before and after

Before the girl learned the truth about herself, she was innocent. Her innocence gave her a special freedom that can only be known by the very young. It was a freedom from judgement and worry. All she had known before was that she was loved and treasured. Her grandparents doted on her, neighbors gave her treats, and strangers told her she was pretty. She was a good girl and the world was good.

After she knew, the girl began to change. She had always been reserved with new people, but now she was painfully shy with worry that she would disappoint. The girl became more observant, always watching for signs of other’s displeasure. Now she was no longer free. The pain of being unwanted and abandoned permeated everything and tainted the simplest joys of childhood. Every new person was a new judge. Every new challenge was the chance to justify or fail to justify her very existence.

Mama had explained that the grandparents she adored hadn’t wanted her. But the girl knew that they loved her now, so she understood that she had won them by being good and being pretty. At school, her teachers told her that she was smart, and so school was a safe place - until recess. When the children were in charge, she knew she couldn’t win. She knew that they had two parents and she did not. The other children were still free, and she was an outsider in more ways than one. She understood this deeply and was compelled to protect herself from showing the slightest bit of weakness.

Above and below everything, she was afraid. Afraid of disappointing Mama – she saw how she looked at her sometimes. A look of disapproval not bound to anything she had done, but elicited by something the girl would say or the expression the girl wore on her face. Disapproval of her very self, which she could not control like she could her behavior. Afraid that someone else would leave, would decide she wasn’t worth staying for.  Afraid of how she was different, afraid of never being accepted or understood or wanted. Afraid of never being good enough for anyone.

The fear was not something she understood. It was a part of her and it drove her, but she didn’t see or understand it.

the learning

The little girl sat on her knees, leaning on the back of the couch with her elbows. She steadily stared out the window through the rain. One by one she watched each car pass. As each set of blurry white headlights came into view, a new bubble of hope and anticipation would swell up in her chest. As each blurry set of tailights passed, the bubble of hope was pierced with something hot and sharp, and the pain was physical enough to almost make her gasp.

She didn’t know how long she had been waiting, and she wasn’t sure when the tears started. She liked to rest her hand on the coolness of the window pane. The cool condensation helped to calm her. She made a mental note of the difference between the cool wetness of the window and the hot river on her face. It was something to think about to pass the time.

She could hear Mama pacing behind her, in her frenetic, hurried stomp. There was an occasional bang or slam  in the kitchen so that her presence would not be ignored. Every once in a while, she would come close behind the girl and sigh loudly. The sigh that showed her disappointment and frustration. The sigh that said that she wouldn’t allow this hopeful waiting much longer. The baby was quiet, either playing alone or already asleep. It was dark now.

She was worried and scared and lonely, but she wouldn’t move from her spot. It was easier to be still, and the waiting was her only task. If she was still and quiet and patient, everything would work out. So she busied her mind with the sound of the rain, the muffled engine sounds on the street, the splashing of the tires, the coolness of the pane, the scratchiness of the couch, and tried to ignore the banging, slamming and sighing sounds.

Finally, Mama allowed she had sat there too long. She couldn’t take it any longer. “That’s enough!” she said. “He’s not coming, get out of the window now.” The little girl didn’t move. She would stay in the window. It would be so sweet to fall asleep here and let him wake her up. That would be nice. She would wait a little longer.

Mama wouldn’t have it. She pulled her away from the window. The little girl was standing now, the pain in her chest excruciating. The pounding and the aching taking her breath away. Her mind swirling, her calm disappeared. She looked up at Mama through blurry eyes, and saw that she was angry. She screamed at Mama and her voice and words astonished her: “You’re mean! You made my daddy go away!” The little girl stomped her foot and tensed her arms, fists clenched, and threw her chin out. She glanced toward the street. She knew that she needed to be in that window. He might miss the house and drive right by if she wasn’t sitting there with her face in the pane.

She watched Mama’s face for the terrible reaction she expected. First there was shock, then rage, and the little girl stepped back, and then something like a tight smile. “You’re being ridiculous. He isn’t coming. He’s not really your daddy anyway.” The tense little body went slack. She didn’t know if she was standing or crumpled on the floor. All of the air left her chest, as though she had been punched. There was no sound other than the high pitched buzzing in her head. No light, other than a blinding white blur.

She looked at Mama, her eyes begging, willing her to say something else, something different. “It’s ok”, she said. It was not ok. “I had to tell you eventually. He’s the baby’s daddy, but not yours.” The floor was disappearing beneath the girl and mama was deadly calm. Her voice was even kind now. The girl needed to feel the realness of the scratchy couch and the cool window.

She leaned her head against the window and stroked the couch as Mama talked. She talked, and talked, and talked. She said things the girl didn’t understand. Words like pregnant and out-of-wedlock. In the end it was ok, Mama said, because, “I wanted you, even if no one else did. I finally had someone to love.” It’s ok, she kept saying, but she didn’t know. Mama still had a daddy.

The little girl was four.

Therapy

I have a story to tell. It’s going to take awhile, and it’s going to be tough. I hope to have the first post up within the next week.

uncommon courtesy

Disclaimer: All characterizations appearing in this work are hypothetical. Any resemblance to actions and ideas of real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Sometimes in life it’s necessary to give more than 100% – to “bend over backwards” for someone who is going through a tough time or just having a bad day.  We do this, not for gold stars or accolades, but because we’re human and sometimes we have bad days and tough times too.  We commiserate – we relate – we sympathize.  It’s a good thing to do.

We don’t go out of our way for someone in order to garner attention and praise, but that doesn’t mean that we want our efforts to be completely unrecognized and ignored either.  Without a specific quid pro quo situation being invoked, we just simply would like to think that our effort – our understanding – is merely appreciated.  It would be nice if when a person displays exceptional understanding, a thank you was given. 

I do say thank you to people who give me space and understanding when I need it.  Not because I think I’m undeserving of space and understanding, or that space and understanding is not my inalienable right as a human, but because I like to thank other people for acknowledging my humanity by acting in a humane way to me.  I like to return respect with respect.  If I’ve somehow inconvenienced someone, even if it wasn’t intentional or my fault, I apologize.  It isn’t all about me.

People we work with, live with, and interact with on a daily basis do annoying and irritating things.  We all do. Again, you put up with minor irritations in society so that in return, other people will tolerate your irritating behaviors, whether intentional or not.  We all have preferences, desires, and needs that don’t always mesh with those of the people around us. We have to give a little to get a little.  We accommodate other people’s idiosyncracies so that our quirks will also be tolerated.  Or so I thought.

This kind of courtesy seems to be an endangered species in our society.  I’ve even been accused of being too nice.  Anyone who has read more than two posts on this blog knows that to not be the case, but I like to think that I’m a courteous and polite person.  I try. I expect others to try also. I expect my children to try.  Is that too much to ask for in 2010?

under a shady tree

My grandparents are buried sixty miles away.  I pass by each time I visit my mom, but I rarely think to stop.  I just never got the idea of cemeteries.  The people you loved aren’t there. You know?  Grandpa probably contributed to this more than anyone.  If we ever brought up end of life planning, he’d just grunt and say, ”You can just throw me off in a ditch. I won’t care.”  No arguments that we would care or that we didn’t necessarily want to get arrested during our grieving process would faze him. He didn’t care, and wouldn’t care what we did with his vacated body. 

However, Grandma went first, and he was forced to make decisions for both of them.  The place he picked is lovely.  He picked a couple of plots under a big tree, with several empty plots surrounding it in case we want to join them there someday.  So, driving home alone yesterday after dropping the little kids off with my mom, I felt that I should stop by and pay my respects -whatever that is supposed to mean.  I figure I pay my respects every day that I breathe and behave the way they taught me. I hadn’t been in two years.  I know if my mom knew that she’d be hurt.  So I turned in and wove my way around to the familiar spot.

The tears were pressing in on me before I ever left the car.  The shade from the trees and the breeze off the little pond were comforting, and I finally understood the whole cemetery thing.  A quiet place to come and remember is not a bad thing.  It was a really hot day, but it felt cool there under the shade. I sat down next to them and let the full force of missing them hit me.  This is hard to write. I read the words that summarized their lives in the simplest of terms – a timeline.  She was 75. He was 80. Somehow I expected them to live so much longer.  I went back to the car for something to knock off some of the dirt coating the plaques.  The recent rains and the subsequent mowing had probably deposited it there. I felt their absence and how changed I am without them.  I sat on the bench that Grandpa had insisted on.  The breeze felt familiar and I tried to think about morning coffee with Grandpa on the deck, and swinging on the front porch with Grandma.

What I remembered most though were those days in August 2007 and May 2008 – the end dates on the plaques.  They were similar summer days, with the heat bearing down on us. I remembered the big white tent that held loved ones and flowers. I remembered the hugs and words from friends and family.  I remembered the way the sun sparkled off of the pond.  I remembered the pain in my cousins’ faces, and the brokenness of my mother.  I remembered a comforting friend who no longer speaks to me and family members who have drifted away without our common anchors.

It was good to go and remember, but I remember them everywhere. And not just their deaths, but their lives.  I remember them when I hold my children, and when I brew coffee in the morning, and every time it storms.  I remember them when I drive down the highway, and cook dinner, and go to our family place on the river.  The cemetery is a strange and beautiful place, both comforting and painful at the same time.  I know I can’t be the only person to feel this way. It was good to go and remember though.

Ho Hum – a vast improvement!

I’m happy to report that I was able to shake my sinus headache by 1:00 pm yesterday, and I’m almost pleasant when I don’t feel like there’s not a gremlin attempting to escape from my face at any moment!  Even though I didn’t get home until 7:00, I took Lib to the library, got both little kids bathed, and folded some neglected laundry. I even got some chore lists made for the kids. 

Today’s goal is to declutter for 30 minutes this evening. Tomorrow’s goal is to get to the gym. It’s been over a week. I would make myself go this morning, but the headache is back.  It’s entirely demotivating. I’m congratulating myself for not going back to bed for an extra hour.  My stomach wasn’t too bad yesterday, so I’m just going to be happy about that in spite of how confusing it is.

Work was tedious, as it usually is during our last week in an office.  This is the week when, instead of feeling competent enough to learn a few more tips and shortcuts on the EMR application, the physicians groan about how much productivity they’re losing.  I understand, but it makes me nauseated to hear doctors use words like productivity.  Such is our health care system, that patients are treated as widgets. I contribute to the monster in my small way and scream inside.  This office has been pretty nice to us though. They are smart folks and they’ve been kind enough to not shoot the messenger, for the most part.  I just get tired of feeling like some war criminal come to ruin lives.  I’m just the software trainer.  I’m not a compliance officer, health insurance adjuster, salesperson, or administrator. After two years at this job, I’m still amazed at how life altering it is for some folks to enter information digitally rather than scribble on a piece of paper. My motivation is improved patient care and outcomes, and I know it will come with time.  I enjoy change, but I seem to be in the minority.

new day

Ok. Deep breath.

I know I gave the impression yesterday that I am miserable.  Sometimes I am – just not all the time.  I just hate being sick.  I’ve got some sinus congestion threatening to turn into an infection on top of everything else and it’s made me grumpy.   Being lazy is great sometimes, but forced laziness is not.  I can “push through the pain” for the sake of a paycheck, but that’s about it.  Everything else kind of goes by the wayside. I just want a few more productive days to balance out the lazy.

We had a pretty boring 4th of July.  We were supposed to go to a friend’s neighborhood display, but it rained all day Saturday and we ended up skipping it.  The rain did eventually clear off in time for fireworks, but by then I was nursing a massive headache and was pretty unpleasant to be around.  The kids had shown zero interest, anyway.  So on the 4th, we just hung out and watched tv.  We had explained to the kids that we didn’t have the funds for fireworks this year, and they didn’t seem to care – until 10:00 on Sunday night.  We sat down to watch the Boston Pops special and my four-year old started crying that he thought we were doing fireworks outside!  Paul got mad, Ari pouted and said the fireworks on tv weren’t real, I apologized, Paul shouted that we’d get some sparklers the next day, and we settled in and enjoyed the show.  I fast forwarded past Toby Keith to spare Paul any further discomfort but then he accused me of fast forwarding too far and missing most of the fireworks.  Family fun at its best.  Lesson learned.  I guess I thought I was the only one who cared about celebrating, and my heart just wasn’t in it this year.  Funny how the kids didn’t care about the fireworks until there weren’t any.  

It’s the same with everything really.  People like to say that we women put all this pressure on ourselves to keep everything afloat: dinner, housekeeping, holiday planning.  As if the fact that it’s self-initiated makes it optional.  If I take the pressure off myself, don’t make dinner, don’t plan a big holiday shindig, stop cleaning the house – does anyone care?  Absolutely! If there’s no dinner, and the trash is overflowing, and no one bothers to buy fireworks, who is the first person to be interrogated about it? MOM! That crazy lady who does all of those trivial little things out of some antiquated social training.  Those trivial things are only trivial when they’re done regularly.  Suddenly they’re important to everyone else when they come to a screeching halt.  Just an observation.

In spite of all my whining about how lazy my weekend was, I really am grateful for the rest.  We got ourselves hooked on Dexter, and watched the first two entire seasons on Netflix.  The third season is not available for instant play.  Imagine our disappointment.  Last night, we watched Man in the Moon.  I think it was Reese Witherspoon’s first film, and she was amazing in it.  I’ve seen it several times, but rented it for Reagan.  It’s about a little girl’s last summer as a little girl.  If you’ve never seen it, you should.

so anyway…

I’m a little disgruntled over some health issues, and I probably shouldn’t whine about it here.  It’s just that they are a bit all-consuming.  I finally gave in and saw a gastroenterologist last week.  He thinks it’s Celiac Disease and/or lactose intolerance.  The disgruntling part is that I’ve been following a mostly gluten-free diet for six months on the advice of my PCP.  The problem with that, is that the blood test might come back negative since I’ve severely decreased “exposure”.  My PCP should have known that and ordered the test in January.  What’s more disgruntling? I DID know that and should have insisted on a blood test in January.  So I’m kind of pissed that my doctor dropped the ball, but more so that I didn’t advocate for myself.

Now, I have to add the gluten back in (which does seem to make me sicker) in anticipation of needing a second test a month from now. Because I need a definitive diagnosis.  I tried to convince myself that I’d be ok with just feeling better, but I don’t feel well enough off the gluten to fully support that hypothesis and I’m not ok with a permanent lifestyle change based on an assumption and a dietary experiment.  So I’m puzzled, frustrated and generally feeling crappy.  Not really things I like to share with the world at large.  Also, I’m extremely grumpy and whiney.  I can’t stand myself most of the time.

Other than that, work is challenging (meaning doctors yell at me and talk down to me on a regular basis). Whatever.  My house is a mess. No news flash there.  Apparently, it’s my problem because I’m the only one who cares if the house is messy.  Whatever.  Housework is not my favorite activity, so motivating myself when I’m feeling like this is beyond challenging. Good news though – it isn’t going anywhere, and I’m apparently not disappointing anyone since no one else who lives here cares.  I’m totally good unless my mom comes to visit! Also, I have a family member who firmly believes that I hate him and have turned other family members against him.   I know everyone has to deal with stupid family crap, but I’m actually worried about my delusional relative. It makes me sad.

So now I’m writing this extremely depressing and uninteresting post while fighting abdominal pain and watching All About Steve.  I love Sandra Bullock and Bradley Cooper and Thomas Haden Church, but it truly deserves it’s one star.  Comments closed for obvious reasons.

Edit: Silly one star movie had a good ending. I’ll probably watch it again.

In hiding

Sometimes I hunker down in a corner and hide.  Sometimes because I’m feeling bad, sometimes because I’m overstimulated, and sometimes because I feel like I should reign myself in. Like every sane person who indulges in online socialization, I have kind of been feeling overexposed.  I think for me it’s just that I’m naturally shy and it takes a lot for me to break out of my comfort zone and prattle on about my meaningless boring nonsense.

I’ve been distracted with books and television and lots of work, and I’ve taken a mini break from the web. Most of my limited online time recently has been eaten up with research. I’ve had to undertake a restricted diet for medical reasons and there’s ton of helpful, unhelpful, correct, and incorrect information to weed through.  I’ve neglected Facebook and Twitter and my blog, and other my disappearance from Facebook Family Feud, I don’t think I’ve been missed.  Which is good.  I want to be able to come and go as I please without people worrying about me or being offended.  I like being able to check Facebook a few times a week or a few times a day according to my mood without anyone feeling slighted by my missing comments (she said with tongue in cheek).  I’m naturally shy, so I often feel like I’m commenting too much and annoying people, even though I might only be dropping a comment once a week or less.

I have sort of a love-hate relationship with this blog.  In a way, it’s very cathartic and  I enjoy writing, but I censor myself too much and not enough.  There are things I want to write about but don’t – either I don’t have the words or I don’t want anyone to read it.  Then there are times when I should just shut up and don’t.  Those times I worry I’ve offended someone.  And then… there are the times when people choose to be offended by benign statements and the truly offensive stuff just flies over their heads at warp speed.  I don’t know.

I want to keep writing. I want to maintain the great friendships I’ve made online. I want to make new buddies.  I just wish I had someone sitting behind me saying, “Write this, not THAT”.  Or, “Watch out, precarious situation! Potential overshare!” And even, “WTF, Steph! No one cares!” It’s too bad that person isn’t here now.

grateful

Every  day, my four year-old says, “I love you mama, and no one could ever replace you.”  I have no idea why he says it or how that phrase popped into his little head. I just know it’s incredibly sweet and someday he’ll stop saying it.

Right now the hugs come several times a  day from him and his six year-old sister.  The thirteen year-old hugs me once or twice a week, but even though we’re both struggling through some tough teenage stuff, she still talks to me.  I know there will come a time when she won’t.

When my oldest was four, he used to embarrass me in the grocery store. He would grab my hand and place it on his cheek while he was sitting in the grocery cart seat and declare loudly, “I love your cold hands, mama!”  It was so weird, and I was so uncomfortable with drawing attention to myself. I came to miss it though.  Recently stationed 1500 miles away, he sent me a lovely and thoughtful and too expensive Mother’s Day gift this year.  He said he was making up for missed occasions.  There were a few, it’s true. We’ve been through a rough couple of years together.  Even so, he didn’t need to do that.  I see him growing up, living his life, and taking chances.  That’s all I ever wanted. The first two weeks out of bootcamp, he texted several times a day. As he’s settling in and making friends, they are coming less frequently.  Just like the hugs, talks, and declarations of adoration did for him and will for them.

So I’m just going to be grateful in this moment.