Don't You Ever, Ever Feel.....

So many women in this world think they are "less than" and I'm no different. After doggy paddling the past few years, I found an anchor attached to my life jacket. It's not EX, the job, the kids, the house, various guys I've dated. It's far more personal and intimidating. It's ME. It's my way of thinking, it's how I internally negative talk. It's how I view my world. It's how I perceive myself. It's about my looks. It's about my personality. It's about how I *think* I'm never quite good enough. I didn't used to beat myself up like this. After talking to many girlfriends about self doubt, negative talk, insecurity, I realize this may just be you too. And along came P!nk at a great time, when I needed a song to blare in the car, sing off key, whip me back, to recognize what I was doing (and psssht, I've been paying a shrink to do this. The $1.29 download price would have been a MUCH better deal! Only kidding, the shrink is wonderful too- but that's another blog.) Enjoy the girl power moment ladies!

The Mighty Oak

When restless, I start looking to make changes. Some for entertainment and others out of sheer necessity. My most recent is for the latter and to save my children from yet another splinter-filled summer. I've spent HOURS tearing the dilapidated deck off my house and rebuilding a new and greatly improved shade-quenching one for my sunburned outdoor space. The new house doesn't have a single tree planted to take roots. Far different from the mighty Oak at my previous house, there's not a a bit of shade here. It's all open and unprotected. I pondered this while hammering the 136 nails into boards on the deck rails one afternoon. Protection.... what an interesting word. Dictionary.com states it is: the act of protecting or the state of being protected; preservation from injury or harm.

I realize that while the old house was my old life, there are a few things I miss from it. I adored that great Oak tree outside my dining room windows. I miss the shade it would cast into the upstairs bedrooms. The greatest storms would roll through and that tree stood tall and never wavering. The roots were strong and I never worried about its vulnerability. While living there, I thought I was joined with someone that was my protection and security, if you will. The toughest acceptance was realizing my protector was the one that actually destroyed it and took trust and a plethora of other mind-calming traits with it. 

Moving to the new house on a treeless lot gave me the opportunity for a fresh, unscripted start. I could finally take a deep breath and no longer felt I had a cinder block restraining me. Although I never want him back and that life is long gone, sometimes it's difficult to rely only on myself. Sometimes it would be comforting to rest my head at night knowing someone else has my best interest in mind too. Security is something a single woman just doesn't feel. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE being independent, going about my business, and setting my own path. But it would be nice for just one night to hand over my fears to someone else and know I'm not in this alone.

The reality is I've only recently recognized the damage another person can do. I felt like I made it through the worst storms. I'm out, the kids are out, we are better now but the verbal and emotional abuse of the last few years have taken their toll. When things aren't as EX would like, I can surely expect him to spew every offensive and demeaning thought he has. Then it's a barrage of disgusting, belittling texts until my phone reaches capacity. Dependent on his "cycling" this may continue for hours, even days sometimes. I used to make a joke of it but the reality is I would rather be punched in the face repeatedly than subject myself to his immeasurable tactics. At least I could visibly see the damage and recognize this is NOT okay. I would never openly give him the satisfaction of crumbling, but it's difficult at times. The protection that was once so comforting is now what creates my biggest vulnerability. 

Tonight, I sit on the new covered deck looking into the yard. It's full of kid toys, swingset, pool and yet it feels so empty. Protection and security are not things you can see, but what you feel. It's having faith that those strong roots will hold even the heaviest branches up during trying times. I'm sure my mighty Oak in New Albany is standing tall even after the worst storms. I'm still standing as well and someday I will be as tall again too. Until then, I'm planting a few trees in this barren yard and you can bet one will be a mighty Oak.

Heaven Sent

I awoke at precisely 3:09 am smiling ear to ear. I had been holding my Mom's hand and it was wonderfully comforting. The words she spoke were echoing in my head. Strength, encouragement, such familiarity. I stirred around for a moment enjoying how she always lifts me up. Then a sickening feeling washed over me, confusion set in. "Wait a minute," I whispered glancing around my bedroom dimly lit from the hallway. Where is she? Is she here? Oh no, no, no. She's not. But she WAS just here.... wasn't she? Loneliness immediately rushed out the peaceful feeling. It felt as I was reliving her death again. I've dreamed about her only a few times since she passed. But this one, this one was REAL. It couldn't have been a dream. I held her hand, I could FEEL her hugging me. I ran my fingers over her wedding rings as we talked. I told her I couldn't see her, my vision was blurry. She calmly said she is right here. I ask her why I can't see her... my eyes just won't work, she repeats that she is right here. My hand never left hers. I FELT her next to me while we talked. I can't believe it wasn't real! What a cruel trick, I thought. What a mean joke to play on someone feeling the loss now more than ever. I want to return to that dream, I didn't know it wasn't real now I wish it wouldn't have ended. Tears roll down my face now as I think about it. I will never get over her death. It would define who I am today if I let it.

Times have been tough lately. Mentally, physically, financially. I have moments of sheer unrelenting desires to scream "I GIVE UP!!!" until my voice gives way. Then a sweet innocent face will say "Momma" and I remember why I fight so hard to keep our little family together and running. My kids look to their mom just as I looked to my own. We are the "little engine that could" family and have conquered many mountains together already. But I have a struggle that is all my own now. I started reading "Motherless Daughters" in a quest for healing and peace. While I can't say it has sped up healing, there's comfort in numbers even when you feel like the only lost soul. I distantly remember my Mom's pain when her mother passed. It was life altering for her as well. I suppose every woman will be forced into this club at one time or another, kicking and screaming as I have. I mistakenly thought my hardest moment was that storming night and I softly spoke "Go with God Momma" as she took her last breath. I prayed she would not take another. I wanted this fight to end for her. I looked to the clock and announced her time of death. Later, my aunt would ask how I knew that was her last. All I could say was I could feel it. I thought that was the toughest moment of my own life. Little did I know, the worst is actually here and there and strikes with such reverence it forces out my own breath... and hope.

My sister and I have been disconnected as of late, so we set out on a short road trip today, gabbing the whole way. We talked of her growing photography business, our kids, the random updates in our lives. As our chatter slowed, I told her about my dream. The tears mutually started, something we do well together. She said, "Oh, that WAS Mom. She WAS there. She knew you needed her." I nodded in agreement but still wondering if it was just a dream. Hours later, I received disappointing news. I spent all evening frustrated and upset. My sister's words came back. I was shocked at how "spot on" she was and how skeptical I have become. But it just makes sense. There is no other answer. Mom knew I was going to have one of those "Give Up" moments today. She knew my faith has been stretching thin. She knew I needed a reminder that she IS, in fact, still right here. I DID talk to her at three am in the silence of my bedroom. She was here. I hugged her. I held her hand. She told me she loved me. Sometimes my faith drifts. Sometimes I think I'm being tested beyond what a "normal" person can handle. I get frustrated. I get angry. I question everything. Maybe the answer is quite simple. Maybe I've been looking everywhere but at the moment that started a drastic change in my life and ended hers on earth. Maybe the answer is the last thing I spoke to her... "Go with God" in everything- my beliefs, my fears, my worrisome nights, and that's all I need to know. Maybe now it's up to me to believe.


*My little boy (my Mom's "bonus baby") has been sleeping next to me while I blogged. As I finished the last sentence, he awoke, sat up, hugged me and went straight back to sleep. God... and love... works in ways we don't always understand. But if we close our eyes and choose to believe, then it's even more than we ever hoped to see. Thanks Momma Chiquita for sending the hug too.

Love you, miss you, always with you.

Oh Momma Chiquita Banana

Three years.... three long, grueling short years. My Mom, my rock, my advisor, my friend has been gone. I am so incredibly blessed to be her daughter. Some people are never so lucky to feel a Mom's unconditional love. I was even more blessed that she prepared me for life's difficult times. While it hasn't been easy, I learned everyone has an inner strength that will prevail, but it's okay to lean on a friend while waiting for that surge.

The last few weeks of her life were swirled with emotions for me. Happiness, laughing, sharing stories about the millions of our silly times and memories. Then extreme sadness realizing our present times were soon going to be memories. We filled hours with endless chatter. I even carried with me a list of questions I wanted her thoughts on. We opened kitchen cabinets, took pictures and jotted down the stories behind her dishes, my grandmothers' dish, gifts from her sisters and so on. I am so thankful for that time. We spoke of things we never dared cover before. I wish it would have been done years ago when nothing was looming over our heads.

One early morning, I walked in to see Mom sitting on her bed, head bowed and looking at her hands. Those wonderful, loving hands were not attractive to her with their sun spots and freckles. I sat next to her in silence staring at our reflection in her mirror. "How did we get here?" I thought. Precious moments were ticking away. With her eyes fixated on her hands, she quietly spoke, "So this is how it ends..." I put my arm around her shoulder as she rested her head on me. I could feel my eyes fill with tears. She asked, "By Christmas?" I softly nodded. "Thanksgiving?" Again I nodded. "Soon?" I could only muster a partial nod to her question. No words would form in my mouth. "Okay" and a gentle headshake was her accepting response. And there we stayed, in the moment of acceptance and an unfamiliar roll reversal, in silence. Tears, one by one, rolled down my face. I stared at our image in the mirror trying to remember that moment forever. I wondered how she made it through her own mother's passing. As if reading my mind, she shared how I will make it and how I would get my siblings and Dad through this as well. In an unrehearsed moment of her own strength, she spoke softly as I closed my eyes and listened. We hugged one another and stayed that way well after the words ended. It was then, I'm positive, she transferred a large portion of her strength to me.

It's funny the things that stick in my head. While growing up, some of our best conversations involved her in the bathroom fixing her hair and putting on makeup. I would lay on her bed and talk while she was getting ready to go somewhere. I still see the face she makes while brushing the back of her hair or how she moved her mouth and cheeks when applying foundation all while conversing with me. Sunday, I was getting ready when Jadyn climbed on my bed and was babbling on and on. My first thought was "I don't have time! I have to get out of here or I'll be late for work." Then I felt myself carrying a big grin realizing these may be some of her favorite talks as well. I walked over and gently kissed her forehead. Pulling down my hand from her face, she exclaimed "Mommy, your hands look funny.... they have freckles!" Reflecting on their transformation over the past few years, I proudly responded "Yes, they do."


I posted the following comment a few years ago when asked about my hero:

My Mom took an unbeatable challenge, fought with everything she had, stayed longer than most expected and smiled every morning she woke up. Pity was not her thing, she was much more interested in living. She really showed me what matters most. "This too shall pass..."

Love you, miss you, always with you.