Last week was amazing. A much needed break from the nightmare of the past few months.
There was sushi and cake. Lots of cake. Cupcakes and whipped cream too. There were days spent shopping. Hours spent laughing. There were long conversations with my best friend. Many, many dinners out. There were visits with friends and family and best yet, friends who are like family. There were dozens and dozens of amazingly sweet birthday messages from all of you. There was a plane ride where I talked to the nice lady next to me for two hours straight. And the plane ride where I read Ree’s new book for two hours straight.
At home after five days gone, there was happy kids. Chocolate and jelly bean day. Stuffing and hiding plastic eggs for three kids who managed to find them all. There are parents who just moved to the state after three years of planning. A grill sitting on my back patio compliments of my step-dad. And plans to paint my bedroom this coming week.
For nine full days, I had a break. A glorious, amazing, fabulous break. A much needed break. I was able to breath. I was able to laugh. The constant pain between my shoulder blades went away and my ulcers went back into hiding.
Last night as I walked toward my sleeping sick son’s room to re-dose him with Motrin, I ran smack into a wall. Yeah, I’m slick like that. It felt like being hit with reality. This morning I’m sure of it. I’ve been smacked with reality.
Today is very real. A harsh, non-fun reality. One with a job I despise and the knowledge that I need to start looking for a new one yesterday. Today there is the knowledge in how much work comes with that. How tired the very thought makes me. Today there is a sick boy who has a doctors appointment in an hour for what I know is an ear infection. Today I need to start exercising again and set down the jelly beans. Today I need to pay bills.
Yes, today is real. Today seems a bit grayer and much more lonely.
When I close my eyes though, I remember last week. I remember the smell of the moisture in the air in California. I remember the smile my dad had when I showed up to take him to lunch. I remember good food and great friends.
Hopefully it will carry me through for a while.
I feel it creeping in. Like a cold, it shows up so slowly that it takes a while to notice it’s there. It starts out in my chest making it feel a bit heavy. I can explain that away at first. Maybe it’s just part of the cold I had last week. Maybe it’s the cold windy weather. I try to explain it away.
Next it creeps into my limbs making them tired and sore. I get tired all of the time, yet I have trouble falling and staying asleep. We did too much this weekend, I think at first. Yet I know that’s not really it.
By then it’s in. It starts to attack my head. It makes me tired and grouchy. It makes me sad. It makes me over question everything. I start to worry about nothing. About everything.
It does this to me. Depression does this to me.
I’m fighting it. I feel like I’m fighting it tooth and nail. Some days, I’m not sure I’m going to win. Today it has won. Depression 1, Issa 0.
I was the only kid I knew, who liked Thanksgiving more than Christmas. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed gifts. What kid doesn’t?
Coming from a divorced family though, Christmas was always a nightmare. They fought every year. You had Christmas Eve. No you did. No I didn’t. Blah, blah, blah. They tried to out do each other. It was filled with visiting nine zillion relatives, who no one ever really liked. It was a big giant mess. Each year, I was grateful when school was back in session. Nothing about Christmas was pleasant, except it being over.
But oh how I loved Thanksgiving. See, Thanksgiving was my mom’s holiday. Ever, single year. Dad got Easter. Mom got Thanksgiving. Simple. Easy. Possibly the only thing in their divorce decree that was actually helpful for us.
We’d go to my mom’s parents house each year. It was a big meal, one that my grandmother always made. All of the regular food. Nothing fancy. No gifts. No fighting….or well mostly. Ha. I do have one aunt who used to throw tantrums. Luckily she didn’t do them every year. It was a huge family gathering.
I loved it. I used to wish we could move there. Something that cracks me up now. North Texas is not where I’d choose to live now. My mother would have rather shot her own foot off than move back there. Five days was long enough for her.
For me, it was a holiday wonderland. I loved the smells. By the time we got in on Wednesday, the house already smelled amazing. Pies would have been already made. There were things she made day of and things she made the day prior. The whole time we’d be there though, it’d smell of holiday food.
Even though the previous few years hadn’t gone well at Thanksgiving, this year managed to be great. The kids and I went away. We spent time with family. We did fun things. It was easy, nice and really sort of pleasant.
I’m already dreading Christmas though. I’m allowed to say that now right? Since it’s almost December? That I’d like to skip this next holiday?
Until last year, Christmas was always pleasant, if not completely exhausting. My mother and my MIL are best friends. It made it simple.
Nothing about this year will be simple. Or easy. We are going to attempt to share. Nicely. I get Christmas Eve. He gets Christmas Day. That is all well and good, except that my mother and his parents want us all to have Christmas dinner together. One happy family.
See my problem?
I have conceded. I will do it this year. For my kids, I conceded. For my mother and my MIL. One more year. But I’m not looking forward to it. It’s a meal, you could say. It’s a few hours in one day, my mother claims. Which is all fine and good and true even. Yet, I dread it. It makes me want to skip the whole dam holiday. It’s just too confusing. It’s hard. How can I start my own traditions with my kids, if I still have to do it the old way?
It’s not like it won’t be fine. I know it will be. My kids will be thrilled. I will be fine. Emotionally? It’s a bit of a challenge. I’m trying really hard not to over think it. Possibly failing at that. I mean really, he didn’t want to be a family anymore, so why should I pretend?
This year, I will do it. Because it’s the right thing to do for my kids. Next year? I will find another way. Maybe I’ll make Thanksgiving and Easter my holidays and give him Christmas. I don’t honestly know. I have no answers. I have no idea what next year holds for me. In this moment though? I’d like a month long nap.
She asked me last week if given the chance, would I take him back. For the first time in ten months, the answer was no. I’m not sure when the last time was that we’d had that conversation, but at the time the answer had been yes. Yes I’d of taken him back. Yes, I’d of tried again. Yes, I’d of forgiven him for everything. Yes, yes, YES!
I answered no last week. I meant it with ever fiber of my being. I can’t go backwards I said. I can only move forwards. I wouldn’t do that to myself, or to my children, not even if he begged. He wouldn’t mind you, but still, my answer to the question is now no. That door has been closed.
How things change. In January when he left, I wasn’t sure I’d make it to today. I thought that the pain of of it would just break my heart and I’d cease to exist. In that moment, I was even in denial. I’ve been through it all. All the stages of grief, some even a second round. The me back then, wouldn’t recognize the me today. The past year has been the darkest and hardest of my life. I’d like to lie to you and tell you otherwise, but it’s not true. There were days that I wouldn’t have made it without my best friends. They were like a life boat. My life boat. Holding on to me to keep me from sinking. I could spend the rest of my life thanking them and it wouldn’t be enough. I know it’s a silly line from a television show, but they are my people. They let me be me. They let me grieve. They let me process. They are my people.
There is a photo I have of my best friend Liz and I. It was taken in April at my friend Kirsten’s house, a few nights before my 30th birthday. I love that photo, because it is of us. However, I also don’t like it. Because when I look at it, I see how sad I was. How depressed I was. How completely emotionally exhausted I was at that time. I remember how I completely and fully fell apart a few days later. I see all of that in that photo. It’s my reminder of that time period in my life. There was nothing but sadness in my eyes, even though I’m smiling in the photo. Even though I know I had fun that night.
I had hoped that today, I’d feel better. That today, the day my divorce is final, I’d feel a sense of relief. I don’t. I’m sad. I have regrets. I wish things had been different. I can’t undo that.
We almost made it eleven years. It seemed long at the time. Maybe it was for a marriage that starts at nineteen years old. If you add in the five years we dated prior to marriage, it’s downright amazing. Or it was until it ended. He had half of my life. Half of my life was spent with him. I am 30 years old. I was with him at 14 years old. That’s just shocking to me.
I will be honest, I still don’t know who I am without him. I spent so long with him, that I guess this makes sense. I do know I will figure it out one day. Who I really am. I don’t have to know yet, I don’t have to know in a year. Because I am at least secure in the knowledge that I can survive without him. I wasn’t sure at first. Now I’m sure. I even am okay with being alone now. Not always mind you, but I can deal with it. I have time to figure out who I am.
I feel stronger though. Stronger than I have in a long time. Because I made it. I made it to here. I walked this walk, sometimes one tiny bitsy baby step at a time, and I made it. Today I am just me. The we is gone. Now I am just me. Every day, I feel a tiny bit stronger. I feel like I’m finally figuring out who I am again. The new me. The me that just relies on myself. The me that makes my own decisions. Some days it’s scary. A lot of days it is scary. But I get up each day and do it anyway.
It’s just a piece of paper with today’s date on it, this I know. But it’s the end. The final chapter in a life, my old life. Tomorrow starts a new life. I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but I do know I’m looking forward to it.
–I heard this song yesterday and it seemed kind of perfect for me.
Sara Evans, A little bit Stronger.
Woke up late today,
and I could still feel the sting of pain,
but I brushed my teeth anyway.
Got dressed through the mess, and
put a smile on my face.
I got a little bit stronger.
Riding in the car to work,
and I try to soothe all the hurt.
There’s a song on the radio,
stupid song made me think of you.
I listened to it for a minute,
but then I changed it.
I’m getting a little bit stronger.
Just a little bit stronger.
And I’m not hoping we can work it out.
I’m done with how I feel.
Spinning my wheels,
letting you drag my heart around.
And I’m not thinking you could ever change.
I know my heart will never be the same.
But I’m telling myself I’ll be OK,
even on my weakest day.
I get a little bit stronger.
It doesn’t happen overnight.
But you turn around and a months gone by,
and you realize you haven’t cried.
I’m not giving you an hour, or a second,
or another minute longer.
I’m busy getting stronger.
And I’m not hoping we could work it out.
I’m done with how I feel.
Spinning my wheels,
letting you drag my heart around.
And I’m not thinking you could ever change.
I know my heart will never be the same.
But I’m telling myself I’ll be OK,
even on my weakest day.
I get a little bit stronger.
Just a little bit stronger.
Getting along without you baby.
Better off without you baby.
How does it feel without me baby?
I’m getting stronger without you baby.
And I’m not hoping we could work it out.
I’m done with how I feel.
Spinning my wheels,
letting you drag my heart around.
And I’m not thinking you could ever change.
I know my heart will never be the same.
But I’m telling myself I’ll be OK,
even on my weakest day.
I get a little bit stronger.
Get a little bit stronger.
Just a little bit stronger.
Little bit, little bit, little bit stronger.
Get a little bit stronger.
Six emails. Over the last two weeks, I’ve received six emails from Hallmark reminding me of Grandparents Day. On SEPTEMBER 12th!!!! Send a card. Don’t forget!!!! Which is all well and good. Grandparents deserve a day.
The problem? Grandparents Day was yesterday. I am fresh out of Grandparents. The day before Halloween, I will have officially lost all of mine in the past eight years. Also? Yesterday was the two year anniversary of my Grandpa’s death.
It’s been two years, but it still sometimes feels like yesterday. Yesterday? All the reminders of what day it was and what I should be celebrating, were hard. Downright hard. I was sad. I still am.
His face smiles at me in my hallway. It’s a great photo, taken the year before the heart surgery when I was seventeen. You can see the twinkle in his eyes. Before all professional photos, right as the person was about to tell them to smile, he’d make an inside joke to my Grandma. It always made for great pictures. They always looked like they’d just been laughing. Because they had. It took me a year to be able to look at that photo without crying. After his death, I almost took it down. It was just too hard. Too painful. I tried not to look at it for the longest time. Each time I forgot and looked, I cried. Now, most days, it makes me smile.
When something good happens, I want to call him. To tell him about it. I want to call him and Grandma and check on them. I wonder what they’d think about everything that has happened this past year. Maybe in some ways, it’s better they are gone. There are some things, I’m glad I don’t have to try and explain. But mostly, I wish I could call and hear their voices.
When I got my iPhone last month, I deleted their number from my phone. It hadn’t been thier number since December of 2008, when Grandma went into Hospice, yet I’d kept it in my phone that entire time.
If I close my eyes, I can picture them. I can see their house. Hear their voices. I remember going to work with Grandpa as a kid. Where he’d pay me to move bricks from one pile to another. I remember trips to Braums for ice cream. Two weeks every summer at their lake house. The way anywhere we went, he knew someone. He always said, oh this is my granddaughter. Yes, my youngest daughters, girl. You’ve met her before right? The pride in his voice when he’d tell people about my mom and her accomplishments. I remember it all. I close my eyes and I see him holding each of my girls as newborns. It makes me so sad to think that he passed two weeks before Harrison was born. That I was never able to take my son to meet him.
It’s hard. Hard to lose the most influential man in your life. It’s weird to say that loosing your grandfather was probably harder than loosing your dad will be one day, but for me, it’s true. Just because you know your grandparents won’t live forever, doesn’t make it any harder to have it become a reality.
From him, I learned to be a hard worker, no matter how much I despise my job. From him, I learned that family is the most important thing. That your friends, can be your family too. That helping people, is it’s own reward. That ice cream is a good idea, no matter the time of day.
I am a better person because I had him in my life. I just wish he was here, so I could send him a Hallmark card and tell him that.
Nine months later and I still wake up at 5am every dam day. You’d think eventually I’d get used to it. That eventually I’d of stopped waking up each day at that time. But no. No such luck, not yet.
Logan always woke up at 5am. He’d get up, shower, go to the gym and then go to work from there. It was his thing. On days where he did that, I’d barely wake up and roll over and go back to sleep. After years of it, I even woke up at 5am on days he didn’t get up that early. Sometimes it would annoy me, because I’d not be able to fall back asleep for an hour. Sometimes I barely even noticed it. Yet, each day I’d wake up at that time. Without fail.
Nine months. It’s been nine months since he left.
Some things I’ve gotten used too. Nights used to be really hard for me. Falling asleep alone, used to be so hard. For months and months I cried every night. Few months ago, I stopped. I got used to it. Sleeping alone. Or well as alone as one is with a half time cuddly six year old in ones bed.
I got used to the quiet when the kids are with him. Took a long time. But I’m used to it now. On occasion, I even enjoy it. Mostly though, I’m just used to it.
I got used to taking out the trash on the correct day, changing light bulbs, dealing with the dog all the time, buying and making less food, doing all kid duty on my days, alone. I got used to all that. I adapted. Maybe not always well, but I’ve adapted.
Hell, I even say I now, most of the time, instead of we. Progress.
Yet, every morning I wake up at 5am. It’s a sad reminder each day of what’s missing. Every morning, it’s a reminder of what I lost. My 5am reminder. Some days, I roll over and go back to sleep. Sometimes I lay there for a bit. On occasion, on a day like today, I cry. Because I’m still not used to this new life.
It’s my Achilles heel. 5am.
At first it just made me mad. He forgot. What kind of person forgets their six year olds first night of gymnastics? She’s only been talking about it all summer. I realize that is harsh. I’ve forgotten things. He’s forgotten things. We have three children. He’s not the first parent to forget something important to their child. He surely won’t be the last. It just as easily could have been me. I recognize that.
Then I just got sad. Sad for my little girl who was upset and angry. I was upset at him. I was upset at me. I could have texted him again to remember to take her. I could have made this easier for him. I could have just gone and taken her, even though it was his night.
At some point though? As hard as it is for me? I have to let him sink or swim on his own.
It kills me to say that, yet I know it to be true. He left me. Our divorce will be final in October. It is no longer my job to make sure he does what he should. It’s not my job to nag him. It’s not my job to save his ass. It’s just not my job anymore.
He has the same calendar I do. The dates and times for Morgan’s dance classes. The dates and times for Bailey’s gymnastics. Doctor’s appointments. The school schedule. He has it all too.
It’s not my job. It’s my mantra this week. Not my job man. I may need that tattooed on my arm. But it sucks. It physically pains me to have my child that upset for something he forgot to do. I can’t save her pain, I can’t make it better, I can’t tell her it won’t happen again. I just don’t have that control anymore. I can only control what I do when with them. I can’t control what he does.
I am just a spectator in half of my own childrens lives now. There’s not a dam thing I can do about it. Just watch and hope for the best.
Why does it feel so horrible though?
***He knows he screwed up. Trust me, Bailey let him hear about it allllll night. He admitted it. He’s apologized for it, to Bailey and to me. This isn’t a bash my ex post. Really. I just don’t know what to think today.
I am sad. I am having trouble with coming home to reality. It makes it worse that my kids are gone until Saturday morning.
I was sad and lonely enough, that I went and picked up the dog. If you know me, you may find that funny, since I am not a huge fan of my dog.
I miss my friends. I miss feeling that supported. Four days just wasn’t kong enough to hold me over. Maybe it was. I don’t know. Maybe I just need a few more days and I will be okay. Maybe I just need my kids. Possibly I need to start planning my next weekend getaway.
The thing is, I met all of my closest friends online, so it’s not as if I’m not good at this way of friendship. Normally it works out okay. Normally I deal with it just fine.
Four days straight of hugs and conversations in person, though, reminds me what I am missing. When I come home and don’t get invited to see a new baby in the family. Because its not my family anymore. When I go pick up my dog from a friend watching her, and my friend doesn’t even care enough to ask how my trip was. Because I’m not really her friend anymore.
It all reminds me that I have the greatest support system and the greatest friends in the world, they just don’t happen to live anywhere near me.
It’s hard, that’s all. It’s hard to be home. I had a blast, an absolute blast, but tonight? I’m sad and I miss my friends.
I told myself three years is too long to still remember. I told myself I wouldn’t say anything this year. I’d just ignore it. I’d stop thinking about it. I’ve put out too many depressing posts this year. There doesn’t need to be any more. For that, I apologize. I can’t seem to stop myself today.
Last year I tried to ignore it. I fretted before hand that I’d fall apart, like the years prior. I didn’t though. I didn’t fall apart. I also didn’t not remember. A lot of you saw me on this day last year. Twenty or so of us even had dinner on this date last year. See, last year I was at BlogHer, so it was easy to shove it to the back of my head. I cried a bit in a bathroom, but I didn’t say anything. Save for the four amazing people at my table that night who let me cry in public for a minute, and the one person who already knew, who squeezed my hand each time she saw me, I kept it quiet.
It made it easy to not think about the What-If’s all day.
It feels wrong though to not say something. To not remember. She was my baby after all. For 14 weeks, three years ago she was my baby. Until she wasn’t.
I have spent all day wondering. Wondering what she’d look like. What she’d be like. If she’d be girly, or more tom boy-ish. If she’d be a mama’s girl, or a daddy’s girl. Wondering if we still would have had Harrison. Wondering if we’d still be together if I hadn’t lost my shit. None of that is her fault, it just is.
They don’t prepare you for that, you know? Loss. Heartache. There is no rule book. No, how to, for dummies.
I have to remember. Till the day I die, I will always remember her, even when I one day, learn to stop mentioning it out loud. Because even though, she was never more than a few little plastic sticks with two lines and one ultrasound picture, she was still my daughter. My Piper.
I woke up this morning in a fog. Part of it is that I’ve not been sleeping. Last night I actually slept all night. For possibly the first time in weeks. I’m not sure why it means I woke up more tired, but I did. I’ve had coffee and it’s 10:30am and I still could just sleep. For a week. Please and thank you.
Part of it is me. My head. I’m just in a funk today. I haven’t managed to shake it yet. I’m not depressed. Not really. Maybe not yet. But it’s there. I feel it. Hanging out. Trying to get cozy and comfy. I’m trying to shake it off, but so far no go. I feel uber-sensitive. I feel like I shouldn’t even talk to my best friends, because I’m likely to say something stupid. Likely to be too needy and god knows none of them need that right now. That nothing I say is going to be worthwhile. See: questioning everything.
It’s been a few decent weeks. A few weeks of sun. Of weekend trips out of town. Of mini-golf with Morgan, kite flying with Bailey and finding polly-pollys with Harrison. Weeks of watermelon and ice cream. Weeks of my head being less crazy.
The depression though? Sucks. I wish I could turn it off. I wish it wasn’t here, as a constant reminder that I’m not strong enough. Sometimes I think it’s just me. That I’m too much of a drama queen. That I’m getting caught up in the crazy in my own head. But hey, that’s part of it too.
I get up every single day and do everything I need to do. Without fail. I work. I take care of my kids. I play Frisbee with my dog. My house is mostly clean. My bills get paid on time. Laundry gets done. Maybe not put away, but whatever. It’s there and clean and folded.
It never goes away though. Never fully. I have great days, great hours, great moments. Then it’s back. Making me sad and lonely and wanting to curl up in a ball and sleep. Of course, when I’m like this, I stop being able to sleep, which makes it worse.
When I feel like this, I question everything I say. Or do. For fear of seeming crazy. Or unstable. Which you all may think, I have no idea. I’m not, I promise. I’m just a person whose life has changed drastically. I’m still flailing around in the water, so to speak. I haven’t learned to swim yet. Maybe I need floaties?
I start apologizing for everything. I said in someones comments this morning, that I apologize for apologizing for something that I only thought. My friend Liz is constantly telling me that I don’t need to say I’m sorry for things I NEVER EVEN SAID. That no one can read my thoughts.
I’m a really awesome friend, I assure you.
My best friends. Man they are amazing. They won’t let me go. They hold me up, let me cry, hold my hand and let me say everything that is in my head no matter how crazy it is. They make jokes, help me remember to breath and distract me. Then one of them carefully re-applies the duct tape that had slipped off.
I try. I try so dam hard. But it comes back. No matter what I do, it always comes back. It’s never enough.
Grab My Button!
I’m a joiner
