Mood: pretty decent
Music: Evanescence - Anything for You
Can you tell I hate coming up with blog post titles?
Well, Christmas went well. A couple days before, I had this wonderful sense of peace and calm. A rare gift at any time of year, and absolutely unheard of during the holidays. I was happy with the gifts I'd gotten everyone, and didn't care that hubby kept saying he felt bad that I wasn't getting much this year. It just didn't matter to me (still doesn't). I had finished the afghan for my mother (she loves it), and I actually got everything wrapped on the 23rd. Christmas Eve was, for once, not spent wrapping gifts at the last minute. Amazing!
After all was said and done, and the girls were picked up by their dad, Mom and hubby and I sat around Mom's kitchen table and talked. The topic turned to Dad, and Mom brought up that she still wanted to talk to Dad's second wife, who was there when Dad died (she was renting a room from Dad and his girlfriend). Mom said she couldn't understand why the second wife (let's call her V), who was a nurse's aid for years, let Dad go 24 hours complaining of chest and arm pain and not feeling well before he died.
My jaw hit the floor, I think. That's not at all what I'd been told by V about Dad's death. I'd been told it had been pretty sudden. She lied to me, and I won't even go into what that's done to my opinion of her. She's made it to the Unforgiven list, let's just leave it at that.
To think that V should have recognized the signs and either didn't or ignored them.... I'm speechless. Come on, ask anyone what the symptoms of a heart attack are and one of the first things they'll tell you is chest pain, and right behind that is pain radiating down one or both arms. I can't help but think that Dad would be alive right now if V had gotten him help. He'd never had any more trouble than high blood pressure, which he was taking medication for. I think nowadays men are more likely to survive a first heart attack than not. If I felt cheated before, that's nothing to how I feel now.
But...at the same time, knowing this doesn't bring him back. I can be angry and upset and hurt all over again, but...he's still gone. I don't know if that helps or not. In a way, I'm angry that it doesn't change anything. I mean, shouldn't he get a do-over or something? It's not fair. It's just not fair....
*takes a break to compose herself*
Okay. That was painful. But on to better news. I get the girls back from their dad today! I miss them so much; the house is just too quiet without them. And little man misses them terribly, too. He wouldn't go to bed Christmas night - he told me he was waiting for the girls to get home. I finally, at about 2:30am, got him to understand that they wouldn't be home for a few days, and he went to bed. He wasn't happy, but he slept. He's been asking about them every day since then, and when he found out last night that they are coming home today, he was thrilled. This morning I was greeted with "Good morning, Mommy! We go get the girls? I get my shoes!". Hated to tell him we don't leave until this afternoon, the little guy is so excited.
Well, I should fix some lunch and get ready to hit the road. Two and a 1/4 hour drive this time, since the ex doesn't seem to have the gas money to meet me halfway. So, I get to meet his girlfriend on her way to work, about 30 minutes away from their house, toward our house. Lovely. Don't get me started on his girlfriend, she pokes her nose in where it doesn't belong far too often, and one of these days I'm just gonna lay her out.
Damn, that thought makes me smile.
Showing posts with label Ghosts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ghosts. Show all posts
Happy Frippin' Holidays
Sunday, December 14, 2008
It's been ages since I wrote last, I know. But I had decided to let this blog just die out, like so many before it. Don't ask why I do that. I don't have the answer, and maybe it really doesn't matter in the long run.
I do know that I only seem to write when things are bad. I can't really write cheerful, perky crap. It's just not me. And I write best when it comes from somewhere deep, and the only time I get to that deep place is when something forces the lock on that door open. Because it is usually firmly locked, to keep That Which Must Not Win from consuming me entirely.
Anyway, back to the topic of this poor excuse of a post.
We put the Christmas tree up today. I do this with some reluctance in these years since Grandma died on Christmas morning. I used to love Christmas. Now, I endure it. I hope someday I come to a place where Christmas will let me remember her with love and fondness, rather than with pain and sorrow.
So anyway, while we were putting up the artificial tree (I dislike real ones), I had Dad in the back of my mind. He and I used to assemble our family's tree together when I was a kid. So there's the subconscious weight of Dad's memory in my head, and the three strange dreams I had this morning are still rippling the waters of my mind, and the girls won't stop bickering. I mean -constantly- at each other. And then daughter 12 told daughter 9 that their stepdad doesn't control her actions. And I blew up at her. I told her that as long as she lives in this house, and until she is old enough to support herself and be on her own, we WILL be controlling her actions. And if she chooses to demonstrate that she can be responsible and mature, she will be given more control over her own life. But until then, she can empty the damned dishwasher like she's told!
Well, that settled down a bit, and I went back to putting lights on the tree while the girls continued to bicker over the dishes. Finally, lights on tree, dishes done, I told the girls they could now decorate the tree. I came back to my computer and was checking on Holy War stuff, when I heard a small thud combined with the soft sound of fine glass breaking.
Little man, age 4, had gotten past the girls to 'help', and had dropped a large hand-blown glass ornament that was still in its box, and the ornament had broken. I got up and took the box, and couldn't say anything for the tears rolling down my cheeks.
Dad had given me that ornament, years and years ago.
That ornament had survived three 800-mile moves between PA and NC, plenty of shorter moves, years of being put on the tree, and several cat-induced tree tipovers. And in the blink of a four year old's eye, the slip of his fingers, the short drop to the ground from his hand....it's gone.
And he's too little to understand the blow he's dealt to his mother's grieving heart, and why.
I do know that I only seem to write when things are bad. I can't really write cheerful, perky crap. It's just not me. And I write best when it comes from somewhere deep, and the only time I get to that deep place is when something forces the lock on that door open. Because it is usually firmly locked, to keep That Which Must Not Win from consuming me entirely.
Anyway, back to the topic of this poor excuse of a post.
We put the Christmas tree up today. I do this with some reluctance in these years since Grandma died on Christmas morning. I used to love Christmas. Now, I endure it. I hope someday I come to a place where Christmas will let me remember her with love and fondness, rather than with pain and sorrow.
So anyway, while we were putting up the artificial tree (I dislike real ones), I had Dad in the back of my mind. He and I used to assemble our family's tree together when I was a kid. So there's the subconscious weight of Dad's memory in my head, and the three strange dreams I had this morning are still rippling the waters of my mind, and the girls won't stop bickering. I mean -constantly- at each other. And then daughter 12 told daughter 9 that their stepdad doesn't control her actions. And I blew up at her. I told her that as long as she lives in this house, and until she is old enough to support herself and be on her own, we WILL be controlling her actions. And if she chooses to demonstrate that she can be responsible and mature, she will be given more control over her own life. But until then, she can empty the damned dishwasher like she's told!
Well, that settled down a bit, and I went back to putting lights on the tree while the girls continued to bicker over the dishes. Finally, lights on tree, dishes done, I told the girls they could now decorate the tree. I came back to my computer and was checking on Holy War stuff, when I heard a small thud combined with the soft sound of fine glass breaking.
Little man, age 4, had gotten past the girls to 'help', and had dropped a large hand-blown glass ornament that was still in its box, and the ornament had broken. I got up and took the box, and couldn't say anything for the tears rolling down my cheeks.
Dad had given me that ornament, years and years ago.
That ornament had survived three 800-mile moves between PA and NC, plenty of shorter moves, years of being put on the tree, and several cat-induced tree tipovers. And in the blink of a four year old's eye, the slip of his fingers, the short drop to the ground from his hand....it's gone.
And he's too little to understand the blow he's dealt to his mother's grieving heart, and why.
Labels:
Family,
Ghosts,
Moody Rants
Dreamfest '08 (yes, that's sarcasm)
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
More dreams last night. These ones had my sister, ex-husband, and I think either my mother or my one remaining grandmother was in there, too. Maybe occupying the same figure and switching back and forth.
At one point, my sister and I were driving in Erie. It was dark and raining, and I was trying to remember how to get places, and taking wrong turns. She was sort of laughing, sort of impatient about it.
At another point, we were in my dead grandma's old house, but she was recently dead. We were spending a lot of time there, having to stay there overnight and such, and my sister and I changed the sheets on what had been Grandma's bed, and shared it.
I dreamed we were later standing in the kitchen, and looking at the floor. The vinyl was in bad shape, which would have been so not Grandma. But that's when my ex was suddenly standing there, looking at the floor and talking about laying tile (he's a professional tile man).
There was a dog, which was odd, because -that- grandmother didn't have a dog, the other one does. The dog's water dish had been put on the back porch for reasons we were speculating about, with me saying that 'she probably didn't want to damage the floor with spilled water'. I moved the dog's water dish into the kitchen, next to his food dishes on the floor in an out-of-the-way corner.
Then someone...I knew them in the dream, but don't remember who it was now, came up to the back porch and said something like "The gray board from Mr. So-and-so's shed is gone again." (I heard the name in the dream, but don't remember it now). It seemed important that the piece of gray wood in an otherwise white shed kept getting swiped. Interestingly, this shed and the gray piece of wood show up in other dreams - where it's called to my attention that the gray board is gone. And it always seems to be disturbing news.
This is all getting old. I feel like I've gotten on a ride at an amusement park, only nobody told me until we were strapped in and started moving that it's the worlds' longest roller coaster.
At one point, my sister and I were driving in Erie. It was dark and raining, and I was trying to remember how to get places, and taking wrong turns. She was sort of laughing, sort of impatient about it.
At another point, we were in my dead grandma's old house, but she was recently dead. We were spending a lot of time there, having to stay there overnight and such, and my sister and I changed the sheets on what had been Grandma's bed, and shared it.
I dreamed we were later standing in the kitchen, and looking at the floor. The vinyl was in bad shape, which would have been so not Grandma. But that's when my ex was suddenly standing there, looking at the floor and talking about laying tile (he's a professional tile man).
There was a dog, which was odd, because -that- grandmother didn't have a dog, the other one does. The dog's water dish had been put on the back porch for reasons we were speculating about, with me saying that 'she probably didn't want to damage the floor with spilled water'. I moved the dog's water dish into the kitchen, next to his food dishes on the floor in an out-of-the-way corner.
Then someone...I knew them in the dream, but don't remember who it was now, came up to the back porch and said something like "The gray board from Mr. So-and-so's shed is gone again." (I heard the name in the dream, but don't remember it now). It seemed important that the piece of gray wood in an otherwise white shed kept getting swiped. Interestingly, this shed and the gray piece of wood show up in other dreams - where it's called to my attention that the gray board is gone. And it always seems to be disturbing news.
This is all getting old. I feel like I've gotten on a ride at an amusement park, only nobody told me until we were strapped in and started moving that it's the worlds' longest roller coaster.
Still broken
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
I think I must have some part of me that got broken inside when Dad died. It's in there, dangling by a wire, and rattles around when I move through life. And sometimes it unexpectedly gets hung up in other parts, and causes problems.
And sometimes, like now, I just feel like I'm filled with broken glass and it hurts no matter which direction I go. Dad has been in my dreams lately, which puts him on my mind a lot, which brings him into more of my dreams....it's a vicious cycle that is wearing me down and hurting me and making me start to avoid sleep unless I think I'm too tired to dream. And it's all taking a toll on my ability to think clearly, to make decisions, to even type. Holding conversations is difficult, at best. I can't keep doing this, but I don't know how to stop. I don't know how to make this grief leave me alone.
It's been like this for a couple weeks now, and I don't know how much more I can take. I'm tired on so many levels, but it seems I cannot rest easy. There is no comfort, no peace of mind, no restful sleep. I crawl out of bed exhausted with only a minute to spare before I have to take the kids to school. Thankfully, that stops in one week. Maybe if I can just keep pushing until then, I will finally get some rest...once I fall into exhausted sleep, I'll be able to sleep as long as I really need. I hope.
And sometimes, like now, I just feel like I'm filled with broken glass and it hurts no matter which direction I go. Dad has been in my dreams lately, which puts him on my mind a lot, which brings him into more of my dreams....it's a vicious cycle that is wearing me down and hurting me and making me start to avoid sleep unless I think I'm too tired to dream. And it's all taking a toll on my ability to think clearly, to make decisions, to even type. Holding conversations is difficult, at best. I can't keep doing this, but I don't know how to stop. I don't know how to make this grief leave me alone.
It's been like this for a couple weeks now, and I don't know how much more I can take. I'm tired on so many levels, but it seems I cannot rest easy. There is no comfort, no peace of mind, no restful sleep. I crawl out of bed exhausted with only a minute to spare before I have to take the kids to school. Thankfully, that stops in one week. Maybe if I can just keep pushing until then, I will finally get some rest...once I fall into exhausted sleep, I'll be able to sleep as long as I really need. I hope.
Labels:
Ghosts
A visit from Dad
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
I woke up crying this morning. I had hit snooze a couple times, still mostly asleep, dropping back into a dream.
In the dream, I was talking to someone I knew, in the dining room of a house that seems to appear in my dreams at times. There was a little TV in the room, and it was showing one of the "Beethoven" movies. They showed the woman standing with some people on the porch of a yellow house with white trim, like she was a realtor showing the house to clients. I said "Hey, that looks like my grandma's house" and the camera pulled back, showing the house number as 174, and turned to show the open ball field, basketball court, pool and playground across the street, and I gasped, "That IS my grandma's house!". It was exciting to me, because I love that house, and to see it had been used in a movie was just cool. (Note: I don't know if a similar house ever was really used in the movie, and I'll have to look and see if the house number was 174 - I sort of doubt it was, but I'm not sure what other significance that number may have)
Well, the sight of the house started me reminiscing about 'grandma's house', and some of the little nooks and crannies Dad and I had found there, etc. (Thing is, these nooks, crannies, and passageways were part of 'grandma's house' that exists only in my dreams, and doesn't really look like Grandma's real house - it is a house that I've never seen or been to, but know very well. Dad and I have explored and done work in this 'dream house'. In my dreams, I know for a 'fact' that it is grandma's house, though.) I was telling about finding a narrow hidden passageway that zigzagged up the side of the house, between what people thought was the outer wall and what was really the outer wall. This led to more reminiscing, most of it things Dad and I had done that had made an impression on me. Like the time we were doing plumbing under our store in Elgin, PA, and found in the crawlspace a cut passageway tall enough to walk upright in, and a small room at the end. The room had old wood saloon doors on it, and inside I could see a wooden rocking chair and some shelves with mason jars. Dad and I think it was a little Prohibition-era thing, but we never knew for sure. It was just an amazing discovery (and a real one, not a dream one).
At some point between the tellings of my stories, the dream showed the room I was in again, only now I was in a small room with a bed, and I was sitting on the edge of the bed, and there were two doorways on the wall in front of me. The left doorway led to the rest of the house, and the right doorway was to another very small room, where Dad was sitting in a chair at a table, listening to me tell the stories. He seemed a little upset and said "You know, you can put all the coins and stuff we found, all the treasures, in a pile and take a picture, and it would be just as good to say 'here's what we found'." (I don't know what he means about the coins) And I just looked at him and said "No, Dad - it's not about the stuff..." and paused, then said "What I'm trying to say is 'Thank you for making it fun'." And I looked down, and I was packing a six-pack of pop into a black nylon cooler for him, just as I heard myself say in the most pain-filled, heartbroken voice "You can't DO this to me.." as I began to cry. I glanced up and saw him laying on a bed or something on the floor, just before I was lifted up through layers of consciousness to become aware of myself clutching a pillow....and crying.
I lay in bed this morning and sobbed until I had to get up and take the kids to school. And as I write this, the tears fall more. I miss my Daddy.
In the dream, I was talking to someone I knew, in the dining room of a house that seems to appear in my dreams at times. There was a little TV in the room, and it was showing one of the "Beethoven" movies. They showed the woman standing with some people on the porch of a yellow house with white trim, like she was a realtor showing the house to clients. I said "Hey, that looks like my grandma's house" and the camera pulled back, showing the house number as 174, and turned to show the open ball field, basketball court, pool and playground across the street, and I gasped, "That IS my grandma's house!". It was exciting to me, because I love that house, and to see it had been used in a movie was just cool. (Note: I don't know if a similar house ever was really used in the movie, and I'll have to look and see if the house number was 174 - I sort of doubt it was, but I'm not sure what other significance that number may have)
Well, the sight of the house started me reminiscing about 'grandma's house', and some of the little nooks and crannies Dad and I had found there, etc. (Thing is, these nooks, crannies, and passageways were part of 'grandma's house' that exists only in my dreams, and doesn't really look like Grandma's real house - it is a house that I've never seen or been to, but know very well. Dad and I have explored and done work in this 'dream house'. In my dreams, I know for a 'fact' that it is grandma's house, though.) I was telling about finding a narrow hidden passageway that zigzagged up the side of the house, between what people thought was the outer wall and what was really the outer wall. This led to more reminiscing, most of it things Dad and I had done that had made an impression on me. Like the time we were doing plumbing under our store in Elgin, PA, and found in the crawlspace a cut passageway tall enough to walk upright in, and a small room at the end. The room had old wood saloon doors on it, and inside I could see a wooden rocking chair and some shelves with mason jars. Dad and I think it was a little Prohibition-era thing, but we never knew for sure. It was just an amazing discovery (and a real one, not a dream one).
At some point between the tellings of my stories, the dream showed the room I was in again, only now I was in a small room with a bed, and I was sitting on the edge of the bed, and there were two doorways on the wall in front of me. The left doorway led to the rest of the house, and the right doorway was to another very small room, where Dad was sitting in a chair at a table, listening to me tell the stories. He seemed a little upset and said "You know, you can put all the coins and stuff we found, all the treasures, in a pile and take a picture, and it would be just as good to say 'here's what we found'." (I don't know what he means about the coins) And I just looked at him and said "No, Dad - it's not about the stuff..." and paused, then said "What I'm trying to say is 'Thank you for making it fun'." And I looked down, and I was packing a six-pack of pop into a black nylon cooler for him, just as I heard myself say in the most pain-filled, heartbroken voice "You can't DO this to me.." as I began to cry. I glanced up and saw him laying on a bed or something on the floor, just before I was lifted up through layers of consciousness to become aware of myself clutching a pillow....and crying.
I lay in bed this morning and sobbed until I had to get up and take the kids to school. And as I write this, the tears fall more. I miss my Daddy.
Labels:
Ghosts
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