24 Years Ago

Sometimes it feels like 100 years ago, and sometimes it feels like just yesterday that I married my soul mate and love of my life.

Our 25+ years together has been bumpy, rocky and sometimes seemingly impassable, but here we are one year shy of our silver anniversary.  I can only attribute that to the both of us growing into stronger and more forgiving people, and having faith.

Twenty-five years ago my mother told me we would never last. She blamed John for almost killing me after I was very near death from a tubal pregnancy. She sat my then fiance' down and told him I was damaged goods and he deserved better because I had been sexually abused- right in front of me like I wasn't even there, meanwhile John sat calmly and let her finish, then told her plainly that I had told him EVERYTHING about my childhood. Her sabotage didn't work, thank God, because I had been completely honest with him in our first week of dating.

She made me change my wedding date 4 different times because she had plans, unwilling to change her plans for my wedding. She took control of my wedding planning and told John he could only invite 15 people out of 250 invites because she was going to pay for the reception as a gift. She eventually threw me a wedding shower but then kept all the gifts that I had stored at their house while I was in the Navy, all because John argued that 15 people were not enough from his side. She cancelled the wedding reception, kept my shower gifts AND told me she had prayed and God told her she (and the rest of my family)  wasn't allowed to go to the wedding... then lied to my brothers that because I was mad I had uninvited all of them.

My mother's pastor grudgingly held our wedding ceremony in a dirty church with small pieces of lint and paper scraps in the aisle, after my mother - I am sure- told him how I had been disrespectful to her. He didn't look at me a single time during the wedding ceremony, which was certainly rushed and maybe lasted 10-15 minutes. He glanced at John a few times but only looked over my head.

None of my immediate family came to our wedding, but my mother's sister and her family came, including my aunt's in-laws who let us call them "granny" and "gramps" as kids. My art teacher from high school came, I was and still am so very touched she would do that for me. We had navy friends there, and John had quite a few family members that flew and drove from Iowa and Virginia. I had my great grandmother and some high school friends who showed up for me as well.

We had about maybe 40 people show up to our wedding, but some of the guests did not go to the reception. All in all, we spent 1000.00 for our wedding, my off the rack wedding dress costing just under half of that. The rest was spent on flowers, a 2 tier wedding cake and flowers we ordered from a grocery store, and John and his brother's tuxedo rentals. Luckily a family friend and mom of one of my high school classmates had heard about how my mother had treated us and she graciously approached John and I about having our reception at her house near her pool, and she and another family friend bought and cooked the food for us for a measly 100.00. What a blessing that was!

When it came time for the wedding to begin, I almost had a nervous breakdown because John decided that arriving 5 minutes before the ceremony was supposed to start was completely appropriate! I figured after all the craziness he has experienced from my family during our 11 month engagement, he had probably gotten cold feet.

I still missed having my family there, but was very thankful for the family that did show up; my aunt and her family, and my art teacher- who secretly I had always wished had been my cool and quirky mom. I was very blessed to have had a father-in-law who had been sweet enough to ask me if he could walk me down the aisle, even though we hadn't met yet.

The first 25 years of our relationship- just like our wedding day- has been bitter sweet, but mostly sweet. I willingly give my husband most of the credit, though. He knows how genuinely messed up I am and loves me despite all of it. He knows me like no other, he knows all of my dark secrets. Every. Single. One. And I am almost positive that I know all of his. We are both damaged from our childhoods. Sometimes we can be rough around the edges but we manage to love each other through it, because we see value in all that we have conquered in the past.

What makes our relationship continue to grow despite rough patches? I think it's because our valleys have been so low at times that it makes the high points that much higher. It's the bitter in the bittersweet that makes it all that much richer and sweeter.

My younger brother told me a few years ago that considering I was the black sheep of the family, he had always thought that I would be the one married 3 times with all sorts of kids. We both had a good laugh out of that since he and my older brother have both been married 3 times each, and here I am chugging along in my imperfect but lengthy marriage.

From meager and troubled beginnings we came... A 19 year old bride and a 21 year old groom.We were talking last night in bed, just an hour into our official 24th anniversary. Looking back, we would have still kept our wedding small if it meant we would do it our way, on our terms.

OR used that 1000.00 to get married in Vegas. *wink*

To my husband, The Male Income Support Unit:

I love you, John. Thank you for loving me when I was unlovable, forgiving me when I was unforgivable, and for understanding my crazy from it's deepest roots. Thank you for giving me 3 adorable kids and 25 years.


The first 25 years have been a doozy... I can't wait to see where we go from here! All I can say is it better not involve me getting pregnant again.


Love,

Me

Well, it looks like it's that time of year again!

It has been brought to my attention that I am seriously over due for a blog update, by one of the people I care about most in this world- my best friend Monique. She is right, so here I am at 7 am, at task.

This last 12 months has been something else, a lot of good and a lot of "Seriously???"

In the last year I lost a relationship (said good bye to an odd and nearly one sided friendship), became best friends with one of the most amazing people on the planet, saw my fledgling business alternately struggle and soar- oddly within weeks of each other, ignited a spark in troubled family relationships and watched as the spark went out ... yet again. I was featured in a news paper article, on the front page of my local newspaper mid December 2012 for being a local artisan who sells globally, like on Etsy. And of course I was diagnosed with a syndrome that will forever affect the quality of my life last April, fibromyalgia.

As always, like for most people, the coming of the new year brings a mixture of joy and dread. The possibility, the dream of starting anew tainted with an obscene amount of self flagellation, self-absorbed pondering, regret and eventually desperate resolutions.

Over the last week and a half I have emotionally flogged myself for not being what others want me to be, for failing to meet their expectations, for not fitting the mold they envision for me. I have wondered about my short comings, what I could have possibly done to have been tossed aside yet again, what I could do to make them want me a part of their lives again.

I told my husband last night that I do not want to be like the person previously mentioned who once had been my friend. I ended that relationship because it was no longer a giving/receiving relationship, I feel it turned into me mostly giving.

 Since ending it- which ended in this person refusing to see that it was over, and with her contacting me on every mode of communication on the internet ( Twitter, Youtube, mine, my husband and daughter, and my other friends Facebook accounts, Etsy, all of my email accounts, my husbands email, texts to my phone and my husband's cell), this person has pretty much cyber stalked me. I clearly told her over each mode of communication that I did not want a relationship with her anymore, and yet she persisted, to the point of me telling her I would call the police if she did not stop harassing me.

To date, over the last 11 months I still have received 3 or more messages/emails above and beyond about 50 communications already mentioned via messages, emails and texts. Which boggles my mind. Why would a person continue to pursue a relationship where she was so clearly not wanted anymore?

Last night I realized I was that person. I have people in my life who would rather be done with me. I know by their actions, their behavior towards me, their lack of wanting to communicate with me... and some of these people are my family.

Over the last week and a half I have beat myself up for not being who they want me to be. Wondered what I could change to make them want me back in their lives. I felt as though they were trying to fit me into a vessel of their choosing, in a shape they desired, and I desperately tried to squeeze myself into that vessel.

Last night this made perfect sense to me: I am a vessel in my own right. Yes I am human, and my vessel is flaked and cracked, scratched and stained... but what some people would  find distressed and damaged other people have found "antiqued" and charming, maybe even shabby chic *smile*.

Why would I continue to waste my time and energy on being someone and something I am not? Why try to squeeze myself into their mold of who they think I should be, then be disappointed along with them that I don't fit in that shiny new vessel they want for me?

Fighting back tears momentarily while talking with my husband in the wee hours, in the comfort of darkness and our bed, all of this dawned on me.

For this new year I choose to stop wasting time on trying to be the person other people want me to be. I have decided to stop of wasting energy metaphorically trying to fit my plus sized body into skinny jeans to please other people. Instead of trying to be a better, different person I am going to take that energy and focus on being a better me. 

I will repair this vessel. I will fill in the cracks, sand it, maybe put on a new lacquer that enhances the beauty of who I am, instead of chiseling away at myself or painting over everything and losing who I am. I can be a better me: a better wife, friend and mother.

So my reader, this is my wish for you as well for this new year. My wish for you and I is that instead of beating ourselves up with resolutions, hating bad habits and shortcomings we feel about ourselves or imagine what other people see in us...

My wish for us is a year of self acceptance and love, along with a little sanding and buffing.

Be flawed. Embrace your patina, chips and cracks because after all they are what make you uniquely you.

Peace, love and laquer to you,

Mary

That's like bringing a knife to a gun fight

Why is it that family is like the sharpest knife, cutting the deepest wounds?

Tommorrow I am supposed to go to the MIL's Lia Sophia party.... BUT, last night we saw her at Target walking around with her boyfriends granddaughter, bent over talking all cozy with her. We managed to get in and get out with what we needed without even bumping into her. The kids were crushed to see their Nana- who doesn't make time to see them except a few MINUTES every 2 weeks or so- covorting with another little girl. Emma said, "Momma, it makes me sad seeing Nana with that girl... it's awful." John and I were so upset that our kids felt so hurt.

I wonder though, had I not made such a big deal out of it, what would the girls have said about it? I was just so mad and hurt on their behalf, I wanted to lay in to her right there in Target! Anna was supposed to walk with John to the electronic department but once I saw her walking with Steve's granddaughter I said nope, stay with me. Later I explained that I didn't want her to have to face her grandma with those raw emotions... Anna doesn't deserve to see her with another kid and have to try to swallow the uncomfortable-ness and tension, the hurt and anger.

We have told the MIL that we don't want the girls going out with her and Steve alone without us, or being over at her apartment with the possibility of them being alone with him. I don't know him and I refuse to risk anything, I could never live with myself. The problem is that when they were dating again (before he moved in with the MIL) almost a year ago, Anna spent the night. The MIL never told us that he might be coming over, even though she knows how I am about my girls being around strange men. After Anna came home from the sleep over I found out that the MIL had left Anna alone with her BF while she took a shower, etc. SO, I broached the subject with the MIL by saying that Anna should never be left alone with him, just to see what she would say. She said,"No, of course not."

She basically lied to me by not telling me that it had already happened, so right then and there I decided to put a stop to sleep overs since she has proven time and time again that she makes bad choices, especially when it comes to my kids. I also explained that the kids would not be over at her apartment- especially after he moved in- unless we were there.

More recently, about 2 1/2 months ago, she asked if she could take the girls shopping and reluctantly we said yes. She shows up to pick them up with her BF. I was at work so I had no idea, but John let them go, which I was kind of pissed about. She ambushed us with this, purposely because if she shows up with him, what are we supposed to say right?

She does this kind of thing all the time. I or John will lay down the law and later she claims she doesn't remember having that conversation. It makes me so mad! It reminds me of my mother... "I'm certified nuts so I can act like an idiot and not even try because I can get away with doing these things (and stop taking my medication) and not have to be accountable." ONLY her (the MIL) thing is, "You never said that, we never talked about this-OR- I don't remember you saying that." GRRR.

Anyway, Anna was supposed to go with me to the party, but now neither of us want to go and it's tomorrow. John said he's going to talk to her about it and let her know how hurt the girls were, but in the mean time I have to figure out what to say our reason is for not coming without lying about it, so as to not make a bad example for my kids.

I just can't tell you how hard it is to hear your 3 1/2 yr old say how "awful" it feels to be crushed by your own grandma. And how hard it is to hear your 7 yr old talk about how hurt and angry she is. I just want to "blow her away" verbally and be done with her sometimes. I want to knock that "knife" out of her hands forever, but John doesn't think that that is the right answer. I know it has mostly to do with the kids not having any grandparents, and Emma missing out (but isn't she already missing out?), and how uncomfortable things will be at family gatherings (like the last time we didn't talk to the MIL for 4-5 months after she threw a bucket of water in Anna's face)... I just don't know how to fix this.

How do you fix something with a person who believes she is always right , and never does anything wrong? This is exactly the dilemma I had with the egg donor, and exactly why I estranged myself from her. The MIL is so like my mother (the egg donor) sometimes, and it makes me angry that after divorcing myself from the E.D. that I still have to put up with pretty much the same.... STUFF.

Now I have to deal with not making a bad example for my kids by lying to get out of an uncomfortable situation.

And I am struggling with forgiveness as a Christian... But that's another load of dirty laundry.

What to do when your 6 year old child says "I hate you"

I have always known that Anna is a bit ahead of the curve in maturity and brain cells. Bearing that in mind I have also always known that eventually and inevitably the day would come when she said those dreaded words.

I hate you.

I wasn't expecting the day to be today, and I wasn't expecting her to be the ripe age of 6 1/2. I certainly did expect those words to be hurled at me from the throws of prepubescence, and I was even more certain that they would pop up during some premenstrual debacle.

Those are words that I know well. Too well. I cannot tell you how many times those words were said to me in anger as a child. I think what hurt the most is when those words were handed to me with apathy.

Anna said that she hated me, then told me that everything was my fault... and after that I can honestly say that I don't remember much. I told her she was to stay in her room and not come out until it was clean and that I did not want to talk to her.

I went down stairs in a haze. I walked in circles until I was crushed under the pressure and weight of those 3 words. I cried. I can honestly say that it grieves me.

So I did what I always do when furious or hurt, I cleaned. After I worked offf a little grief I decided to google 'what to do when your 6 year old child says "I hate you"'. I read various sites that stated that at this age they are not aware of the meaning of those words and say them because they are angry, but don't mean them. Sure, I know that younger children say these things to their parents, and I know that hypothetically they don't mean it. You can't say that about Anna. She's very intelligent. Though I know she may not realize the consequences of this act I can tell you that she meant them with every fiber, even for a brief moment.

This site said:

The unanimous chorus from experts: Don't take it personally. Kids say these things when they're frustrated or angry. It doesn't mean you're a bad parent. Of course, distancing yourself when your kid seems to be dissing your mothering skills isn't easy, but letting your child think that you're all too happy to get rid of him -- or worse, that you hate him, too -- isn't okay. Since the under-9 set are literal thinkers, they won't detect the reverse psychology at work, and you might end up undermining your child's trust...

...Easier said than done, of course, but if you're upset, wait until you've calmed down to say anything. "When you get emotional, you lose 50 IQ points," says Ray Levy. "But later on you can say, 'It hurts my feelings when you tell me you hate me.' Usually when kids are calm, they're pretty remorseful."

Even though I agree with the last part of the statement above, I do not feel it is OK to "just let it go". Not at Anna's age anyway, no matter how literal she is she is also very logical and emotionally driven. I feel at this age is entirely appropriate for Anna to understand the kind of fallout that can occur in this situation. I sat at my computer thinking about what I would say to her. On one hand I could gloss it over " and not dwell on it, as the article above insinuates, as well as all of the other sites I visited. On another I could explain how horrendously this has affected me at the risk of making her feel guilty, in order for her to understand how devastating this can be for a loved one; and for her to understand that she must never do this again.

Then I read this blog post... THANK GOD. Finally something that addresses the state of the mature child and what it means to be 6 years old. Shauna, the blog author quotes from a book that helped her immensely :

The six-year-old is a complex child, entirely different from the five-year-old.Though many of the changes are for the good -- Six is growing more mature, more independent, more daring and adventurous -- this is not necessarily an easy time for the little girl or boy. Relationships with mothers are troubled -- most of the time Six adores mother, but whenever things go wrong, it's her fault. It used to be, at Five, that she was the center of the child's universe; now, the child is the center of his own universe.

Yes, exactly. OK. I value my children's opinions. I expect them to be able to tell me what that think and feel. All I'm asking is for a little courtesy. I want so much for my kids to have what I didn't which is an opinion... but I need to be able to draw the line at hurt and disrespect , and I need to be able to tell them that it's not OK.

Anna eventually came downstairs about an hour after the incident and apologized for saying those words and that she didn't mean them anymore. I sat there with my mouth open for a moment, trying to compose my thoughts. She didn't mean it anymore.

I explained to her that it hurts me that she felt that way at all, even if it was just for a moment. I said that hate was a very strong word, and though I was glad she was sorry , it's hard to take that word back. I also said that hate is the strongest negative word you can say to someone you love, and when you say it- even though you will probably be sorry later- it stays with a person.

I explained that though I have been angry with her many times, I have never hated her and would never EVER say that to her. I explained that telling someone that you hate them and that you wish that they had never been born are the worst things yo could say to someone you love or care about. I told her that my mother told me those things more times than I can remember, and it still hurts to this day.

I explained that those words will stay with me and in my heart forever... and that the reason why I was telling her this was for her to understand and learn from this situation.

I want her to learn that it's NEVER OK to tell someone you hate them, especially not the people you love. That it's OK to tell me she is angry with me, and I will acknowledge her feelings. It's OK to express anger, hurt and frustration. I respect her as a person, I respect her feelings.

I explained all of this and the fact that those words were unacceptable. She sobbed on my shoulder. We hugged and I told her I loved her, and she held on to me for what seemed like dear life for over 10 minutes.

My heart hurts a little less and I am hoping that over time that abyss will close and heal itself to the tiniest of fractures.

I know the joys will out number the sorrows. I have faith that the brilliance of her love and understanding will fill those little cracks with so much light that they will be unseen to the naked eye. Hopefully no one will know they are there but me.

Oh, the hypocrisy!

***This post has religious undertones... reader beware***

Yesterday we were out and about getting a few things and a thought occurred to me: How do I help my child forgive? I don't know if you have noticed this or not but I can hold a grudge. Shocking, I know!

It's no secret that we have been slacking in the church going department. I know my kids are missing out on something important and I am partially to blame. I'd like to think that I am teaching my kids the fundamentals of life.

But am I?

Regardless of faith and denomination, there are some things that I think parents should teach their children. But this is all my opinion, so cut me a little slack... m'kay? ;)

IMHO, one of the things that parents should teach their children is the concept forgiveness. This is where things get a little sticky for me. I have been burned so many times in my life that I am slow to forgive. It takes me a while. SOMETIMES years. So what exactly should I tell my kids?

*** From a Biblical standpoint, though love is mentioned a lot and is considered a top priority, forgiveness is crucial to having a relationship with God and man. ***

As a child I was brought up to believe that my feelings, thoughts and opinions didn't matter or amount to much. I want so much more for my children, so how can I possibly tell them that they HAVE to forgive? Right now. This very minute.

My brain understands the fundamentals of forgiveness, but my heart aches when my children have been hurt and wronged. How can I explain to my kids that they need to forgive when I struggle on a daily basis? And when my words are so poisoned with anger?

Most recently, the MIL threw a sand pail of water- full force- in the face of her 6 year old granddaughter, without Anna even knowing that she was behind her, and without warning. As you can imagine, Anna has lost all faith and trust in her grandmother.

John's mother obviously was very upset when she learned that she wouldn't be watching the kids while I was gone on my recent trip. The Saturday before my trip (and after the water incident), John and his mother just happened to be working at the hospital they bother work at. The MIL called John at his desk and asked him what time she needed to be at the house on Friday. John told her that he was going to take both days off, and that she wouldn't be needed to stay home with the kids. When she asked him why, he replied that Anna said she wanted her dad home those days.

"I guess she is still mad at me, " she said.

"Yes, "John said, "She IS only 6 years old." Then he told her that he had to go, he had a lot of work to do.

It wouldn't surprise me at all if she thought that her actions were minor and that she couldn't possibly understand why Anna would be so upset. In fact this is exactly what has happened in the past when she left Anna in a locked car on a 90+ degree day, or the time she let Anna walk on a 10 foot incline of jagged rocks at the river front, or the time I came home to find Emma wrapping a cord from the blinds around her neck for almost a whole minute while the MIL watched TV in my living room... completely oblivious. In each instance she either couldn't understand why I was so upset or lied about what happened to save face.

However, what is most shocking? The MIL- the only grandparent my kids have left since my mother has been eliminated for reasons of insanity- has not bothered to call, visit, or reassure her grandchildren in almost 3 weeks (3 weeks tomorrow). No contact of any sort, nothing. This is doing nothing to boost Anna's fallen faith. In fact, it is only fostering her sense of hurt and complacency.

What struck me about this whole incident is that by continuing to discuss our anger and frustration- over the fact that the MIL is so childish that she cannot possibly see why Anna would be so upset, and the fact that she has decided that her typical response of avoidance in hopes that the situation will mend itself is at all appropriate here- is [possibly] making things worse for Anna.

Gah, I guess that means I have to change. Lead by example right? I have to start taming my tongue and letting anger go. Which is very difficult in this particular circumstance... since we traveled a similar road with John's dad.

I don't want to ever give my kids the idea or feeling that their ideas and opinions don't matter.
But there has to be a transition between feeling the hurt and mending, and this is where forgiveness comes in. I think Anna is old and smart enough to understand that forgiveness means showing mercy for others, but it also means allowing yourself to heal. You can't heal if you let the battery acid of bitterness continue to pour over open wounds.

John and I had a short a cryptic talk in the car, where I told him my opinion... and he agreed.

So, yesterday after we got home, I had a brief talk with Anna. I explained that when she was ready to see her nana again to let me know and I would call the MIL and tell her that Anna wanted to see her. I skipped the part where Anna "should forgive" because I didn't want her to feel like I was demanding her to do so, I know my sweet girl will eventually forgive. Also, I want my daughter to know that she is every bit entitled to feel anger, pain and hurt, and that her opinions and feelings DO matter. But, last night I did ask her at bedtime if she has forgiven her grandmother at all, and she said a little. I told her that if she wanted, she could pray that God help her... and she did. :)

Forgiveness begins inside one's self, so it is no wonder that forgiveness heals the wounded and the forgiven alike.

I hope that my girl can grasp what has taken her momma so many years to figure out.

I also hope that when the time comes that the MIL will be ready with an open heart and will want to see Anna (supervised visits only), even though she has made it perfectly clear that Emma (my youngest)is her favorite grandchild. Actually, I hope that the MIL comes to accept her responsibility in this whole mess because Anna did nothing wrong, and that she attempts to reconcile with Anna soon.

If the MIL tries to place the blame on Anna or is indignant or angry when Anna is ready to see her, I am afraid that the bear in me will come out ... in order to protect my cub. If the MIL keeps on this self centered/ self destructive path, her grandchildren will one day be too busy for HER. I don't want that at all.

We'll see... I am hoping and praying for the best, though my faith in my child's remaining grandparent is scraping the bottom of the barrel.

EDIT TO ADD: (As written to a good friend just minutes ago) I will still be guarded in that I will protect my daughter , no matter what it takes. We already decided that she will no longer watch our kids for us, or take them any where... we were willing to overlook some very dangerous behaviors on her part... for what? To not rock the boat and make her upset? At what cost, our children?

We realize now- actually John mostly because with each of those instances I told John he needed to talk to his mother because I didn't want to be the bitch, but I always ended up doing it anyway not him- that that was wrong. Going to a movie is not more important than our kid's safety.

Yes, the rule is she can visit but never alone... the visits will be supervised. If she starts to act stupid and take stuff out on Anna then she can't see them anymore. If she isn't willing to get over herself- meaning accept responsibility for what happened recently- then she can't come over.

The point I want to make to Anna is that I accept that she has feelings, and that forgiving is not really for her grandmother... it's to help Anna to move on with her life despite it's ups and downs. Sure, her grandmother will need to know that Anna forgives her, when Anna is ready.

The MIL has threatened to move back to Texas... but I think she is realizing that it isn't a threat to me and John... I think she knows now that we couldn't care less.

I don't know if having her in their lives will be good for them... the jury is still out... it kind of depends on how she acts in the near future.

Also, quite frankly... I would like to know that I did everything in MY power to make things better in the event the MIL does decide to move back to Texas... then she can't blame us for moving. It'll all be on HER. I'm not saying at all that I am going to throw my kids to the wolf to make things "all better". Nope. Supervised visits only, and only if the MIL behaves herself. If she can't do that then she can't visit.

The whole point of this post though is this: I want to help ANNA heal. If she can heal by forgiving the MIL, great. I want to teach my kids to move on to bigger and better things, not to sit in the dark depressed because people can and will hurt you.

This is all exclusive of the fact that Anna may or may not feel comfortable around the MIL ever again. If Anna doesn't want to see the MIL, I will respect that. I'll just have to hope that when Anna is ready (if ever) to resume a relationship with her grandmother, that the MIL will be adult enough to accept full responsibility for what happened, and can change... and that they can both move on from there. I doubt it though, the MIL is pretty set in her ways. And that makes me sad for my kids... but maybe they are better off without her.

My sister...

My sister and I have written a couple of messages back and forth on myspace. I knew I had 2 nieces (Katie is 15 and Rebecca is 11) but she also has a 7 yr old boy named Matthew. Which is funny because my brother Ben has a son named Matthew too.

In her last message, Marci filled me in on what's been going on in her life since we last spoke 10 years ago. I wrote her back... and though I wanted to share with her my life's progress report too, I felt like there was something that I needed to get off of my chest. Life is too short, I don't want to waste another moment. Here is what I wrote to her...

Hi sis,

I was telling Katie in a message that I thought it was so cool that you and Ben have a boy named Matthew! I bet they do keep you busy! I have 2 girls... sometimes just for a second I have those "awww, a baby" thoughts but then my girls bring me back to reality. They are high maintenance . I have people tell me all the time that their kids are nothing a like... and I'm in awe that my kids couldn't be MORE a like. Anna is my mini me, and Emma is her's... so John is the one that really has his hands full I suppose! *snort!*

I'm really sorry that your mom is sick... I wish I was able to get to know her better. I know how hard it is to watch a family member go like that. John's dad died of lung cancer that metastasized to the brain. The last month of his life he lived here in our house and we helped my sister in law (and RN) take care of him. Please know that I will keep your mom and you in my prayers.

I completely understand your thoughts about finding and reconnecting with family... mortality has a weird way of making us figure out what is really important, doesn't it? I have a best friend that lives in California, and there were times that we fought like cats and dogs. We even fought after I moved to Iowa 6 years ago. Now we look back and ask each other what the heck was all the fuss about. Some of the stuff we fought about was just silly. Effie and I agree that we are older and (somewhat) wiser, and we can see the mistakes we made with an excruciating clarity.

So you have a situation like me and you, then throw our mother into the mix (which by the way, Ben and I have agreed to keep talk about her to an absolute minimum with you- we don't want to scare you off ;) ... but it's overwhelming I know... If you ever want to talk about her... Ben and I are definitely here to commiserate with ya)... well, things got a little crazy.

I was so worried that maybe you just wanted to connect with Ben, and at first I didn't want to get in the way. Then I thought "Heck, this is my sister too. She might be just as confused about the past as I am... I am going to step up to the plate and let her know I'm here for her too".

See, I don't know if I ever got to tell you this. I ALWAYS wanted a sister. Before our mother told us about you, I just always felt like there was a piece of me missing, I can't explain it. I could imagine all the cool things my sister and I would do like share our clothes and just love each other. I had a doll I named Stephanie (your birth name right?), she was my favorite doll. I had decided that Stephanie would be my daughters name if I ever had one.

When our mother told us about you, I was young probably about 10. Marci, I can't tell you how happy -and yet sad- I was when I found out that you were out there. I had a sister out there... the sister I had always wanted.

Living in California was weird for me sometimes. I had this feeling you were still in California and there were times that I saw a woman that looked like me... and my heart would thump and race at the thought that it could be you.

Anyway... not being dramatic I promise (the drama gene does run in the family, I hate to tell ya!), I just wanted you to know that you were wanted. Even though I didn't know what you looked like, or what your laugh sounded like, if you were happy... if you ever wished you had a sister too- I imagined you a lot. Before I knew about you and after she told us. I have longed for you my whole life, and when all that stuff happened... it about crushed me.

I'm too old to miss a chance like this again. I hope I have learned from the past, and like you said- I think I'm a little smarter now.

I WANT YOU and always have.

Love you sis, Mary

PS- I'm choked up right now so I'll write more about my updates on me and family later. I promise. Just to warn you, I'm a crier. I cry at commercials, heehee... so don't be surprised if when we get to talk to each other for the first time, if I get teary. :D

So, there you have it. I'm playing for keeps this time. Like I said, I'm getting too old for heart ache and drama... I want more.

Don't we all?

I have great news!

My sister wants to talk to me too, so I'm very happy. I sent her a message on Myspace and she replied this morning. :D I'll keep you posted , but it's a relief. She said that she had thought and prayed about Ben and I a lot over the years, and she told Ben that she wanted to leave the past in the past... and that our mother hurt her a lot.

The only problem I see is Ben and I not talking about the egg donor, we tend to commiserate without warning. So we will just have to remind ourselves I guess.

Marci's mom has cancer and has been battling it for several years. I think that we are going to take things slow, but I hope I can be there for her in her time of need. I know how hard it is to watch someone you love wither away, we went through that with John's dad.

On another note I have an idea for us gals to remind each other to do something that is very important... can you guess what it is?

I want to say thanks to all of you who said all those kind words of support about my mama drama, and all of the other stuff. i know I have been moody and absent lately... and a little self absorbed

Still not sure

This is not a positive post. Read at your own risk.

Have you ever had a favorite picture or family story that you cherished- almost relied on, only to find later that what you had thought wasn't true? I have held on to that belief like a security blanket, and since scanning that photo yesterday I feel as though my Wubbie has gone missing.

Recently I was tagged for a Thinking Meme in which I said that my prized possession is a picture of my mother holding me at birth. Yesterday, after I scanned that photo I decided not to use it in Fun Monday. Actually, after closer inspection of that picture, what I saw was not the immeasurable out pouring of love... it was something else. I can't explain it. Bear with me for a moment as I give you a very cheesy analogy of my life.

It's as if all my life I have been told that I had this beautiful horse, the most beautiful horse in the world. I have a few pictures of it, but one picture in particular is so special to me because over the years the beauty of this horse was exaggerated more and more. I see the picture... yes. I can see that the horse is pretty. Since I have never seen another horse in my life, I begin to believe that it is indeed the most beautiful horse in the world. Later, after seeing a horse in person I realize that the picture isn't even of a horse. It's a freakin mule.

I was told at the age of 11 that I was an unwanted pregnancy, that my real father had beaten her mercilessly- accusing that I wasn't his child. I was told that I was hated before I was even born. This all came out one day while I was visiting my childhood shrink. I was forced to go because I was a "troublesome child", always making her angry. She said this to my shrink right in front of me after I had told him that I had always felt unloved and unwanted. That day my worst fears were more than confirmed. I had no doubt finally that it was true, especially from the cold and toneless way in which she said it. At that moment I did not exist. She made no move to even acknowledge that I was even in the room.

My whole life (as well as my brothers) I was told that she wished I had never been born. She even went as far one day to say that I probably enticed my father into molesting me, and that we would all be better off if he had just "jerked off" the day I had been conceived. She also made it a point to make me feel disgusting about what my father did to me, and would snidely reference it in passing to hurt me, using explicit words.

My brothers and I were told horrible things including the fact that she basically had to prostitute herself to take care of us after she and the asshat got divorced. She would accept dates with men, not telling them she had kids. She would then bring us all on the date and "pay for it" later, usually behind closed doors. The only silver lining to that precious little tidbit is that I know at the very least she cared enough for us to sacrifice for us in that way, so we could eat. I refuse to accept that burden, and though I have told my husband that given no other choice, I wouldn't hesitate to do that for my children, I would never- ever tell them, let alone make them responsible.

What made this picture so special to me was the love I thought I saw in it. Whenever I looked at this picture, I knew for one brief moment in time, despite having carried me for 9 months hating me the whole while, that she loved me at the beginning of my life outside of her. I believed what I saw was love personified.

Yesterday when I was scanning photos, I was able to see this picture like I had never seen it before as it took up almost the whole of my monitor. I see now that she wasn't even really looking at me, her eye appears to be open from leaning on her hand. What I see is no longer love. Maybe relief, absolutely exhaustion. I think its her eyes, they are so void of anything. I know because she has told me, that she has become very good at pretending and acting, being what people want her to be. Was this just another example of that? Why the semi smile, a smile I had thought to be bigger and just... well more- and the blank stare? I am confused at what I see, but I know now that what I had thought doesn't exist. It's not what I had thought. It's a mule.

I now regret scanning the stupid thing.

I look at this picture for example, with cynicism.


At first I contemplated settling for this picture yesterday as a cheap substitute.I then had a memory of me wandering the trailer park we lived in after my real father left her. He was off gambling all of our money away, doing God knows what and buying a car we couldn't afford. I remember being a little older than this buy a year or 2, and wandering without shoes, my toes bleeding on the hot pavement.

So you see, this picture will not do. Though I have a bizarre satisfaction that I had moments of reprieve, usually because other people were present. I know now that a lot of things were bought for me out of guilt because of what I experienced when I was older. Blood money, hush money in form of dolls and tea sets.

When I look at the rest of my life in form of photos, I see lies and deception. I wonder exactly when the abuse started , and since most of my earliest memories involve abuse... all other pictures are tainted. I cannot accept what some of those pictures seem to say to me. I know that for the most part those were special occasions and though that might also be a brief glimmer of happiness, it was most certainly wedged between bookends of pain. I can remember with such clarity being forced to smile for the camera.

Though pictures like these are few and far between, they are a little more accurate as to how I actually felt. In the first picture, my mother dumped all of my clothes out of my dresser and made me refold them while screaming at me. Probably because my room was not perfect like she expected it to be. I wonder why she would want to chronicle my pain and humiliation with a picture.


The next picture truly shows how I really felt during my childhood. This picture also is a time stamp for me because I remember the abuse getting worse after we moved into this house with my step-dad, before they were married. I was also miserable because I had gone from being a minority and being considered just white in an all black neighborhood, being picked on and occasionally beat up on the apartment complex play ground- to being picked on for being a Beaner in a small redneck town.

*On a side note, this is why I get angry when being accuse of being "one of those white people who was lucky enough to have been born a cracker, that treats black people poorly". A coworker from Nigeria once went on a tirade, lumping me in with a "you white people" statement. I went into a frothy frenzy and told her to never refer to me in that way. I have experienced racism. If you really want to piss me off, call me racist. This is why I have no qualms about talking about my Beaner-ism. Though I mostly identify with being white, mostly because we never really discussed my heritage. My mother didn't particularly feel proud of hers, and made it a point to not speak Spanish as a kid because she didn't want to considered one of those "dumb Mexicans with an accent". In southern California, in those days, Mexican were treated very poorly too. This probably has a lot to do with me not disclosing that I was half Mexican when enlisting in the Navy, I wanted to get the job I wanted because I was smart enough, not because I filled a quota. Oddly enough, I have experienced racism here in Iowa, once people hear that I am half Mexican.*


I hate both of these pictures and do not know why I keep them. I guess it's so I know that when I am told what a perfect mother she was to us (thank God I finally told her off 3 years ago, and haven't talked to her since), and that we have it all wrong, we are liars, she did the best she could, that she is always right, that we are the ones that are crazy...

I have proof. Proof not of a beautiful horse, the most beautiful horse in the world, but proof of a mule.

Which makes forgiving her nearly impossible.

Humorous... and not so humorous

It seems that last night Emma developed a sense of humor, or at least has inherited her parents sense of humor. She was sitting on her dads lap, pooted, then proceded to look up at him and laugh.

John immediately pointed at me and said, "Hmmm, I wonder where she learned that from?"

Huh, wha? Just because they spend all day with me doesn't mean that all of their bad habits come from me... just the funny ones.

Did I forget to mention that Emma has disovered cat food? Mmmmm, meaty goodness in a pellet!

Other than that, I haven't been sleeping very well. We are trying to go visit Ben, my brother, hopefully in April. I think the idea that I might run into the egg donor (my mother) is really bothering me, so much so that I have been having odd dreams about her lately. I have been a mess for about a week, something hurts somewhere all day or everything hurts for part of the day. I think my anxiety is manifesting itself in key locations in my body, starting from about my forehead to about mid-calf.

Evidently my illness has crossed from physical to mental because I have actually thought about seeing her. I know my dear sweet husband is thinking the same because when I mentioned this, he said nothing but shook his head no, almost violently.

I guess part of me, despite all the anger and hurt, still just wants a mother who loves me. At this point I'd be better off trying to find an adoptive mother. Hey, I'm only 36. Why not. I know, I know, it's probably never going to happen, and it makes me sad. Well, I mean when it's not making me angry. My childhood sucked so badly there is literally a vaccuum, an endless void in my heart where any good feeling for my mother lived.

The weird thing is that every time I have this thought- to call the *egg donor*, so does Ben and vice versa. we talk to each other and say that we have both come to the same conclusion, which is "why bother?". Either we would eventually be opening the door to more abuse and heart ache, and the good times would be short lived, or she would slam the door in our face.

Ben and I are so much alike sometimes its scary. We are able to talk about the past, it's very painful but therapeutic. we are both discovering that neither of us had it worse than the other, and that there are things that each of us didn't know. Horrible things. When I tell John, he just sits there in shock. It's hard for John to understand it all- especially the part where we tell him that we still want her to love us ,though he tries really hard. What normal person could understand?

I miss him a lot. If I can't go Maryland this April, I will probably be depressed. Heck, I am getting teary just thinking about it. He is pretty much all I care to call family anymore.

Pooh, so much for one positive thing a day. I set my sights too far, too high. Well here it goes... The bright points in the darkness for me are my family. I don't know who or where I'd be with out my husband, my first and only true love. My kindred spirit and best friend. My girls... for so long I thought that they would never come, but here they are! Two radiant, sweet and precious blossoms. Stinky at times, yes, but sweet just the same. And my brother, my other kindred spirit. We laugh at the dumbest crap.

Well, with that said, and so eloquently might I add... my life isn't so bad after all.

An Apology

It seems that I may have once again stuck my blogging foot in my blogging mouth. Yes, believe it or not , I have yet again stepped in it.

I want to say sorry to any of my readers whom I may have offended recently. If you read my Thankful post, you know that recently my spirits were down a bit. In my blithering idiot-ness, I switched my blog to "only people I choose" instead of "blog authors", not really paying attention to or caring if there was a difference. I wanted to get my head together, and thought that until I had decided whether or not my blog would bite the dust, I would leave it unreadable.

One of my new readers Bond brought it to my attention that the message on my blog appeared as if I was blocking certain people, and this is what I emailed him:

I was thinking for a bit that I might quit blogging, the post before the last one was a bummer. I am feeling better now. During that week, I had my permissions changed from public to "only people I chose", no one was actually on that list. I knew if I checked that option, everyone would be blocked from reading it while (during my funk) I decided what the heck I was doing. It was nothing personal, I assure you!

I thought about it tonight and realized that a some of my readers and friends might have gotten their feelings hurt. I am really sorry, and that was not my intent at all.

Please send complaints, snarky comments about (my chins and grins in) my new avatar, and thorough tongue lashings to my email address. :D So, I officially remove my foot from my mouth, or at least for the time being. This blog will live to see another day, and I will continue to bore you with the tedium, and the circus that is me.:O)

Thankful

I have been a little burned out with the whole blogging thing, I honestly don't feel like I have anything that is too terribly interesting to say. Maybe I am a little depressed, with the past recently rearing it's ugly head...

I sit, type, then delete. Maybe my life isn't that interesting. Maybe I have nothing to contribute. Maybe all my natural resources are gone, my oil has run dry. Maybe my blog has had a short but sweet life and it is time for me to move on. I don't know... Maybe it's the holidays getting me down. Again.

After I wrote the first few lines, I decide to make the title of this post Thankful. I am going to get myself out of this funk and write about the things I am thankful for, I thought to myself.

I am thankful for my Husband, I honestly don't know where I would be without him in my life. He loves me so much... I know I annoy the crap out of him sometimes, but I haven't been served any papers yet, and the fact that he is still here despite all of the stuff... Well, I am so lucky. I am thankful that we can still make each other laugh, and that he still finds me attractive. :O) The fact that he loves me for me is a wonderful thing.He is my kindred spirit, and I love him for it.

There were so many days before we became pregnant with Anna, when I didn't even want to get out of bed. Not being able to have kids for the first 11 years of our marriage was really hard. I am surprised that we made it. We definitely had our rough patches and almost called it quits a few times, not so much because we didn't have kids but because we were self centered and immature. God must have known that weren't ready. Having children has helped us (and forced us, LOL) to love each other so much more. We were definitely missing something in our lives and marriage, we both wanted kids.

I am thankful for my daughters. I am so happy that God saw that we needed them. Again, I don't where we would be without them, they bring so many things to this family, I don't know where to begin! They are both funny, can be sweet, can be giving, are mostly feisty and unabashedly stubborn. All of those things make us laugh, some of them make us very annoyed, but we wouldn't have it any other way. That's our girls, Anna and her Mini Me, Emma. I am so grateful to have them in my life, and they have brought me so much joy, and have helped me to want to be a better person.

I am thankful for my brother Ben. We don't talk everyday, or week but we know that we are going to pick up right where we left off, which is usually laughing so hard we are crying. My brother accepts me for who I am and vice versa, and I love him more than anything. It doesn't matter where we are, or what we are doing we both know that we will drop everything just to talk. He is kindred spirit #2.

I am sooo thankful for my friend Effie. We are so much a like, and have fought like sisters at times. Man have we made each other steaming mad! We have had some doozies! It doesn't matter though, we always gravitate back to one another. We can go for months without talking and like my brother, pick up right where we left off. She is my third kindred spirit.

I am thankful that despite all the bad things that have happened to me, that I am still here.

I am thankful that I am still learning, that I am willing (and trying) to change.

I am thankful for the my blog and the opportunities it has given me to meet new people, express myself, and to challenge myself.

I am thankful for everything I have, and what God has blessed me with. I am grateful that He thinks I am worth it, and despite a spiritual dry spell that He is still with me.

I don't know how much longer I will be able to blog, but at least I had my say. My thankfulness is out there, and that's good enough for me.

Friday, and forgiveness

Caution: This post does not start out as a positive one, it contains details of my childhood. Please feel free to not read it, and move on.


Last Friday was one of the those days, the kind where you would just as soon crawl under the covers and sleep a day or two to forget. I wrote of Lighting a Candle, and of saving a life. That day my own past wrapped it's cold fingers around my neck, and I couldn't stop it. Once I see something like that site, it never fails. All day memories, in every shade of sadness, plagued me. I tried to release them buy writing a positive post, but they refused to go.

Memories of my birth father (not the man I loved so dear as my real father, my step-dad)... and yes, memories of my older brother. Though he never actually followed through physically, the intent was there. He came close to ruining me several times, the way that my father did.

I have struggled with the memories for a long time, but as an early teen, I told my parents what he had done and had almost done to me. My mother (whom is a victim of incest by her father also) immediately took his side and called me a liar. i was forced to apologize to him, but I refused. My brother sat there and watched as my mother tried to beat me into submission, but I still refused. Eventually she grew tired and left me there, cowering beside our washing machine... and after a few weeks it was forgotten and never spoken of again.

A little added history...A year or two later, I would finally tell my mother- in a moment I had thought to be an honest and open one- that I had something horrible in common with her. I finally told her after 11-12 years of living with the deep, dark secret that I had suffered by the hands of my own father. We cried together, and clung to each other...Despite having been mentally and physically abused by my mentally ill mother for years, I had thought that that single moment would bind us together. She finally felt love and compassion for me. It took every fiber of my being to admit that secret to her. But that memory would soon be tainted with the new one of my family sitting me down and saying they had prayed about it. In their opinion I was sick and needed help, God had told them I was a liar.

Anyway, as far as my brother... Since becoming an adult, probably in my early twenties- I realized that my brother had probably been sexually abused. My mother's father, her grandfather, or my father could be to blame. He had all the classic signs and symptoms. In a way I understood it and tried my best to forgive him, and on some days, just overlook it.

We will never know, because he refuses to get help for himself, and refuses to talk about the past. My brother has never apologized to me, had never even acknowledged any of it. He saw me battered and bruised as a child because he couldn't admit it.

To this day, it remains a huge cinder block wall between us, and stumbling block to me. He would rather have that wall then to actually have a relationship with me. We talk maybe once a year, it's been that way for a long time. I get it, and I have come to terms with the fact that our relationship score will always be in the negative (You Sims players will know what i am talking about). OK, I have come to terms with that. And just when I start to feel OK with the fact that i will never have a relationship with him because of that wall... and each time my birthday passes without word from him... Two weeks later he calls and craps all over my progress.

I want to move on! I don't want a relationship with him anymore, it's too painful. I wish he would just leave me alone. I start to forgive him, and enjoy the absence of a relationship (and the absence of his resentment, anger, and sabotage), then BINGO! He is calling me and leaving a cryptic and gloomy message on my machine.

So to sum it up, Friday I signed a petition to stop Internet child abuse,had my past haunt me, then had one of those people from my haunting past call me and leave yet another cryptic message, saying how he was sorry for missing my birthday. AGAIN.

Oh yes, then I have my MIL telling me I have to cheer up.

It is still affecting me a little today, so I thought I would work it out for myself in the form of prose (again)- such as it is.
I have to forgive him, for me. I have to let it go. I don't want him in my life, but I can at least forgive.


The book of our past is stained and worn,
The letters smudged, unreadable.
Pages tattered and torn.

Though I haven't read the book in years,
It sits disintegrating on my shelves.
My eyes burn, but no tears.

The subject matter, I want to forget.
And with each passing day
comes sadness and regret.

Why wont you let me be, let me go?
You can't let me live in peace,
it's something you don't know.

This crackled book is bound with shame.
It's dull cover made with sorrow.
You're the Author, you're to blame.

I will burn this dreaded book in effigy.
Let the Flames destroy, devour
The past of you and me.

Curled edges burn, then turn to fly
It's end a sweet embrace,
My heart gives it's goodbye.

I am reborn in the glowing comfort of the flame.
I will write a new book,
This time it will bear my name.

Light a candle

I was visiting From Tracie's site and saw that she had information about signing a petition to stop Internet child abuse.

I have a really hard time with things of this nature... I am an incest and a child abuse survivor. This is not something that I advertise, but if I feel the need to speak up I do. I know I have addressed this on my blog a few times, but it's not something I am proud of. Actually , in real life I tend to run in the opposite direction at the mention of it.

I cannot watch the news, I am reduced to tears. I have thought to myself at these moments that I wish I could save just one child from this pain, and though I am not a perfect mother, child abuse is always on my mind. I am immobilized at times with grief for the helpless, and I want to save the world, but I cannot. The weight of it is too awesome, it's crushing.

I can only help myself, and my children.

I had been so worried that I too would become a child abuser, and I struggle every day with anger and rage because of my childhood. If only others would realize that this is the link they need to break! Often child abusers were abused themselves, and the abuse stems from undealt with anger... how are you helping the situation if you are making your children feel the same way you did as a child? As parents, we tend to justify our anger. We all do it in one way or another... but abusers they not only justify, the hide the abuse as well.

Everyday I struggle with the pain of my childhood, and some days it is too much to bear. To talk about it is to relive it, and I believe this is why I can't deal with hearing about it on the 6 o'clock news. To know that there are children out there who are suffering as I did, and suffering more than I did... It's too much.

It took a huge amount of courage for me to even click on the link, but I have to try to make a difference. Knowing that my grief is so small compared to the pain that these children experience everyday...

The statistics are staggering. It is painful to look at, let alone even discuss it, BUT if we don't talk about it- who will?

No more hiding, no more fear.

I choose to speak.

It's a struggle yes, but a worthy one. I encourage you to click that link and make a difference, if it saves one child it's worth it.

Light A Candle and save a life.

Thank you Tracie for having the courage to post the information on your blog.

My dad

I miss my dad. I miss the memory of him that isn't tainted by my mother's insanity, and her convenient justifications. I miss the father I had before she took him away from me, before she killed everything that was good about him in my heart.

In November of 1990, my husband and I were at different locations in the sweltering Persian Gulf, during DesertStorm/ Desert Shield. One day I received a Red Cross message from my mother telling me that my father had been ill for months, and the doctor was giving him 3 months to live. Her excuse for not telling me was that she knew I had more important things to worry about. What could be more important than my father? My stepdad, whom I call my father because he raised me from the age of 5, had pancreatic cancer that had already spread to the lymph nodes. I desperately wanted to go home to see him before he died, but was told by my Commanding Officer that no Corpsman could be spared, everyone was needed because we were at war. He arranged for me to go to the bridge to call my dad, and I had the chance for one tearful and loving goodbye before he died 3 days later. I received another Red Cross message in the chapel, and knew before the Chaplain even spoke that my father was gone.

Suddenly, my grief qualified for a trip home. Just a few days before I couldn't be spared but now that my dad had gone to his Maker, I was not needed. A Red Cross message had been sent to John also, and arrangements were being made for us to meet on base at Bahrain, and fly home together for my father's funeral.

I had experienced death before, but never like this. Grief plagued me, ate at my soul and for the next 24 hours while flying home I could do little more than cry. The word cry doesn't do my pain justice, anyone who has lost someone close to them understands. It's more like you have this hole in your chest, and it pulses and ignites every time the tears begin, and with each tear you feel like a little bit of you is dying too. All my life I had been told to be quiet, to shut up, not to scream so that the neighbors could hear. No more, not this time. I wailed without selfconsciousness because the world around me did not exist. It was only myself and my husband, in the eye of a tear stained and blurry storm.

Most of our time home during the war is still cloudy to me, but I do remember a few things. I remember that moments after my father's wake, my mother was kind enough to start fouling my father's memory. She told tales of abuse and hate, that not until just 2 years ago would I find out that they were one sided. My brother witnessed many of their verbal and physical altercations, and many of them were instigated by our mother. While I was there, though, I would for the first time hate my father, too.

My father wasn't perfect, he was no saint, but he was mine. I knew that they had arguments that would often lead to physical abuse. My brothers and I would cower upstairs during fits of rage, and there were times that we were awakened but horrifically loud crashes and sounds of glass being smashed, only to have our mother finally come upstairs and smile serenely and say that it was ok, to stay upstairs. I remember now with confusion that these were the few times our mother actually showed any affection for us, as she sat on the side of our beds and stroked our hair. It makes sense to me in a way, only because of what my brother had told me- that she would hit him with cast iron frying pans, or throw heavy glass ash trays at him, and then stand there waiting for the blows to begin. From what Ben (my brother) tells me, it was as if she wanted to make him hurt her.

At that moment when my mother began to tell us the horror stories, her one sided concoctions, all the pain and misery she had caused my mind and body as a child was suddenly washed away. Her grief for the past and present stunned me, and I no longer loved him, not completely because now my love and grief were tinged with hate. I told her that if I had known what he had been doing to her all of those years, I would have killed him. I realize now that out of my need for her acceptance, approval and love, I was able to believe all the things she said. By giving her all my love at that time, I was rewarded by her, finally, briefly.

14 years later, 2 years ago I finally learned the truth. I learned that my mother lied, and has lied for years. She lies when the mood strikes, but mostly to keep up appearances. She is always the victim, and since she believes that is so, she has to be right. I guess, now that I think about it, I hadn't just learned the truth, in a way. Ben had been trying to tell me the truth over the years, but I didn't want to hear it. She had always said that Ben was too dramatic, and liked to exaggerate. Out of co-dependency and my addiction to please her, I believed her.

What makes me angry is that there had been times over the last 6-7 years that she admitted her previous accounts of the past had been false, that she had been to blame, or had spurred him on, but only after varying her stories a bit here and there over the years. When we would question her, she would say that she had forgotten to add those things in on previous tellings, or that she had gotten the details mixed up. I now know that she said what ever insanity she believed at the time, and that over the years she had told her lies so often, she actually began to believe them. Once in a short while the truth would manage to drag its way to the surface, and usually it was because she liked to gleefully tell us the things she did to him, the ways in which she tortured him.

Now, I see the truth clearly. Our dad loved us, and he loved us enough to stay with a woman that was completely insane and without reason. Why would he? I believe he saw what she did to us, and knew that it could be so much worse if he left her. Why else stay with someone who's mood swings were so bipolar, someone so abusive and hateful? I know it wasn't because of the good days, they were few and far between. He abused her as much as she abused him, and now I think to myself, "She got what she deserved, and he showed her as much kindness as she showed to her own flesh and blood." I was his only little girl, and I love him for cherishing me, which is more than I can say for my real father. He never hurt me, which is more than I can say for my mother and my real father.

So, to make a short story long, this Father's day I finally have my father back. All that was good about him is with me once more, and I have my brother to thank for that. I hope that my brother and I can at the very least be as parents what our father was to us. He was selfless in his love for us, and in his quiet, eye twinkling way, he shared it with us.

I miss you, dad. Rest well knowing that one day we will see you again. I only hope there is a witness protection program, up there in heaven, or at least "mental" detectors. *smile*