afraid to peer past the lids of her eyes. Afraid to make any more.

So much evil from out there has entered her. Her hatred can’t be contained.  She doesn’t want to hurt anyone but unfathomable cruelty left ugly stains on her, inside of her tiny soul.

She’s confused and locked inside that space. Desperate for freedom but unfamiliar with it. She wonders if what she is used to might be safer than the new place.

I’d like to tell her what sunshine feels like when it rests upon her shoulders but I can’t explain her out of there. She’s hiding for a reason.  We’re all liars who can’t be trusted. We’re dangerous and she’s afraid.

We need to stay away from her so she can learn to break the shadows that swallowed her. They’ve been chewing her up but she’s one to savor.  There’s no gulping her down as she keeps changing flavors.  She won’t give up her fight.

I could never leave her there, but over time she’s needed less of me.  As I grew she used my energy. She stepped back and further away. Wishing me the best as the distance grew between us.  I’ll never say goodbye.  I refuse to chase her away.

Her presence still alarms me as she appears inside these desperate nights.  But, now her visits are brief and haunting, meant to remind me of things inside of me that I left behind and despise.

She’s going to be hiding in that corner, in my shadow as I walk away.  But, I’ve outgrown the need for her company, and she sees her future in what I have become while she’s visiting from that other plane.  Her view of me now may be the only reason that I never did give up.

I’m sad when I see her over there. I’m afraid I’ll let her in. But she doesn’t claw at my feet anymore or beg for me to hold her.  She doesn’t cry when I won’t pick her up and allow her to cling to my skin.

I think she’s here tonight so I’ll remember.  A warning. A memory.  A ghost that lives beside me.

Beside me, outside of me, resides with me, alongside of me.  No longer inside of me where she doesn’t belong.

That shadow, darker than black, that used to rush toward me.  She stands still now sending me forceful feelings but no longer impresses, only refreshes the stalwart soul we share.

I still want her to open her eyes so that I can see the gray and green in them, but history and this story would change completely if she did. We like how it is here now.

Even with her lingering there, longing, lonely, and lost.  We like it here, with her sightless gaze upon me, wordless.  She’s too sleepy for those but her exhaustion never applied to her emotions.  They are effortlessly expressed between the two of us.

She’s quiet.  My aura silenced her.  My eyes closed as I felt hers opening.  We smile together as I rock us both to sleep using the hope that we divide.

There she goes.  Here I am. Neither of us know where we are headed.  Only one of us knows where we’ve been.  Both glean necessary strength from the other in weakness.  Both living parallel and separate lives.  Completely connected.  Absolutely independent.

Now, I slip back into the space between awake and asleep where I am able to clearly see every part of me.  I wish I could hold a pen in this place. I wish I could remember all I see before I fall in too far.  But the feelings I gather while visiting there, they leave a lasting mark.

The dark little me in the corner and I, we’ll meet again, another day. She always sensed she was needed though she never knew by whom. Now she realizes clearly, though, as she falls back to sleep, here, in her room.

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Dissapointed

I am currently recovering from a wicked spidey bite.  Sadly, I have not yet received any awesome super powers. Bummed.  All I have is a gross fungal infection from the nasty little critter who attacked me while I slept, like a punk.  This particular arachnid has not yet gained a contemporary concept of the ethics of war.  WEEKS of creams,  steroids,  and oral prescriptions and I’m still itchy and sore. What did I do in response to the attack?  I moved.   I literally moved.  Goodbye devil bugs.   Goodbye forever.  

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