A hard goodbye

(Written on 10/26/12 for event 9/12/12)

I had a friend Nancy from church, and for two and a half years I sat behind her and her husband at the early service but I quit going to church after Easter 2011 (long story) and have just been doing church on the internet instead.  About seven months ago I had gone to the church again just to get a phone number from my old Sunday school teacher (who I hate).  As I was walking back to my car, I saw Nancy standing in the parking lot with her husband talking to another couple.  She was carting an oxygen tank (because she had lung cancer).

I marched right up to her, no qualms at all, right in front of them all, and looked her square in the face and said, "I love you!"  She looked a little surprised but then said she loved me too.

Nancy and I have the same birthday even though she's 21 years older than me.  We both love dogs.  She loved Humphrey Bogart.  During the time I knew her, I had been to her house for lunch once and got to meet her big dog named Bogey.  Another time she invited me and another lady to Cracker Barrel for lunch.  I will never forget how she said grace that day.  She held both our hands and prayed, "God, thank you for my friends."  It made me feel so good to hear her call me a friend.  One Christmas eve service, my husband and kids had gone with me and I introduced her to them.  My oldest son always referred to her as my "surrogate mom" and his surrogate grandma (because my own mother isn't very loving and my husband's mother is even less loving than mine, only interested in her money).

On our birthday in July this year, Nancy had to go to Mayo Clinic to consult about her voice (she could only talk in a whisper at that point).  They said there wasn't anything further they could do for her cancer.  Although she was happy to be going home with Jesus, we were all pretty much in shock.  For the rest of the summer, I kept thinking I should go visit her but I was scared.  I wouldn't even look further in myself to find out why I was scared.  I ended up writing her a couple of letters in the regular mail.  Even though I already had been "brazen" enough to tell her I loved her (and in front of people, no less!), I wrote her everything I felt about her, no holds barred.  I told her I regretted not telling two friends I had worked with in Florida how I felt about them before they died and I didn't want that to happen again.  She emailed me a nice response and thanked me a lot for sharing everything in my heart.

Then hospice came into the picture.  Again I thought about visiting her.  I even talked about it with my therapist.  I was so despondent and scared about going that he even said he would go with me if that would help.  I didn't want to be a burden on him though.  That's way outside the scope of his job to visit her with me.

I wrote Nancy another letter and mailed it.  I know this will sound totally insane, but I didn't want her to get to Heaven and be surprised to see Claudia.  I didn't want Nancy to be mad at me for not telling her about Claudia either.  I know, I was just so paranoid that when Nancy got to Heaven that even Claudia would be mad at ME for not telling Nancy about her, and then they'd spend years talking about what a jerk I was, and then when I'd finally get to Heaven they would both hate me.  (It's irrational, I know now, to think like this, but I was panicked and upset at the time.)  So in my second letter, I told her all about the guy I went out with, what happened and me getting pregnant, and what happened to Claudia.  I remember one of the last things I wrote was "So if you get to Heaven and see someone who looks a lot like me, that's Claudia, and I love her."

I decided to call the pastor's wife one week to see if she would go with me to see Nancy.  I waited for four days for her to return my call and then I called the church again, mad as a hornet.  Their story was that the receptionist got sick the day I called and never wrote the message so his wife didn't even know I was trying to call.  The pastor's wife said she was busy all that week and we would go on Wednesday the next week.

Sunday, September 2, was my daughter's birthday.  My husband had gone to the mall with her, her friend and her brother, so I was home by myself watching "Marilyn Hotchkiss Ballroom Dance and Charm School" and folding my husband's laundry when the phone rang.  It was the pastor's wife informing me that Nancy had passed away.  I screamed, I cried, and she told me she'd let me know when the funeral was.  When my husband and kids got home, I put on a blank face because I didn't want to ruin my daughter's birthday.  I waited over a week to tell him.

I talked to my therapist that week about being scared to go to the funeral, and he had said he would go with me.  (Which, I thought he literally meant "he would go with me" but later I found out since I didn't actually ASK him to go with me, he didn't think I wanted him to go with me.  I know, weird.)

Wednesday, September 12, was the memorial service with just pictures.  My therapist was nowhere in the sanctuary so the pastor's wife said I could sit by her and her friends, a couple who she introduced as her "surrogate parents."  (Wow, I thought that was neat she had surrogates too.)  I cried so much during the service that those friends came up to me later and said they were sorry for the loss of my friend.

The worship leader sang a solo of "I Can Only Imagine."  One of Nancy's close friends gave a little speech about the fun times they had at Starbucks every week.  One of her stepchildren read a letter from her biological son (who has cerebral palsy and is in a wheelchair and couldn't travel).  The worship leader sang another solo of "Amazing Grace" (the Chris Tomlin version).  Her Bible study leader said a few words.  A trio from the choir from the early service (that me and Nancy always went to) sang a song.  Then, believe it or not, Nancy's husband gave a eulogy about his wife.  (I didn't know she was the "legs girl" for the old advertisement for Legg's pantyhose in the late 70's.)  Then they were supposed to have a song played from a CD but there were audio problems and I didn't even know what it was supposed to be (turns out it was "Because You Loved Me" by Celine Dion).  

They had a lunch afterwards of just rolls and ham and potato salad and some kind of jello salad and chocolate cake.  Each table had a centerpiece of daisies (her favorite flower) in a clear glass vase.  They said we could take some home so I did.  Then her husband walked up to me while I was eating and gave me a letter Nancy had written me a month ago.  I was the only one at the funeral who got one.  I waited till I went to my next session the next week to read it with my therapist.  In her letter, part of it said that when she gets scared of dying, she thinks of all the people she loves who are in Heaven waiting for her, and then she said she and Claudia would wait for me.

In one of my sessions after that, I decided or discovered that the reason I was too scared to go visit her was because I couldn't bear to say goodbye.  I wish she was still here and I wish she never had to die.  I can say that about my other friends I mentioned, my grandmas, even Claudia.

No man is worth losing your kid over

I am overwrought with guilt.  My oldest son and his wife are moving soon to North Dakota for 18 months, and then off to Italy for two years (Air force).

My son has only been over once (alone) to see us and that was nine days ago.  I thought he was nearing the end of his leave so I asked if we could go out for dinner with them and he said okay.  Then on Sunday he canceled and I saw on his wife's Facebook that they went to a party.  Yesterday he told me to call him after work (he works at the recruiter's while he's in town) so we could decide where to eat.  When I called, he said his wife didn't want to go because she doesn't like my husband.  I said we could go on Tuesday because my husband teaches that night.  Then my son said Zoe doesn't like me either because I didn't stick up for Ian when he was growing up.

Yes, it's true ... after I had my daughter and youngest son, my husband started treating my oldest son like shit.  Of course, my husband puts on his halo and says that if my son would've treated him like a dad and respected HIM then he would've respected my son.  (Which I always knew was a crock because he's the adult here; it should have started with him.)

My husband had strict rules for him.  My husband yelled at him if he slipped up even a little.  My husband yelled at ME if I tried to defend my son.  My husband even went on the offensive and told me that I didn't love him if I wasn't on the same page as HIM.  I mean, holy cow, how could I even try to be on the same page as my husband if his page was being MEAN?  I couldn't be mean to my kid.  That's the one thing I did right.  I love Ian.

I should've left.  I know now.  I should've.  My husband always tries to entice me to divorce him by saying he'll give me $5,000 and a bus ticket to anywhere I want to go.  He doesn't want to be the one to file because he doesn't want his side of the family to know he's an asshole.  His side of the family is very wealthy and he doesn't want to get written out of the will for being a douchebag to his wife and kids.

Another thing he always did is point out everything I was doing wrong and judging me on my performance as a wife and mother.  It didn't really motivate me to do better; it just made me lose hope.  I'm never going to be good enough.  But something inside me wanted to stay and at least try to be better.

I wish I would've left.  My husband points to the few times when he and my oldest son did fun things together as proof that he "loved" him and "took care of" him.  This hurts me really bad because my own father (who was my father and not a step-father) would always remind me I had a roof over my head and food in my stomach to prove that he "loved" me.  So anybody could've taken Ian to the zoo or a football game but it doesn't mean they love him.

Ian was on a soccer team for a few years when he was in grade school and I hauled my pregnant self (and baby/toddler-carrying self) to his practices and games.  I got a job when he was in 7th grade and stayed up all night typing and made a bunch of money and I would give him $25 a week allowance, for about three years till my "employer" decided to cut down my work drastically.  All through high school Ian dated the girl next door literally, and he was always over at their house, so I don't think he's mad at me for not spending time with him then.  They broke up before Thanksgiving (about six months after he graduated from high school) and he started going out with Zoe and they got engaged on St. Patrick's day (about five months later).


In June while he was still waiting to go to basic training, my husband "kicked him out" when we got back from a concert out of town.  My husband lied and said he had hidden cameras in the house and knew Ian had a party (which Ian never did have anyone over, because that was our rule while we were gone).  They did a bunch of yelling and eventually Ian just gave up and started agreeing and decided living without my husband's big fat mouth wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.  I was hysterical and my son was saying it was okay, he'll leave and everything's fine.  Then he and my husband were getting along that day, so I thought everything was fine.


So the night before he goes to basic (which was Halloween) he and Zoe got married.  (My husband doesn't believe they did.)  Zoe still hasn't changed her last name, and both her and my son's status on Facebook is "in a relationship with."  My son asked me for money to pay his late bills so he wouldn't have to worry about that during basic, so I gave him EVERYTHING I HAD with the exception of $99.  I wrote him every day during basic.  He wanted a book but I couldn't send it to him because they don't allow books only letters, so I typed ten pages of the book every day and sent it with my letters!


Anyway, Ian and Zoe supposedly never took pictures when they got married.  Since he's been in town, they have stayed with her parents.  I think my husband is lying but he claims he drives by their house and my son's jeep is always there (hinting that he's not even working).  My husband "helpfully" told me that he thinks it's Ian who actually hates me and he's just claiming Zoe said it.


A couple months ago I took Zoe to work once.  She didn't seem like she hated me.

Right before he graduated from tech school, I was telling him I wanted to get a tattoo of the Air Force logo and maybe his name on the inside of my ankle (to honor him), and he emailed me back and said that I had 15 years to honor him and didn't do it so a tattoo would be stupid.  That just freaking hurts.  I wanted to get a tattoo for Claudia sometime, but now I just feel like that would be stupid for her too.  The thing is, my reasoning for getting tattoos for them is that at least nobody could take THEM away off my leg.  Even though people took the "real" them away.


I don't know if I can write this part.  It hurts, it kills me.  It's unbearable.  I don't know how to fix this.  I wrote him when he was in basic that I was sorry for everything.  I mean, I even said I wished we never moved here.  But if we hadn't have moved here, he wouldn't have met Zoe either.  So I don't know what to think.  I can't go back 15 years and tell my husband I'm leaving.  I can't go back 15 years and stand up for Ian "somehow."  (I don't even know what I could've done differently!  Isn't that sick?)  I hate myself.  When Ian got "kicked out" over the summer, the pain in my heart felt like getting an abortion.  In 1985 my parents didn't want me to love Claudia and in 2011 my husband didn't want me to love Ian.  I don't know what to do.  

My husband hasn't talked to my side of the family for over 10 years.  If I bring them up in a conversation, he is so hostile and nasty.  Ian told me Zoe's parents hate each other's parents too.  So I'm wondering if this is a dead horse, that even if I had been the most wonderful perfect mother that Zoe would convince Ian not to have a relationship with me/us just because her parents hate their inlaws too.  But even that excuse doesn't make me feel a bit better.  Why does it have to be that way?  Why doesn't Ian remember anything good I did for him?  I took care of him for five years before I met this prick I'm married to now.


Anyway ... this is what I should've done (and this won't fix anything, but next time I get divorced I will know so my younger two children won't get hurt).


I should've stayed in Florida.  Every time I felt unloved and thought I needed a boyfriend, I should've told Ian I loved him, I should've poured more love on Ian.  With children, you get loved back when you love them, every time.  I should've just stayed single.  I shouldn't have married stupid Rafael either.  I know why I did - everyone kept telling me after my first divorce that I wasn't going to make it on my own!!!!  So I was desperate for someone!!!  The funny thing is, Rafael convinced me that since I would have to pay all the bills if I was by myself anyway that he shouldn't have to pay anything and he didn't.  So I was basically on my own anyway.  I could only stand it for 10 months and then I filed from him.


But now I really can't make it.  I barely make $20 a week at my job.  I need to try to get a different job with more money outside the house but I've been having back problems when I walk and I'm terrified I won't be able to physically handle having a different job.  I'm scared.  I don't want my husband to be a jerk to my kids.  The grief is killing me that I've lost my son.


So, just to be clear:


No man is worth losing your kid over.

Twenty-Seven

The hardest thing is it drives me crazy that people don't (or don't want to) remember. I was going to post a video for Claudia in remembrance on Facebook but really WHO CARES?  I'm going to be all over the place with this post today.

I had counseling on Friday and it made me feel good that my therapist understood why I was still angry with my parents.  I had written a letter to them (which I won't send) and read it to him, and one of the things I said was I didn't want to outlive them so I could be the first one who gets to see Claudia in Heaven.  And I knew he was going to ask me what I needed from them in order to heal and forgive.  I told him it would be nice if they could be mad at our family doctor for scaring me about dying if I continued the pregnancy, also if they could be mad (and not consider it a sign from God) that the abortion doctor told me he went to med school with our family doctor, and also if they could maybe show some interest in how I'm doing now so I could tell them about the Rachel's Vineyard retreat and how my baby has a name and that I'm still her mother.

I remember when I was a little kid like five years old and I could count to 27, and most people can't wait till they are 16 so they can drive, or 18 so they can be an adult, or 21 so they could drink, but even way back then I couldn't wait to be 27.  My first date with my second husband was on my 27th birthday.  I clearly remember after getting home that night I called up Mix 105 (a radio station in Orlando) and requested "Sign Your Name" by Terrence Trent D'Arby, and the DJ said, "This song goes out to Debbie; she's 27 today."  I'm almost positive I still have the cassette I recorded it on that night!  My first ex-husband, knowing how I'd always wanted to be 27, even called me to wish me happy birthday.  This year Claudia would be turning 27.

For a while it really bugged me knowing this was the year that would happen, and instead she's in Heaven.  It bothers me that I'm the only one remembering her, it seems like.  I was actually toying with the idea of getting a tattoo this year but I had a couple things happen that changed my mind.  For starters I'm scared of pain.  Even though it would be a permanent reminder and it would be with me forever and nobody could force me to get rid of THAT, a lot of people say it hurts to get a tattoo.  And then I was reading a post on a post-abortion group I belong to, and someone mentioned how it's been so long since her abortion, even if she had had the child, he/she would be grown by now and not with her anyway.  That clicked something in me...

My oldest son graduated from Air Force basic training the end of December.  When I didn't dwell on the fact my husband said he "couldn't wait to get rid of" my kid, I was (and am) actually super-proud of him and very excited to watch how he lives his new life as an adult.  Even if I didn't have unconditional love and support growing up, I can give it to my own son.  So when I read how that lady's child would've been grown and gone by now anyway, I realized Claudia would be 27 and for sure flew the coop by now too.  And I can kind of feel that same "it's okay that they're away" feeling for her that I can tap into for my son.  When we were headed home from graduation, my husband was trying to cheer me up by joking with me that when HE left home he's sure his parents were dancing and having a party.  And I got to thinking how it was when I left home - I never gave a thought about if my parents were going to miss me.  So it doesn't bother me so much now about my son because I know he's having a ball learning new things in the Air Force and meeting new people and it actually doesn't hurt that he's not constantly thinking about or missing me.

I can kind of transfer that feeling in my head as I'm thinking about Claudia today.  She's in Heaven and happy.  And maybe she's too busy to think about me, but I know if she did, it would be good thoughts.  I miss you, Claudia.  I wish things were different and you were here.  I wish everyone had treated you like a baby and not a tumor.  I'm really glad I'm "still" your mother and nobody can take that away.  I'll love you forever.

Six Word Saturday (10/22/11)

My son's leaving for basic soon

I used to be really excited for my oldest son because he ended up joining the Air Force.  His start date kept being pushed back (the first one was in April, that's how long he's been waiting).  Now his confirmed date is November 1.  He has to report to a hotel near the airport at 7:00 the night before though.

The Air Force lets him call one person when they get to Lachlan to let you know he got there safely.  He said he's calling ZOE.  They'll give him one postcard to send to notify you where to write him at.  He said he will send it to ZOE.  Because my son has badmouthed my husband for so long, Zoe has said hi to him maybe twice and she won't come over for dinner.  I have only got to talk to her a few times myself, but at any rate, I'll be surprised if she shares any information with us.

About a month ago my husband told me he couldn't wait to get rid of him.  That was a really [pardon my French] shitty thing to say because it made me feel the same as when my sister said I should "get rid of" Claudia.  Then last night my husband was telling me I should just let go of worrying that I won't be able to get ahold of him and told me to just concentrate on my other two kids.  He said I should tell him to write to me, and then I'll have his address regardless if Zoe tells us anything or not.  THAT last thing was the only thing he said that didn't hurt me.

Six Word Saturday (8/20/11)

First Week of School is Done

My kids made it through their first week (and so did I).  My daughter is a little spooked about the older kids at middle school but she has several old friends there with her.  I'm excited for her because orchestra is one of her classes (she plays violin) and her other elective is dance.  Yesterday she found out a new friend lives pretty close to our house and they can walk to school and back together.  I still have concerns about her getting teased but I'm trying not to worry until it actually happens.

My son is in his last year at elementary school, so he is one of the "big kids" on the bus.  I bought him five new outfits to wear for school, and this whole week he has insisted on wearing the same three pairs of nylon jogging pants that he wore ALL YEAR last year!  So my idea of having to do laundry only once a week came to a halt on Wednesday night when he needed the three pairs washed again.  The funny part is these three pairs of pants were hand-me-UPs from our neighbor kid who two years younger than my son.  I feel like asking his mom if I could trade five never-worn pairs of pants for more hand-me-ups, since my son apparently likes this kid's clothes better.  (I'm nervous about next month when I go home for my parents' 50th anniversary because who's going to wash his three pairs of pants mid-week while I'm gone?  Not my husband, oh heavens NO!  *mock faint*  Maybe my son could take them over to the neighbor kid's mom to wash!)

Six Word Saturday (8/13/11)

School is going to start soon

Monday is my kids' first day of school.  My youngest son will be in 5th grade, so this is the last year I'll have someone in elementary school.  My daughter will be in 6th grade, the first year of middle school.  My son I'm not too worried about because he's a happy funny little kid with lots of friends.  And I shouldn't be worried about my daughter either but I kind of am.  My husband discussed this with me yesterday so I do feel better about it, but all summer I've been dreading her going to 6th grade.  Sixth grade is when my life really started to suck, honestly.  That was the age when the kids in my school would start going to the mall with their friends, to movies, get-togethers, and the girls were boy-crazy and you were "nobody" if you didn't have a boyfriend.  I wasn't allowed to go anywhere except to church and two youth groups, but my parents refused to drive me so I'd have to find rides from people.  I just remember from 6th grade till I graduated from high school I spent a mind-boggling amount of time alone in my room and most of the time I wanted to die.  So it makes sense that I would be worrying about my daughter starting to have to deal with this.

My husband said that my daughter is a totally different person than me.  She has lots of friends (and she knows which of her friends will be going to the same middle school so she's not worried about being alone).  She is athletic, pretty, and outgoing.  Me and my husband are willing to take her places.  Her circumstances are different than mine were, so she should be just fine.

I'm thinking about posting this video on my Facebook on Monday for the start of school, but I'm not so scared for her anymore.

Going home

Just venting...  Next month I'm going back home for my parents' anniversary.  Although I'm excited about hopefully seeing some old friends, I'm nervous about seeing my family.  I'm missing how I had been able to shove all my feelings down for years and years, because ever since my hysterectomy and being in counseling so long, it feels like the band-aid's ripped off (which hid my ab) and every little thing hurts me. 

I can't even hope everyone will be nice to me.  My family shows love by "teasing," even though things they said would hurt me and then I'd get basically scolded for being sensitive.  I keep having these fantasies in my head where I finally have enough of their shit and say, "You know what, I'd just rather not see or speak to any of you again.  See you in Heaven."  The only reason it would shake them up is because they wouldn't have their dupe to make fun of anymore.

My paternal grandmother wasn't allowed to be around us kids when we were little because she was crazy.  My father only told us ONE good childhood memory of her, otherwise it was known that she was a horrible mother who couldn't get out of bed and take care of her house or kids, and my grandfather always put her in the hospital (mental) when he got sick of it.  She died when I was 12 and I got to see her in the hospital but I was too scared to hug her because she was portrayed as a monster my whole life.  And after she died my mother told us that she was screaming that she "killed the baby" and other crazy stuff during the last days in the hospital and my aunt (her daughter) disclosed that my grandma had an illegal ab after her 3rd child.  Now when I was 12, that made me hate her even more!!!  And I never even gave my grandmother a single thought till I went on the Rachel's Vineyard retreat and hearing everyone else's story made me think "even my grandmother could be here telling HER story" so I did forgive her right then and there.  But does anybody see how messed up it is that the very thing my father is angry and ashamed at his mother for is EXACTLY what they're doing to me?  I'm looked at like the crazy one now.

I wish my parents would admit that having me get an abortion was the wrong thing to do. I wish that they would say I'm a good mother and they misjudged me and I would have been a good mother to Claudia then too.  My mother keeps saying that my grandmother "did the best she could" when I ask her if having a messy house or wild kids meant my grandmother was a bad mother.  If my mother didn't think she was a bad mother, though, wouldn't she just say "no"? 

Anyway I found out on a genealogy forum where my grandmother's buried and when I'm home I'm going out there to bring her some flowers and tell her I'm not ashamed of her and I'm sorry.