Why is life so exciting? Just for a few months I'd like to be overwhelmed by sheer boredom and complain in my blog that I have absolutely nothing occurring in my life.
Alas, such is not the case.
Yesterday four (yes, FOUR) of my family members were involved in a head-on collision very close to where I live. I could stand on my porch and hear the sirens loud and clear. By the time I had found someone to take my daughter so I could try to help at the scene, the road was blocked by a nice, but very firm policeman. (My brother and I wondered if the policeman could jump in his car fast enough and catch us by the time we arrived at the scene anyway...but we didn't do it.)
My grandfather, his wife, and my aunt and uncle were traveling in their white Scion when an idiot in the other lane decided he wanted to pass everyone. Unfortunately, my family was in the way and there was no where for them to go since that area has no shoulder. Grandpa turned the wheel slightly so that the two vehicles did not slam completely head-on (for that would have instantly killed everyone), but even askew the damage was quite shocking. Scions not being noted for their massive arm and leg room anyway was cramped with four adults. Add another immovable object and you have a recipe for disaster.
The front half of the Scion was ripped away and mangled beyond recognition. The front of the other car (about the size of a Grand Prix) was mixed into what remained. Glass was everywhere...fluids both from the car and the injured people all over the street... the road was shut down on both ends.
The driver of the other car (idiot, moron, ignoramus) was life-flighted to Atlanta Medical Center, but we have no other word on his condition.
My family spend yesterday in the trauma center of Grady's ER. At first everyone thought that the worse injured was Grandma Pam since she has a hemotoma on her head, two broken bones in her arm (one came out of her skin...), hip broken in two places, and various other problems. She had had to have been cut out of the Scion with the jaws of life since the dashboard decided to get rather friendly with her lap and chest.
But, no, the most badly injured has been my uncle, who was sitting behind her. He said it hurt to move so a possible spinal injury was suspected. He spent most of the night in surgery and we were informed this morning that his large intestines were damaged. Pieces had to have been removed and the wound left open to help with bruising and swelling. He has been placed on partial paralysis to help him heal faster, but time will tell with this kind of injury.
My aunt Stacey has a broken breastbone and they have been trying to explore if her lungs were punctured since they discovered a bubble of air in her chest wall. No word on this yet.
My grandfather, the man I have been feuding with for the better part of a decade and had declared I would never speak to again or allow in my life... My grandfather who is more stubborn than any of us combined... My grandfather who refused to come to my wedding based on a technicality (and now I'm starting to see that perhaps I myself should have skipped the wedding)... he lay on the gurney, neck in a brace, banged up, bruised up, cut up, in pain, and repeating over and over "We could have died today and there was nothing I could do about it". It would take a harder heart than I have to ignore this pitiful display and continue to hate the man for being himself.
After nearly twelve years, we finally made our peace. And, wow, the look on his face when he saw me! If the situation had not been so dire, it would have been quite funny.
Now, almost 24 hours later, they are still in ICU, rotating in and out of surgeries, being tended to, needing support and love.
But can I go to the ICU? The last time I was in an ICU waiting room, it was for my grandmother Dora, watching her die over a week. Can I struggle against those memories while being allowed to see my grandparents, uncle and aunt for only a few minutes every few hours? And with a rambunctious two year old?
At least after this incident, I realize that even after all his crap, his irritations, and quirks, I do indeed love my grandfather. I will never have the kind of relationship I wish to have with him--he's just not that kind of person--but I can try to make a relationship with him for the years he has left with us.
My tongue might grow holes in it...
Please pray and keep my family in your thoughts as they heal and are tended to by the doctors. They all still have quite a recovery ahead of them!
Monday, July 4, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Ink vs Keyboard
I want to write. I want to write so badly it is like a physical ache and a driving hunger. I think of my previously published book and of it's unfinished sequel and I yearn to finish it.
What is holding me back? The fact that I cannot find my college-ruled notebook paper and ballpoint pens.
I have always written better, have had my ideas flow more smoothly, when writing with ink on paper. As the years passed and I found myself more on the keyboard, I have attempted to "quicken" the process by skipping the handwritten portion and placing it on glowing screen.
But my sequel has lain dormant for almost a decade now, whereas the first book took a decade to write, edit, and publish. The difference, I believe, resides in the fact that I physically wrote out my rough draft (and re-draft, and third edited draft, etc), and this sequel I have attempted to merely type.
I do not feel a connection to my written work with it laying in electronic land that I did writing it out by hand. I still eat, sleep, breathe, and talk to my characters from the first one--I cannot seem to even manage a passing hello to the sequel.
More and more I have my thoughts consumed by imaging myself writing out a book by hand again. I dream it, I wake to it, I daydream of it...
Perhaps I should stop fighting the pull and purchase a notebook at the local grocery store. I would buy my favorite ballpoint pens, but alas...they are no longer made. I suppose I could use the newer version, the P-700 over my favored P-500, but that, too, fills me with nostalgia. Why cannot we have what we are comfortable with? Why does everything, even ink pens, have to be "improved"?
Sigh...
Perhaps I am merely getting older and intolerant...
What is holding me back? The fact that I cannot find my college-ruled notebook paper and ballpoint pens.
I have always written better, have had my ideas flow more smoothly, when writing with ink on paper. As the years passed and I found myself more on the keyboard, I have attempted to "quicken" the process by skipping the handwritten portion and placing it on glowing screen.
But my sequel has lain dormant for almost a decade now, whereas the first book took a decade to write, edit, and publish. The difference, I believe, resides in the fact that I physically wrote out my rough draft (and re-draft, and third edited draft, etc), and this sequel I have attempted to merely type.
I do not feel a connection to my written work with it laying in electronic land that I did writing it out by hand. I still eat, sleep, breathe, and talk to my characters from the first one--I cannot seem to even manage a passing hello to the sequel.
More and more I have my thoughts consumed by imaging myself writing out a book by hand again. I dream it, I wake to it, I daydream of it...
Perhaps I should stop fighting the pull and purchase a notebook at the local grocery store. I would buy my favorite ballpoint pens, but alas...they are no longer made. I suppose I could use the newer version, the P-700 over my favored P-500, but that, too, fills me with nostalgia. Why cannot we have what we are comfortable with? Why does everything, even ink pens, have to be "improved"?
Sigh...
Perhaps I am merely getting older and intolerant...
Thursday, June 23, 2011
The Box is Turned Upside Down
In keeping with my blog title, I felt that an upturned box very accurately describes this latest phase of my life. A number of you have been following my recent, few, sporadic posts (bless you!), and a blogger I know in real life has commented to me that it seems as if I have dropped off of the face of the planet. I very nearly feel that way myself...
Life has not been promised sunshine without rain...though I must say if it rains any more on my life then Noah's flood will seem like a trickle! With the outpouring of support and my own ambiguity with not using my real name, I feel able to finally open the dam and let out what has been stirring in my life these past couple of months. The poems tell my emotions better than anything else I could use to write, but the details are sketchy. If you have wondered, then soon you shall wonder no longer.
My husband of nearly six years has an addiction problem to pornography. This is not your regular, "it's a guy thing" kind of problem. No, this reaches much deeper and has slowly destroyed our relationship and our lives. In that I will not quite go into detail as it is ugly and sordid (and this post will be depressing enough). Add to his "issue" the fact that he has a rather nasty temper. Yes, my own temper can be extremely disquieting, but his anger comes with unexpectedness in its ferocity and leaves behind bruises of the physical type.
Sad to say, I am a counselor. I am very used to accessing someone else in peril and directing them to the exit in a sinking ship. Once on my own Titanic, I blindly turned away from the life jackets and the open door, thinking that out of all people, I was the single one who could actually repair the broken ship and sail off to safer waters. The more I struggled against it, the more I became the stereotypical abused wife: making excuses, claiming he didn't really hurt me, and that I could "handle" it.
The reasons why I did this are not important, for I would hate for you to become distracted with disagreeing with me religiously and miss the import of the events.
Back to the issue at hand...
My husband--whom I will not name truly, though let us call him Jay--has indulged his desire for masturbation in the same room with our sleeping daughter twice before. I told him if he did so again I would leave, divorce him, and take our daughter away from him. Pleasuring himself aside, this (to me) was a no-brainer for a parent; it is simply not done. Ignoring my needs and myself is one thing, but to expose our innocent child to something that should not be done at all, or at the very least done in private and alone? This I would not have!
At the time, he cried and agreed, even adding that he would "help me pack" and not "contest the divorce" as long as I let him visit with her when he wished (always supervised, of course). Like a fool, I believed one more of his lies.
A month ago I caught him, for the third time, repeating his unforgivable act in the room where our slumbering two year old lay. If she had woken at any time, she would have seen more than any child should ever see.
I made plans immediately and left, taking my daughter with me. Living with my parents again, but this time my father has been more supportive than he ever has before, more open with me, more...like my father used to be. I have friends here that have surrounded me during my inward struggles. For struggle it is. I love Jay, as stupid as that is, but now I am beginning to hate him. I warned him this might happen if he continued in his behavior, and like everything else he did not believe me. His actions might have been more bearable for me if he did not lie to me constantly on top of it. I do not know anymore if anything he says is the truth, for everything he has done up to this point has simply been another lie.
Where is the man who courted me and won my heart? I do not know. That man is gone, replaced by some monster who is now telling me if I move beyond seperation to divorce that he will fight me. He said he would use my health against me to try to win our daughter because "I'm an excellent father".
Excellent father? I about ran my car off the road in disbelief. What man could claim to be a good father who would expose his child in such a way? Who could say that he kept her best interests at heart while he took no thought to the consequences for doing such an act in the room where she lay sleeping?
My sadness as this pitiful situation unfolds has turned to anger and bitterness--and resolve. I would not willingly expose his deeds to strangers, but if he attempts to smear my name to win our child from me, I will fight back with all the behaviors, all the marks he left on me, the times I have had to take her from him when his anger began to spiral out of control, the nights he has tossed her on her bed in a temper when she (just a newborn) was not quieting down fast enough for him. I will paint the picture with every color. If he wants a fight, then I will fight until my last breath to keep her safe and away from him.
And then I truly will hate him until the day that I die.
Now, at this time, he has a chance still to reconcile, to win me back, to restore our family. But if he chooses to do this, to make this already difficult decision to divorce him into a nasty and horrible ordeal, then I will never walk into his arms again.
And I will cry. Oh, yes, I will cry. For I will always, somewhere in my heart, love him and yearn for him. Yearn for the days we snuggled on the couch while watching movies. Yearn for the times we spent sharing and expressing our love as only a husband and wife can do. Yearn for the insane little songs he makes up to brighten my day. Yearn for the feel of his arms around me when I am upset or frightened. And yearn for the fact that my daughter does not have her father in her life as she should...
So you see, my life has gone from upsetting to crazy to simply insane, and there are no clear answers to be given, no definite solutions to be found. All I can do is try to love and keep my daughter safe.
And if it should come to it, to fight for her with every fiber of my being.
So if I seem a little distant, or angry, or sad, or bitter...it is merely due to my life being tipped backwards onto its head, for now my life is truly "upside down"...
Life has not been promised sunshine without rain...though I must say if it rains any more on my life then Noah's flood will seem like a trickle! With the outpouring of support and my own ambiguity with not using my real name, I feel able to finally open the dam and let out what has been stirring in my life these past couple of months. The poems tell my emotions better than anything else I could use to write, but the details are sketchy. If you have wondered, then soon you shall wonder no longer.
My husband of nearly six years has an addiction problem to pornography. This is not your regular, "it's a guy thing" kind of problem. No, this reaches much deeper and has slowly destroyed our relationship and our lives. In that I will not quite go into detail as it is ugly and sordid (and this post will be depressing enough). Add to his "issue" the fact that he has a rather nasty temper. Yes, my own temper can be extremely disquieting, but his anger comes with unexpectedness in its ferocity and leaves behind bruises of the physical type.
Sad to say, I am a counselor. I am very used to accessing someone else in peril and directing them to the exit in a sinking ship. Once on my own Titanic, I blindly turned away from the life jackets and the open door, thinking that out of all people, I was the single one who could actually repair the broken ship and sail off to safer waters. The more I struggled against it, the more I became the stereotypical abused wife: making excuses, claiming he didn't really hurt me, and that I could "handle" it.
The reasons why I did this are not important, for I would hate for you to become distracted with disagreeing with me religiously and miss the import of the events.
Back to the issue at hand...
My husband--whom I will not name truly, though let us call him Jay--has indulged his desire for masturbation in the same room with our sleeping daughter twice before. I told him if he did so again I would leave, divorce him, and take our daughter away from him. Pleasuring himself aside, this (to me) was a no-brainer for a parent; it is simply not done. Ignoring my needs and myself is one thing, but to expose our innocent child to something that should not be done at all, or at the very least done in private and alone? This I would not have!
At the time, he cried and agreed, even adding that he would "help me pack" and not "contest the divorce" as long as I let him visit with her when he wished (always supervised, of course). Like a fool, I believed one more of his lies.
A month ago I caught him, for the third time, repeating his unforgivable act in the room where our slumbering two year old lay. If she had woken at any time, she would have seen more than any child should ever see.
I made plans immediately and left, taking my daughter with me. Living with my parents again, but this time my father has been more supportive than he ever has before, more open with me, more...like my father used to be. I have friends here that have surrounded me during my inward struggles. For struggle it is. I love Jay, as stupid as that is, but now I am beginning to hate him. I warned him this might happen if he continued in his behavior, and like everything else he did not believe me. His actions might have been more bearable for me if he did not lie to me constantly on top of it. I do not know anymore if anything he says is the truth, for everything he has done up to this point has simply been another lie.
Where is the man who courted me and won my heart? I do not know. That man is gone, replaced by some monster who is now telling me if I move beyond seperation to divorce that he will fight me. He said he would use my health against me to try to win our daughter because "I'm an excellent father".
Excellent father? I about ran my car off the road in disbelief. What man could claim to be a good father who would expose his child in such a way? Who could say that he kept her best interests at heart while he took no thought to the consequences for doing such an act in the room where she lay sleeping?
My sadness as this pitiful situation unfolds has turned to anger and bitterness--and resolve. I would not willingly expose his deeds to strangers, but if he attempts to smear my name to win our child from me, I will fight back with all the behaviors, all the marks he left on me, the times I have had to take her from him when his anger began to spiral out of control, the nights he has tossed her on her bed in a temper when she (just a newborn) was not quieting down fast enough for him. I will paint the picture with every color. If he wants a fight, then I will fight until my last breath to keep her safe and away from him.
And then I truly will hate him until the day that I die.
Now, at this time, he has a chance still to reconcile, to win me back, to restore our family. But if he chooses to do this, to make this already difficult decision to divorce him into a nasty and horrible ordeal, then I will never walk into his arms again.
And I will cry. Oh, yes, I will cry. For I will always, somewhere in my heart, love him and yearn for him. Yearn for the days we snuggled on the couch while watching movies. Yearn for the times we spent sharing and expressing our love as only a husband and wife can do. Yearn for the insane little songs he makes up to brighten my day. Yearn for the feel of his arms around me when I am upset or frightened. And yearn for the fact that my daughter does not have her father in her life as she should...
So you see, my life has gone from upsetting to crazy to simply insane, and there are no clear answers to be given, no definite solutions to be found. All I can do is try to love and keep my daughter safe.
And if it should come to it, to fight for her with every fiber of my being.
So if I seem a little distant, or angry, or sad, or bitter...it is merely due to my life being tipped backwards onto its head, for now my life is truly "upside down"...
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Feeling Hopeless
So much has happened in my personal life that it would be beyond depressing to write about it, though, having said that, the poet in me usually comes out strongest when I cannot find the words to say. And this poem was born...
Lord I’m broken in two!
Prostrate on the ground I fall
If I humble myself before You
Would You hear me when I call?
Shattered, alone, and confused
Dying a little more each day
If I feel as if I have been used
Would You answer when I pray?
Having drifted apart from You
I don’t expect a response at all
But having no other hope to see through
Would You catch me when I fall?
My life is in pieces and scattered
My faith a dim light at the best
Yet I yearn that to Someone I’ve mattered
Please, Lord, hold me and grant my request!
Lord I’m broken in two!
Prostrate on the ground I fall
If I humble myself before You
Would You hear me when I call?
Shattered, alone, and confused
Dying a little more each day
If I feel as if I have been used
Would You answer when I pray?
Having drifted apart from You
I don’t expect a response at all
But having no other hope to see through
Would You catch me when I fall?
My life is in pieces and scattered
My faith a dim light at the best
Yet I yearn that to Someone I’ve mattered
Please, Lord, hold me and grant my request!
Monday, May 23, 2011
Broken and Scattered
My heart is in a million pieces on the ground
If I just bend I can pick them up again
Each piece glints with memories
Some with sharp edges and others soft
If I just bend...
But I have bent so many times before!
I am weary and battle-scarred
Apprehensive and bitter now
I glare at the pieces on the ground
I am weary...
The person responsible should not be
I am filled with anger and hurt
There is no clear way to turn in the mire
There is no easy solution to take
I am filled with anger...
These pieces on the ground are lost hopes and dreams
A pox on he who causes me to weep so!
Do I even feel as if I want to pick up the pieces anymore?
Would I be better protected if I left them?
A pox on he!
Which direction do I go now?
It is not just myself who must be protected
My heart has been broken before, but hers?
How can I keep her safe and guard myself?
It is not just myself...
I am so weary from this constant battle!
What do I do with the pieces of my heart?
Everything in me tells me to leave~
But now I have no where to go...
What do I do?
If I just bend I can pick them up again
Each piece glints with memories
Some with sharp edges and others soft
If I just bend...
But I have bent so many times before!
I am weary and battle-scarred
Apprehensive and bitter now
I glare at the pieces on the ground
I am weary...
The person responsible should not be
I am filled with anger and hurt
There is no clear way to turn in the mire
There is no easy solution to take
I am filled with anger...
These pieces on the ground are lost hopes and dreams
A pox on he who causes me to weep so!
Do I even feel as if I want to pick up the pieces anymore?
Would I be better protected if I left them?
A pox on he!
Which direction do I go now?
It is not just myself who must be protected
My heart has been broken before, but hers?
How can I keep her safe and guard myself?
It is not just myself...
I am so weary from this constant battle!
What do I do with the pieces of my heart?
Everything in me tells me to leave~
But now I have no where to go...
What do I do?
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Thoughts as I Attempt to Move Through the Grieving Process
The question uppermost in my mind this week is: why? Why did Grandma choose to leave us? Why did she not want to spend more time with us?
She could have taken medication to help with her blockages. She could have changed her diet and prolonged her life. She was told what she needed to do and she was given instructions on how to stay with her family longer.
She chose not to do so.
Why?
Was it because she had been a widow for sixteen years? Was it because she had moved to the mountains and had hardly anyone for company? Was it because most of her friends had died and gone on to their Reward?
Why did she not want to watch her great-grandchildren grow? Why did she not wish to stay around for her grandchildren to spend more time with her? Why did she not want to continue to provide guidance for her surviving children?
Why did she not talk to me?
We had been close--she talked to me about a lot of things over the years. We shared, we laughed, we cried, we grew to be friends. Why did she not talk to me about her plans? Was I so focused on myself and my family that she thought I would not hear? I had moved to another state, but I always had time for her. Did I not tell her so?
At least I know I told her I loved her. At least I got to speak to her privately before she finally passed on. I just wish I had the satisfaction of knowing she went to her Reward...She had been unfaithful for a long time, though had just determined to make a better effort at returning to God. Does that count for God if she had decided that the day before she suffered her heart attack, or was it too late?
I suppose that part gnaws at me the most....not knowing if she is suffering still, or finally at peace.
And above it all I cannot help but wonder "why?"...
She could have taken medication to help with her blockages. She could have changed her diet and prolonged her life. She was told what she needed to do and she was given instructions on how to stay with her family longer.
She chose not to do so.
Why?
Was it because she had been a widow for sixteen years? Was it because she had moved to the mountains and had hardly anyone for company? Was it because most of her friends had died and gone on to their Reward?
Why did she not want to watch her great-grandchildren grow? Why did she not wish to stay around for her grandchildren to spend more time with her? Why did she not want to continue to provide guidance for her surviving children?
Why did she not talk to me?
We had been close--she talked to me about a lot of things over the years. We shared, we laughed, we cried, we grew to be friends. Why did she not talk to me about her plans? Was I so focused on myself and my family that she thought I would not hear? I had moved to another state, but I always had time for her. Did I not tell her so?
At least I know I told her I loved her. At least I got to speak to her privately before she finally passed on. I just wish I had the satisfaction of knowing she went to her Reward...She had been unfaithful for a long time, though had just determined to make a better effort at returning to God. Does that count for God if she had decided that the day before she suffered her heart attack, or was it too late?
I suppose that part gnaws at me the most....not knowing if she is suffering still, or finally at peace.
And above it all I cannot help but wonder "why?"...
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
The 10th of May
Today is a hard day. Today is the day that I lost my grandmother. Oh, she did not die completely on this day--her body hovered for another four days before it finally figured out she was gone. Not only do I have this anniversary to mourn, but I have to do so without the comfort of a cat.
Why is this a big deal, you may ask?
All of my life I have had a fuzzy comforter to bury my face in the fur and sob. Better than any Kleenex as a tissue is discarded and a cat purs, licks your face, and loves you in return. In order to move in with my husband's family, I had to give my cat, Ginger, away to a loving home. I see pictures of her (thank goodness for Facebook friends!) but I miss her as well.
My entire last year feels as if it is one of nothing but loss. I lost two grandparents and my cat. I lost my job and my independence. I lost my ability to provide for my family and I lost my self-esteem. (Like I had much to begin with...)
So depressing as this is, these are the thoughts consuming me. I will hug one of my daughter's stuffed kitties, sniffle into Kleenex, and mourn like most of the world.
You never realize your own strength until you have to learn how to mourn without the comfort of a cat...
Why is this a big deal, you may ask?
All of my life I have had a fuzzy comforter to bury my face in the fur and sob. Better than any Kleenex as a tissue is discarded and a cat purs, licks your face, and loves you in return. In order to move in with my husband's family, I had to give my cat, Ginger, away to a loving home. I see pictures of her (thank goodness for Facebook friends!) but I miss her as well.
My entire last year feels as if it is one of nothing but loss. I lost two grandparents and my cat. I lost my job and my independence. I lost my ability to provide for my family and I lost my self-esteem. (Like I had much to begin with...)
So depressing as this is, these are the thoughts consuming me. I will hug one of my daughter's stuffed kitties, sniffle into Kleenex, and mourn like most of the world.
You never realize your own strength until you have to learn how to mourn without the comfort of a cat...
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