It’s Odd…..

Isn’t it? Life in general. You have so many choices you have to make every day, big and little. Some you never know if they effect anyone. Some you see immediately. It’s like running your hand across still waters. Ripples flow out, most you see, some carry more of an under current.

I have had the past few years to really think about who I am, what I am. What my place in this world is. I was married and a mom at 20, so I didn’t have the treasure of youth to find out who I was. I was a mother. A wife. A daughter. Those were what defined me. Another baby barely two years later and married to a man who was more of a child than an adult. With my youngest less than a year old, I found the strength to get out. To push my way out for myself, for my babies. That’s all that mattered. 23, 2 kids and divorced. I didn’t know where I was going or what I was doing and I was quickly spinning out of control, out of my mind.

Enter husband number 2. Quite quickly. A little too quickly. But I was young and scared and hurt. He was much older, had a college degree (while the 1st didn’t even have a GED), a job, a house. And one failed marriage under his belt as well. A perfect combination of loneliness, sadness and weariness. I was 23. He was 36. At the time the age difference didn’t seem like a red flag or an issue to me. I saw maturity, and stability. And safety. We’d be together for a while, break up, get back together. After five years, he decided that while I wasn’t exactly who he wanted to be with, he didn’t want anyone else to have me. So we bought a house, got married and he adopted my children. What a rosy, sunny, perfect ending. Right? No. Not for anyone.

We never fought. Ever. Never argued, it wasn’t because we agreed on everything, there was a lack of passion in both of us. Not physically, we were a match in the bedroom. But elsewhere in life, we were disconnected. Things I thought and felt he either didn’t register or simply didn’t care. I learned quickly that if it wasn’t about him, it didn’t concern him, on an emotional level. Well, to be honest there wasn’t an ‘emotional level’ with him. He was just empty. But he provided for my children. A nice home, family vacations, nice Christmas’. he liked to play knight in shining armor. Savior for the damsel in distress. Which I certainly was when he met me. But as the years went by, I became less of a damsel in distress and more Queen of my castle. About the time I finally thought I had found my footing as an actual person, he found someone else. Young enough to be his daughter. Someone who was so utterly damaged his twisted mind just couldn’t say no. But it could walk away from his family. Without a thought, like we had never existed, moved on and started a new family. While I was left to pick up all the shattered parts of my life, my heart and kids.

That is a ripple that will go on for a long time. I have grandchildren now. Who have met their grandfather maybe a combined total of 20 times. He’s a name, not a relation for them. When they are older and ask their mom about her dad, I don’t know what she will say. Probably pass it off as he was always busy. And so generations will go, where the triples he made stop. Forgotten. Excluded from talks of future generations.

But I, I am making sure that for all of my generations to come, they will remember the first Gigi, because she didn’t want to be called grandma. I will make sure there are always phone calls and video chats and visits, because I will never leave them, and I will never forget. Because they matter.

And I matter. I will walk a solo path for the rest of my time here, with that I have made my peace. I will watch and protect and nourish every little soul that I come in contact with. Because that’s why I’m here. And I’m glad that I finally know who I am.

Giving In

To say that I never expected to be single at 47 is a major understatement. I have been single for six years, and in those six years I have dated once. Just a few dates and then it fizzled. I have tried meeting new people, tried every dating site. But the rejection from nameless people on a website everyday gets brutal. You get to see who viewed your profile, and passed you by. It screams NOT GOOD ENOUGH to your face. Not a fun feeling when you have spent your whole life being the second choice. Both marriages, I wasn’t the ‘one’ they wanted, I was the one that was there when their first choice didn’t pan out.

I always dreamed of finding that grand, heart stopping, epic love. The one that I would feel in every bone in my body. And that I would be his one and only. I am giving up that dream. That kind of sweeping emotional dream is never going to happen for me, not now. Not ever. It’s a tough pill to swallow, realizing that dream just isn’t in the cards for you. It shakes you. It cracks your soul. But the worst is when that realization hits you. When you realize that you’d settle for something less, something less then you deserve or want. Because their is no option for you. I won’t ever be someone’s first choice.

My experience with men is limited. But I can tell you honestly I have never been called beautiful, or even pretty, that I can recall. I didn’t even start dating until I was 17, and that was a guy younger then I was because guys my own age looked right through me.

I know my flaws. I know I’m not beautiful. I could name 20 things I’d change about myself and I’d still never be pretty. Not by anyone’s standards. Or at least, not anyone I’ve ever met.

So I’m giving in. I’m letting go of my ridiculous fantasy that someone out there is someone who would look at me and see a first choice. An only choice. And that is fucking depressing.

Just A Scar

It’s been almost 6 years since my heart and world were shattered by the epic implosion of my marriage. I look back at it now and remember the pain and tears and realize how much of me I had wrapped up in that life. I had no identity outside of it. Everything I did, everything I said, was for the betterment of that union. I never thought about myself or my needs. I played the role I was in to perfection. All the while, deep down, the real me was slowly withering away. The feisty, sarcastic, smart ass me. I never let her out. She wasn’t appropriate for the relationship I was in.

Although I was devastated by the loss of the marriage and what I thought was my ‘best friend’, I came to realize that I didn’t have to be someone I wasn’t anymore. Slowly my fight came back, my true self, quirks and strangeness in all their glory. I got to figure out who I was as an adult. For all all of my adult life I was a wife and a mother. Now one of the crowns rusted and fell off.

Being this far removed from it now, I can see the red flags. All the little things I ignore that were warning me to save myself.

I won’t deny that it hurt me. A dagger to the heart. And one to the back. And healing those wounds took time. They would start and heal an then reopen when I thought that maybe my relationship was going to be fixed and we would reunite. The scab ripped off to leave me bleeding again. But it was my fault. My fault for allowing myself to keep getting hurt. I had to heal from the inside out. From the very bottom of those wounds up. I had to start with me and who I was and who I wanted to be.

So I worked on me. Doing what I wanted to do. Sleeping, reading, thinking, healing. Realizing that I am not the sum total of a failed marriage. That I am a person who isn’t defined by what she is, but who she is. It took time and tears. But I healed.

It’s just a jagged scar now. With the shiny pink scar that still hurts just a little when you touch it, but it is part of me now. Part of who I am and my story.

Scars both real and literary, don’t distract from who you are. They tell your story. That you survived. That you made the choice to not let your damage define you, but to show the world you are worth it. You will rise every single time you get knocked down.

The scar doesn’t tell the world who are are. It tells you them aren’t going with a fight. And that is an amazing thing.

Anxious and Concerned

As I am sure you all are, I am anxious about the world right now. We are living in a time like no other in recent memory. Businesses closing, schools closing, everything….closing.

Yesterday at the end of the day, I turned off my computer and work and was told to unplug it. I carried out my office plants and put them in my car. I couldn’t help but fear hot stinging tears. These people are my family. They are my 8am coffee club. They are my bitchy sidekick when the days are bad. And I don’t know when I am going to see them.

I work for a school. An Alternative Education school, to be more specific. Our population of students are the ones with higher needs, academically, mental health wise, behavior wise. These kids mostly do not have security at home. They don’t have food or resources. For some of them, their only hot meal came from School. It’s the only place an adult cared for them and about them. Where they got the mental health services they need. One of the worst things about the situation is, that when they all left on Friday, we all said good-bye with a ‘See you Monday.” A promise from us to them that no matter how bad the weekend is at home, they are safe here. We didn’t get to say good-bye. Or send home bags of food. Or clothes. We had no idea we wouldn’t see them for at least a month. Maybe longer.

I 100% understand the reasoning behind closing schools. To prevent the spread of the COVID-19 virus. I just wish we had the chance to talk to the students about it, prepare them for a shutdown, have emergency measures in place for if they are desperate. But we didn’t have that time.

Yesterday, our school send out over 600 packets to homes of our students, including our Career and Tech students. With some review work and listing of resources. We live in an area where distance learning isn’t an option. Most of our students don’t have computers or internet at home. They barely have electricity. So there is no Google classroom. There are just some papers sent in the mail so they can try to keep their minds sharp. Admittedly, most of our students won’t do the work. Some won’t even open the envelopes. But we made the effort.

For me, I am already missing work family and friends. During 9 months out of the year we are as thick as thieves. Sharing jokes, cheering each other on, offering shoulders to lean on. We are each others person. From 8am until 3pm we are all in the same fight. And to be abruptly have the taken away, is unsettling. We have a Facebook groups we talk to each other on, but it’s not the same.

The uncertainty of it all is the worst. Will we be back in a month? Two months? By the end of the semester?

Luckily, we work for an incredible employer who is paying us while we are off. This might be the only saving grace of this dark time. We can survive it because we still have income. I feel horrible for those who displaced without pay. (My son is a dishwasher in a upper classish restaurant. He is out of work until further notice. He lives with me, so he is going to be fine).

In the meantime, keep your loved ones close. Avoid crowded places. Keep yourself safe. The world has changed and we have to change with it. Right now, we just don’t know how much we have to to change. And that is the most scary part.

The Phone Call

Last week, Wednesday actually, I had my yearly mammogram. At 45, I have been quite vigilant in making sure I have one done.

I go to a local clinic, well renowned for their screening and diagnostics. All they do is mammograms and bone density. They are a beautiful, well run and exceedingly polite. They know their stuff.

Thursday morning while at work, my cell phone rang with an unfamiliar number. I don’t usually answer calls from numbers I don’t know, but something in me told me to answer it,

It was a sweet sounding girl from the clinic. Calling to let me know that my mammogram was abnormal and I needed to come back in for further testing and to see the doctor. My stomach immediately clenched into knots and the overwhelming urge to vomit shook me.

I bumbled my way through the conversation, asking why. She replied their were some significant changes on my right side compared from last year and I needed more testing.

She gave me a date 10 days away, at their main office location. A much larger, more sophisticated facility. I wrote the appointment in my date book and hung up and sat their for a minute.

My first instinct was to text my ex-husband. As much as I dislike what he has done and who he has become, he has a doctorate in nursing practice and is a family nurse practitioner. He’s always been straight forward about medical things. And, honestly, it is a deep connection we still share that makes him the person i tend to want to talk to first when bad things happen. Probably not the most healthy thing for me, but it what it is and I have come to accept it as a part of who I am.

He was his typical ‘wait and see what the tests show’. But then I had to ask him, for whatever reason, ‘If this turns out bad, will you stand by me?’ I am not sure what I truly meant, I just needed some kind of reassurance I wasn’t alone. His immediate response was ‘of course’. Bear in behind, he is ‘engaged’ and has a 3 year old autistic kid who takes up all of his time. So I replied ‘will you hold my hand and rub my shoulders and tell me stupid stories so I laugh?” He replied he would. And promised.

After that I texted my sister. She herself a breast cancer warrior. I didn’t know her when she had it, but I knew her now. And I know she is one tough cookie.

She was calming and reassuring and said we were in it together should anything turn out to be the worst. I knew she was without a doubt 100% there for me, with me and on my side.

A little while later I left my office and wandered to the other end of the building. Working in a school, the building is largely empty save for a couple of us secretaries and the maintenance guys,

Two of my fellow secretaries and friends were I. The hall working on a bulletin board. I leaned up against the wall and told them about the call. I don’t know why. I just needed to talk. They both expressed concern and sympathy and shared stories of their own scares. I felt marginally better as I wandered back down to my office.

I could help but think about how I was going to survive the next 10 days with fear and anxiety building in me with every beat of my heart.

I had to call the clinic back. Ask for a sooner appointment, for there was no way I would survive 10 days with this anxiety. So they got me an appointment for tomorrow. Monday.

So as is it here and write this, my appointment is 12 hours away. I feel surprising calm on the surface as I try to shove all those fears and worst case scenarios out of my mind.

I don’t know what tomorrow brings. But whatever it is. I’m ready to face it.

It Doesn’t Mean I Am Weak

There are so many terrible things going on in the world. Mass shootings, accidents, domestic violence, suicides and just plain old meanness. It’s everywhere. Ever news show, every website. We are bombarded with the constant blaring of ‘BREAKING NEWS’ coming from all directions. It is so easy to become numb to it all. To let it wash over you, ignored. It’s such a common thing, it’s not out of the ordinary to people anymore. Twenty people get shot and we mourn for a week. Then we are on to the next terrible thing.

I suppose the apathy that some people display is safety mechanism. If they don’t acknowledge it, they can’t feel it. With the attitude that it didn’t happen to them, so they feel bad for a few minutes and then move on.

I’m not that kind of person. When something tragic happens, I feel it. In my soul. That overwhelming sadness. Not only for the people who have lost their lives or been injured, but for our bleeding world.

I had children in kindergarten and first grade when 9/11 happened. The pure terror of those days still lives in me. Seeing on the news, wondering if we were at war and wanting nothing more than to get my babies and hide them away from it all. But the world goes around, and live goes on.

So I learned to live with the fact that my babies had active shooter drills in school. That they were made aware of the outside threats in the real world and how to defend themselves should it happen to them. The idea of my littles hiding under their desk or in the corner of their classroom, when they weren’t even big enough to walk to the bus stop by themselves. It alters your world view and your reality.

I tried to stay on top of the news, so I would know what was going on in the world. Frankly, it has gotten too depressing. Almost to traumatic to watch. I won’t watch it when my 4 year old granddaughter is in the room, because even if she isn’t listening, she might look up and see some terrible image and ask my ‘why?’.

It isn’t a Democrat or Republican problem, or a left vs right issue. It’s a people issue. It’s what people have become so immune. What is no longer shocking must be acceptable in some way. Politicizing tragedies has become the norm.

The impact of all these tragedies has a ripple effect. One person is killed or injured, and it effects everyone around them. Friends, family, co-workers. A community mourns.

Feeling the sorrow of these tragedies, near and far, doesn’t make me weak. It makes me human. And people have lost their humanity. And that’s the problem. When the people as a whole are no longer bothered by the events, when the horror of it all becomes the norm, then we are a people lost. The price of indifference is dooming us all to a world disturbed, disrupted and broken.

I’m not really sure where I am going with this. Just babbling. Trying to make sense of this world we live in.

Nightmares Aplenty

So I have been without my anti-anxiety pill for 3 days now. My doctor never sent my refill that I requested over a week go. I feel OK during the day, my anxiety is a little raised, but I’m managing. During the day. At night, well….that’s a different story.

Sleep has always eluded me. I’ve tried many different over the counter and prescription medications. I a finally on a regimen that at least helps me fall asleep, but not necessarily sleep through the night. I have sleep apnea and starting using a CPAP (continuous positive airway pressure) machine about a year ago. I thought that this, surely, would help me sleep. It does. But not all the way through the night. I know now that one little trick that did help, was that little green anxiety pill.

Having been without it, my nights are full of what seem like hours long nightmares. Heart pounding, shaking, nightmares. That I actually mostly remember. It makes for a long night when you are awake every 15 minutes. According to my FitBit, I was awake 19 times over night, for a total of 88 minutes. Over an hour of what should be sleep time, I spent awake, awoken by a jarring nightmare. All were nightmares about my job. A job I actually like. I dreamt I came back from vacation and they had moved everyone around and I was confused and no one would explain anything to me. I had more than one dream where I walked in on all the staff sitting around talking about how much they hated me. That, for me, is a ‘trigger’ to my depression. The fear of rejection, of not fitting in, of people failing to be genuine.

I have learned over the past few years that things are never as they seem. What looks good on the service, can be something awful. These dreams are bringing up all those feelings. Feelings I hate having. Where one side of your mind tells you the truth and the other lies, and you have to decide which one to believe. That’s where the anxiety comes in. Making a wrong choice. Envisioning terrible things in my future.

I came back to work today after a week long vacation at my sisters. It was amazing. And relaxing. And renewing. But, because of how I’m wired, my heart was pounding and I was in near tears walking into work. The nightmares cling to me like spider webs. Irritating, gross and dirty.

I had hoped someday I’d be nearly normal again. At 45 and a half, I think I’m who I am going to be. Accepting that these feelings are just a natural part of how my brain functions is hard.

I need to work on self care. Rest when I need to. Cry when I need to. Tune out when I need to. It’s not easy in today’s world.

What I would give for eight full hours of sleep…… until then, I’ll just be awake throughout the night, tossing and turning, hopeful that I can avoid the nightmares that chase me.

Sometimes, It Just Clicks

For a while now, I have been feeling lost. Not sure who I was or where I was going. Quietly existing, watching the world go by. I have battled ‘major depressive disorder’ (as the doctor calls it) for longer than I can remember. I think it started out as postpartum depression after my daughter was born in 1994 and I just never rebounded.

I have ups and downs. Not so bad now. The handful of medicines I take everyday help to keep me pretty level. But sometimes, tears slip out and fall down my cheek. Tears of sorrow, pain and emptiness. It happens when your world is pulled out from underneath you. You can forgive. You can try to move on. But there is always going to be that little spot deep in your heart that remains an open sore. It starts to heal over and little and then something rips it open. A song, a memory, a dream.

I did have a realization. As I selfishly wondered where I belonged and what I was supposed to be doing. I just need to keep doing what I have been doing. Being here for my kids and my grandkids. They are my roots. Everything I do every day is for them. As I was bemoaning to myself that I didn’t have a purpose, it clicked. My purpose is to be the best mom and grandmother I can be. (Ok, so I prefer to be called GiGi).

My kids saw me through my dark times. They saw me come out on top. Battered, bruised and fierce. They see me now, living my life.

My grandkids will remember who I am now, not who I was. They know that GiGi is silly and lets them watch goofy Youtube videos. My granddaughter, who is starting pre-K at the big school this year, always looks at me with pure love. There is never any doubt in her little mind that she is not adored to the moon and back.

THIS is where I belong. The grand matriarch of my branch of the family tree. All that time wondering what was my purpose and where I belonged? The answer was right here, where I am. A mom and a GiGi. Knowing that I am loved and needed by those little people is all the purpose I need.

She Saved My Life

My granddaughter, my firstborn grandchild, was born 4 years ago on the 26th of this month. I was in the room when my daughter brought her into the world. My daughter was a warrior throughout, giving birth 3 weeks early with no pain meds. It was a relatively quick labor given it was her first time.

We knew she was going to have a girl. We painted the nursery pink, bought pink everyone and anxiously awaited her arrival. She was tiny and prune faced and beautiful.

When they laid her on her mother’s chest, chest immediately stopped crying and just looked around the room with alarmingly open eyes for a freshly hatched little one. She didn’t whimper, she didn’t cry. She just watched. She had dark swirls of hair and her little ears were pointed and for a moment I was convinced she was a fairy.

She was born six weeks after one of the worst times of my life. My grandmother died in January and I thought I was going to wither up and blow away. The pain I felt took my breath away. I was still in deep mourning when baby Rae was born. It was like the taking a deep breath after being under water too long. I started to feel alive again.

We brought her home a few days later. The next day, we noticed a huge abscess under her arm. It was nasty and green. It was terrifying. We took her to the pediatrician and she was diagnosed with MRSA. A sometimes fatal infection in those with immature immune systems. She was given a giant shot of a strong antibiotic and ordered to return the next day. The site was greatly improved, she got another giant shot and she was good to go. Another huge sigh of relief.

The next day, my world fell apart. My marriage imploded in spectacular fashion. What I thought was a pretty rock solid relationship turned to dust in a matter of seconds. The only person I had to talk to was my daughter, postpartum, trying to learn to breast feed and become a mom and I dump my feelings on her. She lived with us at the time, so she would have figured out something was going on when I threw all of her father’s clothes onto the back desk into the snow.

I was destroyed. My mind almost immediately went to that place where you think ending it is the only option to relieve the pain you are in. One thing stopped me dead in my tracks. Sweet baby Rae.

I would get her out of her crib in the early morning hours after that day and bring her into my bed to snuggle. Just holding that new life, that new promise, helped mend my shattered heart. Every little grasp of my finger, every little sigh of contentment when she was asleep patched me back together. Piece by piece.

She has been my savior these past four years. Keeping me from going into the dark places my mind likes to dwell. Knowing that I have kindergarten graduations to see, Christmas concerts and ballet recitals I can’t miss, keeps me sane. It keeps me here. It keeps me present.

When I hear her squeal ‘GiGi!’ with absolute love and excitement, my heart swells with love. And gratitude. To a little girls who will never know how she saved her grandmother’s life.

Happy Birthday, sweet Raegen. I love you to the moon and back.

Being Me

I never in a million years would have thought I’d be a middle-aged twice divorced single woman. After my first marriage ended (thankfully…what a nightmare), I met my second husband not long after. He was fresh off a divorce and he was as damaged as I was, more so in some respects. During his first marriage, he had lost a 7 year old son awaiting and heart and lung transplant. A horrible situation for anyone. Be he seemed soft, and gentle and non-threatening. Exactly what I needed. After dating for nearly 5 years, we decided to make it official. I thought that was it. I was with the person I thought was my soul mate. And he was, for a long time. Then….he wasn’t. And I know now that it’s OK. People change. Different things become important. Wants and need change. It was only after I decided to spread my wings and do something for myself (I became an EMT and started working with the local volunteer agency), that is when things got a little strained. I didn’t see it at the time. I was so wrapped up in my new life outside the house, I didn’t realize my marriage was failing. Fast. The main reason? I liked who I was outside the house, I liked the independence and freedom to be me. And my husband, well, his disliked that the control he had over me was minimized while I was gone 3 nights a week doing something I loved.

I have suffered from depression since the birth of my first child. It has gotten progressively worse over the years. Different meds, therapy, more different meds. It all works for a little while. Then it doesn’t. My marriage implosion threw me into a downward spiral. I tried to kill myself a couple of times. Half heartedly. I withdrew into myself. I threw myself into my EMT work. My schedule was work, home, ambulance, hospital, home. Repeat. It offered a kind of comfortable numbness that I needed. But after a year, even that wasn’t making me happy. I didn’t want to do it anymore. I didn’t want to do anything. And that is how it went for another 2 years.

Then I realized, I was going to be OK. Things had gone wrong. Somethings were bad. But I was alive. I was upright.

I have learned to like who I am. I like having the whole bed to myself. I like being who I want to be with no apologies. Do I need to get out in live more? I do. I’m getting there.

I am almost ready to try to meet someone new. It will happen sooner or later. And I’m OK with it, even if it doesn’t, that’s OK to.

I better. I’m almost whole. I’m me.