Flowers in the Window

Before they met, she was closed up. Detached. Sad.
There were many before him who took her innocence, her naiveté, her spirit.
But she never gave them her heart. She never let them in.
She never opened up like she did with him.
She thought she was destined to live a solitary life.

He changed things.
He helped her see the good in people.
He taught her the joys of a healthy relationship.
He enabled her to share her feelings. Something she has never done before.
The others never asked her.

Her feelings were deep and pure. And hers alone.
They were strong and willful. But not a soul cared.
Until him.

He stood out in the crowd and held her close. In his heart, in his mind, in his powerful arms, he held her close and showed her that the sun is a healer and will rise again. He showed her that the future holds infinite possibilities for her and for him and for the two of them together.

They planted flowers in the window boxes of their love and cared for each and every one. As you would a heart. As you would someone’s feelings.
They enriched them and nourished them, enjoyed their colorful bloom. Enjoyed the healing sun shining down on them.

At the same time, they nourished their relationship and became closer, more honest and true.

Look at them now.

Throughout the seasons of their love, they have shared joy, sorrow and anger. Through each and every year, the burdens were heavy, the love was deep. The commitment and promise was always there. “I’ll help you. Whatever load you may bear, I’ll be there.”

He is her heart and her one true love. He will always be there for her. He has taught her that her feelings are worth something and he will cherish them forever. She can only repay him in love and to be there for him in return.

The flowers may have come and gone with the seasons, but they are stronger for the beauty and the character they once possessed.

They have planted ‘flowers in the window’ in the form of children and watched them grow into beautiful, independent souls. Something she never thought she’d do. Give life and nurture another’s heart and soul.

Look at them now.

Their flowers have all grown and left the ‘window box’. But they are still together and they continue to watch their flowers grow. They have created a lineage that will forever lead back to her and her heart. The same heart that was too cold to touch. The same heart the he opened up and stepped inside and held with all his might so that she could see the beauty that life has to offer.

Inspired by Travis’ song ‘Flowers in the Window’

"Flowers in the Window"

When I first held you I was cold,
A melting snowman I was told
But there was no-one there to hold
Before I swore that I would be alone forever more

Wow, look at you now
Flowers in the window
Its such a lovely day
And I'm glad that you feel the same
cos to stand up I'm in the crowd
You are one in a million
And I love you so lets watch the flowers grow

There is no reason to feel bad
But there are many seasons to feel glad, sad, mad
Its just a bunch of feelings that we have to hold
But I am here to help you with the load

Wow, look at you now
Flowers in the window
Its such a lovely day
And I'm glad that you feel the same
cos to stand up I'm in the crowd
You are one in a million
And I love you so lets watch the flowers grow

So now were here and now is fine
So far away from there
And there is time, time, time
To plant new seeds and watch them grow
So there'll be flowers in the window when we go

Wow, look at you now
Flowers in the window
Its such a lovely day
And I'm glad that you feel the same
cos to stand up I'm in the crowd
You are one in a million
And I love you so lets watch the flowers grow

Wow, look at you now
Flowers in the window
Its such a lovely day
And I'm glad that you feel the same
cos to stand up I'm in the crowd
You are one in a million
And I love you so lets watch the flowers grow
Lets watch the flowers grow

Sunday Blues.

The Sunday Blues have turned into the Monday thru Sunday Blues for me.

However, I had a week off and even though it was a bust with medical tests and trying to figure out why I'm dizzy and nauseous all the time...(I think I have the answer)...I STILL had a week off. Heaven.

I got to sleep late (as late as you can with an 8 year old in the house).

I got to get in some extra yoga at home and at the studio.

I got to watch endless amounts of TV.

I got to spend endless time with my lovely 8 year old heart.

I got to cuddle with the naked boys.

I went to the mall during the DAY.

I used the couch as my daytime bed.

I played catch with my daughter.

I met a long time friend for lunch.

I didn't think of work for a second. (Only that ONE nightmare...)

However, it's Sunday.

The last day of freedom.

My stomach hurts. My head hurts. My eye is twitching again.

I need a serious change. Yet I'm stuck.

Any ideas for getting over the Sunday Blues?

My little companions...

I was reading this post over at Birth Touch (A blog that I happen to really, really love) about Companion Pets.

I am not a dog lover, as those of you who know RT, know this very well.

But I am a crazy cat lady. CA-RAYZEE. Cat. Lady.

I'd have 100 cats if I could.

I haven't written regularly on this blog for quite some time so I haven't really kept up with the kitty stories on here. Tragic, I know.

So you have not heard about my two little loves that really are my heart's companions. They give me peace, calm and love. Not quite so unconditional, but more than your average cat. They are the BEST cats I've ever had. And I've had many.

My first born died when Fa was a month old. He was 20.

Puddin' He was my very first son.

I loved him with all my heart. When my husband and I moved in together and he came along, Husband couldn't believe how we used to cuddle and kiss and schnuggle like humans. He said Puddin' knew human emotion and had it just as well. Husband was floored.

Today, our newest members of the family are two adorable little naked boys.

Naked Boy 1
Dewey

He's my son, my heart, my snuggle puss. He wants nothing more than to lay on my lap and purr and hug. He lets us pet him when he feels the need. He is finicky, yet wants to be around us at all times. He loves body heat. He loves kisses. He only loves to be rubbed under his chin and his neck...Most other body parts are off limits for everyone else but me. He is awesome.

Mamma I love you.

My other son is 6 months old.

Naked Boy 2
Pino

He's crayzee. He's high octane all day long. Playful, funny, smart. He fetches like a dog and LOVES being with us. All he wants to do his schnuggle. He loves his big sister, his mom and dad and LOVES to torment his big brother cat. Pouncing on him, biting him, teasing him....genreally being a younger brother annoyance. Yet, when they are peaceful. It is heaven

Oh Brother! I love you.
(Took a while to get here)

Their favorite spot in the sun.

He lets you do ANYthing to him.

When I'm sick, all bets are off...They both overlook their love/hate relationship to love me.

They are my true pet companions and the loves of my life...

On four legs.

Retrospect

I stumbled upon this very old post and wanted to share it again.

Especially since it resonates off of this last post I'd written just a few short weeks ago for Birth Touch.

I was a mess. I'm slowly getting better.

Wow, does it take an amazing amount of time and work.

PLEASE. Pass these along to anyone you think might benefit. They would be written in vain otherwise. 

My Sunday gift to those suffering.

 I love you.

By the way. I have a lot of really good posts on my old blog...I'd love for you to read some of them...Head on over and take a look.

February is a time for me to reminisce...

Since my birthday is in 6 days, it seems February and the weeks following my birthday makes me melancholy. (it doesn't take much)...but I'm noticing that my meloncholy state runs throughout the year...

This post was written in Feb. Makes me cry.

This post gives me goosebumps.

This one is a reminder to me every day.

And this one truly opened up my heart and healing for probably the very first time on here.

There are so many depressing posts on here, intertwined with some joy and laughter...But I wrote this blog for my daughter and I'm starting to think she may only see a darkness in her mother that I have been trying to hide form her from day one.

Maybe it's just my temperament. Husband says my default mood... is.... bad.

He's not wrong.

I'll be 40 in 6 days. Half my life is over. I've lived longer without my mother than I have with her. I miss her every single second of every singel day and it's 23 years she's gone. She was 48 when she died.

There goes that whole, It'll happen to me fear too.

I need a change of scenery.  A new career, one that gives me pleasure, not pain. I have some ideas. Ideas that take time from work and money. I need to figure out a plan.

I can't let the last half of my life be a repeat of the first half. Otherwise, I've let my daughter down.

Any suggestions?

Post Partum Wha?

So, I'm watching my 8 year old get ready for bed the other night. What a mature, independent girl she is turning out to be. She does everything on her own (most of the time) and usually without me begging more than 5 times.

I can't believe how far we've come.

Dancing with her is still my all time favorite thing to do with her...It started unexpectedly, in the living room and we've been doing it ever since...

You see, when she was born. I was afraid of her. I was afraid of her cry, her helplessness and most of all I was afraid I was hurting her. Not physically hurting her, I would never do that even in my darkest moments. I was afraid I was hurting her in the way that when two people are so connected and one is, how do you explain, "off"? The other gets screwed up too. Kinda.

I started crying the second she entered this world. Non stop. Crying like I couldn't breathe crying.
Crying like I had lost my mother all over again and I didn't cry right the first time 13 years ago.

That first night, I lay in the hospital bed in the middle of the night hysterical. The nurse came in and told me I had baby blues. I'd be okay in a few days.

But I kept crying.

I didn't get out of bed until they threatened they would catheterize me in order to pee. I peed.

I cried.

I was really suffering physically, my body was a mess. I had a flabby belly, jiggling, painful boobies...a severe swelling in the *ahem* area that really hung down like a penis (no joke, ask my husband). Physically, I was so wrecked no one thought to check out my mental state.

Until I realized they weren't releasing us into the real world until the "social worker" came to talk to me. We talked. She gave me her card and said she'd call me in a few days.

She never called.

On the way home from the hospital, I secretly prayed that my husband would get into a car accident so we could all die and and I wouldn't have to feel this pain anymore.

So I cried.

I was afraid of this little baby who needed me to stay alive, and I knew in my head I wasn't right. I have been diagnosed with depression/anxiety prior to childbirth so I knew this was possible. But the things I was thinking! This wasn't the blues. And I knew it.

I couldn't breast feed. So I was guilty for being a disappointment to all of motherhood. I couldn't comfort her so I was guilty for being an unfit mother. I felt guilty for bringing her into this world. I just felt dark.

And I was afraid of the dark, because that was when the thoughts were the clearest. I would envision my sweet, little newborn slamming against the wall the way paint, or blood splatters and dripping down in chunks. I would envision her being thrown into a wood chipper (by some random person, it was never me) and coming out the other end all bits and blood and pieces.  I would create these elaborate soap operas in my head (all the while, awake) that the house would burn down and we couldn't escape. That she would be kidnapped or I would be killed by intruders.

I saw her face change in the dark, into something unreal, evil like. I would see her mouthing to me that she knew my real story and she would tell everyone the shit job I was doing. I saw creatures watching me in the dark corners of her room so I relinquished the midnight feedings to my poor, overtired husband.

I saw her staring at me as something judgmental and cruel. Like she was sizing me up and realizing that she was dealt a shitty deck. Hence, her colic. It was totally my fault. She cried because she was trying to warn whoever would listen that she needed help. That she was being raised by a lunatic and she needed out.

I cried. She cried. I used to beg her to answer me. "Are you crying because I'm crying or am I crying because you're crying?" She answered with more crying.

Then, after a few weeks, my husband threatened to call a doctor to have me committed and he would raise her himself because he was literally afraid to come home from work every night to find me or worse, the baby, dead.

But I would never hurt her. I knew that. I didn't leave the house alone with her until over a month after she was born. I was afraid I'd get into a car accident and kill her. If I hurt her physically, I had a plan to kill myself because I wouldn't be able to live with that amount of guilt.

Eventually, I called the doctor. I dont know what took me so long. I truly thought this was "normal". I guess my version of "normal" is already skewed, losing my mother at 17 did that to me. But I knew, for her sake, I had to fix things. And things weren't fixing themselves.

It was a long process. Finding the right doctors to really hear me. Finding the right medications that really brought be back to reality. Finding the right frame of mind to accept that there was an issue. The day I was diagnosed with Post Partum Psychosis, I was relieved. I had a real symptom with a title and a progress plan. I could feel joy instead of pain? Over my baby? I could be in love with her? Really?

Really.

While during this recovery process, eight years in the making, I still carry much guilt over not getting help sooner. Missing out on those awesome new baby smells and milestones. I just wanted them all to be overwith quick. I rushed her babyhood away. I regret that. But I do not regret getting help. I got the help I needed when I was ready and I have to take that inside of me and savor it. I have to covet the thought that I was able to enjoy toddler hood and beyond.

I see now, that she never noticed all those insecurities in the beginning. How could she? All she needed was a good swaddle and some formula that worked for her. We finally clicked. One day it just happened. I was having fun with her when my husband came home from work and he couldn't believe his eyes. We were "dancing" in the living room to Bon Jovi and she saw our love radiate for the first time ever.

I still suffer from depression and anxiety, and I'll be on medications the rest of my life for that. And I never did have another child. But I do have this gorgeous little girl with a heart of gold. Who loves animals and music and art and reading. Who has friends and play dates and loves her school with a passion. Who loves me with an immeasurable amount of vigor. And in return, I adore her every pore.

So every night we snuggle in bed together and talk. We bond. We laugh. And those memories come slipping back once in a while, but then I look over at her gorgeous brown eyes and see through them, that they are filled with love. My love. And there's nothing in the world I would change that for.

Ever.

What am I doing?

I miss blogging. I miss my readers and my online family that I created once, long ago.

But I don't know how to juggle it all.
Juggling.
I'm not a juggler.

I'm a struggler.
I'm struggling again.

My anxiety and depression is back. Full force.
I'm scared.
The thoughts and fears have crept back into my bloodstream.
I'm having panic attacks and chest pains.
I know It's work, my job gives me stress.
Always has been since I've gone back. Three years ago.
But this year in particular is a rough one. And my triggers are back.

And once again, I'm down on myself.
Like everything else I love, I've let go of blogging.
Like everything else I'm good at, I give up because my confidence is low.
Like everything else I've given up on, I regret it.
And I'm struggling to keep my head above water.

And I look at my beautiful little girl and I worry for her. I don't ever want her to feel this agony. This pain and suffering. And it's genetic. And of course I blame myself for giving her this affliction...before she even shows one sign.

I was doing well. I was taking anti anxiety and depression meds and doing great. Then I thought I could do it alone. And I see once again, I can't.

And I'm scared.

...Of living my entire life in fear of really living. REALLY living.

So here I am. Turning to blogging. To let go.

But it's been too long. Too little, too late?

SYTYCBlog?

I am struggling to blog. I try hard. I need motivation. I have so much to say. And I don't know where to begin.

I'm going to the beach again tomorrow with a friend from work and her daughter. Did you read that. A friend from WORK! I haven't said that line in ages.

Hmmmmmm.....Work.

I didn't want to go back last September. In NY you have 5 years right of return to the DISTRICT but I was able to go back to the SAME SCHOOL I was in before I left. That's pretty rare. It's a long story for another blog and I was "lucky". But boy oh boy I didn't want to go back to work. I use the term "Lucky" here loosely.

The Girl was starting Kindergarten and I wanted to be there for her first year. Instead, other people were. The Pro took her to school every morning after I left for work at 6:45am. I had a babysitter come 2-3 days a week to pick her up from school, because I was still at work. I had the after school program the other days and I had my Mother In Law on rare occasions, when we needed her. I hate not picking her up from school. I hate not being able to BRING her there as well. I've compromised a lot. Especially since I'm always so THERE all the time.

I remember the one time the Girl had a virus. She started puking on a Wednesday morning, about 3 am. As I was sitting there holding her hair back and listening to her yell..."Make It Stop!!!!"...all I could think of was, "I can't take a day off..." However, I called in sick that morning and stayed with my baby. She was a mess. I've never seen that much throwing up. It was her first pukey virus EVER! It was horrible, as all the mothers out there sigh..."her FIRST?" yeah. I was lucky.

The next day I had to leave her with my MIL and then I took Friday off. I hated being at work that Thursday she was still sick, but I just couldn't take three days in a row off. Now, I look back and I say to my self, "Self, you SHOULD have taken the day. It is imperative you are there when she NEEDS you...not when you need her."

SO I've learned, I WILL take the days when my baby girl NEEDS me to. I have, later in the year,
taken days for events at her school. Those days were fun. I took a half day for the Halloween parade. I took a half day for her Holiday Culmination Performance. I took 2 WHOLE days for Parent Teacher Conferences. I took a few days here and there towards the end of the year for "Graduation" etc. So I managed to use 7 of my 10 sick days and still have 3 left over for this year. They roll over, the sick days. Which was why I was always so obsessive about them. I like to hoard sick days. Even though I wind up only using a very little bit. I have a feeling though, like a lot of my other sick habits before motherhood, I'll have to work on dealing with that one.

I hate the days when she's off or has a half day and I have work. I cry on those days. See, when she has school, I can handle the day because I know she's also busy. But when she's off and I'm not. It tears me up inside. Another thing I have to work on.

I've always been sort of a hovercraft hanging over every thing The Girl did. I've struggled this year with letting go. A topic I've blogged about many times over. See.

I've had to give in to my weakness because I had no other option. I HAD to work. I HAVE to work. There is no one out there going to win the lottery and tell me I'm a rich bitch and can stay home again. I'm accepting that. And I'm working on accepting that she capable without me. VERY capable without me. I'm proud of her for that. I'm proud of ME for that. I've helped her get that way in those years I WAS home with her.

But I was not ready. In my head, in my heart, in my soul I was not ready. I don't know why? I'm still trying to figure that out. Maybe there's a small part of me that was waiting to have *gulp* another child. And now that I'm back to work I know that can't happen. I couldn't work with one, who here thinks I could manage it with 2? Not me. PPD is a muther fucker. I am afraid of that too. I was always okay with The Girl being an only child. Then I wasn't and I wanted another. Then, I almost had another and that was lost. Then I had to go to work. It all happened in the blink of an eye. I am bitter and sad over that.

I am trying to take control of this work thing. Like I'm trying to take control of every aspect of my life. But deep in the inner core of my being, I know that can't be done. We have no control, even when we think we do. So how do we deal then? Huh?

I honestly don't know how I got through the entire school year. I don't know how I'm going to get through another one (in a different school...I was only so lucky in that one). I start a new school this year. Double Whammy. I truly don't know how I got this far. I don't believe in God. I don't know what I believe in. So how am I doing it? I don't know.

All I can do is do it. Do it the best way I know how. And hope that I don't fuck up the Girl in any way as I go. She rocks. I am the luckiest mom in the world. I guess that's why I want to be around her so much. I NEED her. And work just gets in the way of that. Then again, so would school. I can't keep her home all the time either.

Oooo Fah. What a post.

Rainy Days and Mondays

It rained this morning, hard. Thunderstorms and everything.

I had planned to hit the beach; so that plan was foiled. I hate Mondays and rainy Mondays just blow.

I could have used a nice beach day. It's sunny now but I'm not in the mood any more.

I get so upset when we have no plans for the day. I feel like I've given up a good day of fun. Sometimes I talk myself out of it and say, we really could use the rest. But today I really wanted to do something.

Then, it starts. The what ifs and what happened? I get so into my own head when I'm stagnant. It's scary. I'm not even stagnant this summer and I'm already thinking too much.

Why do I do this to myself?

There has to be a way out of this type of thought process.

I'm like manic. One day I'm high as a kite, the next I'm miserable. It's usually triggered by an issue that's been festering, or an argument, or a thought. This time it was an argument. Now, I'm in it again.

I know I can only get myself out of it. And I know how to do it. And I know I will. But jeez. I hate days like these.

I got two new tattoos. I love them so much. I've been waiting so long for them and now I have them. They bring me so much joy. They make me feel really good inside. I use them to drag me out some days.

People might think that's crazy but I think it's a relief. To have something that makes me so happy. Something that I will take with me for the rest of my life.

Something other than my child.

We know how I feel about separation anxiety. I mean really, look at how many times I've blogged it. I mean it infests my soul.

I could go on for a long while linking...but if you are so inclined go read the "Dirty Beginnings" link up there on the right.

I am crazed by it. Separation. Loss. Death. Leaving.

Days like today, enhance those thoughts.

I need to meditate.
I need to vent.
I need a coffee.

Hello Out There

Ahem, is this thing on? *Brushing off the dust from the keyboard*

Hi.

I'm here. Things have been crazy lately. But I guess that's a good thing. Or not. I don't know.

SO, so, so very much going on. I'm on the Executive Board at Fa's school. (Busy-ness magnified.) I've had a miscarriage. (I don't even want to go there.) I'm constantly running around with Fa. (Fun in the middle of the storm.) Business is not good and money is tighter than ever. (Nothing you all don't know about)... However, there is still not enough time energy to write a decent post and I refuse to just give a laundry list of ALL the crap that's been going on. I've been trying my best to get it all organized enough for the people who still stop by here now and then. Maybe this is my way of getting rid of the cobwebs and starting again!!!

In the meantime...Here's a few of my older posts that explain what I'm going through...

There is oh so much more to say.

Thank you for stopping by my friends!

I'll be back.

It just doesn't add up...or does it?

17: the age I was when my mother died.

31: the age we were when we had our daughters.

5: Fa's age (almost)

365: the days I think about leaving too soon, like my mother did.

12: the years I have left with her (according to the math). 

0: the probability I'll die the same age my mother was of the same disease.

67,991,345,999,672: times I day I think about this.

infinity squared: the love in my heart for my daughter plus the sadness I feel for my mother plus the guilt I feel for even the slightest chance I may leave her motherless.

Mom's Don't Leave (2)

We're schnuggling in bed again.

A year later.

Except this time Fa comes right out with it. No more beating around the bush.

Fa: "Do you miss your mom?"

Oh god, don't cry J, don't cry...

Me: "Yes, baby I do miss her terribly."

F: "Where is she? What happened to her?"

M: "Well baby, my mommy was very sick, too sick for her body to keep her here with me and well baby, she died."

What the hell DO I say? This kid knows about death now. Her fish died a few months ago.

M: "Remember when Goldie died?"

F: "Yeah, and we flushed her down the toilet?"

M: "Well, that's what happens when you are very, very old or very sick. But we don't flush people down the toilet."

F: "Do you miss her? Why can't I see her? Why can't I meet her? Will you get sick? What if you die? Will I die? Will Daddy Die?"

How does she do that? How does she ask these thoughtful questions?

M: "Baby, death is a part of life and when we get very, very, very, very old. SO old we won't be able to dance anymore, then our bodies stop working because they can't take care of us anymore, and we die."

F: "How old were you when your mom died?"

Holy shit!

M: "Well baby, my mom died when I was pretty young. I was a teenager...way older than you are now. But remember, she was very sick. And I had my daddy, (Papa) and Auntie and other family and friends to take care of me when that happened."

F: "What will I do when you die? Where will you go when you die? Why can't I see your mom? I won't see you either!"

FuckFuckFuckFuckFuck.

M: "Honey, you are stuck with me forever! I'm sticking around here until I'm all old, and wrinkly and mean and nasty because I don't like being old and wrinkly. You think I'm cranky NOW? I'm gonna be so annoying to you that you'll be trying to run away from me, I'll be so old. And I'll be screaming after you in my electric wheel chair telling you to come and change my diaper."

You see, humor saves everything in my head.

M: (Watching her crack a smile) "And you know, my mommy is tucked deep in my heart and I have her with me all the time now. Even when I miss her most and I can't see her. I know she is in my heart and keeping me safe and happy. Because she will ALWAYS be with me, even if she isn't here to talk to."

F: "So since you are already in my heart, you'll stay there forever?"

Damn, she's good.

M: "Yes baby! You know when we kiss each other we always say we'll keep it in our hearts forever? Well, think about all the smooching we do, our hearts are already filled up with kisses and love...think about that." (As I proceed to kiss her all over her face and shoulders and just practically smothering her with kisses...so she will laugh and change the fricken' subject already.) "See, all that love? It will be with you forever."

F: "I'll be your mom, I'll take care of you?"

GOD DAMN, this kid is awesome.

M: "Thank you so much sweet, sweet baby! But I don't want you to be my mom. I want you to be my baby girl so I can keep being your mommy and love you and take care of you as long as you need me. Remember, I have a mommy we just can't see her. But we can talk to her and talk about her whenever you want to. I love talking about my mom, especially with you."

That pretty much ended that conversation. She seemed content with all that I told her and didn't freak out like the last time.

So I kissed her goodnight one more time, so proud that I held it together to maintain calm and cool while touching upon something that is still so raw in my chest all these years later.

But I'll do anything for this child. Even if its ripping my own heart to shreds.

Then, I went into the bathroom and proceeded to cry for a half hour.

Mom's Don't Leave (1)

(This was originally posted on my very first blog in May of 2007 (that I can't link to)...but I have more to add now. So I'll start you off here....)

How do I convince my daughter of that when I am living proof that indeed some moms leave?

Schnuggling before a nap recently, she asked me if I loved my Mommy and Daddy. (Red flags raised..she never mentions my Mom even when I talk about her) Of course, I said yes. She continued to ask, "Who's your Daddy?" (She knows full well the answer to this since we play this game often enough) "Papa" I answered with a smile. Then, she asked a question that I knew was coming but it still totally threw me for a loop.

"Who's your Mommy?"

"Well, my Mommy is 'Bunny'." I replied stiffly, waiting for her next question that was inevitably coming.

"Where is Bunny? My grandma?"

Here we go....

In my head I'm screaming, "I'm not ready for this" repeatedly...over an over. "She's only 3 years and 5 months old! 41 months! How has this concept entered her head so soon? How do I answer her?" "She may not be too young to ask the questions but she is too young to comprehend the answers..."

I began to tell her that Bunny, her grandma, my Mommy is in Heaven. (A concept I'm not too sure of myself...but I was thrown and caught off guard.)

She asked me if I missed her and again, if I loved her and was I sad that she was not here?

How the hell does she do this?

I told her I do miss my Mommy terribly because she isn't here with me and I love her and I wish she was still here with us. I told her I was sad because she never got to meet her and I just know she would love her... the conversation went on for a few more minutes before Fa told me "Not to worry because I'll make you feel better!" She said it to me. To my face. 3.5 years old. She even punctuated it with strong, neck-hugs! I am floored!

Then, she wouldn't let me leave her. She screamed bloody murder like I died a thousand deaths right in front of her, "Papa, Bunny, Mamma...Don't leave me!" "I'm scared you'll leave me!" "Mamma come back, don't leave me alone!"

Heartbreak.

Sheer shattered chest muscle.

You're not breathing, JJ. Breathe.

As I sat there rocking her close to my chest trying my damndest not to smother her with my kisses and trying even harder to convince her that I would never leave her and I will be her mommy forever...I felt guilty.

What if I do leave her?

What if I make her a motherless daughter?

I'm lying to her face.

How will she forgive me for telling her moms don't leave? When they do.

She is too young to be worried about this. She is too smart to not figure it out. She is too sensitive to forget this conversation any time soon.

I am sad that I have left her a legacy of loss and fear of being left alone by mother.

How could I do this to her?

How do I help her understand?

How do I rest her fears?

...Assure her that I am here for her...until she is older and better able to understand...that moms may leave this earth, but they can never be taken from your heart.

My Apologies

It's been a while. I know.

Since I came back from my vacation (three weeks is it now?), I have been in the dumps. I'm not sure why. Well, I am kinda sure why I just don't feel like writing about it. Funny, I agree. Since I usually feel like writing about it.

I have been a horrific blog citizen and haven't read anyone's blogs in forever. I am sorry about that too.

Thank you for checking up on me. I really appreciate that.

Fa is starting her last year of pre-school and she is way ready for kindergarten already. Damn cut off dates. I am melancholy that the summer is over and life will get hectic again. I miss my little girl terribly. She is so big now. It hurts to watch her grow these days.

She is terribly clumsy and falls over her own two feet. (and air). Her body is way too big for her brain. And her attitude is way to old for her little body. But she has turned into a sweet, caring, considerate little lady this summer. She is concerned for others feelings, she is kind and meaningful in her relations with others. She is such a joy to know. I love this age. She picked me flowers yesterday because she thought they would cheer me up. (She thought I was mad at her!) I really can't be mad at her these days.

She starts soccer this weekend. She's learned to swim like a fish and will continue swimming through the fall. She's not sure what she likes better, gymnastics or dance and she is not sure which activity to choose between for the fall. As her mother I want to give her everything, but that's just not possible with scheduling and finances. So I am FORCING her to choose. Bad mommy.

Where did this little lady come from? And where have I gone?

I'm feeling very insecure these days. Not feeling like I am showing her my best side. Not being, I guess you could call it, the "supermom" that I want to be for her. I am lazy, scared and unsure of myself and I feel that she doesn't have the best role model to learn from. Being a stay at home mom can sure rake you of your confidence and talents. I feel like I have faded into the background of life and I can't even hold up my end of any conversation without glazing over. It's difficult.

I have had not one real adult conversation without a child being the main topic all summer and my head feels like it's going to explode. The Pro has been working extra hard and leaving me to deal with most of the parenting responsibilities and I can't blame him. We have taken on these roles in order for Fa and our lives to run as smoothly as possible. But I am feeling left behind. I am feeling like a stranger in a strange land who doesn't speak the language and is having trouble finding the hotel. All I keep repeating is: "Donde esta el quarto de bano?" And I am getting strange looks from all angles.

I don't know how to break free.

Don't get me wrong. I have had a wonderful summer. Filled with activities and games. Swimming and playing and playdates.

For Fa.

Fa and I have been inseparable sinnce June. 24 hours a day. 

I have not done a thing for myself all summer. I have not been alone all summer. Give or take a few minutes when The Pro takes Fa to the park or to dinner. I wake up to Fa, I go to sleep to Fa. And I love her to death.

And I am starting to feel it.

I sound like I'm complaining.

I'm not.

I'm just lost.

Everyone needs some rejuving time. Time to catch up and reflect on what's been going on. I have not done that. Yet.

I need to do that soon. I wish I could just take a day and go to the beach and watch the sun set onto the waves and not worry about Fa running into the water and having to chase after her.

How do you do it?

How do you rejuvinate your spirit without feeling guilty for wanting five minutes to yoruself?

I was thinking.

When I start thinking it could go either way, terribly bad or good.

But I was driving Fa to school this morning and the day was starting out to be a wonderfully sunny day.

It reminded me of a time.

It must've been about the same time of year, because I had just started walking again, for exercise, after Fa was born. She was about 4+ months old. She was just coming out, I mean just coming out of her colicky stage. Add that to what I was going through and you had one fucked up JJ.

I took her to the beach to walk on the boardwalk. I had my jogging stroller all ready to go, the tires were filled with air, my sneakers were ready to move, my muscles needed toning...I was looking forward to exercising and getting the baby out of the house...(That was still a big feat back then. I was afraid to leave the house and all.)

I strapped her into the car, drove the 5 minutes to the beach (lucky) and started adjusting her into the stroller. My courage was strong, for some reason that morning...

We took off.

Not three steps onto the boardwalk and she started crying. I kept it going a few more steps. She started crying harder and louder. But I was determined to walk. And she was determined to cry.

I was so nervous that I sat on a bench to try to calm her. Water, formula, sunscreen, clean diaper, hat, shade...all in order. But she was inconsolable. You'd think I'd be used to it by then, but it hurt that minute just like every minute prior. Like someone was stabbing me in the heart over an over again with each wail of her tiny but booming voice.

Like all the other times before, I didn't know what to do. So I sat and cried. On the bench at the beach. Bawling.

And my anger for her welled up inside me like a volcano and I started yelling at her on the boardwalk. For crying.

My four month old.

I was screaming at her.

For crying.

I feel so guilty for that. For blaming her for my short comings and fears and insecurities. And for actually taking it out on her. Like a mad woman. People were staring and the more they gawked, the louder I yelled, the louder she cried.

I must've been a sight.

I resented her for being a burden when I wanted to walk. I resented her for making me feel so out of control physically and mentally. I was angry at her for taking this time to throw a fit. Like she was doing it on purpose. I was fucking crazy, man.

I think back at that now and I cringe. The guilt is overwhelming.

But I was trying. I really was.

And I used to ask her, "Are you crying because I'm crying or am I crying because you're crying?"

Who knew.

But I pray that my initial actions as a mother will have no bearing on her as she grows. Do they know? Do they remember? Will it effect her in the long run?

We went home shortly after that scene and I waited a little longer to try again. Watching the fear grow with each new failed experience.

But eventually we did it. We got into a groove. And it became a ritual of sorts. Every summer we'd go back, every other day, walking on the boardwalk...counting big, orange garbage cans. She loved those garbage cans. They were evenly spaced throughout the boardwalk and for 3 years she saw them return every summer.

I wish I could have known then what I know now.

I wish that she knew then what I pray she knows now.

That I loved her unconditionally, even if I didn't know it back then. And I love her unconditionally now. And I do my best to show it in every way possible.

I hope my guilt doesn't spill over. I truly do.

Beautiful Mourning

It's that time again. April. April 30th to be specific. Mom's birthday. She'd be 67 today.

I miss her.

(It's easy to see why everyone loved her.)

(Look at how beautiful she was!)

Usually, at this point in the year, I start to dive deep into the darkness of mourning and depression. It took me a long time to figure out that April, May and June were taboo until therapy has taught me the meaning of the "Hat Trick" and how to start coping.

The "Hat Trick". I've mentioned on my other blogs about it. April - her birthday, May - Mother's Day, June - The anniversary of her passing. It has debilitated me long enough. It has sent me into a tailspin for 19 full years. It has made me contemplate ending it myself for many, many years.

And it returned every April. Without fail. Subconsciously at first...then I began putting the pieces together.

But this year is different.

This year, I intend to celebrate and embrace her, not mourn her. I've mourned long enough. I have suffered her loss with every new event - boyfriends, marriage, the birth of my daughter, anniversaries, birthdays...I have had enough mourning for a whole lifetime. After all, she's been gone more than half of my life this year. 19 years. I'm 36. Almost 2 decades gone. God I miss her.

(I might have been 1 here, she was 32.)

17 is a terrible time to lose your mother. And after all these years, I am finally learning that I have survived terrible losses and events in my life...and emerged stronger and smarter.

Going through it all, I never realized how strong I was becoming. But today, on her birthday, I can honestly admit what I see. She actually set out to do what she wanted to do. She wanted to make me a strong and independent woman. And while I may not agree with her technique, (that's a joke) I can finally appreciate what I've been through.

I can embrace my loss in a way I never have before. I can take my loss and use it to give me strength and courage to get through anything. It is my badge of honor, my tribute to her. I can see her in me and myself in my daughter, that gives me strength. Hope everlasting.

Finally, I can say. "I love you mom" without feeling anger, fear and emptiness in my soul. Finally, I can use this newfound courage for good.

Finally, I can celebrate her birthday as a joyful memory and wish her a happy birthday with all my heart. Yes, I'm crying as I type this. Yes, it was many, many years of therapy and medication to come to this crossroads. Yes, I was very fearful that if I stopped mourning and began accepting her death that I would officially lose her for good. Finality. It's what I feared most.

But I know now that the finality is only physical. My heart still feels her near me, still feels her embrace me when I need her love. I can still feel her watching over me, protecting me. And I can finally be okay with it. No I'll never be 'over' it, no I'll never forget her love and her soul. But I can be 'okay'.

The season has come to embrace her as is. As the part of my heart that no one can ever take away. This mourning, has made me realize I have entered a new phase in my life.

And I want to thank her for helping me find this peace. I have been waiting for a long time and working diligently to find it. I would have never found it without my mother's love, guiding me to this peace.

Peace of mind that she is with me always. I'm sure that was her dream.

Happy Birthday Mom. I love you and miss you.

(You were always beautiful.)

In control

I have been examining this life lately.

I believe I have finally come to the realization that I must enjoy it now. For I won't have another chance.

I have been given a clinical name for what I have been suffering for all of these years.

Depression.

And when Fa was born, Post Partum Psychosis.

I hate labels.

But for some reason. These labels in particular have helped me to let go of all the pain and insecurities I have held deep for so long. There are reasons for why I felt the way I did. I am not the only one who has felt this way. Experienced this. I am awakened to this new found security.

A funny kind of security. It's more of an "ah-ha!" then an "I can do this" thing.

When Fa was born, I was severely misdiagnosed and I wasn't given the correct line of treatment, which may have saved me from years of insecurity and fear vs. what I've gone through. I thought I was losing my mind. And no one even made a blip about my symptoms. I am surprised I got through it as well as I did. Goes to show what your heart can take for your child.

Today, it has a name and symptoms that I actually had, and a cure. A cure that I am finally receiving after 4+ years.

I am relieved. I am justified. I am secure.

I am so happy with being a mother these days that I almost feel jipped. I should have felt this way much earlier. I've lost precious moments due to the visions, fears, insecurities and thoughts.

I can't get those moments back. But I sure as shit can enjoy the ones I am having now.

I am proud of myself for finally, finally taking steps to figure this out. I knew it. I knew it was something more than depression after Fa was born.

Looking back and examining my life so far, I also realize that after the trauma of losing my mother at such a young age, I have done pretty good for myself...even if it took longer than I'd have liked. I survived a loss that led me through a downward spiral of depression and suicidal ideations and I was strong enough (without therapy, back then) to get through it.

I'm one tough bitch.

And finally. Finally. Thanks to Fa and the Pro, (and some damn good psychiatrists and therapists) I have finally begun to step into the light...To enjoy my life and thrive on the events that make it mine and only mine. This is my one and only life.

I am finally strong enough to live it to the fullest.

I am breathing again, for the first time in years. I've taken control and I love every second of it.