I attend Sunday school with old people. I have usually been the youngest in my class, but not too long ago two classes combined and now I am in a room with a group that includes friends of my parents and now also my grandparents. Honestly I do not always enjoy the new mix. It would be nice to study with peers of my own, people in a common stage of life. I am smart enough, however, to acknowledge their experience brings wisdom we'd otherwise miss, and to admit I have unfortunately already shared too many experiences that are only common amongst the elders.
One thing I've observed is we tend to trail off topic a bit more frequently. It's sometimes a challenge for my mind to slow down, let go of the focus and have patience to wander along with the conversation. A couple of weeks ago, class was so derailed I'm not sure any us even knew what the intended topic had been. I have no doubt, though, the derailment was intended for me. As the gentleman stated he wished to address the class I was of no consideration to him, but I left believing what he said was meant for my ears.
He spoke at length and began with the loss of his wife. He then told of a widow with whom he later began a friendship when wintering in Texas. His spouse passed relatively quickly while hers did not. She'd made 28 trips to the hospital with her husband and would never put herself through that heartache again. Personally I'd lost count of my ventures, but I was completely with her on that decision. Best case scenario, someone is still dying so no thanks. He said he belonged to a club that believes men should remarry as soon as possible after the loss of their wife. He's kidding, right? But they enjoyed each other's company, so he respected her choice and continued with the friendship. You're eighty-something, so why the heck not? He mentioned another friendship with a widow after returning home that he didn't feel free to pursue. His friends within said club confronted him, informing him he was a disgrace to the organization of which he'd been a member for sixty years and should be ashamed of what he'd been doing. He's fucking kidding me, right? He's old. And dating. So what? Surely we outgrow this bull shit by eighty. There's got to be an age that gets you a free pass on the judgments of man and man-made clubs. He spoke a bit more then he turned to his right, addressed the two men next to him by name and asked if he'd left anything out. Oh, snap! He is not at all kidding...I can not believe we don't outgrow that shit by eighty. He had been moved to tears, and had mentioned the morning's sermon theme that moved him to address our class was 'today is the day.'
I wanted to say to him, thank you. Thank you for continuing your friendship with your friend in Texas. I'm only 37, yet I can't fathom the idea of remarrying and taking care of someone to that degree again. The thought turns my stomach, but I don't believe God intends for us to be alone, either. I didn't say it. I was nearly moved to tears, too. I left knowing that I needed to hear him, but wasn't yet sure what my Sunday school lesson exactly was that day.
I haven't forgotten it. Listening to him and his heartache has stayed front & center on my mind. I needed to hear what her fear had cost him. Not necessarily the friendships of the boys club...I'm not sure I can call those true friends or a real loss. But he sacrificed what he desired of a relationship, compromised his beliefs to be with her, supportive of her needs and boundaries. And her fears and grief. Here was a good man of God, grieving because of her fears and grief. What am I letting go of in order to hang tight to my own? Am I really okay with that?
I don't think I am. My lesson was that it's probably time to let go of my fears and grief, and let myself risk holding tight to someone else again. I've got close to another 50 years before I'm eighty-something, so why the heck not? There are still memories that turn my stomach if I consider the possibility of repeating them, but I don't believe I should allow those to cause a good man grief of his own. And I don't believe God intends for me to be alone, either.
on my own
After a few months of new normal, we finally hit our stride last fall and as the lone parent I got a lot more time with things 1 and 2. With that I started to spot differences and concerns and was able to act without question or compromise. Partnering with just the kiddos' trusted therapist, Asperger's Syndrome was identified. As I read through characteristics of AS, a reel of memories flooded through with light bulbs clicking rapidly in my mind. It made sense to me and I could move forward on my mom instincts for what I believed to be best for my kid, without debate or discussion.
Obtaining the diagnosis for the Aspie was no doubt easier on my own. I knew I was right and I didn't have to argue or explain it. Looking back, I felt awful for how we misunderstood and could have done better by him. I can learn and adjust, meeting Thing 1 were he's at and needs me to be, but Mr. 1inamillion never would. I'm still haunted by "look at me when I'm talking to you boy" as Thing 1 covered his face and completely folded into himself. Those with Asperger's struggle with eye contact, it's a sensory overload that many describe as truly painful.
I remember talking it through with my therapist. "So you're feeling guilty. Wondering how you could have missed it for so long?" My split-second response? Oh no, I know exactly how I missed it. I was driving back and forth to St. Louis all the damn time, bouncing my kids all over the damn place. Huh. I guess I'm just pissed off about it. Yes, this was an instance made easier by now being a single parent.
Our schedule with just the healthy three of us allows for a lot more fun. The calendar stayed full with church, gymnastics, basketball and hockey games. This summer, we've bounced freely from the pool, water park, tumbling and ice skating lessons. And there in lies my first really big frustration with being on my own.
Thing 2 lost balance on the hockey skates in last night's lesson, fell face first on the ice and earned a big gash to the chin. The diva does not handle the sight of her own blood without hysterics, and the fear of stitches took her freak out to a whole new level. It took a lot of coaxing to get her calmed down so the EMT on site could take a look and bandage her up. After a lot more coaxing, she was finally willing to go let some of 'Daddy's nurses' take a look at it and we headed to the ER where she was determined to not get stitches. The doctor came in, squeezed the wide open wound which sort of just pushed it inside out, and said "yep, it needs stitches". Diva began to wail and throw herself around the bed in an effort to make a run for it and this mom began to wrestle. With my left arm across her arms & chest and my right arm around her knees, I laid across my screaming baby whose chin was being sewn shut and silently cussed the man who knocked me up then died.
This was an instance were teamwork was certainly preferred. The boy not wanting to hang out in the ER but forced to stay with his one & only parental unit, the terrified girl screaming and in pain....the evening definitely would have gone better with more than just me. I've never been great at coddling them through a situation such as this. My way of 'suck it up, think of something else and just get it over with' is not preferred. I know this, so I do try, but Mr. 1inamillion was better at this kind of thing (I was always kinda the dude).
I can be honest in my look through the rear view and know that I would have received heavy loads of blame and BS for the broken kid after the fact and without end...but in the actual moment, the kids certainly could have benefited by the presence of their dad and another set of hands would have been appreciated. I also realize that after the stress of holding it together while your baby is being traumatized, it probably would be nice to have someone to turn to, let out a "damn, that sucked" and at the very least get a hug.
The voices in my head....
I used to look forward to this stage in my life. Eventually what was would be done and a new phase would present itself. I held on tight to the book of Job. He suffered, lost it all, but was eventually blessed greatly. More kids, more livestock....life fully restored.....greatly blessed. I clung to his story as a promise of hope. Things never sucked nearly that bad, so better should come with speed & ease.
Cancer and care-taking stalled my career. Just an off-ramp, women ramp off the career path and back in all the time...it's a norm of working motherhood. Job was blessed with more livestock in the latter part of his life than the first. It crushed the dream of another baby. Seven sons, three daughters in his second act. Hell, Madonna didn't even start having babies until 40. There will be a second chance. This is temporary.
It's been a pretty consistent script, running on a fairly constant loop in my noggin for years. Truth of the matter is, though, that right now this forward-facing optimistic self-talk is being drowned out by my natural cynicism. My left shoulder hosts the little blonde cheerleader clutching faith, hope and sunshine. On the other sits the cranky, tired red-headed single mom who is content to sit back alone with a couple of glasses of wine and a season of Sex and the City. My Miranda voice is currently louder than the inner cheerleader, and the conversation between the two sounds something like...
Job lived another hundred and forty years. His later life was blessed even more than his earlier life. He lived to see four generations! Much more lies ahead.
.
Cancer and care-taking stalled my career. Just an off-ramp, women ramp off the career path and back in all the time...it's a norm of working motherhood. Job was blessed with more livestock in the latter part of his life than the first. It crushed the dream of another baby. Seven sons, three daughters in his second act. Hell, Madonna didn't even start having babies until 40. There will be a second chance. This is temporary.
It's been a pretty consistent script, running on a fairly constant loop in my noggin for years. Truth of the matter is, though, that right now this forward-facing optimistic self-talk is being drowned out by my natural cynicism. My left shoulder hosts the little blonde cheerleader clutching faith, hope and sunshine. On the other sits the cranky, tired red-headed single mom who is content to sit back alone with a couple of glasses of wine and a season of Sex and the City. My Miranda voice is currently louder than the inner cheerleader, and the conversation between the two sounds something like...
Job lived another hundred and forty years. His later life was blessed even more than his earlier life. He lived to see four generations! Much more lies ahead.
- One hundred and forty damn years? Does the bible specify that all the family additions out lived him? Nope, it doesn't. FOUR damn generations. How many wives did he go through? How many more people do you suppose he had to fucking bury in his one hundred and forty damn years? Yeah, several.
- Marriage? No. That really just means that at some point, someone is going to be wiping someone else's butt in a hospital. And they'll die. Disney leaves out a lot of 'happily ever after'. Death doesn't come from an apple or cursed loom, and no one is saved by a kiss. It's bull shit. Life is messy, and so is death.
.
I can't be a Jehovah's Witness
I am really not a big fan of the month of May any longer. My birthday is tomorrow, promptly followed by Mother's Day which at this stage really just boils down to the fact I should have taken down the Christmas lights by now. I don't see much fun in turning 37 and I don't particularly enjoy Mother's Day without my mom. Also, school is almost out making the kids just wound up and rotten.
I bought a couple of slices of cake today to celebrate the eve of the day of my birth, and Thing 2 dug her fingers into it as soon as she was home. I ate it anyway, but still. They both wanted to make me a whole new cake, which would really be just a whole new mess. That is an example of it's the thought that counts, that REALLY is the thought that counts. It has me nervous about what they might attempt this weekend.
I was seriously considering converting to Jehovah's Witness. No birthday, no Mother's Day. No Christmas lights, although that would definitely mean it's time to take them down. I did some serious research on the matter. Wikipedia, where all serious research is now done, says drinking alcoholic beverages is permitted in moderation but otherwise the denomination is a far bigger buzz kill than just no holidays. Patriarchal family structure probably wouldn't have flown well with me, we are rather fond of blood transfusions in this house, and I wholeheartedly support same sex marriage. Those are just my top three oh huh-uh red flags spotted on Wikipedia. There seems to be a whole lot of grace they're missing. So I will suck it up and let the kids celebrate me this weekend. And I will be keeping the Christmas lights. Probably on the roof year round.
I bought a couple of slices of cake today to celebrate the eve of the day of my birth, and Thing 2 dug her fingers into it as soon as she was home. I ate it anyway, but still. They both wanted to make me a whole new cake, which would really be just a whole new mess. That is an example of it's the thought that counts, that REALLY is the thought that counts. It has me nervous about what they might attempt this weekend.
I was seriously considering converting to Jehovah's Witness. No birthday, no Mother's Day. No Christmas lights, although that would definitely mean it's time to take them down. I did some serious research on the matter. Wikipedia, where all serious research is now done, says drinking alcoholic beverages is permitted in moderation but otherwise the denomination is a far bigger buzz kill than just no holidays. Patriarchal family structure probably wouldn't have flown well with me, we are rather fond of blood transfusions in this house, and I wholeheartedly support same sex marriage. Those are just my top three oh huh-uh red flags spotted on Wikipedia. There seems to be a whole lot of grace they're missing. So I will suck it up and let the kids celebrate me this weekend. And I will be keeping the Christmas lights. Probably on the roof year round.
In our own time
I've been walking sideways since the day Lucy took her first steps. Things 1 and 2 have always moved at opposite speeds. Lucy has been full speed ahead from the moment she was mobile. Gabe on the other hand, he has always moseyed along. They each have their own pace for everything they do, and they are different in every possible way. Thing 1 is up with the sun and is ready to head for bed shortly after it sets. Thing 2 gets up after a lot of yelling and water hits her noggin, and only sleeps when she collapses. Thing 1 is quick with computers and academics, Thing 2 has the athletic aptitude and no desire to be still long enough to read or add a couple of digits. There are only two things on which they agree--McDonald's and ice skating.
As with everything else for these two, dealing with the loss of Dad comes differently. Gabe was more in tune with Mr. 1inamillion's illness and wanted to be near by to help in any way he could. He asked more questions, talked about things more along the way with me and their counselors. He is in fact wired very differently than all of us, his unique operating system giving him the ability to process things in another manner which in many ways helps. Diva, however, has mastered avoidance better than any other kid their therapist has met. She manages to keep it sunny and 70 in Lucyland nearly all year round. Therefore I am usually caught off guard when something does seep through her barrier and hits her hard.
The first instance with Thing 2 that I did not anticipate resulted in the damn sticker family on my van. Thing 2 decided at some point a year or so ago that she was a Jayhawk fan. The only one living in this house...or riding in my van. Daddy bought her one of those KU sticker family sets, assuring me that she would be able to put them in her room and not on the van. Unfortunately, there were brain mets before Mr. 1inamillion could give her said stickers with the explanation that they were NOT for mommy's vehicle. After she put them on the van and I later began taking some of them off, there were tears. But Daddy bought those for me! (My first year of college was at MIZZOU, Dane worked years for the K-State sports network. I just can't display that kind of devotion to KU. Sorry, but just. can't. do it.) We have since compromised with a WSU Shocker family that includes one KU cheerleader and pack member. (But I still have a stinkin' sticker family on my van, because a minivan in and of itself just doesn't cover it.)
There was fear and tears with my first business travel, which used to be business as usual. But you're my only parent now. There was pure hostility at the prospect of me meeting new people. You KNOW you're still married right? Daddy just died and is in heaven. It doesn't mean you're not still married. Now that last one was dripping with such venom, my eyes nearly popped out of my head, but on these occasions when she speaks, I get her in to the therapist as fast as I can, we listen and try to get her to speak more. It's a rare occasion that she expresses anything, so regardless the tone, it is welcomed. Most of the time, she bottles it and avoids to the point she physically hurts.
Yesterday was a big day. Thing 2 had her tumbling recital and last night was the listener appreciation show for the station at which Mr. 1inamillion worked. We were invited to attend several weeks ago and both kids were excited about attending at that time. As I reminded her we were heading to the show after lunch, I visibly saw her simply sink as the thought absorbed. She said she didn't want to go and remained just silent and visibly down as we ate, regardless of any attempt to compliment her performance or engage her regarding the recital. When I asked if she would rather leave with Aunt Shel, Thing 2 began to instantly lift and return.
It took a large effort to get Dane out of the house and to her recital last year. It was the first outing in the wheelchair and the last performance of any kind he would attend. During Friday's dress rehearsal I stood at the handicap seating where we sat the year before and soaked in the fact it was at this time we truly hit the beginning of his end. Following that with a station event was a bit much for me to handle, so it was no doubt too much for her and definitely a huge downer on her big recital day.
Thing 1, of course, operates on an opposite spectrum. He wanted to go to the concert, see Daddy's friends and be back in his world. He accompanied Mr. 1inamillion to work on many weekends, so it was a chance to see his friends, too. He seems to welcome those reminders and processes them completely differently.
So yesterday following lunch I walked sideways. I watched as Thing 2 headed off with Aunt Shel for the safe comforts of home and watched as Thing 1 walked to the van (easily identified by our sticker family) so we could head to a radio station event without Mr. 1inamillion.
As with everything else for these two, dealing with the loss of Dad comes differently. Gabe was more in tune with Mr. 1inamillion's illness and wanted to be near by to help in any way he could. He asked more questions, talked about things more along the way with me and their counselors. He is in fact wired very differently than all of us, his unique operating system giving him the ability to process things in another manner which in many ways helps. Diva, however, has mastered avoidance better than any other kid their therapist has met. She manages to keep it sunny and 70 in Lucyland nearly all year round. Therefore I am usually caught off guard when something does seep through her barrier and hits her hard.
The first instance with Thing 2 that I did not anticipate resulted in the damn sticker family on my van. Thing 2 decided at some point a year or so ago that she was a Jayhawk fan. The only one living in this house...or riding in my van. Daddy bought her one of those KU sticker family sets, assuring me that she would be able to put them in her room and not on the van. Unfortunately, there were brain mets before Mr. 1inamillion could give her said stickers with the explanation that they were NOT for mommy's vehicle. After she put them on the van and I later began taking some of them off, there were tears. But Daddy bought those for me! (My first year of college was at MIZZOU, Dane worked years for the K-State sports network. I just can't display that kind of devotion to KU. Sorry, but just. can't. do it.) We have since compromised with a WSU Shocker family that includes one KU cheerleader and pack member. (But I still have a stinkin' sticker family on my van, because a minivan in and of itself just doesn't cover it.)
There was fear and tears with my first business travel, which used to be business as usual. But you're my only parent now. There was pure hostility at the prospect of me meeting new people. You KNOW you're still married right? Daddy just died and is in heaven. It doesn't mean you're not still married. Now that last one was dripping with such venom, my eyes nearly popped out of my head, but on these occasions when she speaks, I get her in to the therapist as fast as I can, we listen and try to get her to speak more. It's a rare occasion that she expresses anything, so regardless the tone, it is welcomed. Most of the time, she bottles it and avoids to the point she physically hurts.
Yesterday was a big day. Thing 2 had her tumbling recital and last night was the listener appreciation show for the station at which Mr. 1inamillion worked. We were invited to attend several weeks ago and both kids were excited about attending at that time. As I reminded her we were heading to the show after lunch, I visibly saw her simply sink as the thought absorbed. She said she didn't want to go and remained just silent and visibly down as we ate, regardless of any attempt to compliment her performance or engage her regarding the recital. When I asked if she would rather leave with Aunt Shel, Thing 2 began to instantly lift and return.
It took a large effort to get Dane out of the house and to her recital last year. It was the first outing in the wheelchair and the last performance of any kind he would attend. During Friday's dress rehearsal I stood at the handicap seating where we sat the year before and soaked in the fact it was at this time we truly hit the beginning of his end. Following that with a station event was a bit much for me to handle, so it was no doubt too much for her and definitely a huge downer on her big recital day.
Thing 1, of course, operates on an opposite spectrum. He wanted to go to the concert, see Daddy's friends and be back in his world. He accompanied Mr. 1inamillion to work on many weekends, so it was a chance to see his friends, too. He seems to welcome those reminders and processes them completely differently.
So yesterday following lunch I walked sideways. I watched as Thing 2 headed off with Aunt Shel for the safe comforts of home and watched as Thing 1 walked to the van (easily identified by our sticker family) so we could head to a radio station event without Mr. 1inamillion.
Honoring memories
One of my struggles right now, particularly with writing, is honoring my memories with respect to those of others. I've mentioned before that I lost my Mr. 1inamillion to cancer long ago. What I haven't written much about is the differences in the husband that remained until he finally passed away. That is much of what I have been processing lately. My desire to balance memories of who he was before and who he was outside of our four walls, with my experiences with him is a lot of why there has been such a gap in blogging. I want to be honest in who I am and honest in my journey, but I've feared tainting how he might be remembered by others.
But what the hell, it's my blog.
Life as Mrs. 1inamillion carried some similarities to that of living with an addict. After all, years of tumors and treatments calls for a plethora of drugs. Even when taken as prescribed for legit needs they carry ups and downs, changing who we are. We walked a lot egg shells, rode a lot roller coasters. I sucked in a lot of his anger, bitterness and frustration to just deal and maintain as much 'normal' as we could. Holding on to the love and commitment for the man of whom I only seemed to catch glimpses, I distinctly remember consciously shutting down particular goals and ceasing friendships to peacefully survive however long remained. Because it was just temporary, and dear God it had to come to an end sometime. I put myself in a box, and am finally finding my way out.
I long to forget Thing 2 asking, 'Mommy, is it okay for Daddy to be mean just because he has cancer? Because I don't think he should get to be mean just because he has cancer.' I pray she forgets ever needing to ask such a question, but I expect she won't. I know they're young enough that many of their memories will be shaped by what we tell them, so I try to talk about Mr. 1inamillion-the early years as much as I can. I also know that the hard things define who we are, make us strong, and grow deeper roots so we shouldn't deny them.
But what the hell, it's my blog.
Life as Mrs. 1inamillion carried some similarities to that of living with an addict. After all, years of tumors and treatments calls for a plethora of drugs. Even when taken as prescribed for legit needs they carry ups and downs, changing who we are. We walked a lot egg shells, rode a lot roller coasters. I sucked in a lot of his anger, bitterness and frustration to just deal and maintain as much 'normal' as we could. Holding on to the love and commitment for the man of whom I only seemed to catch glimpses, I distinctly remember consciously shutting down particular goals and ceasing friendships to peacefully survive however long remained. Because it was just temporary, and dear God it had to come to an end sometime. I put myself in a box, and am finally finding my way out.
I long to forget Thing 2 asking, 'Mommy, is it okay for Daddy to be mean just because he has cancer? Because I don't think he should get to be mean just because he has cancer.' I pray she forgets ever needing to ask such a question, but I expect she won't. I know they're young enough that many of their memories will be shaped by what we tell them, so I try to talk about Mr. 1inamillion-the early years as much as I can. I also know that the hard things define who we are, make us strong, and grow deeper roots so we shouldn't deny them.
Worth The Drive
We hit the road again to St. Louis for the first time in nearly a year. Thing 1's eleventh birthday was Friday and we celebrated with a St. Louis Blues game with big sister. He absolutely LOVES hockey right now and a very first NHL game was exciting stuff. We both looked forward to the game and seeing the grown kid, the drive not so much. Gabe really looked forward to staying at the same hotel we always had on previous trips, I did not but it was his birthday so I booked his choice.
All three of us had a lot of fun at the game. We enjoyed our stay, saw some familiar faces and were both comfortable at the usual home away from home. I am sure Thing 1 will talk about this special birthday to anyone who will listen for a long time to come. I was nervous about repeating the familiar drive and venturing through familiar territory, but it was a completely wonderful trip.
I white-knuckled the wheel as we first passed the hospital on the highway towards downtown. I was bracing myself for a reaction of some sort but there was nothing. I feared my knees might buckle walking into the hotel lobby alone, but they did not. I thought there might be tears when I shut the door behind me once we made it to the room, but nope. We were forced to detour leaving Saturday morning, and that took us right through the hospital campus. Stated as matter-of-fact from the back seat as we passed the Siteman Cancer Center sign, "There's Daddy's hospital." Deep breath and "Yup, there it is." Tears? Nope.
It really was an adventure of pure fun and that was perfectly okay.
I had the best hot dog and beer at the game without scrutiny and we enjoyed the game to it's finish with a lot of cheering. I had complete control of the stereo for the entire drive. I only turned on the radio for traffic reports when we hit the city at Friday rush hour. My music, my volume all the way there and back. The whole way home I subjected my poor son to nothing but loud girl rock & country and my very bad singing. God bless headphones and video games, he did not complain about it once.
Days before, someone had mentioned the Dixie Chicks, which had me missing them and wanting to listen. We stopped at our favorite used game & music store just outside of KC and I picked up their live CD set. Then of course it got really loud in the van and I'm sure my singing got much worse (if at all possible). Once we hit the turnpike, that final stretch home, I finally had a moment when the disc came to "Top of the World." Always loved the song, but I guess never really captured it.
It's introduced with Natalie Maines stating, "it's written from the perspective of a man who has passed on and is looking back on his life, wishing he'd done some things differently and treated the people in it a little better."
The first chorus came, and took my breath away..
There's a whole lot of singing it's never gonna be heard
Disappearing everyday without so much of a word somehow
I think I broke the wings off that little song bird
She's never gonna fly to the top of the world
Right now, top of the world
And that's the moment the tears came. Had I been that clipped? I knew I'd broken some beneath the weight of his anger and bitterness on my shoulders, but I guess I hadn't realized just how clipped I'd become. Did he ever realize it? Regret it?
And then the final chorus..
'Cause everyone is singing we just wanna be heard
Disappearing everyday without so much of a word somehow
I wanna grab a hold of that little song bird
Take her for a ride to the top of the world
Right now
That song was followed by Sin Wagon and the tears followed with a great big laugh.
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!
All three of us had a lot of fun at the game. We enjoyed our stay, saw some familiar faces and were both comfortable at the usual home away from home. I am sure Thing 1 will talk about this special birthday to anyone who will listen for a long time to come. I was nervous about repeating the familiar drive and venturing through familiar territory, but it was a completely wonderful trip.
I white-knuckled the wheel as we first passed the hospital on the highway towards downtown. I was bracing myself for a reaction of some sort but there was nothing. I feared my knees might buckle walking into the hotel lobby alone, but they did not. I thought there might be tears when I shut the door behind me once we made it to the room, but nope. We were forced to detour leaving Saturday morning, and that took us right through the hospital campus. Stated as matter-of-fact from the back seat as we passed the Siteman Cancer Center sign, "There's Daddy's hospital." Deep breath and "Yup, there it is." Tears? Nope.
It really was an adventure of pure fun and that was perfectly okay.
I had the best hot dog and beer at the game without scrutiny and we enjoyed the game to it's finish with a lot of cheering. I had complete control of the stereo for the entire drive. I only turned on the radio for traffic reports when we hit the city at Friday rush hour. My music, my volume all the way there and back. The whole way home I subjected my poor son to nothing but loud girl rock & country and my very bad singing. God bless headphones and video games, he did not complain about it once.
Days before, someone had mentioned the Dixie Chicks, which had me missing them and wanting to listen. We stopped at our favorite used game & music store just outside of KC and I picked up their live CD set. Then of course it got really loud in the van and I'm sure my singing got much worse (if at all possible). Once we hit the turnpike, that final stretch home, I finally had a moment when the disc came to "Top of the World." Always loved the song, but I guess never really captured it.
It's introduced with Natalie Maines stating, "it's written from the perspective of a man who has passed on and is looking back on his life, wishing he'd done some things differently and treated the people in it a little better."
The first chorus came, and took my breath away..
There's a whole lot of singing it's never gonna be heard
Disappearing everyday without so much of a word somehow
I think I broke the wings off that little song bird
She's never gonna fly to the top of the world
Right now, top of the world
And that's the moment the tears came. Had I been that clipped? I knew I'd broken some beneath the weight of his anger and bitterness on my shoulders, but I guess I hadn't realized just how clipped I'd become. Did he ever realize it? Regret it?
And then the final chorus..
'Cause everyone is singing we just wanna be heard
Disappearing everyday without so much of a word somehow
I wanna grab a hold of that little song bird
Take her for a ride to the top of the world
Right now
That song was followed by Sin Wagon and the tears followed with a great big laugh.
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!
Online Dating
Yup. You read that title correctly. I've gone there. Though I'm not quite certain 'dating' is a accurate term. My last post I mentioned my desire to meet new people, preferably some in a similar point in life. Typically we meet people where we are at such as school or work, right? Have I mentioned I work from home, where I interact with coworkers via phone or Internet who are nowhere near my home state and I share actual office space with three dogs and a cat? Beyond work I'm shuttling kids. So where am I supposed to meet others in a similar point in life? Yeah, easiest place to go, is to go there.
I must confess, the anonymity of online 'dating' makes meeting boys again far less intimidating. I was twenty the last time I flirted. I was twenty the last time I went on a first date. You forget a lot in sixteen years. A lot. It's weird to be single again and a bit terrifying. The anonymity of meeting boys online easily allows baby steps and leaves me a lot of room to chicken out (SCORE). I say boys because I just feel like a teenager again, not because I'm actually meeting them (at least as far as I can tell--that's a definite downfall of that whole anonymity thing). Along with plenty of room to chicken out, it provides plenty of room to humiliate myself with people I will not have to ever see again face to face (BONUS).
So I've gone there and am surviving the scary baby steps forward. Like that very first meeting for coffee? Weird and awkward. (And it was just coffee, NOT a date) And that very first 'nice to meet you, but not interested'? Disappointing and also a huge relief. Then actually big joy, because I realized I just checked off my second very first rejection (YAY!)
I must confess, the anonymity of online 'dating' makes meeting boys again far less intimidating. I was twenty the last time I flirted. I was twenty the last time I went on a first date. You forget a lot in sixteen years. A lot. It's weird to be single again and a bit terrifying. The anonymity of meeting boys online easily allows baby steps and leaves me a lot of room to chicken out (SCORE). I say boys because I just feel like a teenager again, not because I'm actually meeting them (at least as far as I can tell--that's a definite downfall of that whole anonymity thing). Along with plenty of room to chicken out, it provides plenty of room to humiliate myself with people I will not have to ever see again face to face (BONUS).
So I've gone there and am surviving the scary baby steps forward. Like that very first meeting for coffee? Weird and awkward. (And it was just coffee, NOT a date) And that very first 'nice to meet you, but not interested'? Disappointing and also a huge relief. Then actually big joy, because I realized I just checked off my second very first rejection (YAY!)
Two steps forward, one step back
I've been busy dancing. One step forward, two steps back. Two steps forward, one step back. Now, strike a pose and Vogue. Then again--two steps forward, one step back. A few more steps forward, then a mad dash back and a dive into the nearest fox hole because, at times, this shit is terrifying.
I started the year with a new job. Same company, but a new role that is essentially a promotion. Unexpectedly, it had me paralyzed with grief. It was not that long before Mr. 1inamillion got sick in 2007 that I had secured a new position at work. The interview process again put me back on that road before the cancer detour, the road we were traveling together. I hung up after the first phone interview, walked out of my office and realized he wasn't there to rehash it with me. When I got the job offer, I was fighting tears before I even hung up the phone because he wasn't there to celebrate it with me. Mr. 1inamillion was the partner that supported me through school and work, the teammate on the career path who cheered me on, but now I was alone. I sat down at my desk the first morning of the new gig, saw my new title next to my name and sobbed. Strike a pose, now Vogue. I felt frozen. I envisioned myself merging back on that road we were on in 07, but alone and leaving him behind. I also remembered the man I was married to in 07 who was encouraging and supportive of me, and grieved that loss. A loss that happened long before 2012. It left me stuck for a while.
Fast forward through a bit of one step forward, two steps back and some more two steps forward, one step back. Dancing again, and finally able to reach back before the care taking and remember the good stuff, I realized I might like that again, and that I'm lonely. My circle of friends has shrunk amidst cancer and grew limited to couples amidst marriage. I office from home, so my 9-5 interactions are virtual or with the dogs. Mr.1inamillion always worked for a radio station, so our social life was made up of concerts and events with his circle of coworkers. I'm not quite sure who I am now, and with whom I fit. I married at 21 and by 22 my husband already had two surgeries and radiation. My entire adult life I've been the wife and caretaker of a radio guy with cancer. I feel like I'd been living in his world, now I'm trying to find my way in a new world of my own. How do you be a single adult? A single mom? Where the hell is my manual? Can I get a dance instructor here for all this two-stepping, maybe a hot one?
I have gained some courage and started reaching out to reconnect with old friends, pre-cancer & pre-marriage. I started searching and trying to connect with new friends. Confident, I had made several steps forward, but am easily spooked. Some memories or the horror stories of others have me saying, NEVERMIND and taking a step or two back. Dancing. A recent pull back into Mr. 1inamillion's territory sent me not just a step back, but fleeing for the nearest fox hole, diving in and ducking my head.
There is a song that has been stuck on my mind. Garth Brooks singing Learning to Live Again is killing me runs through my head almost on a continual loop. It's true. Moving forward is difficult and terrifying. Since someone else wrote that song over a decade ago, I can't be alone in this, right? I'm still in the fox hole right now, but I have lifted my head and am considering my next dance moves.
I started the year with a new job. Same company, but a new role that is essentially a promotion. Unexpectedly, it had me paralyzed with grief. It was not that long before Mr. 1inamillion got sick in 2007 that I had secured a new position at work. The interview process again put me back on that road before the cancer detour, the road we were traveling together. I hung up after the first phone interview, walked out of my office and realized he wasn't there to rehash it with me. When I got the job offer, I was fighting tears before I even hung up the phone because he wasn't there to celebrate it with me. Mr. 1inamillion was the partner that supported me through school and work, the teammate on the career path who cheered me on, but now I was alone. I sat down at my desk the first morning of the new gig, saw my new title next to my name and sobbed. Strike a pose, now Vogue. I felt frozen. I envisioned myself merging back on that road we were on in 07, but alone and leaving him behind. I also remembered the man I was married to in 07 who was encouraging and supportive of me, and grieved that loss. A loss that happened long before 2012. It left me stuck for a while.
Fast forward through a bit of one step forward, two steps back and some more two steps forward, one step back. Dancing again, and finally able to reach back before the care taking and remember the good stuff, I realized I might like that again, and that I'm lonely. My circle of friends has shrunk amidst cancer and grew limited to couples amidst marriage. I office from home, so my 9-5 interactions are virtual or with the dogs. Mr.1inamillion always worked for a radio station, so our social life was made up of concerts and events with his circle of coworkers. I'm not quite sure who I am now, and with whom I fit. I married at 21 and by 22 my husband already had two surgeries and radiation. My entire adult life I've been the wife and caretaker of a radio guy with cancer. I feel like I'd been living in his world, now I'm trying to find my way in a new world of my own. How do you be a single adult? A single mom? Where the hell is my manual? Can I get a dance instructor here for all this two-stepping, maybe a hot one?
I have gained some courage and started reaching out to reconnect with old friends, pre-cancer & pre-marriage. I started searching and trying to connect with new friends. Confident, I had made several steps forward, but am easily spooked. Some memories or the horror stories of others have me saying, NEVERMIND and taking a step or two back. Dancing. A recent pull back into Mr. 1inamillion's territory sent me not just a step back, but fleeing for the nearest fox hole, diving in and ducking my head.
There is a song that has been stuck on my mind. Garth Brooks singing Learning to Live Again is killing me runs through my head almost on a continual loop. It's true. Moving forward is difficult and terrifying. Since someone else wrote that song over a decade ago, I can't be alone in this, right? I'm still in the fox hole right now, but I have lifted my head and am considering my next dance moves.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)