Jeremy

I knew they would be work the moment they sat down. They stumbled to the table and fell into the booth. She spilled the drink she had, he just looked at me with a vacant stare.

His words were hard to understand as I bent over to clean up the mess.

Coffee. Lots of coffee. And orange juice. I should probably have orange juice.

I went to get their drinks, dreading the return to the table. To them. Its normal to have hungover people come in on a Sunday. But knowing it is going to happen never makes it easier. 

But they were different. The return to the table quickly let me know why.

Rough ride. I am on a rough ride. Too much crack. Lots of coke. Seemed fun at the time. It alwaysdoes. I think this time may kill me.

His hands were shaking. His girlfriend puts her earphones in and turns on her Ipod. She closes her eyes and inhales her cigarette.

Pancakes. Eggs over easy. He needs food. It may help.

I leave to put in their order and tend to some other customers. I then hear a bang and realize they had spilled their drinks again. I rush over to clean it up. As I am wiping up the brownish liquid, he smiles at me. In that moment, I am not staring at a customer coming down off of Crack. I am staring at Jeremy.

His eyes always got to me. They were so deep, always looking older than his 35 years. As I would later find out, it was because he had already lived so many lives.

Heroin at 14 . . . .

Losing a prestigious job. The youngest manager of a five star hotel fired for stealing pain pills. 

He introduced me to music, books, movies, ideals and new beers.  

A Bronx Tale helped me see how sweet it is to reach over and unlock a mans door. 

Celestine Prophecy making me cry as it put into words what i had been feeling about God and religion for so long.

Sunset in July and Whiskey and Wine introducing me to a laid back California sound that I still love.

I sometimes wonder if it was my fault he started using again.

I had hurt myself months before we met. The doctor prescribed pain pills. I never took them. Instead I stuck them in a drawer and forgot about them. Jeremy came up early one night while I was working and surprised me by cleaning up the house and making me dinner. 

I didnt know until a few weeks later he had cleaned thoroughly enough to find the pills and my tip money. Maybe he set it up perfectly to find the pills.  I had casually mentioned the injury and the pills to him in a passing conversation. It never occurred to me to worry since he never showed signs of using again.

I was wrong.

We spent New Years Eve together. I woke up to an empty house on New Years day. The pills were gone along with my money. 

I didnt hear from him again for a week. Apologies. Excuses. And a lot of lies.  

Michelle, you threw the pills away, remember?

Michelle, you had put the money in your wallet, remember?

Michelle, I left because I was scared by how much I love you and needed time to think.

I've only seen him twice since then. Once as a fool, the second time for a good-bye. I wanted closure.

His eyes no longer looked wise, but vacant. Glassy. He couldnt focus on me, restless, always looking around. But it gave me the closure I needed and I walked away.

I finished waiting on the couple and waited for them to pay. He handed me $40.00 and said to keep the change. A pretty big tip. As I walked away, I heard him holler out. 

You dropped some money.

I went back and he handed me a fifty. It had fallen out when I put the other money in.

I am on a pretty rough ride. I need all the good Karma I can get.

As they left, I no longer saw Jeremy. Instead, I saw someones son. Brother. Friend. And from the conversations I overheard, knows that his choices may kill him. . . . 

. . . . and is okay with that.   

Letters to my daughters.

I wrote this about 8 years ago . . . .it's amazing seeing how much of this has come to pass in their life . . . .

Dear Sweet, Strong, Amazing Princesses, 

You are growing taller and stronger everyday. The quickness of it takes my breath away. It seems a cliche to say it seems like only yesterday....but it does seem that way. Only yesterday, I was the mother of one, then three, then four. Sweet baby girls clothed in pink who fit in the crook of my arm. Quickly, you grew and were running away from me. Even at that moment, I realized the significance of your steps; steps that were necessary. We may bond as you grow older, but you will always be walking away. My job is to not only teach you how to do so, but how to do it with pride and dignity.

Sometimes we fight, but one day, you'll realize the convinctions I have....the convictions I have for you. I tell you no because I understand now, only from my own lacking, how important a mother's guidance is. And I've been where you are...and where you are going.

Even now, I raise you with your future in mind. My prayers for you are that you will be strong enough to stand up for what you believe in, but flexible enough to learn and try new things. Most of all, I wish for you to know who you are. To take the time to be your own best friend first so that you don't have to seek outside of yourself for fulfillment. Even now, I see your gifts and talents; I hope you can see them too. It takes my breath away to realize such amazing creatures are children...my daughters.

I have an extra responsibilty as your mother. Right now, I am your role model. I hope I do it with grace and strength. But please, accept my apologies now, for I will stumble. I will do and say the wrong things. But I will always love you....will never stop loving you.

I have fears; I cry; I shout; I laugh. Please do not be shocked by that. I only want for you to realize that it's okay to feel. That weakness isn't found in showing emotions, but hiding them. Strength is shown when you do not hide; when you let people know who you are.

Brianna, especially for you now, I write this. You are entering a new phase of life. You are getting older, maturing. The little girl I carried in my womb, cared for and sent off to kindergarten is becoming a young woman. You struggle with who you are. Please don't. Can you not see what I see? A girl who is wise beyond her years. I am proud of you. I am proud of your "embrace life fully" personality. I am proud of your heart and intelligence. You are both analytical and impulsive. You are a gift to this world. I'm sorry I do not tell you enough.

Kristin, my quiet one, my wish for you is courage. i don't understand how it feels to be so scared so I can only offer support and guidance....and love. You are talented in so many ways and your quietness is a gift. As you told me when you were five, "i spend more time listening than talking, Mom" Do not ever lose that. You are patient and I trust you will get where you need to when the time comes.

Katie, you are always on the go; take time to slow down and see the world. You cannot leave the room without a kiss and a hug. While you are also sometimes scared, I see your courage starting to emerge. Tears come to my eyes as I see you starting to step into a world you have been so scared of for so long. Do not be afraid because I can see the strength you possess that shows me you can do this. Hold your head high and keep walking, I'll be behind you if you need to hold my hand.

Erin, you amaze me. You see the world in a way I never could. You do not hurry through life, instead, you live your life in moments. At 4, your depth of love for all things natural amazes me. Your imagination is an asset that I hope you continue to embrace it and never stop seeing things that others miss. You joy is contagious and it is such a gift to be a part of that. 

My daughters, i will never pretend life is easy; it is hard. But through hard work comes achievement and through achievement comes confidence. Never believe that because you are a girl, you cannot achieve certain things. Listen to what I am trying to say to you when I tell you to pick yourselves up and keep going. Life is never lived if you are scared to get up after you fall.

These are the lessons I want you to learn:

As you grow, your heart will be broken; maybe many times. Learn from each heartbreak.

Do not follow the crowd. As a female, you were given the gift of intuition....use it. Be proud of who you are and what you stand for. Even if at times, you stand alone, I promise, in time, pride will come with those decisions.

It's okay to say NO. No to friends who ask you to compromise who you are; no to the boys who may try too hard; no to those that tell you that you can't achieve; NO to doubts that try to hold you back.

Just as it is okay to say NO, it is also okay to change your mind. I understand that there will be times when you make a choice without fully realizing its impact. Do not feel weak because you have decided that you cannot follow through on a decison you have made or you feel that others will disagree. You cannot make your choices based on what others think of you, but what you will think of yourself onces it has been made.

Be proud of your beauty but cultivate your inner beauty just as much, if not more than your outer beauty.

Make your choices with wisdom and conviction. Again, this falls under, do not follow the crowd. Just because a lot of people are saying it's right doesn't make it so. Sometimes the correct path is found when you take the time to explore on your own.

Before you ever give yourself to a man, please be secure enough in who you are so you don't lose yourself. One day, I hope you understand that men are meant not to complete you but complement who you are.

NEVER accept put-downs or abuse. Boys don't hit girls they like. I repeat, boys DON'T hit girls they like. They also do not pressure, put-down or run away. A real man walks beside you.

God gave me four daughters. One day, you will leave and begin your own life. Do it with your head held high and a soul full of confidence. And when you leave my arms, know that I raised you with love and look forward to the day that you are not only my daughters but my friends.

143....Mom

Letters to my Daughters Part 2

8 years ago, I wrote you letters. I did that a lot when you were smaller. I felt drawn to put my thoughts and dreams for you on paper.

When I first wrote to you, you were so young. Erin, Kristin, Kaitlin: you couldn't even read them yet. And now look at each of you: Brianna, sophmore. Kristin and Kaitlin, 8th grade. Erin, 6th grade. 

The days of arts and crafts, Blues Clues, Wiggles and stories at bedtime have been replaced with eye shadow, glitter, Justin Bieber (we'll deal with that later), peer pressure, struggles to fit in, and figuring out who you are as you leave childhood behind but adulthood is still so far off. 

So much of what I wrote 8 years ago is even more important now. I am proud to see those tiny seeds I planted in you then are now growing, blossoming . . . thriving.

Brianna, high school. I still can't believe it. I stared at you yesterday and could no longer see a 5-year old. I see a young lady becoming a woman. I still can't believe we are already discussing college. I am not ready. It's coming too fast. But your choices, your wisdom do not make me afraid for you. They make me excited. You stand strong for what you believe in, hold fast to your convictions. Somedays, the only way we see eye to eye is physically. But I am proud that you never back down when you believe in something. 

The next few years are going to throw hard tests at you. Remember what you believe RIGHT NOW. Embed it into your soul and let it become WHO YOU ARE, not just what you believe. It will lead you on the most amazing path you could ever imagine. Let who you are now just continue to grow. 

Kristin, my goodness, you have blossomed. When I first wrote to you, you were scared to speak. Now, you not only speak, you speak with firmness and confidence. Your beauty takes my breath away, but only because it is not just outside, it's in you. You are proud of who you are and seeing someone who was once so scared now so brave makes all those years of struggling worth it. 

Kaitlin, the same to you. You have such a quiet strength. You get lost in books, in the words. You still want to hold on to my hand sometimes, just a little too tightly. I know you still can't always understand why I ask you to let go, a little. But that's my job. My job is to prepare you to walk into your world, without me there coaching you. But as I said so many years ago, I may let go, but I'm still there, right behind you, when and if you need me. 

Kristin and Kaitlin, as I have watched the both of you emerge into the young ladies you are becoming, I always see butterflies. I read once that a butterfly gains their strength through the struggles it has to endure to fully become what it was created to be. It is the same for you, both. You both have emerged so beautifly. The struggles aren't over but I have absolute faith in the both of you to handle them with grace.

Erin, the love you had for nature and this world has only intensified over these years. It shows me it wasn't childhood fancy, but who you are inside. I am envious of your eyes, of your vision. I wish I could remember to see the world as you do. So I choose, instead, to see it through YOUR eyes. Thank you for such a beautiful gift. When I am sitting with you, listening, watching, I see the world as I believe God intended. Don't ever let that go, show your world to anyone who needs it.

I'm not always able to give you the newest things, but I hope my love makes up for it. The nights I've spent praying for you, praying for wisdom for you, it's now paying off. You are my gifts in this world; my gift to the world. 

You are growing so quickly. And I can slowly feel each of you letting go, in your own way. But I know, and I want you to know, that's the way it's supposed to be.

I love you. 143 . . . infinity. To the moon. Circle 3 times and back . . . .and that's just the beginning. 

Tucking them in

I went in tonight to check on my girls. I find two sleeping, so I gently rearrange blankets so feet are covered and books are out of the way. I sigh in contentment. Two are still awake, almost as if they are waiting for me. Waiting for the last talk of the day. A chorus of I love you, sweet dreams, and 143. Quick kisses on the cheeks, feel the cheeks of a child not feeling well.

No matter how old they get, this is a ritual I still love. The arms around my neck for one last hug, the kisses, the I love yous and sweet dreams.

I then usually settle down into my favorite chair, with a cup of green tea, and reflect on how blessed I am.

Four amazing daughters. Young ladies that bring tears to my eyes and make me aware of an unconditional love I never thought possible.

No matter what I may have screwed up in my life, I did four things perfectly right.

I truly enjoy these times with my girls. Look forward to it, actually. As they have gotten older, our conversations have turned more serious. Religion, sex, peer pressure, bullying, college.

It makes me want to tuck them in even tighter every night, knowing it is going to end so soon. Knowing the time is coming to a close where I can wrap them up warmly in a cocoon and protect them. 

Brianna's life is now full of SAT scores, scholarships, time with friends and so soon, only months away, freedom on four wheels. I long to tuck her in the tightest but know I cant. So I just give her a hug, kiss her and tell her I love you. It is that time when I have to start letting go. I am prepared for it, but not ready. But I have to be.

Kristin and Kaitlin are at the cusp. Not quite old enough to let go of, but not quite young enough anymore to be kept so close. Its a delicate balance at 13. Tonight, I found them laying next to each other and I flashed back to just a few years ago; a time when they never slept apart. They always slept facing each other.  They were my two peas in a pod. Now they are growing up and growing apart. Which is healthy. Its a rare thing for me to tuck them in with one blanket. Usually, they are each in their own bed, with their own blankets. Kaitlin usually has a book. Kristin is reading a fashion magazine. Each year, they become my twins less and less.

Erin is still the easiest to tuck in because she waits for me. Or comes and gets me. Its our ritual. Climb into bed, grab the lucky pet that will be next to her that night, the giraffe blanket that was the last gift from my mom to her. Make sure her feet are covered, blankets under her arms and up to her chin. Tuck the blankets around her, a tight hug, big kiss, I love you. Sweet dreams. Usually she tells me she hates that she forgets her dreams and hopes, this time, she will remember them in the morning.

I hope she remembers them too.

This is my favorite time of the day. When everything is done. When its just me and my girls and some stolen moments together. When I am still able to be the mother of children, even as they are rushing out of childhood so quickly. The one time of the day when the teen years don't feel so scary.

There are no longer bedtime stories. Those have been replaced with conversations. There are no more calls for a glass of water. They get it themselves. There is no longer the need for constant check-ins of them at night. That has been replaced with my hope that one day, down the road, that they continue the tradition and tuck their own children in, with hugs, kisses and 143. With wishes for sweet dreams and a few more moments of conversations before eyes get heavy.

Sweet dreams, baby girls. 143.

I truly do love you more.

Daughters . . . .

This is what I woke up to at 7:30 this morning. It's Homecoming Week and in typical Erin fashion, she went all out. The theme, if you couldn't tell, was nerd day. And nerd it up she did. She wanted me to see because she said I'm the best nerd of all..lol. Hack a Nook a couple times and your kids think you are a superhero..lol. 

I wish it was that easy. Being a Superhero. I just try to remind myself that even Superman had Kryptonite. 

I hope one day, when they look back and remember how I failed, that they also realize how hard I tried to be the best for them. The one thing I have realized over the past few weeks is that everything I have done to improve my life has been because of them. I want them proud of me. I want them to know how much I love them. I want them to know I'd never trade a single moment. 

I got lucky. Four girls with their heads on straight. Some say I'm lucky. But that minimizes every single thing I have done to guide them. They have some of my qualities, but luckily, I parented hard enough and prayed even harder for them to not be too much like me. I learned from my own mistakes and passed those lessons on to them. I took what I lacked and made sure they never did. 

Growing up, I rarely heard I love you. So it became some awkward for me to say. So, as an adult, when my mom started saying it, she could never understand why it was so hard for me. But it felt so foreign on my lips. But now, as a parent, I make sure not a single day goes by without those words being spoken to my girls. I only wish now I had allowed myself to walk past the uncomfortableness and said to my Mom more. But again, my failings giving me another lesson to learn. 

I watch my girls and I learn from them. I learn to be less selfish. Less unforgiving. Less angry. Because they have seen and been through things in their life where they should be angry and hateful and selfish. But they aren't. They take what has happened to them and use it to give back to others. 

An anti-bullying/suicide website with lists of resources 

Inviting a friend going through a hard time to church

Wearing buttons showing they are taking a stand against violence and abuse

Donating clothes to the less fortunate 

Pages and pages of prayer requests in their journals 

Erin comes home from school, excited. 

Mommy, mommy, I was the BEST nerd in the whole school. Thank you for being my Mom. 

And honestly, that is the best compliment I have received in a very long time. 

143 to the moon and back, circle three times.....forever and always. 

Slowing Down . . . .

From the moment my mom died, I have been going 90 miles an hour. I kept believing if I went fast enough, the pain, the reality wouldn't catch up with me. I was wrong and last Sunday, it caught up with me. Hard, harsh, painful, real. I got up early that morning, I told myself I was going to church. I hadn't been in so long, I desired, needed, craved that connection. I got to the church and turned around. It didn't feel right. I started sobbing: big fat tears that I didn't try to wipe away. I drove and felt. I drove slowly, numbly, blindly. Once I got to where I was going, I realized my driving had had a purpose the whole time. I knew where I was going. 

I got out of the car and collapsed on a mound of dirt and grass. I sobbed in a way I hadn't since the early morning I came home to an empty house alone realizing in that moment, I no longer had a mother. I had just told her good-bye. I remember that night sitting in my car frozen. I could not, would not, go into that house alone and face what my mind could not accept. I remember calling Brett repeatedly, just needing to hear the voice of someone--someone sane, someone who cared, even if it was just breathing on the other end of the line as i sobbed. I only knew I needed so badly to be held. He never answered and I never got out of my car. I went and picked up my daughters. Dreading the moment I had to change their life. What mother ever wants to be the one to deliver such pain? I walked in to get them and they knew, even as they struggled to wake. I held them, they held me and I collapsed. I cried in a way that hurt. 

And I did the same this past Sunday. I collapsed, gripped the head stone and sobbed and talked and prayed. I told her about my job and how I was finally, finally doing what I knew I was meant to do, one of the reasons I was meant to exist in this world. I told her about the pain of falling in love and being hurt, the mistakes that caused me to wake up and wonder who I had become and the choice to walk away from the strangeness and learn myself again. And I told her I was sorry. Over and over, I cried and said I was sorry. Sorry for unforgiveness and anger, sorry for not being there, thinking I had more time. 

The last time i said good-bye to her, it was so she knew it was okay for her to go. How could I not? Where she was going was better than anything life here had to offer. I held her hand, I rubbed her face and said good-bye. 

An hour passed, my eyes became dry. There was nothing left. But I felt peace. I held on a while longer to that cold stone, wishing, somehow, that it would be close enough to holding her. I pulled some weeds, straightened out some flowers, ran my hands over her name. 

It still feels weird at times. My whole life has felt weird this past year. So many losses: a mother, a lover, a best friend, and for a while, myself. But I now have clarity and purpose. I shed a skin that was too tight and uncomfortable. I have learned from mistakes and grown. 

Last Sunday, I felt closer to God than I have in a very long time. And it wasn't in a church and I didn't lay my problems at the foot of the cross. Instead, I remembered myself and my heart on a grassy mound in the middle of nowhere in front of a cold stone. And through my tears, I remembered a smile that comes from within. 

I'll always miss her. Everyday. But last Sunday, I felt myself being held . . . finally. And knew, somehow, she was still with me.

Run Away . . . .

. . . with me. Board a plane, a bus, jump on a Harley, run down the road. Just come with me, please. Wherever that is. Anywhere besides here. 

HERE is too . . . 

          . . . . familiar . . . . 

              . . . . confining . . . . .

                  . . . . stunted . . . . 

I'm in desperate need of some Miracle-Gro in my life. 

Quick sprinkle and watch it bloom . . . . 

Come with me. Meet me in the middle, meet me at the end. Wrap your arms around, soft kisses behind my ear, words meant for just me. Tell me running is okay. 

Running away from is sometimes the easiest way to run towards something else. Just run with me, please.

Don't stay behind and wish me luck. Come with me and be my lucky charm. Sleep under the stars with me, my head on your chest, hearing the beating of your heart, my fingers finding that perfect spot where two heartbeats become one.

Stay silent as I speak of all I want to run towards. Run your fingers through my hair,plant a kiss on my forehead and tell me it's all for the best. 

Don't send me letters, be there with me to sign the postcards we'll send to those who stayed behind. 

Don't be my reason for running; be my partner in this adventure they call Life.

Life . . . sigh. I've waited too long to begin mine. Begin one with me. 

Please, don't beg me to make sense. I want to make no sense, for the first time. 

Dine with me in new places, sleep in strange beds, explore new shops. 

Plan to come with me and live with no plan. 

I only need a pass, permission and a kiss. 

     . . . . and a hand holding on to mine as I let go. 

Please, come with me as I run away. Make your kisses be a kiss of hello, not goodbye. A woman knows the kiss of goodbye. 

     . . . .lingering, softer, not quite as passionate. 

Don't make me know the difference.

Walk into the unknown and tell me you couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

Stay with me until the leaves fall, the warmth is gone . . . only then can you kiss me goodbye . . . until next time. 

My Life's Playlist

I sat in a bar last night, my half empty beer ignored as the amazing talent that is hidden away in this town came out, stepped on a small stage and became stars. The music washed over me, washed away anything that had been there in the moments before "Georgia on my mind" was sent into the air, so beautifully intoxicating, it brought tears to my eyes.

I go back in time and remember my own songs, sung and stored quietly in the deepest recessions of my soul, holding onto memories I cannot ever let go of. 

It's summers as a child hearing Conway Twitty sing of Tight Fitting Jeans and Girls Who Hasn't Been That Far Before. Songs that even now, decades later, cause my heart to race and my eyes to close, wanting nothing to interfere with the rough perfection of his voice.

It's playing outside in the summer, singing along with my little sister "Just a swingin'" . . . . our innocence still intact. The smell of Pine-sol and fried chicken. The country music playing in the background letting us know that mom was cleaning. It's still the only genre that is allowed when I decide to de-clutter my home . . .  my life.

It's Plush, Linger, and Come as You Are ushering in music for a youth needing something of their own, something uncharted, even as it became more popular and mainstream. Music that caused us to stand to our feet and stand for something: Standing out. Even though, looking back now, we all looked alike. And right now, it's I Was a Teenage Anarchist that reminds me of the passion I had (have) and should live for. 

It's You Had Me From Hello reminding me of a first love, first kiss, first time letting go, letting in, holding nothing back, sweat, kisses, tears, release. A song that playing over and over until I couldn't cry anymore when his hello became good-bye. The pain reminding me that I DID Feel, that I CAN Feel, that I need to, want to, am going to feel again. 

It's Craig Morgan singing of Tough woman and the first man who saw me the same way, even at my weakest moment. 

It's Amazing Grace . . . .how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. Even when I feel beyond saving and the closest I feel to God is the summer winds at night, caressing my face. Reminding me that maybe, just maybe, I'm not as alone as I think I am.

It's Beautiful Disaster and arms around my waist, pulling me closer, begging my heart to open. And it did, one step, one night at a time and even now, the song causes me to smile, even though he no longer does. And it's Whiskey and Wine that make me smile and cry a little as I remember how we both lost our way.

It's the love songs we hope to dedicate to someone; the break-up songs we pray to God we never have to know. It's the songs that move us; slow us down or cause us to dance until the bright lights let us know it was time to go . . . for now. 

It's the perfect song to sing along to in the car, as loud as you can . . . . 

The tunes you hum because you forgot the words but still know the sound by heart.

It's the perfect song that causes you to grab a broom and dance . . . 

And it's the song that gives you the courage to lean in for a first kiss . . . .hoping he feels the same and the absolute joy when you learn that he does and storing THAT song away into your playlist.

It's Etta James "I'd Rather Be Blind" letting you know, you can survive your heartbreak if she can sing about it. Even though the pain in her voice matches the pain in your soul, yet you can't get enough.

It's life, one note at a time, just waiting to see which song will be lived next . . . . 

Categories

You can't be categorized, Michelle. You don't even try to be yourself, you just Are. 

That was the best compliment I had ever received. And in one moment, a moment I have no memory of, I was put into a category. For a second. It took me that long to run away from it.

The volunteers try to make it easier by providing literature. The main goal is to let you know that you aren't going insane and the myriad of emotions are normal after trauma. So, being the knowledge seeking person that I am, I sat down to read it. For a second. That's how long it took me to get angry. 

VICTIM

   VICTIM

         VICTIM.

Over and over again. 

The Victim may feel . . . .

    The victim may act . . . . 

     The victim needs . . . . 

TO NOT BE CALLED A VICTIM.

The word implies weakness, helplessness, lack of ability. At least to me it does.

I am NONE of those things. I choose to be none of those things.

I have no better word to put in its place. Survivor means someone who got over being a Victim. But I refuse to see myself as a victim at all.

Instead, I am a woman, I am Michelle. I am still those things, just with more knowledge . . . .

. . . .and appreciation. So odd, really, how something SO soul crushing could WAKE UP my soul in such a new way.

I run more now. I box. I write. I play. I believe in WHO I AM with a vengenance. 

Laying on the ground sobbing, angry, lost, completely petrified at who I would emerge as through all of this made me take a harder look at myself. And it made me connect with that core strength that defines ME and latch onto it in a way that brought me back to my feet, head taller, with an iron core.

There is a new underlying sadness that I have not quite adjusted to yet. So right now, I embrace it. I feel my humanness. I accept that I can be slightly crushed and live through it. NO!!! NO!!! Excel through it. 

His violation made me more aware of EVERYTHING. And through this awareness, I saw the world again. I saw my children, my friends, myself . . . and LOVE. 

Bad things happen, daily. But so do good things, by the second. 

He tried to destroy me. Instead, he made me BETTER. 

Last night, I sat outside, unafraid, and listened to music. My momentary refuge. I reclaimed my space. I reclaimed by independence. I reclaimed MYSELF. 

The Kid is Doing Alright . . . I figured out how to fill in the gaps he left. And I had everything I needed to do so all along. 

Thirty-six

I'm turning 36 in a few days. I'm struggling, I have to admit. It just seems so . . . .

   . . . . so . . . .

Absolute.

As if suddenly the world is in front of me and I have to decide on a specific path to take.

 . . . . and I don't want to.

Not yet.

I've never really had the chance to enjoy the journey much.

Married too young . . .

    .  . . . a mother too young . . . .

Growing up, I was the adult. I was the caretaker, the parent, the responsible one.

I had to learn to play.

And, yet, now, it seems as if it is expected of me to return to that mindset and be, well, boring.

And I don't want to. Because I am having more fun now than ever.

My choices are mine.

 . . .  not a husband's

 . . . . not a mother's

 . . . . no ones.

The choices I make now are mine.

But the comments are starting:

When are you getting married

 . . . .isn't college a pipe dream? It's time to be an adult and find a job.

 . . . . You're too old to go out. You should sit at home.

I DON'T WANT TO!!!!!!

I want to read books I have never read before. I want to travel. I want to meet people.


I want to fall in love. Make mistakes. Say I'm sorry. And do it again.

I got started at Life too late. I'm not ready to give it up yet for a dog, 4 bedrooms and a white picket fence.

I don't want a band on my finger, weighing me down in one place.

I don't want to spend my days in a corporate environment, chasing everyone else's dream.

So I won't.

I won't.

I'm not.

I won't.

I'm going to be 36. And to me that means . . . ..

I make the choices. I call the shots. I decide where I want to be.

And, honestly, I want to be right where I am.

I like the blank canvas that my life is right now.

But I like drawing on it in pencil even more.