Parenting with no handbook : death part 1

3/23/19

death of the heart

No one ever can tell you how to handle this.

no one.

there is no book,

 lesson, 

priest, 

therapist, 

or Shaman 

who can lead you through this labyrinth of pain.

by far the hardest job I have yet to attempt and let me tell you....

it is not because I want to

I have to

As a Mom I am required to be there
 receiving the call at 7am on a Saturday morning that your son is alive....

but

his girlfriend is deceased will put even the strongest soul to their knees...you cannot run.
Hearing your son screaming in pain and heartache in the background
will make you not stand tall to the job of parenting, but will make you want to exhale every ounce of breath from your body.
Arriving and seeing your child, although alive,
in his underwear outside in 40 degree weather vomiting,
alone, pale, with only a police advocate waiting
will crush your heart into a million pieces.
Holding his head, wiping his mouth, warming him as much as the cold, cold air will allow...
as he weeps, "she was so blue, so cold, mom, mom, I did the CPR....I did everything,...I did..."
I know, baby, I know.
"every bone in her chest broke...."
I know...I'm so sorry, Bubba....
I hate this.

They blocked his view...standing in front of the car so he could not see as the body of his young lover is brought down on a cold hard stretcher in a bag ....
by people who are merely doing their job.

"you are free to get what you need and go"
That's it?


Could it get worse...?
it could have for me...
the guilt of my having my living child bellowing in my lap was only made horrifyingly worse when the other mother called him.
the wailing of pain shot out of the phone ,piercing my heart
his wailing and apologizing
my panic and fear
her pain...
her questions,
her begging for why...why did this happen
grabbing the phone and pleading
I cry....I cry for my guilt...the knowing I was there when she should have been ...
to know I saw her broken, child as they took her out....she saw nothing, no closure , only pain
"we couldn't call we couldn't call...they would not let us call...."
I'm so sorry...I'm so sorry....

He won't sleep in a bed...
he won't be alone...
He wants my hand on him when he sleeps...
but he has barely slept,
he won't eat
"It should have been me"
Baby, it very well could have been you
and now we need you to stay with us...
She would want you to stay with us
"I'm going to try, Mom...I just hurt so bad"

It's been 3 days and I can barely sleep without picturing the horrifying scenario he has told me when we sit quietly.
my stomach turns
"mom, I love you so much....this is so hard, why, why is this happening"
Bubba, it will never be ok....
I refuse to say it will be ok....
you will never forget what you saw and the last encounter
but we have to get through this
with you here.

I am doing my best
this task of parenting, loving, and praying he stays on this earth with his broken soul

please, Blue
because without you...
I will die

m




this post was held in quiet limbo until anointing, viewing, and releasing of her beautiful soul was completed

💙
to Blue and Ashton

Milf it up , Nana

weird shit has been happening.

weird weird shit.

is it some sort of mystical moon business?

As much as I wish I could go into full detail or use metaphors, similes , or even hyperbole....I can't.

Because there is something in the air I will bring up something in which I wrote my senior practicum on for my recent degree.

And maybe I can just roll some of my dry humor into my observation and research.

I'm not sure how it came up today in work....but I said,

"Oh, I wrote a paper on STDs in assisted living homes and how people are just ignoring the fact that seniors are fucking" 

Well of course seniors are fucking, why not?

just because I am not....why can't they?  It is highly prevalent within these communities, even within the Alzheimer's locked units.  

So, the more I thought about it, the more I started laughing on the inside.

I announced, " holy hell, I only have 30 more years and maybe I'll be getting laid....sheesh....maybe I can move in early?"

All my work friends looked at me....paused and busted out laughing.

me...in 35 years....

you betcha

Go....M

seniors...

god bless them,

 their will to fuck, 

and their lack of condom use.

I wonder if Medicare covers STDs after 70?

on a younger note

I made it through the hazy 90s with no STDs, no HIV (even living in Atlanta), and no extra kids.

A friend texted me the other day and said he just found out he has a 26 year old daughter.

I was beside myself with joy.

I'm an Auntie (kind of) 

He appears to be ok with the entire thing.

I wondered where I was during this time period? 

He was my best friend...

I would have never let that happen...

unless I was all hazy 90s too.

must have been

I'm excited for him

we revisited our younger year pact....

The original was if we weren't married at 40 ( because that was so old) we would marry each other.

He texted and said....

well, if we are alone at 60...can we get together and travel and just be together.

I might have to reconsider....now that he has a child and all 

hahahahaha

also.... at 60 I will still have 20 years before I hit old folk home sexy service availability....

so, yeah, I think I can buy into the pact...

we can travel and just lay in the bed and talk.

and eat crumpets.

 us...

I seriously need help

or sex....before 80....

or maybe 

just some good 

quality 

alone time

with crumpets and my hand.

me....and I may have crumpets....

or something

remember....when you are feeling down

80 year olds 

meow...

write ya later,

m

the getaway, the racist neighbor and the inability to relax

3/14/19

'moonshine'

oh....the racist neighbor....

he appeared from next door, moonshine in hand ....

"ya'll got Lawn Jockeys where you come from?"

uhmmmm

I'm sure somewhere but not like around here.

"Yeah I bet they paint them white where you live"

(just pour it big boy)

I shook my head and waited for him to get to pouring the moonshine from the jar.

I don't miss much from the South, short of the Gulf Coast water, boiled peanuts and the moonshine.

Nothing like a nice warm jar of liquid fire to help make you think about what's wrong in the world.

The key to drinking moonshine with people you don't know well, is to laugh, pay attention, listen and try, just try, to keep your mouth shut. 

Moonshine drinking is not the time to voice any political opinions, ways of life, or who you may think is the greatest Nascar driver to date. 

Just don't 

"down the gullet and opinions closed"

I made it through the night, without a single vegetarian , race, presidential, or NASCAR comment leaking from my moonshine covered lips.

it was a good night....

others did not fare so well.

The subject of Palestinians and Jews popped out during the last 2 inches of jarred fire and at that point I excused myself to practice moonwalking around the kitchen with Sissy and a quick twerking lesson from another person.

I travel to Nashville a few times a year to relax and see Sissy. This time it was to just get away, escape, and think.

Sissy....post moonwalking 

Surprisingly enough I did not have a hangover the following day and was able to meander around Spring Hill a bit and try to relax...get my liver in order for St. Patrick's Day.

Wandering around Spring Hill included the Tractor Store, the town hot spot, where I was able to treat myself to a $9 'Heifer Please' t-shirt, evaluate the baby chicks, and look at all the bedazzled cowboy jeans....

It's the little things.

When I'm in Nashville, I am just me...I often don't wear makeup or fix my hair. I lounge about watching the bird feeder, admiring the Spring blooms and never really eat a full meal.

me....

popcorn tree aka cherry blossom

It's perfect. We go out and I go out as is and make conversation with anyone who approaches. 

Golf with a grey haired man at the bar, cool eyeglasses with a beautiful 20 something who "loved my look" and a lot of "let me check out your shirt 'lil mama' "from good looking young men enjoying the Irish beer and what nots.

escape for me....talk, smile, laugh, mingle...

Escaping or running away from problems often seems like a great idea...until you have to come back, then it is much worse. 

Almost as if things compile at a different level.

Like the spirits that be are trying to teach you another lesson on top of the shitty lesson you are all ready trying to figure out.

I talked a lot of stuff out and the main thing I was able to establish was that I need to keep talking to someone. I told Sissy, "but they (therapists) don't, and won't give me answers..."

She replied, " but it is going to help you figure it all out at some point."

We talked about going from relationship to relationship and being alone for a while.

I want to be alone, but I also want to be near my friends. 

"have you ever been alone?"

yes, but within that alone I have always had my people close to me.  I have always been very solo, especially when single. (hell, I'm so solo now it's ridiculous...) Going out , outside my circle...meeting people none of my friends knew...but yet I have always had my friends to come home to.  Those friends who are always there...the people who just come and sit on the couch and hang. Slumber party friends, cuddle up friends, 'we got this' friends....

So....

 alone? 

 maybe not....

I am an extrovert who lives inside her brain....alone.

Overthinking and very awkward,

yet seem to draw people to me within this weird personality default.

overthinking and awkward....

but so full of love.

write ya later

m

Protection...a thing of the past?

Contrary to my passivity there was a time I was being raised differently.

I grew up in a family that hunted, ate meat every day, every meal, and farmed on the side.

I fished, put the night crawlers on the hooks, and cleaned the catch myself.

I gigged for bullfrogs with a fork and a broom handle and brought them home to eat.

I'm not even sure that I realized I was a girl.

I was told to be strong and that big girls don't cry.

My brothers had me shooting things and it was often quite comical.  Maybe this is when I decided killing things wasn't for me: here's that story in short form Pistol Packin Mama.

(If you thought I was going to go into some sort of diatribe about not eating meat, you were incorrect.

Not eating meat is just a choice I made as a teen. I ate tons of meat and probably still would if I had NOT been eating meat for so damn long now.  It is surely not political.  I just don't eat meat.  I taste things, I'd actually be a great meat eater ....It literally has just been so long I don't care for the taste.  As a young girl I ate everything from turtle, bullfrogs, squirrel, venison, occasional possum, and rare steak. So,... it was just a choice at a point....)

Anyways , now that we have that settled, back to my point.

I grew up with those 8 older brothers and a dad who were pretty manly. My dad always opened the door for my mom, did the dad things, man things, and my brothers were ALWAYS my protectors.

I guess, even short of women's liberation, I expect that from a man. I want to feel safe even if I was raised by a pack of wolves and can pretty much care for myself...I want to feel protected and safe.

About a year ago or so there was an incident where I was awakened in the middle of the night to what sounded like someone attempting to break in.  It was frightening.  I pushed the other person awake and said, "I'm calling 911.  something is happening...." the other person barely woke... I said, " should we go see? turn on the lights? make sure the door is locked? I gotta get the kid!"

he looked me right in the eye and said something to the effect, " What do you expect me to do?"

I said, "something!...at least get Olive"

no movement...so I took care of it.

This type of thing has happened before...

One time, Olive was just a wee one.  We were at a family pool party or something.... I was off getting something, the other half and the brother were mingling about with Olive.  Whatever happened happened....but when I turned around Olive ad fallen into the deep end of the pool, just like any nightmare, and I could not get there quick enough! Dad just stood there....stood there....Bubba finally jumped in, fully clothed, and grabbed his little sister by the arm and pulled her out.  Everyone was fine...except for me. 

Why didn't he jump in?  Why?  Later it was said something to the sound of, "Well, I had all my clothes on...she was fine"

It has often made me wonder that if something was to happen to me, would I feel safe...or is it another case of me not depending on anyone else? I have to be able to take care of myself....can't count on anyone.  I hate it.
I'm the kind of person who knows all the exits on the airplane and in the movie theaters and how I would save my family if there was a shooting or fire...
would my S.O. do that for us....or just save his self...I'm going to guess the latter.

I want to know the person I am with will know what to do if something happens...

Will take fucking charge.

I want to feel that if someone came after me, or if there was a Zombie Apocalypse I would have some back up.

 I know how to shoot, milk goats, stop a bleed, set a bone, cook, can, and could probably stab someone with a knife if need be ...but,.i don't want to do that, I need someone else to do the stabbing.  Is that too much to ask?

I never wanted guns in the home,or weapons, and I think that might stem from not trusting the people within the house with weapons, but when I know a man can manage weapons

 I feel safe.

 Actually, it's a bit of a turn on....

actually a big turn on.

Is it a turn on for a man to be able to protect? or a necessity?

Or would it be twice the turn on if a woman can shoot to kill on her own?

or does that emasculate a man?

Questions I want to ask 

When I took the defensive arms class, I was the only female.

I liked it...I liked holding the gun and the safety involved and learning something new.

I know plenty of women who shoot etc...it just was never a hobby I was super interested in pursuing, but now it seems as if it would be fun to revisit that hobby. Another thing to learn and attempt to master on my own.

Except I would have no idea where to start short of getting a book...and I sure as shit don't want to walk into some place looking like an idiot female to the man behind the counter ( assuming it is a man)

But...If i could master it....

I could then really feel confident in taking care of myself when I find myself alone.

and not have to worry so much about who is going to protect me when the zombies come.

xo,

m

365 days Mom's legs

3/9/19

as I sat here to write, with my coffee....

I looked down and saw my mom's legs.

yes...
never thought it would happen, but you do turn into your parents at some point

My parents passed too soon for me.  I wasn't even a full functioning adult when they died.
My mom and I had the normal ill functioning teen mother relationship.
I left the house as soon as I could and lived a life she fretted over.
In a time before cell phones I would often receive 5 minute long voicemails on the recording machine,
"Melissa, this is your mother....where are you? Please call...at least once a month"

She taught me independence, so why did I need to call?
She left home to perform at 16...acrobats, circus, tap dance....
Her life was identical to the life I lived, although I did not dance.
I just lived. Moving from place to place...
She worked for everyone from the circus to the mafia in Chicago and had the best stories.
Stories I listened to, but did not appreciate until she was gone.
Often the situation with mom and daughter relationships.

My Mom's glossy for her auditions.  She was 16 here.

known for tap-dancing, and acrobatics.

She always like to point out " I never EVER took my clothes off...I danced the slots in-between the burlesque....I was NEVER a stripper!"

She danced on a huge ball, or piano....with fans...aka Fan Dancer.

She graced many covers of Chicago's entertainment papers.

She met my Dad, who was 22 years older, when he was a visiting business man and she was working.

Story has it that he courted her for over 2 years...never asking for anything except conversation.

They were both married.  My dad was married to Ruth Kellogg ( of the known Kellogg company), who was mentally ill.  My dad stayed married to Ruth until she shot herself....there is a much larger story around that...but on a side note, my mom took over care for Ruth's youngest after that and continued to care for her own 5 kids. I have been told that my mom had no factor in the fact that Ruth killed herself, she had tried multiple times before....but they kept most of these stories quiet...it was shameful.

My mom was married to a man who was no longer present and also had committed himself to a hospital for mental health.  I am guessing this was a way to escape issues of life in the 60's.

My mom always was very vocal about making sure you were strong and able to figure out how to care for self and whatever baggage ie; kids, you were dragging around with you.

So, I am sure when my dad came int my mom's life, being a millionaire, older, handsome, and not very demanding...she stepped up.

She had kids and worked her ass off, mom during the day, performer at night, but I can see how traveling to NY on the weekends and Rome on the other days and being able to live in a big house with a pool was enticing.

She said she loved my dad...and continued until he died of complications of Alzheimer's. She cared for him until the day he died....just as he cared for her, when she needed it. 

They loved each other.

Their situation at first was not ideal.

but it worked out in the long run...

Mom in Central Park...They stayed in NY quite often...My dad loved to take pictures,

especially of Mom.

I still have that Fox Stole sad bought her...

her name is embroidered on the inside, custom.

Here's one, he was still taking pictures of her 20 years later.

"Gloria at Work"

(those are my legs, too)

My mom left many diaries of her life. She was apparently a bit of a writer too.

They are hard to read because they are sometimes a bit racy and a bit too much info for me...

But the stories of her and my dad are amazing.

It was like a fairy tale.

Pretty Woman type story.

I came along as the accident...

They never intended for me, but ...

Shit happens.

All this said, I refer back to the fact that sometimes we are more of our parents than we want to believe. I was lucky to have such a rare breed for a mother. I was lucky she passed her legs down to me.  I was lucky she taught me to be strong.

Would she be proud?  Maybe now.

Would she encourage me to figure out my shit right now?

Yes.

What would she say?

Go with your heart...

Go with love, because life is short.

Wear the pretty dress, tell people you love them,

be racy, be sassy, dance when you can, and don't be afraid to make mistakes.

But always remember to be strong, independent and go with love...

It's never easy or convenient 

But just as her story , and my dad's, it was worth it.

They lived an amazing life together of dancing, travel, Playboy Mansion, private jets, and 

love....

love....

xoxox,

Write ya later, 

and thanks mom...

for the fairly good genes

m

             

an oldie but goodie....still holds true

Me Likey was posted in 2009

here's the link

read this cute goodness

As much as I would like to say I have changed in 10 years....
I still love all of these, especially sprinkles, impractical shoes and a hand on the small of my back

y'all know you can leave a comment once in a while....


write ya when I find some humor
xo,
m

365 days " DO NOT SEND"

3/4/19

but, alas this is not all true...

but it is what one is to tell oneself in the shower.

 and a lot of this...

I have always been a writer for issues. 

Issues not being political, issues of my own. 

I know this because while cleaning out my life and closets I found a box my mom had packed up of all my "important stuff" (as the box was labeled)

there was also a note handwritten by my mom inside the box....

"don't show this to your kids"

Journal after journal in spiral notebooks, letters of love and hate, exploits of teen angst and love and probably a ton of stuff my mom should have never seen. Before she died, and while knowing she was going to...she packed up our lives as we knew them...those beautiful memories we stuff in closets in our parent's houses to be safe. The memories we once cherished and hope that our legacies will cherish, too. She graciously organized them and labeled them and put little notes inside the boxes to know that after she passed she would still be with me. Apparently my box contained more beautiful disasters with many drawings, pictures, and little pieces of junk taken from what I thought were important moments and stuffed into little boxes....many were laughable.

A stack of letters, I apparently wrote, but never sent, scribed with curly cursive and many different colored inks....was labeled by Mom....

" you were always so lovingly dramatic...do not change for anyone"

(tears)

I laugh at all of this today as I still know one of my biggest dreams would be to not necessarily be a writer...but to have a person to write to...

and someone to write back.

I write letter after letter still. 

Poems...thoughts....secrets...

I have gmail accounts with drafts waiting to be sent with reminders all around to not send them.  

DO NOT SEND in the subject line.

Recently, the letters, the beautiful letters, sexual in context hide behind the humor...

The explanations of why it is what it is and how it will be...

eventually.

Waiting for the lucky person to ask for them...

To say, "go ahead and send them"

no judging, just letters and an inner beauty you can only get from a select few...

I go back and occasionally read the letters, I smile and know that everything happens for a reason.

If I could speak, the way I write, to the people I write the letters for or about, there would be no confusion.

Cut and dry.

I love you...

I hate you...

I need you...

I'm scared...

I miss you...

you are sexy as fuck

who doesn't want to have letters?

It's old school,

It's a real thing 

tangible

beautiful

It's like the first time you actually read the words or listen to a song you never really heard before.

I was thinking of watching this movie...

I've seen every version, but my heart may not be ready for this version.

...because I'm so fucking dramatic all the time (thanks mom)

Lord knows I watched Under the Tuscan Sun yesterday and it about killed me.

Tell me somethin', girl

Are you happy in this modern world?

Or do you need more?

Is there somethin' else you're searchin' for?

I'm falling

In all the good times I find myself

Longin' for change

And in the bad times I fear myself

Tell me something, boy

Aren't you tired tryin' to fill that void?

Or do you need more?

Ain't it hard keeping it so hardcore?

I'm falling

In all the good times I find myself

Longing for change

And in the bad times I fear myself

I'm off the deep end, watch as I dive in

I'll never meet the ground

Crash through the surface, where they can't hurt us

We're far from the shallow now

In the shallow, shallow

In the shallow, shallow

In the shallow, shallow

We're far from the shallow now

Write ya later,

and to the person I write for, now...

xo,

m

365 days just work...work it girl

Funny how things are just as they are to be, nothing you can do to change it.

I laughed yesterday at my job interview when they asked (of course) what my strengths and weaknesses were.

This is an old tactic, standard interview question in which I used to fret over.

This time when asked I chuckled and said....

"I am going to be completely honest with this....because as I get older I have learned my strength is also my weakness and often bites me in the butt.  Mine is work ethic. Mine, I have realized, is somewhat higher than most and although I know this, and also know people work differently, it still often puts a crimp in my arrow"

I got the job.

I got home and no one asked how it went, did I get the job?

....maybe no one even knew I applied, or was going to the interview. 

No celebration or congrats.  

Which is fine, just made me laugh a bit.  One of those exciting then, who the fuck cares moments.

This is job 3 and I am picking it up as a per diem, to start, to make sure I enjoy it.  I will stay as long as possible at the main job, continue to pick up treadmill shifts and then slide this job in 2-3 times a month.  Goal is to pay off my school debt (which really isn't much) in a quicker manner.

debt free would be good right now...

As Murphy's law has it....

Someone came to look at the house radiant heater. It is as old as the house....and obviously cannot be repaired, must be replaced...I stood there and laughed on the inside as the young guy said,

"well, the estimate for the complete energy efficient redo is about $12k"

hahahah

FML

maybe a 4th job is needed?

so, what did I do....

1. I laid on the couch and admired my beautiful grey hair...

2. knitted

3. cried and laughed

4. looked again at apartments

5. sent some fuck you's in my mind to a few people 

6. texted a few sweet nothings to a few

7. home workout

3/2/19

when I finally got my self together and remembered regardless of all of it...that I still am training to run in a few months and the training schedule says I have to full body train....

Which I usually do, but missed the gym class

So, 30 pushups

I really need to do them 3 different ways but I just did not have the strength today

and a ton of 1 legged butt lifts.

Even though a girlfriend said, no one cares what you look like ...I agree.... but I care a little, for myself....

seriously.

I like strong legs and shoulders. and an ok butt, with or without standard cellulite.

plus it makes ya feel better

I encourage you to give it a try

pushups and pullups

Life is grand and things just have to happen the way they are supposed to...

if its meant to be it will

absolutely nothing to dwell on or try to change because you really just can't 

I keep thinking the soul knows the direction and the heart sometimes fucks with that path....

just gotta let it be

xo

write ya later

go do some pushups

m