Being Single Mom

I don't brag much.

I never see the point.  I don't need a pat on the back or sympathy.

I'm a single mom.

I have been for many years.

It is a struggle, a constant struggle.

I am so fortunate to have kids that turned out so great.  They could have been such different people without my sacrifices.

My son is now an engineer.  He has his head on straight.  He works hard and is smart with his money.

My daughter is a straight A student and is on path to graduate with honors.  She works, has a boyfriend and still manages to get constant As throughout her high school career.

I am amazed by both.

It has never been easy.  It is so hard to be strong for them while over coming obstacles, many of which were put in my path by their fathers.

I am sure some of you are reading this and thinking about their fathers.  Both fathers chose to bow out.  They left turmoil and unknowns behind.  They left me to deal with late night vomit, heartbreaks, homework, deadlines, school projects, fundraisers, practices, no money, utility shutoffs, and homelessness.

These fathers never had to make decisions, never signed field trip slips.  They never offered to coach soccer.  They never had to make sure the kids had to get to school on time.  There never had to be around when a meltdown started.

I have learned enough about cars to encourage my son's love of them.

I've struggled with money.  I have wondered how to put food on the table.  I've even been evicted by my daughter's father. 

I gave up on my own dreams, my own sanity, my own happiness for the sake of raising good kids.  

I think I've earned the right to brag a little.

I have managed to raise successful adults.

It hasn't been easy.

Birthday Blog

In a few hours I was born 48 years ago.

I struggle a bit with this birthday for some reason.  I'm not turning 50 or 60.  I wasn't angry when I turned 40.  For some odd reason, I hate the fact that I will be 48.

Mom has been gone for over 4 years now.  Her telling the story of my birth resonates in my mind.  We used to get drunk on red wine and she would tell the tale of being in labor, wanting that last cigarette four times, making my dad drive all over looking at lights, the doctor being MIA and the nuns putting her to sleep.

I popped out 48 minutes after midnight.

I am almost positive that if the events didn't happen, my birthday would be today.

I think the main reason that this birthday upsets me is the fact every day when I walk into work, there is a countdown to Christmas.  This countdown also is to my birthday.  This countdown reminds me of the days to when my mom isn't here to tell the story of my birth.

Jesus may have his story told over and over.

I miss mine.

Inside My Hurt Locker

"You eat too much."

There's a statement, huh?

Funny how such simple words can cut deep and scar long.  

I heard the words a few days ago.  In fact, my own dad said them to me.  

I still have tears just typing them.

I was excited and was looking so forward to his visit. I don't see family much and I've been working long, crazy hours.  

The visit didn't go as I had hoped or expected.

It was almost as if I was back in my childhood. A very unhappy time with two parents who fought often and harshly.  Sometimes their anger towards each other spilled over onto us kids.  In fact, I often think of my childhood as being inside of my own hurt locker.  

I grew into an adult who craves to be loved and cared for.  I grew into an adult who's unable to make a decision because she was never given the confidence.  I grew into an adult who looks in the mirror and sees her long hair making her face look fat.

I know as a reader you might be thinking that my parents were horrible people but they really weren't. Looking back, I can understand their adult lives and emotions.  Perhaps they parented the best they could.  But even with understanding, it doesn't keep my child-self from hurting.

I do catch myself wishing that I had a different childhood.  One where parents hug you and tell you that they are proud of you.  One where mom and dad hug each other and speak to each other in normal tones.  

Perhaps my dad didn't mean his words to be as hurtful as they were received.  

As a parent, I don't ever say anything to my kids that cause them to second guess who they are.  I tell them that they can choose to do or be anything that they want to be.  I never make them feel stupid for trying to help with a project.

I hope my children never have to feel like they have a hurt locker.  

I Don't Always Have Strength

Despite the pain killer and the sleeping pills, I have insomnia.

I used to have insomnia all the time.  It has been more rare over the last few years however it has reared it's ugly head for the last two nights.

I have been working pretty hard; long hours on my feet, weird shifts, and overnights.

Yesterday morning I came home from work and while I was changing out of my stinky clothes I noticed that my left big toe was ugly...well, uglier than usual.

It was painful to touch it and it was an angry red.  The toenail appeared to be green underneath.  I knew it was bad and probably should be looked at by a doctor.

I went to sleep for a few hours.  I got up to pick up my daughter from school and we took my toe to the walk in clinic.

The toe was infected and the nail had to be removed.  It was gross and painful and gained a huge bandage the size of a light bulb.  I was given prescriptions, instructions, gauze, wrap, crutches and a note to miss work for the next day.

But this whole toe thing isn't what this entry is about.

I have a friend who tells me that she admires my strength.  I've been through some pretty tough times and haven't lost my mind completely.

But lately I don't feel very strong.

I have been crying off and on.  I don't sleep.  I don't feel like eating.

The depression is coming to surface again.

When I do sleep, I dream of my mom.  

I miss her when I am hurting....physically and mentally.  Well, I miss her all the time but more so when things turn shitty.

She used to come and stay with me some times and I used to go to see her when I needed a break from things.

My toe triggered this feeling again.  Even though there are so many other things draining me at the moment, it is like the weight that broke the camel's back.

It seems as if I have no one to talk to about my feelings lately.  I feel kind of lost and I wish something would just give a little.

  

*sigh*

Mom's Ring

I have weird dreams from time to time.  I guess it is just because I have a weird mind.

I dreamt the other night about my mom's wedding ring.  I can't remember the whole context of the dream, only the fact that I couldn't find it.

This caused me to panic the next morning.

It had been months since I last seen it.  I used to wear it on my diamond necklace since it was too small to wear on my hand.  I also never want anything to happen to it.

It is a small ring with a heart shaped diamond.  I love how simple it is and what it means.

When my mom and step dad got married, I thought it was the most meaningful thing representing their relationship.

Anyway....

The ring reminds me of her.

I know I have written in the past that my mom was extremely narcissistic, causing issues in my own relationships and yadda yadda.

From what I have read so far on the whole dynamic of daughters of narcissistic mothers, the daughters tend to hold such anger towards their mothers.

I must be different.

Understanding what may cause the narcissist to become what they are, helps me forgive anything that may have happened.

I can never hold anger.  It isn't healthy.

Everything that has happened in the past has caused me to become the person I am today.

I love my mom regardless.

I love having her ring.

A symbol of love....

Third Anniversary

Funny how we can remember the small details in a life changing moment.

Tomorrow is the third anniversary of my mother's death.

We knew it was coming but didn't expect it so soon.

I called her in the hospital that morning from work.  I never did this.  There was just that pull to do it and she said that she was being transferred to a larger hospital.  I asked if I should come.  Her responses was, "Jesus Christ, no."  I knew she was going to be fine and would call her again once she settled in at Marquette.  I told her I loved her and she said she loved me.

Not more than four hours later, she was gone.

I was having lunch with my co-workers.  It was my going away lunch as I was leaving to go onto new things.

My sister called me as we were leaving the restaurant.

Mom was gone.

I let out a cry and felt everyone look at me.  I didn't care.

My mom was gone.

As much as that woman drove me bat shit crazy.  I loved her.

I still love her.

I carry her with me always.

There are days where I wish that there was more time.  There are times when I wish I could have been there when she left.

I am so thankful that I made that call the morning.  

She left knowing I loved her.  She left with me knowing she loved me.

(The photo is me and mom on my 26th birthday.  She always bought me glittery sweaters.  I hated it but I wore it because I love her.)

Mom's Curlers

"Do you know where your mother's curlers are?"

The question took me off guard.

My step dad called and asked me where my mom's rollers were.  Mom died several years ago from lung cancer.  My sister and I went through all of her stuff at his request and tossed what we tossed and kept what we kept.

I thought it was a strange question.  So I made a smart ass comment...

"Are you planning on making a change?"

He didn't even chuckle.

His girlfriend wanted to have her hair curled.

I sat on the other end of the phone...stunned.

Why would anyone want to use a dead woman's curlers?

I must admit that I struggle daily with the loss of my mom.  But I knew that my step dad was going to move on.

The problem is that I don't think he understands my own grief.  He doesn't understand that things he randomly does or say regarding my mom really bothers me.

It was very very difficult to see another woman sit at my mom's table and even more difficult to watch her sleep in my mom's bed.

(My eyes sting when I typed that just now)

The first time I met the girlfriend, she was sitting topless at the kitchen table right where my mom had her coffee.  I wanted to vomit and run.

The thing with the curlers is that my mom always set her hair.  She used those black rollers with the bristles and the plastic pointy pins and once her hair was up, she wrapped it in a red bandanna.

I could never figure out how in the hell did she sleep with those things in her hair.

In the morning she would take out the rollers and tease her hair until it was mad and sky high in the hair.  Sometimes I wish I had a picture of that sight.

I don't think that I can ever go visit the house ever again.  It is just like my mom was erased from a sketch and you can see the blurred lines just barely.

Grief is a weird emotion.

Mind Dump

I dreamt of my mother last night.  It was a weird dream that included racks of clothing.  A sales person in knee high boots and a carnival act in the parking lot of a store that included large inflatable clowns and a child.  My mom and I were shopping (I guess) and on the way out we saw the clown act with the child and I elbowed her and nodded to the act and she shrugged.  No words were exchanged.  Then the alarm went off and that was that.

Weird huh?

The dream probably means something deep down.  What is strange that I remember the dream so vividly from about 12 hours ago.

I dream of my mom here and there.  I also dream of my grandparents too.  Not always all together and not always every night.

Things have been changing around here.  My daughter's dad and I decided to enroll her in a private Lutheran school here in town.  We are hoping that this helps with social issues and also we hope that it gives her a challenge with her school work.

I was against the transfer at first.  I am not overly religious and I worried about how much it would cost.  

We took a tour of the school and once inside the church sanctuary, I had this overwhelming feeling of being home.  

I used to go to church frequently with my friends.  I liked to sing the hymns.  I liked to listen to the messages given.

Some where along the way, I lost my faith.  I began to question my beliefs.  I just gave up on believing on anything.  I stopped praying.  
After taking the tour, I have been thinking about revisiting the church and maybe getting my faith back.

So there you have my mind dump....just a couple of random things rambling around my brain.

P.S.  I just reread what I wrote and my spell checker doesn't like the word "dreamt".  What the hell?

Not a Pity Party

Holy cow!  Two blogs back to back....must be something I ate, eh?

Yesterday I wrote about my feelings about love and how unlovable I feel.  I didn't write it to have myself a little pity part nor was I looking for sympathy.  I create most of my own problems and I realize that.

I wrote it because (well I write a lot of things) because I think others read it and think that they aren't alone in their own feelings.  Sometimes it is better when you don't feel so alone.

We all have our insecurities and fears.  We also have our own little glory moments and grand occasions.

This is life.

Life has struggles and life has people who just plain suck in it.  Life is funny that way.

I often wonder if around this time of year it is just harder for me.  The anniversary of my mom's death is right around the corner.  I think that it gets harder every year,

You know, the last thing I said to her ever was "I love you".  I meant it.  I called her on the day she died while she was being transferred to a bigger hospital.

You know, the last thing she said to me ever was "I love you too."  

That is pretty significant.

As much as that woman drive me insane some times, I loved her (well, I still love her).  She is my mom.  She will always be my mom.

I gets hard when she isn't around when life is kicking my ass.  As my sister says, "Mom always made it better."

My sister is right.

Anyway, I often think about that person who sends me anonymous notes in the mail.  Why does this person do that?  I also think about whether if it is because I write about my feelings and issues and they just seem to have their opinions.

No matter what, I will continue to write.

It is almost like therapy for me.  I sometimes refer to it as "mind dumping".  I dump out what is in my head onto the screen and hit share.

Well, this seems to be enough rambling for now.  I am tired and tomorrow is yet another day.

If Wishes Were Horses Then Beggars Would Ride

Sometimes I sit and just wish....

I wish I was taller sometimes.  It seems like I am three inches too short to reach just about anything.  Why in the heck do they put two liters up so high at the local Piggly Wiggly?  I just stand there and sigh and say a little prayer that I won't just drop one on my head as I try to finaggle (yes, that's a word) it out of its spot and into my cart.

I wish I were prettier sometimes.  I look in the mirror at my poor tired face and think I just looked better about 10 years ago.  Life really takes its toll on a woman's face.  Just sayin...

I wish I were richer sometimes.  Not just with money but with wealth.  It seems that I don't have much of anything.  I don't have an estate.  They do say money can't buy happiness but I don't think I would be sad sitting in a big house with no payment.  I also don't think I'd miss my job much.  It tend to make me tired.

I wish I had more friends that lived closer and wanted to do shit.  I basically sit at my job all day (looking tired) and then I go home and sit (looking tired) alone.  I don't interact with anyone other than my kids.  I don't go to a Saturday bridge club nor do I go bowling.  I don't do much of anything except spend time with myself.

I wish I could just go some where else.  I get tired of being some where.  I watch that House Hunters show where these people just leave the life they are living to live another life some where else that is different.  I think, "Wow, such new experiences and cultures."  I was to just go do that.

I wish my kids got along better.  They bicker and argue.  This makes me tired (and have a headache).  They aren't very tolerant of each other.  I keep thinking that things will get better as they get older but so far they are just older.

I wish I could have spent more time with my mom before she died.  I regret not just going to spend time with her.  Instead I stayed here with no friends and my crappy job (my old job that made me not only tired but angry).  I should have just left here and went there.

I wish I could have explained to my mom how therapy was working.  She would have just got defensive though and probably angry and most likely would have stopped talking to me.  She got mad at everyone else including her mom and sisters and my dad and other people and just stopped talking to them.  She made it difficult to be me sometimes.

I wish I was skinnier.  I know I should diet and exercise and all that crap but I don't.  It is my fault but still, I can wish for it.  I wish french fries made you drop the pounds.

I wish I could be with someone who wouldn't just leave me or cheat on me or just be a real douche bag.  This tends to prevent me from dating.  It also makes me lonely.  Maybe this is why I got the three damn cats.  This is why women get cats.  They get tired of being hurt.  I wish this wasn't the case, but it is.  

I wish I was happier.  I need to find out what exactly makes me happy.  I need to find a passion or have a goal or something.  

I wish I could write a fabulous book that allowed me to do tours and be on stage to talk about the crap in my book.  People would always want to come listen to what I have to say because I am witty and wise. 

I wish my asthma would go away.  I cough so hard sometimes that it feels like my brains will explode out my mouth and leave me dead right there on the street.  My chest hurts and it makes me tired.

I wish I could go back in time and just do what I wanted to do instead of what others wanted me to do.  I would have made mistakes.  I probably would have had regrets.  I most likely would have failed a few times.  I just would have been better than wondering "what if".

I wish I wasn't so tired sometimes.

I just wish....

Dear Mom...

Dear Mom,

I think this is the very first letter that I have ever written you.  Kind of strange but I have never really moved so far away to where I couldn't just pick up the phone and call you.  This time circumstances are very different.  You are the one who is very far away and I don't believe there are any phones where you are.

I have always been a big letter writer.  Well, you knew that already since you had to put stamps and addresses on every letter I wrote until I was old enough to do it myself.

We scattered your ashes in your favorite fishing spot.  It was the very first time that I was ever there.  It is quite amazingly beautiful and quiet.  You should be at peace there.  It was hard to do.  It is hard to say good bye to someone that I have known my whole entire life.

Mom, I haven't really mourned your death yet.  It has been almost 11 months and I have not allowed myself to cry or mourn.  It is weird.  I think that if I really stopped to do it, I may never stop.  It doesn't mean that I don't think of you.  I think of you every day.  I think of what you are missing.  I think of the cancer that took you away.  I think about how sometimes I wish I could just call you.

Maybe I am mourning you.  I don't know.  I never had a mom die before.

I am thankful that I did get to talk to you the morning on the day you died.  I am thankful that I got to tell you that I loved you one last time and I am also thankful that I got to hear that you loved me too.  That was most important since I couldn't be there when you left.  

I went through all the cards that people sent us expressing their sympathy.  It is strange to look at them now and think that they offered their sympathy then but now we (your family) still hurt and miss you.  

I also went through the slides that I got from you.  It is so strange to look at them now and remember what it was like to be a child and looking at you younger than I am now.  They are good memories.  Thank you for giving me the slides.

I know that I am angry.  I am angry at the cancer that took you.  I am angry at you for not going to the doctor sooner.  I am angry at the cigarettes.  I am angry that there wasn't more time.  I am angry that you will miss life events.  I am just still angry.

I wish I could write more and tell you everything but I am crying now. (I guess I am mourning, eh?)

I miss you so much.

Love,

Me

My mom

Mom's final resting place

Mom's ashes being scattered

You know that bowling ball?

I carry around a lot of hurt with me.  I tend to hide it but it's there.

It feels like a big old bowling ball on top of my chest.

I guess I've been through a lot in the last year or so.

My break-up still affects me.  I carry around that hurt and can't seem to quite let it go.  I can't put my finger on what triggers it.  I am afraid to meet men or date anyone.  It isn't because I am afraid that they will pull the same crap on me.  I think his words "I just don't love you" hang on to tight.  I can't seem to shake that "unlovable" feeling.  It is that image in the mirror that stares back at me, that unlovable person that I see. 

I need to work on that.

When we first learned that mom was sick, I understood how bad it was from the beginning.  The doctor said that there was a mass on her lung and that it didn't look good, I didn't need more tests to understand that she wasn't going to get better.  Five months later she was gone.  I haven't really cried or grieved her death.  I don't understand why I haven't done it.  I can't make myself do it either.  It doesn't work that way.

I do miss her though.  I miss not having her to talk to.  I can't believe I miss having her tell me what to do.  Big things have happened for me and she just isn't here to tell.  Telling other people isn't the same either.  I don't know if it just because I am the oldest child and she talked to me more. (I don't know what kinds of relationships she had with my brother and sister.)

I just know I miss her.

In between the break-up and my mom's passing I had something happen with my former employer.  It seemed pretty shitty to me.  I tried holding myself together during the tough times and I tried not to be a horrible employee but when a co-worker does something shitty behind your back while you are going through something shitty, everything just becomes shitty.  And then HR gets involved.....I am still a little angry about it.

I did something about it and I now work some where else.  :-)

I still don't know how to deal with the bowling ball of hurt.  I keep wondering when I will be happy again.  I wonder when that switch will flip on.

A Different Kind of Anniversary

My mom passed away two months ago today.

I don't write about it much or how I feel about it because once I do, I can't stop crying.  (like now)

It has been a hard two months without her to talk to.  I can't just call her up because I feel like it.  I can't tell her how I like my new job or that I am thinking about buying a house.  I can't tell her that I finally but my hair off.  I can't tell her that she has a new grandpiggy.

It upsets me.

Lung cancer took her.

I get angry over that too.  She could have stopped smoking.  She could have taken better care of herself.  

She won't be there for her grandkids' graduations or weddings.  

This weekend we have to go through her things.  That upsets me too.  It feels like I am picking off a scab of a deep wound.  

Ugh...

People say that she is around and can see what's going on but it isn't the same.  

She isn't suffering anymore but those of us left behind are.

Cancer

I normally write a post in Word first, read it and reread it, edit it, spell check it, hem and haw over posting it and then post it.

This is not the case today.  I am just winging it.

Sometimes I just need to do a mind dump and write.

My world has taken on a new perspective lately.  I am learning about different parts of the human anatomy and how radiation works and what chemo does to the cells and there have been discussions about how to have a funeral.

It has been an interesting 6 weeks.

My mom has cancer.

and....it isn't good.

Not like there is a good cancer.  The word cancer is horrible.  It means suffering, sadness, pain, anger, struggle, and a whole bunch of other things that race through my mind.

I knew it wasn't going to be good when mom was admitted to the hospital back in August.  I mean the world's most stubborn person on the planet who hasn't seen a doctor in God knows how long can't be expected to just have a common ailment.  Even I know reality when I see it.

It has been hard.

I live about 5 hours away.  I often wonder how she holds up during treatment or doctor appointments when they say "it is in your bones" or "we need to start treatment or you won't see November". I wish I could just be there to help take her to appointments or to the store or just talk to her face to face.  

It hasn't been too much of a secret that I have unresolved issues with my mother.  I am pretty much sure that these issues will never be resolved.  I've excepted that.

Just because there are issues, doesn't mean I don't care or love her.

I guess in a way, it makes things worse.

I'll just deal with it.

Egg-Zaw-Sted

Yep, I'm tired so I can't be held accountable for any spelling mistakes or if I start rambling.

It's my blog and I can make the rules.

If your tired and you know it ramble on.

I have had a very long week.  One of the longest in Julie history I might say.  (I did say)

My mom was hospitalized last Wednesday with congestive heart failure, pneumonia and probably some other stuff that wasn't/isn't good but we are still waiting on some tests.  I say "we" because even though she is waiting, we all are kind of waiting for the results and by we, I mean the rest of us.  By us...oh I don't know....sister, brother, mother, step dad, anyone else.

I think if she had waited just one more day, I would have had a very different kind of week.

I know I have mother issues but that doesn't stop me from loving her.  She is still my mom and without her, I wouldn't be here rambling on at this hour of the morning.

I also have been dealing with bronchitis.  My stupid lungs can't handle this kind of thing since they have been damaged from pneumonia years ago.  I get the slightest yucky type thing in my chest and all hell breaks loose, I swear.  My voice is gone and lord only knows when it will make its appearance again.

Creating stuff has helped with my mental stuff.  Funny how doing stuff can help me cope with other stuff.  Lots of stuff...

My daughter wants to do a craft fair with all of the stuff we've created.  I want to do it but then I don't want to do it.  Seems like a lot of work do get the stuff to the locations, display the stuff, hopefully sell the stuff and then when it is over, pack all the stuff up and go home.  Oy!

You can see my stuff like this:

Over here:

http://www.etsy.com/shop/Inspiralicious?ref=si_shop

My Inspiralicious shop and that photo above is a purse charm.  You clip it to your purse to jazz it up.  (or you can clip it to anything else that needs jazzing)

I suppose I should get some sleep.  It is the only way to fight the yucky stuff in my chest.