God has granted me the wisdom to know the difference......Part 2

There was a tremendous amount of growing up I did when I accepted the fact that my husband was/is emotionally unavailable. At first, I was so hurt by his lack of presence in certain stages of my pregnancy with our son, Joe. I appreciated how supportive he was when I had the fall in the store. I hated how he acted so calm and uninterested in my labor pains while we waited, that was reason enough for me to be resentful for awhile. Even though I had planned C-section that arrived early, that didn’t mean the labor hurt less or that I was less of a woman for not birthing naturally. I can’t blame him for not knowing what to do or fear being a disappointment in the sight of my expectations. It isn’t everyday that we deal with such issues. I never communicated a game plan of my needs, just thought he would know that automatically. Maybe that would change when he became a father.

When we finally found out the source of Joe’s leg pain and heard that they missed the bone cyst in the first x-ray……I was so infuriated at such negligence but I wasn’t sure how I was going to react as Joe’s advocate. Because in my mind, I should have been more aggressive about finding an answer, weeks ago and shouldn’t of relied on the expertise of one doctor. I still have to decide if I want to make a big stink about it. For now, I am still focusing on Joe’s treatment and a solution to all this. I was beside myself when I went home with this news. A huge ball of anxiety thinking back of all the risks and close calls Joe had had in the last month. If he had fractured his femur and we didn’t know what was present there, that fracture could have been and can still be life threaten-ing. It took a while to process this information and I thank God everyday for watching over my boy. The look in Peter’s face said that he agreed that we were fortunate that this wasn’t worse. We went home and consoled each other as a couple…..and as a family. That night my husband thought the need for affection that I expressed that day was a sign that I would be open to a stress relief invitation. Again, a sign that my husband doesn’t always know what I need.

That was just another blow to his ego and he couldn’t help but take it personally. My mind, body and soul was busy being a Mother who was scared for her son. I wasn’t gonna draw any attention to what was expected of me from others……I need to be there for my Joe.

We got told many things about what the best step for Joe was. At first, we thought they would perform an MRI and maybe check for other bone cysts. Logical to me and when Joe started asking questions about how his leg was gonna be treated, the MRI was a relief in his mind. Emotionally I prepared him for a ride in a rocket ship, as the MRI machine took an x-ray of his whole body. That he would have to be put to sleep so he doesn’t freak out inside the machine. While we waited for our appointment to see a specialist in Oakland the conversation topic of this day was not one Joe couldn’t handle whenever it came up. He was okay with it…..he was ready. Then I found out they wanted to stick with their other idea of the bone biopsy. They were afraid there was an infection at the site of the bone cyst. Well, did I tell Joe this? Of course not! I was okay with him thinking what he was.

Day before the appointment, Joe had been promised Star Wars Lego boxes for his bravery during this procedure. He was not to open the boxes til we left the hospital. So as you can already imagine, we all wanted this day to be over. The morning of, I was in one of my panic mode moods without making it too obvious to Joe. But when my husband and my daughter had to wake up to a drill Sergent type yell, they knew I wasn’t one to be messed with that day. The adults in the house looked like the walking dead and poor Joe was silent. He wasn’t suppose to eat and he didn’t even want to drink in the time period allowed. We got there in Oakland and the preparation of the biopsy was the longest. The waiting, trying to keep Joe’s mind off what everyone was doing, took effort. My husband kept falling asleep and I couldn’t imagine closing one eye at a time like this. Joe needed us to be strong, alert and attentive in my opinion. Again, during a time when I would think my husband would be a basket case like me. I finally said something to him when they told us the doctor and anesthesiologist were coming in soon to talk to us. That’s when all my efforts to prep Joe emotionally went to hell in 10 seconds. The doctor proceeded to give us details and I shushed him, knowing Joe was listening too. He looked at me like why am I being silenced and I told him what I had prepped Joe for. Guess he didn’t appreciate that I would lie to Joe or didn’t understand I wanted him to keep his explanation vague. As adults we know what is gonna happen. Why instill fear in a 5 year old, if it isn’t necessary. With Joe as his patient I guess he thought it was protocol to tell a patient the details of the procedure, no matter what his age. And the reaction was no surprise. Joe lost it when he heard the doctor tell him he was, “gonna put a needle in his bad leg and take a sample.” Joe was crying and shaking. And as all the grown-ups made attempts to calm Joe down in their own way, we we’re all talking at one time and only made Joe angry. Joe started yelling at the “bad people,” telling them he refuses to go to sleep and no one was gonna touch him. We finally got him to calm down a little when Joe got to decide who was gonna go in the operating room with him. They had decided that after that blow out, the IV insert should wait til he went to sleep. As I put on the scrubs, booties and “shower looking” cap, I was smiling and focusing on how silly I looked. We walked in and Joe was fine again. The operating room was so intimidating and somewhat overwhelming. I pulled him onto the table, held his hand while he got sleepy and gave him a kiss…….then got escorted quickly out of the operating room.

I couldn’t hold the tears in any longer. All the times I wanted to join Joe in his suffering, I couldn’t. He looked to me, to keep it together. When I went back to the waiting room, my husband was looking at a magazine and daughter texting on her phone. The biopsy was a 10 minute procedure. But it seemed like longer, trying to distract my thoughts I started asking Vanessa how her day at the river went. Then the doctor came out and said the procedure went well, my husband didn’t lift his head from the magazine. Doctor gave us an idea as to what to expect as the anesthesia wore off and what they were gonna do with the samples. Still he didn’t raise his head from the magazine. I couldn’t thank the doctor enough for doing his best to find out what was going on with Joe. I had a little melt down. The doctor reassured me that even though everything was gonna take time we were gonna get this resolved and my daughter consoled me. A nurse came later to take us to the recovery stations and Joe was still sleeping. I stood in anticipation wanting to be the first face Joe saw when he woke up as the nurse continued her data entry on the computer. My husband sat down, closed his eyes and waited. He had even asked for a blanket, since it was so cold in there. It was possible we would be waiting for an hour or two for Joe to wake up. Believe me Peter got comfortable. Us women; the nurse, my daughter and myself stood waiting for Joe, passing the time with artificial chat and how Joe came to be there. In all this I was expecting a more concerned, supportive and compassionate husband. Reality is who is to say that he wasn’t but in his own way. We all process things differently. We all choose to react when we do. Who am I to say he is emotionally unavailable. He is exactly who he is. As for me, I am comfortable and confident that in my heart and mind, I am where I need to be…………doing exactly what I should be doing and that’s all that matters.

God has granted me the wisdom to know the difference.

It hasn’t been easy dealing with the women in my brother’s life. They have this way about them that I just can’t define in a few terms. The deceitfulness of insecure women and their inferiority complexes is so obvious when they are trying to be nice. They are so transparent, even without being vain. I just know they are up to something or want information when they pretend to be concerned. Sssspinning their little webs everywhere and leaving emotional traps for their entertainment or ego boosts.
What I hate the most is how they hold my brother ransom emotionally and he is so caught up in his desire to be accepted by these women, he is oblivious to their ambush techniques.
Either that or he just needs to man-up to these women and quit letting them control him.
Talking about controlling people. They think they are the puppet master and those strings aren't felt at all by their victims.
It’s funny how my husband reacts to these controlling women and how he tries to trigger up some reaction in me about the games they play. When the insults, the betrayal, the disrespect isn’t even directed at him. But yet he is another inferiority complex trying to get me to act a certain way. I know that that is his past talking and I don’t say anything cause I understand where it is coming from. Just because I choose not to do anything doesn't mean I'm not intelligent enough to know what is going on. I choose not to react because what is the point? It's a waste of my time and energy to tell these people who they are and if I did say something......why would I think so highly of my opinion to think it would revive them to change. For example, I hate when people complain about certain characteristics they have in themselves. So this time, it backfired and I showed my husband a reflection of himself. I am dealing with enough with my son. I don’t have the energy to deal with this drama. When will my husband ever accept that I am a Mother first? Before I am a wife or a woman. It is infused in me. Ever since my mid teens when I became an older sister to two small siblings. I can’t be the Mother I want to be, or have been; if I am busy stroking egos. My husband went off to contemplate this load of reality I threw on his lap cause I am tired of the games. Tell me how you feel without all the bullshit and I will respect you more for it. I will be more compassionate to your needs. I will acknowledge what you feel is important. Until then I will continue to see your attempt to express your needyness and keep my distance until you can properly communicate without inflicting pain. This can also be perceived as another controlling attempt. Pain is not enough when your disappointed in someone else's behavior. I know no matter what I do I am gonna make someone unhappy. In my heart and mind I believe I am doing what is right and I am where I am suppose to be. I will not be made to feel guilty for who I am or who I need to be for my kids. I am too old to not be taken seriously in my responsibilities. I would think that that deserves support and/or respect. If you can't respect me enough to think I need to be fooled into thinking what you want. The dynamics of what I see, how I act and what I don’t say for your sake is the deepest type of acceptance and love I could ever give and it's you that is MISSING OUT ON US!

Lost in Transition

It’s quite challenging to live with an adult child without wanting to make all the decisions for them. Any way that I can, to sway my daughter from harm or regrettable mistakes, without manipulating her decision making; is my everyday task. I was my daughter’s age when I felt my Mother’s influence was too involved in my adult life. I ended up leaving the nest, without proper preparation, at age 20. Though I feel my daughter and I aren’t at each other’s throat like I was with my Mom, I still feel the anxiety that she might make the same mistake I did. Only because she has complained we aren’t as close as we use to be. I lived her frustration everyday for years. That is a huge part of who I am that even to this day I feel is unresolved. So many unsettled issues that transpired from that act of fleeing that were never dealt with. I was undeniably shoved into adulthood and have been in “responsibility mode,” ever since.

My frustration was rooted by my wanting to “feel” like an adult, just didn’t have the means to make that idealism “real.” Feeling emotionally crutched by minimal finances and the repetitive criticism at every turn by Mom was deflating any excitement or belief I had in my future………….or even myself for that matter. Like a small child feeling punished for things they aren‘t doing, as if they were. Whether it was growing up in a broken family, having a alcoholic Father, an over-bearing Mother and/or being prone to act of codependency, I was doomed to fail, without given a chance. That does wonders for my self-esteem.

Since I became a parent, I am aware of the patience needed to guide youth, without robbing their self-esteem. I think that is what’s missing in our children these days. The lack of patience lies in the parents guilt for not taking the time to observe and problem solve with the child(ren). For a parent, it would appear easier just to lay down the law, say no trespassing and eliminate ever having to teach all the wonderful benefits of “being human,” and making mistakes. I would give anything to go back to age 20 and change my outlook, my attitude………..my anger towards my Mom. In my regret, I try to be the opposite of my experience.

I keep trying to be a pillar for my first born and tell her that instead of feeling defeated by circumstance, refuse to have it defeat her. That there is an answer, a resolution to every problem and that she should find strength in looking for that answer. Crying prematurely over the potential struggle, is destructive and pointless. Refusing to deal with reality and find comfort in the victim role is equally a waste of time. It’s easy to feel sorry for oneself but it takes character to push oneself through it.

The hardest part of becoming an adult for me, was sorting through all the screaming voices in my head and trying to find the one that was gonna bring me peace. The voice that was gonna tell me about me. It wasn’t the act of intent listening that was hard; it was the religious practice of voicing my input verbally with confidence and taking responsibility for what was heard. Unearthing what my beliefs were and what was important to me wasn’t so easy after being told how to think, how to act and what to feel. Making decisions based on that undeveloped inner voice, can leave a lot of room for doubt. That uncertainty can make one use those haunting voices from the past as a fall back. Which I’ve kicked myself many times for, since it only brought frustration for chickening out, brought feelings of inadequacy about the freedom I fought so hard trying to prove I could handle. I had to let go of my past, force myself to be strong and accept from that point on the only one I could blame for my decision making was “me.” But before I took that role on fully, I wanted answers.

If you are as inquisitive as I have been most my life, I couldn’t let go of my past that easily. When I started asking questions about certain things, my Mother thought I was old enough to understand some truth. I still feel like I only heard half the story cause the other half isn’t really my business or my place to ask. Dignified or not, there is an attitude that parents have that they are making the best decision on behalf of the child and don’t need to be questioned about it. Kids are very intelligent in their observations and words are not necessary in most cases to see what is going on. But still a child is just a child and the perspective on individual events can be like watching a “silent movie,” and young minds are left with their own interpretation. My mind wasn’t mature enough to handle some of the information, the parent’s would treat me as such but yet I had memories that I didn’t want to be protected from any longer. Over the years, there were certain mental connections, little tid-bits of information that allotted me to answer things as I got older. And the unmentionable details are best unsaid. Parents are adults and are made responsible but that doesn’t instinctively make them perfect or in my case; worthy of trust.

Replaying events in my childhood as an adult, with my Mother as the narrator helped me find my voice and my beliefs, as she gave her reasons as to why she did, what she did. The vulnerability it takes for a parent to be completely honest and the present adult child to listen, without judgement. Even at my age, I am still listening when I talk about where I came from and have often had a handful of revelations that my story is still a mystery to me.

In a recent conversation with family members, I was comparing which one of my parents was easier to open up to. I never hesitated to speak fondly of my Father and his unfailing acceptance I felt in his presence. He was more laid back and open-minded compared to the derogatory manner of my Mother. And that confused me about their relationship; how opposite in character they were. As far as I could remember that was hard for me to have one way with my Dad and be another person with my Mom. As a result of the comfort I found in my Dad, I had been a Daddy’s girl til my Mother started to interfere with my relationship with him. She started to talk about him as if I didn’t know him at all. Ask questions about what we spoke of whenever we were together. I didn’t understand her reasoning for this, other then to put distance between my Dad and I. My thought was; just because her relationship with him was a struggle, didn’t give her the right to devalue what connection I had with him. As I was explaining this to my family, someone was telling me my Mom was just trying to protect me, from all the things she knew about my Dad’s character or behavior. I never occurred to me at that age, I would ever need to fear the actions of my Father, as I got older. That my Mother had her justified reasons for protecting me, as she did. Cause I was pushed to be the same advocate for my daughter, with my Father and that’s the last time I saw him.

You’d think I would assess the situation with the same scrutiny as my Mother did for me. I had not foreseen that I would be compelled in my future to put my foot down with my Dad’s forced affection on my young daughter. Even in that act of protecting Vanessa at age 4, I never connected those two instances as similar. I just saw how uncomfortable and fearful Vanessa became when he was around. Where my mother never let it come to that, she saw something I could never fathom. I hated to think that that was possible now but that’s the battle Mother’s fight for their daughter’s. The anger and resentment I had held onto towards my Mother for over 30 years felt like a wall of bricks crashing down on me. To think of all the emotional daggers I threw at her for something that would of normally filled my heart with such warmth and respect for her, if I wasn’t so ignorant to her love. And since she’s not here for me to make amends, I have to somehow make peace with this inside me.

As much as I felt I was nothing like my Mother, her love language is not foreign. I have protected Vanessa from her father, for as long as I could. When Vanessa was in junior high, the need to put a face to his name and see him for the first time, was something she needed. I didn’t see any harm in her meeting him, knowing he would just fly back to the Hawaiian islands. It was very emotional to witness the unveiling of their first meeting, only cause I had been a witness to her aching for him, for so long. When it came time to construct on that relationship, I wanted her to be old enough to handle the inevitable disappointment of who he was. After her graduation from high school she went to Hawaii to discover who he was for herself. She has dealt with that and it has been difficult for her to accept that disappointment in him. As painful as that might be to accept that a parent isn’t who you need them to be, there is a sense of relief in letting go of that expectation. I thank God above for giving her a mentor, a worthy comparison the last 11 years, to what a “real man,” a “loving father,” is like, with her step-father, Peter.

Reality-a-la-carte. All you can eat sweet and sour moments.

April 19th I found out that after 15 years of no contact, my father died of prostate cancer. The news was something I had already played over several times in my head in that 15 years and my heart had somewhat accepted. The possibility of him being dead was more likely to accept then the pain of his silence for so long and moving on with his life. WRONG!
Cause when reality dealt that card, I didn’t want to hear that he was dead and I wasn’t angry that he had stayed away so long. The only thing I felt was sadness that he had been so sick and I wasn’t given the opportunity to care for him or help in any way. In the 2 years that he knew about his cancer, he had decided not to do chemotherapy and let the cancer take it’s natural course. But when I went on to hear how he spent his days, I just broke down and cried. Releasing my deep routed tears was accompanied by an overwhelming pride for how my dad chose to spend his time. I was so proud of him. He had found purpose in his life and was reaching out to those less fortunate, coordinating meals for the elderly and needy. He had been taken under the "spiritual" protective wing of a Christian couple in Little Rock. Arkansas. They gave him shelter, a place to work and became his family. I found comfort looking at the pictures my sister took of his surrounding home and work areas. Knowing that his atmosphere/space was just a transference of something I grew to love as a child. There was no 2 ton question mark over my head. He was still the father I knew and loved. I live true to what he taught me. Being true to expression of oneself, be creative, appreciate family, celebrate life, the outdoors and God's creation, find strength and trust in my own inner voice, don't waste precious moments (watching tv) and always keep a sense of humor for your own sanity.
After a childhood of disappointment in how my parents dealt with each other, their resentments or regrets while struggling with the stresses of life, I couldn't rationalize the bitter taste left in my mouth that I carried into my own adult life. Through personal growth, true love and acceptance of my own reality, sweet and sour would have to be my taste of preference in general. Taking the bad with the good concept. Which I would like to follow in my fathers foot steps and find a way to help others while I process my own troubles. But even if my good semariton career doesn't come through, I know that my good deeds and best efforts as a decent human being will be a daily occurance in everything I do. Thank you Dad, for who you are inside of me. Much love to you! 

My belief in God

I believe that he is merciful
I believe he is in all of us
I believe that he is wanting our love
I believe he needs our help to save others
I believe that he resides with Dad and Chris but is everywhere all the time through all of us
I believe he disagrees with a lot of what is being protrayed in Christianity
That we have put our own ingredients and interpretations into it and it's so far gone to try and filter it all out
Spirituality can not be defined by anyone but you
But in all religions I find it hard to leave the concept of God and all his creation out of it. It's impossible
The Bible is a guide for DUMMIES who need an excuse to back up their own insane inner mumbling
I don't need a bible or followers to tell me how spiritual I am or define my worth in the eyes of God.
He does that everyday and the day will come when I will face him and he will accept me with his eyes and I will know I did good by him and myself
That's what I believe

We all have what it takes............

................to make a difference a little or a lot.
I can't believe those that give so much of themselves, with little acknowledgement for their generosity. It's upsetting to see some taken advantage of, for being nice. Some people may say their co-dependent, gullible, or driven by guilt. Whatever the reason the record will set you straight. In my opinion, it takes a special person with a huge heart to sacrifice their needs and schedule. They have the free will, like anyone else to do so many other things, yet they choose to help others. When the record shows the time they commit to, the effort they put in, the energy it takes to do, the care that shines and/or money they invest, they are truly a breed of their own. People I am thinking of now have different walks of life but their hearts beat with the same purpose. It put's my faith back in humanity to witness these self-less acts. And whether their profession/obligation requires this sort of protocol or not, we should all want to be heroes to our children, save our parents from themselves, doctor our relationships, guard our bodies, regard ourselves, teach our friends that their not alone and those around us that "we all have what it takes" to make a difference no matter how big or small the cause. Compassion goes along way, in so many lives.

Policy or expectancy?

My husband is complaining that he is tired and stressed. Most of it is work related. He thought being a manager of a facility meant a lot of paper work and telling others what to do. But this company threw him a fast ball. I think it is also the fact that he is 50 and expects to take it easy. This is the point where men start getting really lazy mentally and physically. This was justified by the remark my aunt made the other day about men after 50. I am in trouble if this is so. I tried empathizing with him but I'm at a different port with my working out, building strength and stamina for my son, wanting to look and feel my best. I think this is more about self-worth.
When Peter came back into my life I was working for a printing company doing deliveries and quality control. I didn't mind the physical demands of the job or the 100 miles I drove almost daily. Eight to ten hours of lifting and dealing with traffic, did challenge me, test my patience on my bad days. I did this kind of work full term. The pregnancy became a source of worry for me, am I pushing myself too hard. I resented it towards the end. It was wrong in my eyes to have a pregnant woman doing deliveries. I kept thinking why don't they just give me something else to do and have someone else do the lifting. But they just paid for more boxes and made them 20 pounds and lighter. My expecting my concerns to be shared by my employer became a source of daily stress and I started to wonder why I was there. With much complaining and refusing to do certain deliveries finally got some attention. The last few weeks of my time there they had someone fill in where I wouldn't. But that is the only way I could relate to my husband for his stress and lack of energy. When I shared this with him, he got real quiet.