To My Little Girl

As your mom, the thing I struggle with more than anything else, is not being able to take away your pain. If it were possible, I would take every shred of your pain, and stitch it into my heart, so that you may never know the force of its wicked blows.
Unfortunately, I’m only able to share your pain, and cannot blot it out. Since there’s not an easy escape for your tiny little heart, I want you to remember these few simple, yet sometimes difficult things.
Remember that it is okay to feel broken. It is okay to be sad. To feel angry at anything and everything. It’s okay to feel jealous when your friends and cousins talk about their daddy. It’s okay to be angry that yours is no longer here. It is okay to ask for help. Please, always ask for help. It is okay to not be okay, but it is also okay to be happy.
One day you may feel like blaming someone. It might be your dad, for leaving you much too soon. Or maybe you’ll blame God, for taking him away. That someone you may blame, at one time or another may even be me. Sweetie, that’s okay too, but eventually you must always choose to forgive, no matter how hard it may be. Don’t ever let your anger make a home inside.
You’re entitled to visit all these dark places, and feel the emotions they bring, but just remember to never stay there too long.
There were those that said I was weak, and wrong to let you see my pain. That somehow, by letting you see my tears and hear my screams, I would hurt your fragile heart. They may be right, but I personally believe they’re wrong.
You were only three when your world was ripped apart, but you were intelligent and perceptive way beyond your years, and that fragile heart was already broken into a hundred little pieces. I didn’t want to hide what I was, from you, who needed me most. I wanted you to see what was real, and not some fabricated front. I wanted you to see that your mommy could not always be strong. I wanted you to know that in our house, crying about daddy was always allowed. And if you felt like screaming about how it’s just not fair, that’s something you just have to do. But baby, this doesn’t make us weak. You saw me broken, but you saw me fight to find the light. You saw the smiles and laughter that shone in the darkness that surrounded our lives.
You see, I believe that knowing when to be weak, is part of being strong. And admitting you need help, is part of being wise. Being strong isn’t about always being straight faced, or bright smiles. Being strong is facing your pain, and not burying it deep inside. You can smile through the tears, but be sure to let them fall. And you can giggle through the anger, but take the time to also scream it to the sky. Don’t keep any of that bottled up inside.
I know you have many questions. The how’s and why’s and what’s. I know you hate to hear that you’re just too young to understand, but I promise to answer what I can, and some day when you’re older, I’ll give you every answer I have. When that day does come, it will bring a whole lot of new pain, and I want you to know I’m sorry that you’ll feel the things you will.
Your road will not be easy, but I will be right beside you every step of the way. You have many more sticks and stones than others you may know. You will trip, and you will fall, and you’ll bleed a lot along the way, but you little girl will rise, wash yourself off and continue on your way. You will not only live, but you will conquer the life that you have. I have seen your strength, and the heavy weight that sits upon those tiny shoulders, and you little girl, have a mighty warrior inside.

Restless Thoughts on Restless Nights

Restless

I love life, and I am happy.
In almost every way I am content.
And yet, I am restless.
There’s a fire burning inside that will not be tamed.
A thirst that will not be quenched.
Screaming thoughts that will not quiet themselves.
I am restless. Restless for life.
Not the life I see everyone living, but the life in my imagination.
I’m ready for imagination to become what is real, and real to become a memory.
I have an overwhelming urge to see things I’ve never seen, go places I’ve never gone, and do things I’ve never done.
I want to see the beautiful, but also see the ugly.
I want to go where life is easy, but also where life is hard and broken.
I want to climb a mountain. I want to sail a boat.
I want to dive in the depths of the ocean, and jump from a plane as I float through the sky.
I want to be a pirate (can I please, at least for one day?)
I can’t list everything I want to do, because I want to do it all.
I want adventure. I want experience.
I want to be utterly exposed.
I want passion, not mere satisfaction.
I want to taste life in all its flavors,
and choke on the endlessness
of everything it has to offer.
I am more than what you see.   Hell, I am more than what I am.
I was created for more than average, so average I will not accept.
I’m done with the ordinary,
throw me into the extraordinary.

Lesley Day
6/7/16

 

Sour Patch Kid Day

Most days I don’t feel like this single parenting thing is all that hard. Of course it has it struggles, but somewhere along the line I got used to it, and the average day I have every confidence in myself that I will be able to raise these two little girls into respectable adults on my own. Then I have a day like today, and that whole thought process goes out the window, and I’m left crying on my couch wondering how the hell I’m going to pull this off, and feeling like a terrible mother. I’m not sure what brings on these kinds of days. Yesterday was a normal day, I got a good night’s sleep last night, and nothing significant has happened to cause any stress. None of that mattered though when I woke up to the typical constant bad attitudes, arguing, fighting, whining and crying that comes along with having a three and four year old. Most days I’m pretty patient for the most part, and it doesn’t bother me all that much. Sure it gets annoying, but nothing like today. Today it was like constant nails on a chalk board. By 9:30am I was done, and ready to lock myself in a sound proof room and cover my head.

I had to make a trip up to my old work, so I loaded them up and we took a drive, most of which I had the radio turned up so it was easier to ignore the arguing and tattling going on behind me.

“Mom, she touched my car seat! Make her stop!”

“She’s looking at me! Tell her to stop looking at me!”

“She keeps trying to talk to me, and I don’t want to hear her voice right now!”

At which point I vaguely remember responding with “I don’t really want to hear your voice right now either, too bad you keep talking.”

Yes, I’m aware that’s not the most positive or best thing to say to your child, but we can’t be positive all the time. I’m sure she’ll survive, with plenty of confidence to spare. Forty-five minutes later, we finally arrived, and went inside the building. They were definitely crazy acting. Running around, some playful screaming, just being loud in general, but at least they were still being cute and sweet for the women I used to work with. When it was time to leave, they convinced me to take them on a lunch date.

“I promise we won’t be crazy at the restaurant Mommy. You know though, all those girls you worked with still really liked us, even though we were acting crazy.”

They kept their promise, and were perfectly behaved little girls all through lunch. I couldn’t believe I was sitting with the same children I woke up with that morning. They went back to the morning behavior as soon as we were back in the car, and away from the public’s eye though. The fighting started before I had even started the car. It was a nice day today, and they asked to have their windows down. I never roll the windows all the way down, because I don’t want them throwing anything out the window. Not that I think they would at their ages, but you always see the one lone baby shoe on the side of the road, so it’s just something I’ve always done. I leave it down just enough that they can reach up and feel the wind on their little finger tips. Apparently, that’s not high enough though. They were arguing about something insignificant while I’m driving down the highway, and I look in my review mirror to see my oldest throwing things out the window in anger. I was shocked and furious. Of course I got onto her, which made her even madder. And then she asked me to turn around and go get her stuff, which even if I could have I’m not sure I would have at that point, but we were on a big split highway so I couldn’t anyway. This made her furious. So in her anger she decided to unbuckle herself and stand up out of her booster seat. I pull over on the side of the highway, give her a swat on the butt as I’m yelling at her, and as I’m putting her back in her seat and buckling her up, I notice a police officer has pulled up behind me and is getting out of his car. He asked if everything was okay, and I told him everything was fine I was just dealing with my children. I know he was probably just making sure I hadn’t broke down or anything, and didn’t need any help, so I tried to be as friendly as I could in the situation. He asked what exactly was going on, and I held in my string of venting I wanted to throw at him, and told him my daughter unbuckled herself and I was buckling her back up. I hoped he was smart enough not to mention the spanking, and he was.

The twenty minute drive home after that incident was spent with her crying, and her younger sister impatiently telling her to be quiet, because it was hurting her ears. When we arrived home it was straight to bed for them. My youngest went down without a fight as usual, and my oldest was planning on going down without a fight, until she couldn’t find the right stuffed animal. I’m already at my wits end at this point, and cannot even fathom searching for this stuffed animal so she would be happy. I told her she was just going to have to sleep with a different friend today. This is when all hell broke loose. Kicking, screaming, and throwing things. Complete and utter melt down, for thirty-five minutes. Her melt down triggered a Mommy melt down. I’m aware that my losing my temper, and throwing an adult tantrum didn’t help matters at all. I eventually shut her bedroom door, told her not to open it, and sat on the couch taking deep breaths trying to calm myself down. Ten minutes later I was calmed down, and so was she from the sound coming from her room, which was finally silence. I was also ashamed of myself for not having more patience with her. That melt down is not the kind of things I want my children to remember when they’re older. I walked in her room, climbed in her toddler size bed with her and held her in my arms. I told her I was sorry I acted the way I did, and that I lost my temper. I told her that she shouldn’t have acted the way she did, but I shouldn’t have either. At which point I started getting teary, and I told her sometimes it’s really hard doing everything on my own, and that I need her to try to listen and behave, to help me out. She gave me lots of hugs and kisses, and said that she knows, and she’ll try not to act like that again, and I told her I would try not to act like that again too. After we snuggled for a while, we said her naptime prayers, and I tucked her in. I realized that my youngest most likely heard the commotion, so I walked in her room to tell her I was sorry for yelling so much. She was already snoring, and apparently didn’t care enough to let it keep her from her sleep.

This is when I laid on the couch and started crying. These are the moments I don’t know if I can do this on my own. If I can do this right. If I can somehow be a good enough mom, to make up for not having a dad. Most days I feel like I’m enough for them, but today was not one of those days. So I turned my phone on silent, ran myself a hot bath, drank a glass of wine, and then fell asleep on the couch trying not to feel too horrible about myself, and the mother that I was today.

My little girl didn’t end up falling asleep for nap, but she did lie there quietly the whole time, and when she came out of her room when naptime was over, she wasn’t the same little girl that was throwing things at me earlier, and I wasn’t the same mommy that was screaming at her to knock it off. The rest of the evening she was overly affectionate, sweet, and goofy, and I didn’t feel like I was about to snap. We read lots of books, had a picnic dinner on the living room floor while we watched a movie, and I let them split a grape soda, which I’m pretty sure is the first soda they’ve ever drank. I tucked my little girls in bed and said their prayers, and my little girl I wanted to get away from earlier gave me a kiss on the cheek, then a kiss on the lips and said “I love you Mommy. You’re a good mommy.” And when that made me get teary, she told me that wasn’t supposed to make me cry, it was supposed to make me happy.

Now they’re sound asleep, and I’m sitting on my couch hoping I’m not the only parent out there that has these kinds of days.

An Explanation of “Selfish” Behavior

This is not the type of thing I enjoy writing, and I know I’ve had to do a couple of these so far, but it seems another is needed. I understand that I do not HAVE to write this explanation. However, if it helps even one person have less feelings of animosity towards me and my life, then it will be worth it. If you read this, and it doesn’t make you feel any differently, that’s okay too. I can’t force anyone to understand things from my perspective.

It has recently been brought to my attention that in a nutshell I am viewed by some as a selfish person. The issues that revolved around this included that I only care about myself, and what’s going on in my own life, and have no consideration for things that are going on in other people’s lives. I am selfish and frivolous with my finances, that I do too much stuff and leave my kids with my parents too much, who apparently I am using. And that I took people for granted that were there for me in the beginning, and replaced them with new friends. And lastly, that I am not the same person I used to be, and the person I’ve become is someone not everyone likes. I will address these one by one.

I understand that not everyone feels this way or thinks these things about me. I am not writing this to receive comments about how these things are not true, and they should have not been said about me. This is not the purpose of this post. This post is for those who DO feel this way, and to hopefully shed some light on a few key points. I did know there were probably people that disagreed with some of my life choices, and I honestly can’t do much to change that. However, I did not realize that some of the people who felt this way held close connections with me in some way or another.

The first issue was that I only care about myself, and what’s going on in my life. I can assure you, this is not the case at all. I care very much about things that are going on in people’s lives that I love. The good and the bad. I am the type of person that no matter what is going on in my own life, I will drop it in a heartbeat to help someone through a struggle, or to share in celebrating something in their life. There are plenty of people who know this to be true, because they come to me with everything. Do I also go to people about the good and bad things in my life? Of course I do! And maybe I share too much, and that’s the issue, I’m not really sure. I can’t change that about myself though. I am a talker. I am a writer. I am incapable of holding things inside, because when I do it feels like it will destroy me from the inside out. I have always been this way, and I’m sure I always will be this way. For some reason God created me to be an overly open person, and that is a fundamental characteristic I was born with. One I cannot, and will not try to change. If something bad happens, those close to me will know. If something good happens, those close to me will also know. If I am overly excited about something in my life? Everyone who knows me will most likely know. Just because I talk to people about things in my life though, does not mean that I don’t care about your life. I want people I love to share their life with me. The thing is, I cannot FORCE you to talk to me. I cannot force you to come to me with your problems, and the good things in your life. I cannot force anyone to pick up the phone and call me. If you ever felt that you could not come to me with things in your life, for one reason or another, I do sincerely apologize. I assure you, you can. When I make a phone call, and I ask what’s going on with you, I genuinely want to know what is going on in your life. I have no control over you responding with “nothing” though, and not wanting to give me information about yourself. I am here. I will listen. Will I also talk? Yes, I will. That is part of sharing relationships with each other though. We both talk, we both listen. I can’t achieve the listening part though, if you don’t achieve the talking part.

On to my finances. Honestly, this one is really none of anyone’s business, BUT I do understand that donations were made after my husband’s death, and there are those who may feel I do not use the money that was theirs in the best possible way, so I will make this your business for this paragraph only. If you still do not agree after reading this? I’m sorry, but I’m doing the best I can for my family, and since what I’m doing seems to be working for us, I will continue to do so. First off, I am good with money. I can make it last longer than most. I solely made it possible to stretch a $12.50 an hour income to support a family of four. I don’t care who you are, that’s pretty impressive in today’s world. Every month my husband was amazed that I was able to take the small income he made, and make it work for our family. Currently I receive ZERO government assistance outside of the monthly social security death benefits the three of us receive from Chris’ death. The amount of SS benefits covers the majority of the main bills, but does come up short. I’ve taken into account the amount of benefits we receive, the money that was donated, and the money we already had in our accounts. I have budgeted all of that money out over the determined period of time before I will be able to return to work plus a couple years added on, with of course quite a bit of extra money to spare, because you never know what extra expenses could come up. I can assure you the money is being used to support my family, and a portion is being saved in an IRA account every month. Where our opinions on this may differ, is what exactly constitutes “supporting.” What you see as selfish behavior, such as spending some money on myself, going out with friends, taking a vacation, and things of that sort is part of supporting my family. I am part of my family. I am a very major part in my family, since I am the only parent in my children’s lives. I have become both mom and dad. All roles have their struggles, including mine. As a single stay-at-home mother, one of the biggest struggles, is the absolute lack of adult interaction. I love my daughters, and I love having conversations with my daughter’s and spending time with them, but I can only talk to a three and four year old about so many things, and they can only do so many activities with me. I am an adult. They are children. We like different things. In order to keep my sanity, be the best mother I can be, and make life better for both me AND my daughters, these type of expenses are a necessity and part of supporting my family. We all benefit from the breaks I take. When they spend 24/7 with only me, they get sick of me and need a break just as much as I do. We all come back from breaks refreshed, and better behaved members of the family. This works for us. And honestly, I think all parents deserve plenty of breaks! Raising children is a hard all consuming job for anyone in any situation. So if you’re not getting breaks? Take some. You deserve them. I can assure you I am still very conscientious with my money. I did not go spend an outlandish amount on my vacation. We went very cheap, and split everything three ways. I can’t apologize for any of my finances, because I know what I’m doing, and I’m doing what works for my particular family.

This next one kind of goes hand in hand with the finances, since my “selfish” spending habits occur when I leave my children. I’ve already explained my reasons behind doing so many things without my children. I can assure you the countless hours I spend with my children every day far outweigh the time I am away from them. I am not using my parents. My parents love my daughters, and became very attached to them while we lived with them for four months last year. If I go more than a week without seeing my parents (which rarely happens) my dad is calling me asking when I’m bringing his babies to see him. They ASK to watch them a lot of times. Do I ask them sometimes when I need a sitter? Of course I do. They’re my girls’ grandparents and the second most important people in their life. But there are plenty of times that my mom will overhear me asking one of my good friends to watch them for a night, and she says “Why are you asking her? We want to take them!” My relationship with my parents is not based on babysitting. I visit my parents all the time, just to spend time with them. And when they are babysitting, I never just drop the kids off, leave, pick them up, and leave again. I always stay for hours, and visit with them. That is my home. Yes my own house is my home as well, but I will never cease seeing the house I grew up in as my home also. This is something they like. I’m their daughter, so they like me, and like having me around. If you have an issue with my parents watching my children, you can take it up with them and see what they have to say.

Growing up, my mom was a full time stay-at-home mom who homeschooled all four of her children. Every year she took off to Georgia to visit her best friend for 10 days, and lots of years also took vacations with my dad. This did not make her a selfish mother. It made her a smart mother, because she knew she’d probably go crazy if she didn’t get a break from us crazy acting kids. When I get a little time away, I come back happier, and when Mommy is happy, my girls are happy. If I’m stressed out, depressed and overwhelmed, they mimic that behavior. I also think it’s important for my girls to have close relationships with people in their lives other than me, so they never have to think that they only have a mom. People become closer with my kids, when I am not around, because they’re not hanging on me. So, once again, this is not something I feel I can apologize for.

This is a big one, and a very long detailed one. It has been perceived that I have taken those who were there in the beginning for granted, and have replaced you with new friends. If you truly feel this way, I wholeheartedly apologize. I will never be able to express the appropriate amount of gratitude I feel for those who were there for me when my life fell to pieces. The people who took care of my children, drove me to appointments, cleaned the spots of blood on my living room and kitchen floors before I went in to get stuff to take to my parents, just so I wouldn’t have to see it. The ones who came and moved everything from my upstairs to my downstairs, and then came back again to put it all back, the few that came and cleaned my house from top to bottom before I moved back in. All the people who made my family meals so we wouldn’t have to cook, the ones that would stop by just to check on me, or pick up the phone to tell me they love me, the few that surprised me with flower deliveries when they knew I was having a particularly bad day. I will forever be grateful to all of you, and if you felt that I showed anything less than gratitude, then I really am sorry, and I hope you believe me. I did not replace any of you with new friends. I have made new friends, but that doesn’t make any of you less important in my life. What I’m about to say is not being said to make anyone feel guilty or like they should have done more. That is NOT the purpose of saying this. You all did more than I could have ever asked for.

The first few months were terrible, traumatic, and all around devastating. They were also filled with shock though. Most people do not realize that the toughest period of this whole process was when I moved back into my own house. This period stretched from September through February. It was the longest 6 months of my life. I became severely depressed. There were days I did not eat. I did not drink. I only got off the couch to do the bare essentials to take care of my children. I would sit in the corner of my dining room (because it was the furthest from where the kids played, while still being able to watch them) curled in a ball crying and screaming uncontrollably. This is something my children got used to. I hate that they had to see me like that, but I had no control over the overwhelming emotions that had me in their grips. I was a complete mess. I did not call anyone. I did not text anyone. I had very little communication with the world, outside of the people that sought me out. And something that I have only told very few people, something I have never written about, was that I was suffering from PTSD. When my doctor diagnosed me, I thought he was full of crap. I am not a soldier. I did not go to war. What I had cannot ever be compared to what someone in that situation would have. Apparently having a loaded gun held to your head with one hand, and having an open knife threatening you with the other, is still considered a traumatic event. One that can bring on symptoms of PTSD. The endless nightmares every single night that haunted me even after I was awake, still give me goosebumps when I think of them. In my nightmares, my husband did not die. He lived. In my nightmares, everything that happened that night still happened, only he did not pull the trigger on himself. Some dreams, he only pulled it on me. Some dreams, he also pulled it on our daughters. Some dreams he threw the gun before he pulled the trigger, just like what really happened. In those dreams I would wake up in my bed, and look at him lying next to me, and I would be overwhelmed with terror for my life, and for my daughter’s lives. I would wake up drenched in sweat, hyperventilating, my face wet with tears I hadn’t known I’d been crying. The hardest thing to work through may sound silly to you, because it was an “if” but I have no control over what was difficult for me to process. In the beginning I always assumed that if he would have lived, I would have stayed with him. We would have worked things out, and got him help. After all, I still loved him unconditionally, and what happened wasn’t his fault, it was his illness. After countless nights of those dreams though, I questioned what I would have done. Would I have been strong enough to stay with a man that at any minute could snap and kill me or my children? Was I strong enough to take that chance? But then again, would I have been strong enough to leave? To protect myself? To protect my children? Could I have left the man I loved and only allowed him supervised visits with his children even though he was an amazing dad, because that would be the only way to insure their safety? This may sound terrible, but I realized I would have been strong enough to leave, but I don’t think I would have been strong enough to stay, and that screwed with my head more than anything. That caused an overwhelming amount of emotions, all over an “if.” That “if” didn’t happen, and I did not have to make those difficult decisions, but realizing what decision I would have ended up making hurt like hell.

The fall before Chris died I was sitting in the church lobby while my girls attended Awana, and a woman walked up to me. She was smiling from ear to ear, and introduced herself, and invited me to come to the moms group on Wednesday nights while the girls were in Awana. I took her up on her offer, and started attending. There were three women in this group that I immediately felt a connection with. We weren’t great friends or anything yet, we just talked at meetings and never really spoke outside of them. None of them had ever met my husband. When Chris died, there was someone that I really felt I needed at the funeral, and it was the woman who walked up to me that day. I asked someone on Facebook to contact her, and to ask her to be there. To my surprise all three of them showed up, and were there for me, and I found comfort in them. Shortly after Chris died, this super loud crazy acting girl started attending our meetings, and we all instantly loved her. She added spice that we didn’t have yet. Of course she quickly found out that I was a widow, but didn’t know any details. The five of us became extremely close after Chris’ death. Before he died we were all acquaintances that enjoyed each other’s company when we saw each other. I’m not sure if his death was what drew us all together, but today every single one of them are my best friends.

These women who barely knew me outside of my grief stricken state, and one who did not know me at all, loved me for every ounce of the mess that I was. When I was going through that rough six months, outside of my parents, they were the ones that were there every single step of the way. Not a day went by that I did not hear from one of them. They would force me to go out and do things with them. They went as far as having group text messages behind my back, just to do something to surprise me. They listened to me cry for hours about the most ridiculous things. I very very rarely instigated the relationship. I was too depressed to instigate anything at that point. They did all the instigating, and I went along with it, because they did make me feel better.

Like I said before, I am not saying any of this to make anyone feel bad. I’m just trying to make you understand, that I did NOT forget any of you, I was incapable of making an effort in the relationship, so the only people that had relationships with me through that period of time, were the ones that SOUGHT ME OUT. I’m not saying that’s right, but I’m also not saying that’s wrong. I can’t beat myself up for not acting “appropriately” with my friends and family through my grief. There is no appropriate reaction to the events that took place in my life, and expecting there to be one is unfair. Even if someone went through EXACTLY what I went through, I would have no right to tell them they were handling things the wrong way, or for them to say the same to me. I did not replace anyone. New people came into my life, and yes I am very close to all them even now that I am on the road to recovery and doing extremely well, but God placed those people in my life for a reason, and he also placed me in their life for a reason, which they have all said to me more than once. God also placed all of you in my life for a reason. You were there for the beginning, they were there for the middle. I needed all of you, and you all gave me what I needed. I cannot apologize for a friendship that developed through my grief.

The last point that was made is that I am a completely different person than I was before Chris died, and the person I’ve become is someone not everyone likes. You are absolutely right, I am most definitely not the same woman I was before my husband died. I’m not sure how anyone can expect me to be though. Things happen in life that change people, that’s just the way it is. It would be impossible for me to not be a changed woman after what happened to me and my family. I will not apologize for the woman I’ve become though. If you don’t like who I am now, that is okay. You are entitled to your opinion. We are not required to like every person we know. Quite frankly though, I love the person I’ve become, and that’s what matters most. I am stronger, wiser, and healthier emotionally, physically, and spiritually. And as terrible as this may sound, I am an overall happier person than I used to be. I don’t understand how that is, but it’s true. I know how short and fragile life can be, and I’ve embraced the life I have. I am excited about my life, my future, new opportunities and pursuing my dreams.

I hope after reading this and seeing things from my perspective, you can better understand why I’ve chosen to live my life this way. If you still don’t understand, we’re just going to have to agree to disagree and leave it at that, and I hope that’s okay with you.

Pursuing Dreams in That Crazy Thing Called Writing

I went a little crazy with writing last night. I still have not been to sleep! Looks like I’ll be taking a nap with the girls today. So what got me on this writing frenzy, was a publisher I came across. It’s a literary journal, who is currently taking poetry submissions for their themed issue, which is “risk.” they asked writers to submit pieces that are either about taking risk, or for us to take a risk in our writing. Whether it be taking a risk on a topic we’ve never approached, or taking the risk of writing a completely different style of poetry than we’re used to. So at 10pm I started preparing a submission from scratch, which I’ve never had to do. I always pick from what I’ve already written. The first two I wrote were on risky subjects, which quite frankly could get me some harsh judgement, if they actually get published, and people I know read them. I’ll just worry about that later though, or maybe not worry at all. The 3rd one I tried for a different style than I’m used to. When completed I read it, and was shocked to realize it sounded like it came out of a Dr. Suess book. No joke. I’ve never written anything that sounded like it could be for a kid, but I’m not quite sure why I’ve never tried. So of course I got all excited, and the ideas were racing through my head. Why not do a children’s book of little poems? So I started a second children’s poem. That poem turned into a story though, and at 6am I finished, and realized the little story was long enough to be a children’s book on its own! So what did I do last night, while the rest of the world was sleeping? I wrote a freaking book, from start to finish. And then I realized, within the past year, I have written 3 complete books. The Absence of Light, Shadows in Serenity, and finally The Mini Fashionista. I was more shocked than probably anyone to realize, that so much inspiration and motivation, followed by positive outcomes emerged from the terrible tragedy of losing my husband only a little more than a year ago. Somehow after everything I’m happy, my life is great, and I’m pursuing my dreams. God has blessed me tremendously, even in the face of what happened to our family. That my friends, is a fantastic story indeed.

P.S. I’m going the self publishing route for the children’s book, and need someone awesome to illustrate. Artist friends, let me know if you’re interested!

Thought on Creativeness

The most unique creativeness emerges from suffering. Words of elation reach a limit, but words that convey the raw emotion of pain have endless depths.

I’m Happy and Don’t Give a Damn

As sleep once again eludes me, I lie awake tonight (actually extremely early morning) thinking about the double standard of this thing called grief. The double standard of being a young widow.

Last year was rough on me. Big surprise, right? When I was going through those rough times, lots of people acted like I shouldn’t be so miserable with my life. Sure, in the very beginning people understood, but that only lasts so long. After a few months most people moved on from the death for the most part, and they expected me to as well. Lots of people tend to forget that losing your twenty-seven year old husband is nothing like losing a friend, a co-worker, a cousin, a brother-in-law, or a son-in-law. I’m not blaming them, they just don’t understand. People also forget that losing someone to suicide is completely different than losing someone by some other form of death. It just has it’s own set of rules. Rules that suck. My husband chose to die. In that moment he picked death over life with his wife and two little girls. That thought can screw someone up. Especially when that someone is the wife.

It took me a lot longer than people expected for me to be like a normal human being again. I was not myself at all last year, and people that knew me before the death could tell that, and just wanted the old me to come back already. Apparently she was cooler than the version of myself that was always crying, not eating, lying on the couch for hours unable to move from depression. That girl just wasn’t too much fun for others to be around. I can’t imagine why.

Then there are the few people that met me shortly after the death, and somehow still thought I was pretty awesome, and loved me for that broken disheveled girl I was. About four months ago I was driving in the car with one of my really good friends. She happens to be one of the few that met me after. She started talking about how much she loved me, and she’s so blessed to have me in her life, and how great I am. You know, all that good stuff awesome friends say about you that makes you feel good. Then the thought hit me. She doesn’t really know me. At least not the me I was the first twenty-five years of my life. So I looked at her and said “You know, you don’t really know me. Not the real me. This person I’ve been the last year, isn’t who I am. It’s just a broken shell of who I used to be. I’m actually kind of a sarcastic smart ass… Oh crap, I hope you still like me when I’m normal again.” She just busted out in laughter. So far she still likes me, and I think it’s safe to say I’m once again a sarcastic smart ass, so I think she’ll be sticking around.

So now that I’m better, and I’m no longer that broken disheveled girl a lot of people didn’t like as much, everyone should be happy right? You’d think, but unfortunately this isn’t the case. Now there are people who disapprove, because I’m doing a little too well. I shouldn’t be THIS happy. I shouldn’t be having this much fun. I shouldn’t be enjoying my life so damn much.

I was sitting in a diner at two in the morning with my sister the other night, and she made the comment that I seemed more alive and fun than I was even before Chris died. She wasn’t saying it to make me feel bad, she was just happy for me. I had a moment of feeling guilty though after hearing that. As horrible as it sounds, she was right. So honestly, I guess I can’t blame people for judging my happiness. Here I was sitting in a diner with my big sis at two in the morning eating a cheeseburger and fries. I didn’t do this kind of stuff when I was married. I hadn’t done things like this since I was a teenager.

Here’s the thing, anyone who has ever been married knows that marriage takes a lot of work. It’s a job in and of itself. It’s a job most of us (including me) love, and are happy to be working day in and day out, even if sometimes it leaves us feeling exhausted. It’s the same with being parents. We all love being parents, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t kick our ass at times.

I used to have both of these awesome jobs, and loved it like everyone else who is happily married with children. Now, add your spouse having a severe mental illness to that list of jobs. It didn’t change the fact that I was still happily married with children, and loved my life. We’ve established that marriage and parenthood are both a lot of work. So is mental illness. It is a whole lot of freaking work. Unlike marriage and parenting though, mental illness is no fun at all.

Maybe I seem more alive and fun now, because I’m not doing so much work. I went from having three massive jobs, to only having one. That’s a big difference. Right now the only things that need my focus are being a good mom to my kids, and figuring out who I am as a person. Not as a wife. Not as a mom. Just me as a person.

Sometimes we go through life and we forget that we are not only a spouse, parent, child, sibling, and friend. We’re an individual. I forgot that, like so many other people do. I was so caught up in life, and trying to be a good wife and a good mom, that I lost who I was as an individual. Somewhere along the line that fun, crazy acting, sometimes obnoxious girl got pushed to the back burner, and I completely forgot she ever even existed. I don’t know why we all do this, because really it’s not fair to the people in our lives. My husband fell in love with that girl and decided to marry her, obviously he wanted her to stick around.

After Chris’ death, I lost a lot of my identity. I realized I didn’t know who I was anymore outside of being a mom. I was forced to go looking for that girl I used to be, and mesh her with this adult woman who had just been through hell, and create someone new.

I want everyone to know that I was happy being married. I was happy being a wife and mom. I chose that life. It was exactly what I wanted, and I could have lived the rest of my life that way and been completely content. I won’t lie though, I’m also happy now. I kind of like this whole single adult thing. I never experienced that before, and it’s a little exhilarating. I like going out with my friends. I like going to see my favorite bands play. I like staying out late sometimes, when I have a break from being a mom. I like that I’m getting more breaks. Now that I’m doing the parent thing on my own, people want to give me a break from that 24/7 job called parenting, and I’m okay with that.

You know what yesterday was? My anniversary. We would have been together for eight years. I didn’t say anything about it to anyone, because it wasn’t a hard day for me. It was a good day for me. I guess I could have sat home and once again thought about how he isn’t here anymore, and if he was we would be doing this or that. The fact is he’s not here though, and thinking about what we might have done doesn’t help anyone. Besides, doing that just didn’t sound enjoyable. For some reason I’m all about enjoying life right now. So I went to my friends birthday party at a winery. I drank a little too much wine, I forced my friend into smashing her face in her birthday cake under the condition that I would do it at the same time, and I instigated a cake fight. It was a blast.

You may think my life is inappropriate for a young widow. You may think I should still be miserable over my husband’s death, and it’s wrong that I’m enjoying myself. Maybe it is wrong. I don’t think so though. This is the life I’ve been handed. I didn’t choose it, but I can certainly learn to love it. I’ve never been the kind of person that dwells on the negatives. I’ve always liked thinking about the positive things instead. They’re prettier. So yes, of course my life still has negative aspects, but there’s also lots of pretty positive aspects too. I know there will be those who will read this and think less of me, and judge me for how I’m living my life. I also know, I really don’t give a damn.

The Dreaded Grocery Store

Does anyone else wait till it is ABSOLUTELY necessary to go grocery shopping, or is it just me? I’m talking to the point where there really is no other choice, because you’ve run out of things to scrape together to feed your children. The well rounded healthy meals ended a while ago. Snack time has become “Here, you each get a half of a piece of American cheese I found at the bottom of the fruit drawer. It’s probably still good.”

I open the refrigerator to give my kid’s breakfast this morning, and realize we no longer have milk. Or eggs. Or anything resembling something edible to eat for breakfast. There’s some expired bologna I need to throw out, and a jar of applesauce. Applesauce, my saving grace. My kids sat down to a breakfast of applesauce and dry cereal. Dry, because there’s no milk, remember? Thankfully my four year old is weird and prefers her cereal dry and never wants milk, so there was no complaining from her. My two year old on the other hand looked at me like I’d lost my freaking mind when I served her cereal with no milk. She sat staring at the dry bowl filled with applejacks with a look of disgusted confusion on her face. She slowly pushed the bowl of cereal to the side with the tip of one finger, like she couldn’t even bring herself to touch the monstrosity I called breakfast. She opted for multiple bowls of applesauce instead.

Before there was kids in my house, I used to do my grocery shopping on the weekends with my husband. We’d plan out our meals, make a list, grab some lunch and then hit the store together. It was no big deal. It could actually be enjoyable at times. Now that I’m a single mom to two little girls, this is not the case. So why is it that we hate going to the dreaded grocery store now that we have kids?

Could it be that we now have to lug around little mini dictators who spend the whole trip yelling and screaming out demands on what they want to buy?

Or that they always end up sneaking things in the cart when you’re not looking, so that when you get to the check-out there is no less than five things that you are positive you did not put in your cart?

Could it be the stupid carts that you always seem to get, that you swear need a front end alignment, because it always wants to roll to the left? By the end of the trip your right arm is killing you from holding it firmly the entire time to keep it going in a straight line. It probably doesn’t help matters that you most likely now have tiny maniacs hanging on the sides of it as well.

Or maybe it’s the full blown melt down tantrums that occur when you tell your toddler “No, I’m sorry, but you cannot have the mega bag of candy.”

Or it could be the dirty looks from strangers you receive, because instead of giving in to your child you stand calmly watching them kick and scream and roll around on the floor, like the freaking world has just ended.

Then there are the passerby’s who are stupid enough to actually say something about the situation. “Do you realize your child is on the floor screaming? Don’t you think you should do something about that?” Which will typically cause a death stare from your eyes followed by “Really?! Thank you so much for informing me of that, I hadn’t noticed my child was screaming like a banshee as they kick their legs and roll around on the floor next to my feet. You’re so considerate to let me know. You’re right, I probably should do something about that, but if I start spanking their ass you’ll probably call child services on me, so I’ll wait till I get home to do that.” This usually causes a shocked look followed by some mumbling about how you should just let them have what they want. Yes, because letting my toddler inhale a massive bag of candy will make me a much better mother.

Don’t get discouraged though, there is one plus side to this whole experience. You no longer need to make that annoying shopping list, you’ll probably forget at home anyway. You waited so long to go shopping in the first place, you now need everything.

I Remember…

As I sit here on the one year anniversary of my husband’s death, I remember that night and all the many horrors it contained.

I remember the blank look on his face, as I begged him to tell me what was wrong.

I remember the realization that this man was no longer my husband, as he tackled me to the bed and I had to fight to defend myself.

I remember rolling off the bed and landing on the floor, as he violently shook me, slamming my head into the hardware floor each time.

I remember the flash of a thought in my mind, about how I had always wondered what it would feel like if I had to try to fight off a man to keep him from hurting me, and how I never imagined that man would be my husband.

I remember the relief of knowing how to defend myself, and to be standing on my feet once again.

I remember the sound of shattered glass, and blood splattering our bedroom when he punched the window pain.

I remember him screaming that he was going to get my phone so I couldn’t call for help, and realizing I actually needed help.

I remember chasing him down the stairs, as the walls and stairs were being covered with blood from his hand.

I remember being the one to tackle him to the floor in our living room, and prying my cell phone out of his bloody clenched hand.

I remember my shaking hands as I sat on our bed hysterical and tried to dial my parent’s number.

I remember watching in confusion as Chris walked up the stairs, and said “Your parents won’t be able to help you this time” as he got our loaded pistol out of the lock box, and clicked the safety off.

I remember the feel of the cold hard steel of my own 9mm pistol pressed firmly against my head, and the shine of the open blade in his hand.

I remember the terror that overwhelmed me at having a loaded gun to my head, and a knife glistening in my line of sight. I’d never known real fear until that moment.

I remember realizing I was going to die, and would never see my babies again, as I stared into my husband’s hate filled eyes and begged him to spare me.

I remember the look in his eyes when he snapped out of his psychosis state and became himself again, but at the time I didn’t know he was once again my loving husband.

I remember the knife hitting the floor, and him taking the clip out of the pistol and throwing them both across the room.

I remember him turning his back to me to walk into the dressing room. This was the last time I saw him.

I remember the sound of a rifle being loaded, and still thinking I was going to die.

I remember racing down the stairs, grabbing my youngest out of bed and taking her in my oldest daughter’s bedroom, as I locked the door and blocked it with furniture.

I remember thinking no matter what, I would do whatever it took to keep these little girls safe.

I remember the sound of the gun shot, and at the time not knowing it was a gun shot.

I remember sitting in that locked up room for over an hour, terrified of what might happen to us.

I remember climbing through the bedroom window, and running barefoot down the street to safety, as cops surrounded my house.

I remember sitting in the police station for hours by myself, as I worried about the police hurting my husband, if I had enough money to bail him out of jail, and what hospital I would admit him in to get help.

I remember the relief I felt when the police chief finally came in to talk to me, as I bombarded him with questions about my husband.

I remember that relief quickly fading as his eyes filled with tears, and he said the 13 words that would forever change my life “I’m so sorry Mrs. Deason, your husband took his own life. He’s dead.”

I remember the crying and screaming that erupted from me as I wrapped my arms around myself, to try to hold myself together, because I truly felt like I was breaking into a million pieces.

I remember the numbness that followed the screaming, as one by one my family members collapsed to pieces when they heard the news.

I remember the images of how things looked when they ended for my husband.

I remember seeing his body lying in his underwear on top of his rifle.

I remember the image of his head. Or lack thereof.

I remember the blood. So much blood. The enormous amounts of blood covering the walls, ceiling, and floor.

I remember the bits and chunks of flesh stuck to the walls and floor, nowhere near his body.

I remember when I realized the reason why my husband made the choice to shoot himself in the head with a 30o6 rifle.

I remember knowing that I could never be angry with him, because he did it to protect me. To protect our daughters. He did it, because he loved us enough to sacrifice himself for our safety.

I remember everything.

7 Things You Should Never Say To a Grieving Widow

As I laid awake in bed yesterday morning waiting for my kids to wake up, I started thinking about all the ridiculous things that have been said to me this past year. These are by far the 7 worst things I have heard as a grieving widow. Take note, so you know to never say anything like this to someone who is grieving.

1. “The second plan that God has for your life will be better than the first, and the second man that God has for you will be a better man than Chris was.” This was said to me at my husband’s funeral visitation as I stood next to his casket. As my hand clinched into a fist, someone overheard what she said and quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her away from me. I suppose it’s a good thing they did, because in all honesty I would have punched the bitch in the face. That’s probably not acceptable behavior for a widow at her husband’s wake though.

2. “Is that Adelaide in the background? What’s wrong with you?! Shut up, and stop crying! You don’t need to be crying in front of your kids!” A conversation on the phone right after I got home from planning my twenty-seven year old husband’s funeral.

3. “I’ll pray for his soul.” My husband was a born again Christian, the fact that he shot himself did not negate that. And if your ridiculous thought process just happened to be true, what exactly are you praying for? You can’t pray someone out of hell.

4. “I’m so jealous of you. I’m jealous your husband loved you enough to shoot himself. My husband acted crazy sometimes and was an asshole, and he never loved me enough to shoot himself, he just divorced me.” I’m sorry, WHAT?! Seriously?? For your information, I would much rather my husband and the father of my children be alive and well, even if it meant we were no longer married.

5. “Oh, you’re still upset about that?” You mean am I still upset my husband and the father of my children tragically died? Yeah, I guess I am.

6.“You must be relieved you no longer have to deal with a husband who has a mental illness.” Relieved? No, I can’t say that’s something I have felt about this situation.

7. “Well at least you don’t have to sleep with the same man for the rest of your life.” Yes, because that’s exactly what I’m thinking about. How many men I can potentially screw, now that I’m no longer married.

REMEMBER, THINK BEFORE YOU OPEN YOUR MOUTH AND SPEW SOME STUPID BULLSHIT.