Family – Page 2 – 50 Shades of Gray Hair

yabba-D.A.B.D.A.-doo the numbers

The five stages of grief

1. Denial

2. Anger

3. Bargaining

4. Depression

5. Acceptance

1

There has been no denial…

…there was no doubt death was coming

2

There has been anger…

…but it’s an exhausting emotion

3

There was a little bargaining…

…too close to self-blaming to be tolerated for long

4

There is depression…

…that ‘happy memory’ thief that sneaks into your heart in the dark

5

There will be acceptance…

…a state of being both wanted and feared at the same time

♥

Remembering the good times, the happy times, is not hard
there are so very many of them

Remembering I am not alone is not easy
until I hear the sadness in the voice on the other end of the phone

Remembering he is gone takes the joy out of the day
until I remember too, how much of him is left within me

Forgetting that he lived and loved and was loved in return is not an option
especially when remembering his legacy to all of us was ∴

♥

Live like it’s your last day
Love like it’s your last chance
Regret Nothing

♥

The Eye of the Human Storm – Repost

As you know, Superman passed away Sunday, February 15. I am re-posting what I wrote for him back in July because, though I thought I understood the emotions of what was looming…I couldn’t have known how I’d feel at this moment.

But, this comes as close to my feelings now as anything I’ve ever written about my father. About how it was more about how we live than how, or when, we die.

I love this man even more for leaving me with a deeper appreciation of the life he lived, than fear for the sorrow at the loss of his life.

I love you Superman and I thank you with all my heart.

You truly were…

My First Love ♥ My Only Hero

Today’s forecast
Pain with a chance of happiness
Life – It hurts
Our first breath
Born in and out of Pain
Our last breath
Born in and out of the fear of Death
Beginning to end
The human struggle to keep moving
Beyond the current pain so we may endure the next
To begin again
The circle, the cycle of life, of pain
To reach our destination – Death
So what is the point?
When one ends where one begins?
What is the point?
The middle is the point
To feel the heart beat
Of a lover
To hear the laughter
Of a child
To know the touch of another
The touch that completes our circle
Ones who will rejoice with us
And for us
And those who will mourn us
But more – Remember
That we were here
That we mattered
That we made the difference
That we closed a part of their circle
As they too, closed a part of ours
To gather at the end of the day
To hear the sounds of silence
The human sounds we make without knowing
The sounds of love
And life
The middle
Those sounds our ears miss
But that our hearts hear
These are the sounds of silence
So loud we are compelled – T0 listen
Struggle to keep moving
From one pain to another
For in the end It is not the pain
We Remember – It is
Love
Our circles have no true beginning
They meld with our ending
We only have what is in
The middle
Today’s forecast
Pain with a chance of happiness
Take an umbrella if you must
Wear your raincoat and galoshes if you have to
But
Prepare more for getting swept into the middle
‘Cause that’s where life happens
In the middle
Never be afraid to get wet
Put the fear aside
Go beyond the tropical storm of prologue
Fear not the hurricane of the epilogue
Walk into the wind
Get pummeled by the rain
Get to the eye
The middle
Where the calm allows us to hear
The human sounds of silence

The sounds of Love

For My Father

My First Love ~ My Only Hero

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

by Mary Elizabeth Frye

For my father, who is all things. You are here and not there.
In the simple things I love so much…thanks to you.

(But hey…do you think you could tone down the northeast wind a knot or two? And while you’re at it, this shiny diamond, snowy goodness thing you got going on is pretty and all…but could you ratchet back the swirling white stuff too…it is freaking CoLd!)

I love you Dad

Always and Forever

Simon (& Garfunkle) Says

A stanza from The Boxer keeps running through my head…

In the clearing stands a boxer,
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev’ry glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame,
“I am leaving, I am leaving”
But the fighter still remains

Yes. Yes he does.

And this naturally, takes me to The Sounds of Silence…

Hello darkness, my old friend
I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted
In my brain still remains
Within the sound of silence

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
‘Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of
A neon light that split the night
And touched the sound of silence

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share and no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

Fools said I, you do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you
But my words like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon God they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the signs said, ‘The words of the prophets
Are written on the subway walls and tenement halls’
And whispered in the sounds of silence

And, in my own mind, I live in Kathy’s song…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q60YKfPKdjQ

I hear the drizzle of the rain
Like a memory it falls
Soft and warm continuing
Tapping on my roof and walls

And from the shelter of my mind
Through the window of my eyes
I gaze beyond the rain drenched streets
To [New]England where my heart lies

My mind’s distracted and diffused
My thoughts are many miles away
They lie with you when you’re asleep
Kiss you when you start your day

And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain
There before the grace of you , go I

I Was a Toddler-age Tosspot

Yes, I confess.
By the time I was 3, I was hooked on the ol’ brew.
(And, apparently, I passed that on to my eldest. Though, I preferred a bottle)
Observez Vous…

Actually, I was more hooked on Dad…I was his toddlin’ sidekick in mighty whitey tights! Anything he did, I wanted to do. Anywhere he was, I wanted to be. Not so unusual for little girls to consider their Dads their first love and first superhero.

There again too…I guess boys are of the same mind. Like father like sons?
You betcha!

This is how the story goes…

Once upon a time, in a little town far, far away, there was a little girl who lived with her father, mother, and 3 brothers. That’s her below…the twinklin’ toddler in her mighty whities…

Her father was a hard-working man; working 2, sometimes 3 jobs to make ends meet. And her Mother was not your ‘typical for the times’ housewife either.

Because, busy as she was, having had 4 kids in 5 years, she still held a full-time job outside the home.

But, this was also a time when families lived close together, daycare centers were non-existent, and family was relied upon to pitch in where they could. (Glad it was you, Gram)

Now, seeing as these were hard-working folk, what little free time there was, was catch-up time, family time, friends time. Picnic parties, horseshoes, reunions, celebrations…but all the time, busy!

But…let’s not forget the biggie…working on cars in the yard.

That all-american male’s favorite pastime. Grease-monkeyin’ in the driveway.

Am I right?

So anyway, this is how a toddlin’ sidekick to her Daddy’s Superman, gets her tights in a twist…

A typical weekend afternoon, circa 1963…

The boys tinkerin’ in the driveway with the women folk fixin’ victuals and watchin’ babies inside.
A regular tune ‘er up, tink’er up, smoke’em up, drink’em up, Sa’day afternoon.
Rev her up..sounds good!
Close her up…hit the dirt for a test run.
No need for cleanin’up, we’re comin’ right back.

Ya with me? Good.

To continue…

The boys are gone.
The women are inside with (8 of the usual 9) the kids.
One smarty pants little toddler decided she missed her Daddy and went outside looking for him.
She calls for him.
No answer.
She can’t see him.
But wait…there…in the driveway.
“What’s that?” she wonders in her terrible-three tiny little brain.
“Can it be?” she asks herself
“Why, I think it’s a Daddy bottle and ooooooh, he left it for me!” silently gigglin in delight she was
“I love a good Daddy bottle. It’s so much more yummy than my ucky ol’ boring one.” she hmmphs at the thought.
She looks around.
No one.
She listens keenly for any sound that would suggest Mommy was coming to take her Daddy bottle away.
Nothing.
“Yay” she thinks as she’s already on the move, toddlin’ toward that dark brown delight she knows is filled with liquid gold.
She stretches those short and chubbies just far enough to grab the neck of that father-forgotten treasure, tips it to her lips like the bottle pro she is…and chug-a-lugs.

That was the last thing I remember prior to waking up in the hospital God knows how much time later.

You see, the brew I knew and thought of as Dad’s liquid gold, was what I now call, liquid fire.

As was the custom then…and I’ve seen it again and again in the years since…these man-boys would use beer bottles as containers for gasoline when working on their carburetors. They were always plentiful, usually empty, so why buy a gas can when a beer bottle will do?

Exactly! Logic boys….logic!

The madness that followed can quite easily be imagined…and remember, this was an itsy bitsy town.
I don’t remember much of the ensuing chaos…but have heard the details often.

The boys returned to find my Mother holding me in a panic.
No other vehicle.
No hospital nor ambulance within 8 miles and 13 minutes (rural roads ya know).
And a non-breathing child turning colors no human should be.
Parents and me in the car.
Dad driving hell-bent for leather, Mom holding me.
My head out the window like a dog.
I do remember being told NOT to throw up.
I do remember having zero conscious thoughts at this time.
Arrive at the hospital alive, though I was told I didn’t take a single breath, as well as my Mother being told that it’s a miracle I didn’t vomit, for that would have been the end of my life as I knew it.
I do remember too, waking in a crib-bed with a top (?), like a cage, feeling trapped.
But, when I could, I remember looking out the window and seeing my Memere’s house and it made me feel better.

Now, all of us that are parents, know this irrefutable fact:

You CANNOT turn you back on a toddler
EVER.
Even for a second.
Because one second is one second TOO LONG!

But…I think we can all agree…it happens.

Shit happens!

beer cap — **This Bud’s for Anyone but ME!**

And Now…Something Completely Un-Original!

2014 – The Year in Review

I had the title typed before I saw the email with the gift from the WP helper monkeys that I assume we all got.

And I know this is a bit longer than usual, but if the ultimate goal is to kill a baby (the new years baby silly people…calm down) one can’t skimp on the details 😉

At first, I thought I’d just make the WP Review public and call it a day, rather than come up with a review of my own.

It does, after all, highlight our most popular posts, our busiest days, how many views, and how many countries.

It also…
Reminds us that this year has been spent like yesterday’s paycheck!
Proves in black and white that 2014 has slipped right through our fingers.
Shows us that we blinked and there it was….G O N E!

None of which are bad or surprising. Just not a true enough picture. At least not for me.

Can I say there’s something that makes me think it has been “The Best Year Ever”?

Not even close

(Though, I AM content knowing there were a couple events that will be remembered fondly. One of which was welcoming a beautiful new friend named Sadie into our hearts and our home and the landscape changed for the better)

If you are, or know, A Mama of Mayhem, A Deb of Destruction, or A Brittany of Breakage like me…then you understand!

Being a title holder of all three…this year is one for the books.
I actually shutter a little writing this ‘pre-midnight 12/31/14’ little tale, as it scares the SHITE outta me a bit! Lord knows, a LOT can happen in the 36 hours that remain!

For example…I sit here writing in a room that houses nothing that could hurt me, yet I still feel as if I am in a militarized zone. I almost want to ensconce myself in the bathroom, where, if I manage to not fall into something wet and drown, I’ll be good to go.

There will be no daily, weekly, or monthly, blow by blow review of the past year here. Not even a highlight reel. You’ve heard all of that before. No need to rehash old shit storms.

However, it appears this almost year-old ‘baby 14’ is not done with me.

He did, yet again, set his sights on my ample bottom, reared back his infantile, yet strangely fat and hairy leg, let loose, and kicked me in the ass.

Yup, this over-grown, tantrum throwing, troll doll, is still flinging the contents of his dirty diaper my way, and frankly, I’m sick to death of the little shit!

I Am, in fact, celebrating the fact that in 36 hours, this mini monster will be
D E A D

D O N E

H I S T O R Y

W O R M F O O D

But, before his happy demise, the little bastard thought it would be funny to inflict a bit more madness and mayhem into my life.

How you wonder? Ooooh, he’s nothing if not imaginative, the little Attila.

(cue dreamy, going back in time music now…)

Saturday, 12/27/14
2:30am
I left Virginia in Mini Me, primed and ready for my 700 mile trip to the frozen north to spend time with Superman and Lois

Well prepared, reasonably rested, I hit the nearly empty highway in good form

350 miles in, I was awed by the mile long caravan of flashing lights; cruisers, suvs, vans, and buses, of law enforcement vehicles from all over the south, headed to New York City for the funeral service of two fallen comrades

I cruised through NYC (okay, the Bronx) in record time
(Guess everyone had the same thought…no troopers on the road)

I reached the interchange of Interstates 95/91 in New Haven at 11:30am

Considering I’d stopped for breakfast and a fill-up, I was making good time

The GPS said I’d be there by 2:45pm, just a bit over a 12 hour trip

Right on schedule (Lobster dinner tonight!)

Then…that big, bad, baby decided to wake up

With a shitty diaper

And he reached into that shitty diaper

Grabbed a handful

And flung it in my direction

It was a direct hit!

Round I

At 75 miles per hour
Traveling in the left lane
Interstate 91 Northbound
Exit 5 (I can’t get away from details)
Mini Me died
Foot on gas pedal…nothing
I was surrounded by flying traffic by this time of the day, and just north of New Haven, CT
No where to go that didn’t already have a vehicle occupying that same space
There was no left shoulder
I had no choice
One look over my shoulder resulted in a “FUCK” and prayer to God that I had enough forward momentum to reach the right shoulder alive
I shut my eyes and turned the wheel
I drifted…just drifted…amid honks and screeches which I had no choice but to ignore in an effort to get to safety, but sick to my stomach and shaky with fear of being Johnny Hot Rod’s New Year’s Roasted Road Kill
When I opened my eyes, I realized, had I waited to do that one second later, I’d have landed in the middle of the entrance/exit ramp and been no better off, and just as likely to be creamed
But, as it happened, I opened my eyes just in time to two-foot the brake and stop right before the shoulder/guard rail ended

Round II

After regaining the ability to breathe and pick up my phone without dropping it from shaking, I realized I only had 27% left on my battery with no power to re-charge
Panic set in, knowing I had to have my phone to get out of this mess
I tried to call my husband at his job in Virginia
I didn’t have the damned number in my phone as he’d just been transferred
SHIT (not that he could have done anything, but I needed to hear something, anything, besides whizzing traffic)
I called Lois…hoping she answered and not Supe, because I didn’t want him to worry. She was gone, he answered
SHIT
He reminded me his best friend lived about an hour away, was a mechanic, and calmed me a bit. (so much for me worrying about him eh?)
I called this friend, but he knew nothing about good ol’ Mini Me, but would pick me up if I needed
All I knew was I needed off the road but was not willing to leave the car sitting there
I called my insurance company thinking I had roadside assistance coverage
NOT (but she offered to sell it to me, the bitch)

After a Google search, found the number to hubby’s new location, called him and cried all the way through that conversation (ugh, what IS that anyway?)
He too reminded me (needed a lot of reminding that day) that I had an extended warranty that included roadside assistance (duh)

So, I called them and after a lengthy discussion, was relieved to hear that by 12:50, there would be a tow truck there to take us to a service location.
PHEW because I was down to about 12% on the phone and sweatin’ bullets

Round III

12:53pm
Tow truck arrives
Mini Me quickly and expertly man handled onto the flat bed
Passenger (moi) rudely told “IN. Don’t Smoke. Don’t Eat”
Passenger (moi) just as rudely yelled (in my head of course) Fuck You. Drive.

1:30pm
Reach our destination
Driver takes Mini Me off the rig, gets her safely into a parking spot behind the dealership
Waves me off and drives away
I go into the dealership to seek guidance
(after noticing the service department was closed baby closed)

Information desk girly pages the manager who informs me they don’t service Minis, so even if they had been open, they could not have helped me
Water works begin in earnest

To say anyone within spitting distance was a tad uncomfortable with this 54 year old lady, blubbering in the middle of a BMW dealership would be an understatement
(and worse still-they were having an ‘event’ and the place was packed!)
To say I gave a shit would be a lie

Round IV

After being herded off by the dealership manager
(to a padded, all but sound proof, cubby hole)
Where I was to sit and get things figured out
(offering to keep me in coffee and food, a power outlet, and a phone at my disposal)
I called the warranty eeeedjit back

One point five hours later, having listened to this dickhead tell me it was my fault I’d landed in “A place no Mini has gone before” (really?)
I told him to shut it…get me a new tow to somewhere that could actually SERVICE my car, and I’d deal with his incompetence later

Got a text ten minutes later that the tow truck would be there at 3:50pm to tow me 45 miles further north, to Hartford, where there was a Mini dealership whose service department was closed, but they were open until 5 and I could get my car checked in and arrange for a rental to continue the 300 miles I had left on my journey north
That left me about 10 minutes to spare, provided the tow truck arrived on time

The truck did NOT arrive on on time, and I knew I needed a new plan
I couldn’t be stuck at an empty dealership in Hartford, CT with no way out

Lois to the rescue…she calls my cousin in Massachusetts and arranges for her and to pick me up in Hartford and drive me to Brattleboro, Vermont where my visiting brother would drive to and pick me up to take me the rest of the way home

All told, cousin Shari and brother Allan would spend 3 hours and 4 hours respectively, driving on my behalf, all because a warranty roadside assistance representative didn’t think it was necessary to find out if the destination HE chose to have me towed to, actually serviced my vehicle

(I’m lucky to have the family I do…at least there IS that)

Round V
4:30pm
The second tow truck finally arrives
Getting to Hartford in time to talk to a person was already completely out the window
A talker
Good God, they sent me a fucking jaw bones!
(In an antique truck to boot)

5:00pm
The driver (Randy) finally gets to doing what he’s there to do
While he’s putting her on the truck, I notice the driver’s side window slowly inching down
And of course, there’s no power to raise it back up
OMFG…wanna guess the forecast for that night and the next day?
Yeah…like that
Oh well, another phone call to Shari to let her know I wouldn’t be in Hartford by 5 and to go ahead and get something to eat in the meantime

Sometime after 5:00 but before 6:00
Arrive at dealership in Hartford
Hugs and kisses for Shari and Jimmy
Off load Mini Me to spend the night, the next day and night, and the next morning exposed to the elements
Transfer all my shit to Shari’s car
Pay Randy (a.k.a. driver jaw bones)
(and I hugged him actually…he turned out to be good company and a much needed source of laughter and companionship on the drive to Hartford. He told me I was his ‘best tow ever‘ and I told him that’s only because I like to use the F word, tell raunchy jokes, and smoke (so he could smoke and he was good with that!)
🙂

Round VI

We meet up with Brother in Brattleboro Burger King
I got a drink while he sat staring at what he dubbed his “ass burger”
After a few minutes of visiting for the brother and the cousin, the eventual garbage can burial for his ass burger, we hit the road for our 2 hour trip home
ps…My brother is a genius! He brought me a bottle of wine and a plastic cup for the ride home. Does he know me or what? Update: I’ve been informed that it was brother number 2 who told brother number 3 to bring the wine!
Could they both be geniuses?

Round VII

It is now Tuesday, 12/30/14
I know absolutely nothing more today than I knew Saturday about the state of Mini Me
All I know is she’s there and I’m here
I’m already $260 bucks in the hole for which they called me to authorize, yet they’ve not even looked at her
Unsure if any or all or none of her ailments are covered by the warranty or if it’s gonna cost me an arm or maybe the one good leg I got left

So…let’s try this again:

2014 – The Neverending Story?

2014 – The Worst Story Ever Told?

2014 – It’s A Wonderful Life For Somebody Else?

2014 – Kill Me Now and Get it the Fuck Over With?

Sure…they all could work

But, since the little cuss ‘Atill-ito de Hun-o’ seems to like it when I get upset or angry or depressed when he slings his excrement my way…I’ve decided to take his poo and make poo-ade

I’m looking for and looking at, the positives that came out of this.

1. I’m alive
2. I’ve got great family
3. I made a tow truck driver’s year
4. That same driver made my fucked up day not so fucked up
5. I still made it up north to be with Superman and Lois
6. Mini Me is where she needs to be – in a Mini Hospital where she’ll get the care she needs

So, little baby butthead, go ahead ya filthy animal
You’ve got 36 hours to do your worst

But remember…
I’ve got a hell of a lot more time than you do, so there IS that, right?

In a little while, the world will be celebrating YOUR demise and your REPLACEMENTS arrival

How does that feel?

For me…it’s p r i c e l e s s

Happy New Year to all of you

As for you Baby 2.0.1.5.

Good friends?
Maybe, maybe not

But I’ll tell you what I’ve told your predecessor…

“I’ll be around a lot longer than you (God willing), so go ahead…

Bring. It. On!

12 Days of Christmas (2 days late)

(Yes, you have to sing it!)

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me

A bill that was way oh-ver due

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me

Two fucking chances

To eh-splain why the bill was oh-ver due

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me

Three dirty looks

Two fucking chances

To eh-splain why that bill was oh-ver due

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love said to me

“Four bill collectors

Three rotten voice mails

Two fu-cking chances

Now eh-splain about that fri-hi-ggin bill”

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love went to work

Missing fiiiiiiiiiiiiive of his teeeeeeeeeeth

Fo-hor missing buttons

Three rips and tears

Two-hooo franctured toes

And a mouth full of oh-ver due bill

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love asked of me

Please call the dentist

Foooor my mis-sing teeeeeth

“Fo-hor days ago

I lost my mind

Please do not kill me

And from now on you ge-he-het the mail”

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love brought to me

Seven wrapped up presents

Six pounds of chocolate

Fiiiiiiiiiiive din-ner coupons

Fo-hor smelly candles

Three movie tickets

Two-hoo spa-ah days

And a day for our dog at Pup’s R Us

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love asked of me

Please stop obsessing

Let me say “I’m sorry”

We can have a re-do

IIIIIIIIIIIII was a shiiiiit

I promise not to question

What you do or don’t do

Because I don’t know shit

When it comes to making it ah-all work

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love hid from me

Fear of what would happen

D’nial that was his mantra

Refusal to believe that

The fact his Mother was right

His wiiiiiiife wazzzz such a biiiiiiiiiiiitch

Oh-ho-ho who does care

That he had invested

More than you may know

And that his partridge left long-ong-ong-ago

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love said to me

1 thru 9 are awesome

10 thru 12 are missing

This is so distracting

I only wanted quiet

Is that too much to ask for

Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive Golden Rules

Fo-hor pleading men

Three spanish prayers

Two birds in a bush

And I won’t tell the partridge he is di-hi-hi-in-er

No I won’t tell the bird that he is toast

T’was the Year Before This One

T’was the year before this one, exactly this day

They had dealings with elves Satan had sent their way

Cleverly disguised as movers, those elves

Had completely and thoroughly, distinguished themselves

As minions of evil, true thugs, nincompoops

Whose Coup de Grace was an utter Grace de Poop

Pa on the phone with Satan’s head guy

Ma was outside screaming her battle cry

When all of a sudden, there rose such a clatter

Pa sprung from the house to see what’s the matter

He saw flashes of fire coming out of her eyes

And heard “I. Am. Leaving. Before someone DIES“

Little did she know that was only the beginning

Of the Battle O’ the Bunglers (Satan ended up winning)

But through all the breakage of glass, wood, and legs

They stopped trying to fill their round hole with square pegs

Try though they did, there was no talking to Boss Putz

They had no control over Dumb, Dumber, and Numb NutZ

So they did what they could to get through that last year

Now damn it all, damn it all, there’ll be Christmas this year!

What a difference a year makes!

Mr and Mrs Smite – Continues

PREFACE:
I found I had to go back to go forward. And writing in the first person was a decision. One I’m finding strikingly difficult to do. It makes me feel very vulnerable and exposed. But…the decision’s made.

No going back now.

The following occurred in the winter of 2010, but right now it seems decades ago.

This story I’ve called Mr and Mrs Smite had to begin here, where I felt the worst part of my life ended.
An event I felt had opened the window to a second chance. To begin anew, that quest we are all on.
In one form or another.
Not to say we are each searching for the same thing.
Sometimes we don’t even know what it is we are searching for.
In fact, I don’t think I knew what I was searching for then. But whatever it was, I had managed to make it ridiculously complicated.
But from that day, it was simple.
At least in my mind.
S I M P L E
I just wanted to be happy.
A happy woman.
A happy wife.
A happy mother.
A happy human being.

Now…I just wrote, “…it was simple. But from that day, it was simple”
Right?
Well, from that day until now, four years in, it’s been anything but – Simple.

And that’s why I’m here trying, writing, searching, needing, working, deciding…

And there it is…
DECIDE
DECIDING
DECISION

This next direction, this next step on this journey, is a decision, not an accident.
A decision.
Something I have not been doing for a very long time…if ever.

So…if you are not sorry that you stuck around, not disappointed that the Prologue made it seem that a short leap over the road would lead directly where I was going…stick around.
I’ll get where I am going, eventually.
I just need to do it my way.

♥ R

Chapter One – Best Laid Plans

I’m awake.

Today’s the day.
I’m leaving.
Last night’s drinks spilled not wine, but words, onto pages of useless I’m sorrys and hollow I love yous to those I am leaving behind.
I spent hours erasing the written evidence of my journey and the tracks of my tears to this place and this time; wanting to spare them the pain of walking down that dark, unforgiving, one-way, memory lane.

Outside.
I listen.
But for the wind singing its winter song through the scrub pine and giant oaks, it’s silent.

I sit.
A perfect illusion of peaceful reflection.
Yet, I’m nothing more than a frozen portrait of a woman on the edge.

Alone but for the unbidden and unwanted ghosts of my past for company, a head full of painful thoughts of my present, and nothing but darkness in my future…in silence, I wait.

Hidden only by the casual chaos of all things brown and green that grow this close to the ocean; the wild, climbing vines threaten to claim me in my stillness, as they have claimed every inch of the beach house behind me. On the ocean-facing patio; dry-eyed and numb to the biting cold belying the radiance of the February sun; I close my eyes, lay back my head, and wait.

For the tide.

The sun is bright, but not warm.
The wind is biting; heard but not felt.
The echoes of ice breaking on the shoreline grow louder as the tide slowly comes in.
That’s the sound I am waiting for.
It’s almost time.

The sounds carry with them, the images.
In my mind’s eye, I see myself walking down the stone steps; my walk of shame.
Slowly, towards the sounds of the ice cracking and the water lapping against the boat house.
I’m terrified of the impending first steps into the freezing waters but strangely, not the eternal cold that will follow.
I say a small, last prayer, for strength, to the God whom, much like myself, I thought of as a Ghost.
There, but not. Real, but not. All knowing, but not. All loving, but not. Forgotten.

I open my eyes and stare straight into the sun.
Wishing for a bit of warmth to take with me, but finding none, I look towards to blue-black water and…
See.
Something.
I think I know what it is, but I don’t trust it’s really there so much as an image burned into my brain from having stared into the sun a moment before.

But it is real. It is there.
Gliding over the water.
Wings spread, talons down, focused on a floating island of ice.
As balletic in its approach and landing as it is elegant in flight.

An Eagle.
Magnificent, Regal, Stunning, Majestic, Eagle.
I’ve never seen anything like it.

I stand there.
Transfixed, silent, unmoving, as the tide finally comes.

Liquid, flowing freely, running…but not to shore.

Down my cheeks, sneaking in between my lips via the channels created by the smile I didn’t even know I was smiling.
I feel them, taste them; the warm saltwater of tears and not the freezing cold saltwater of the ocean.

And, just as I’m smiling a smile I didn’t realize I was smiling…I’m hearing a voice in my head and feeling a warmth in my heart that I do…realize is not mine.

So I feel, and I listen.
And this is what I hear…

“You are not alone. You have never been alone. I am here with you now as I have always been. You are not lost. I never stopped believing in you. I am your Father. I am your Mother. I am You. You are Me.”

I am stunned.

I turn away from the majesty on the water and walk up the steps and into the house.
It’s automatic. I reach for, and grab, my camera. I turn back to the glass door expecting to see…nothing. It won’t be there anymore. But it is. Camera in hand, I open the door and go back outside.
Before I put the camera to face, I can’t help but look again. And while I’m staring at what I can’t believe is there, I let go…with a heartfelt apology, to myself and to God, I bring the camera up and snap what was to date, the most significant photo…
Of my Eagle.
Of my God.
Of my Life.

The Eagle has landed.
Of all the bodies of water.
In all the small, coastal, New England towns.
He chose that one.
On that day.
At that moment in time.

Mr. and Mrs. Smite – Prologue (as it turns out)

This post has been in my head and heart and groin (yeah, I know, but it has) for a long time now.

There have been times over the last couple years I’ve come straight here, to this screen, knowing exactly what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it.

But to date, I’ve yet to get beyond the first word.
I think I’ve been too embarrassed, ashamed, confused, conflicted, to go any further.

If I don’t chicken out today, I’ll get to the end, knowing I need to get it out.
If I do (chicken out)…then I hope I find the courage to finish tomorrow.
Or even later today.
It’s still early right?

Whether this is the place is another question.
It really doesn’t matter though, as this is the only place, and these are the only ears, I go to, to be who I am and say what I need to say.

Good or Bad
Right or Wrong
This is where I first found my voice and it makes no sense to shut up now.

So…pull up the big chair, smoke ’em if ya got um, get ready to flex the wincing muscles, cause you’re gonna need ’em.

This ain’t gonna be pretty; looking this intently in the mirror rarely is. But it is gonna be real.
And for what it’s worth, I don’t think I’ll be alone, even though alone is a very familiar and all too comfortable place to be.

It’s the tale of 2 bodies and 4 people (in other words, a couple).

Me and ‘The Mrs’
Him and ‘The Mr’

Now, I know all of us (and I mean ALL of us) are multi-faceted individuals.
We are, at times, everything to everybody.
We are not one-dimensional, nor are we unique.
Our struggles with the day-to-day of the human condition are nothing if not universal.

That said…we are though.
Unique that is.

We could, all of us, be presented with like scenarios, similar circumstances, the same quandaries, and yet, come up with a myriad of reasons for or solutions to “IT”.

I get that…but for my part, I own this.
Or we do…as the case may be.

I stand before you, naked and afraid, but determined to share a burden that weighs heavily on me.
(You’ll appreciate the verbiage of that soon enough).

It weighs heavily enough that it runs a loop in my brain like THE worst ever episode of ‘This Is Your Life”.

There are some here old enough to remember that show…for those too young, perhaps it’s like seeing your life flash before your eyes as you die and you think “Shit…who did I piss off to deserve that?”

Maybe…I don’t know.

This is difficult. Maybe more so than sharing with you past traumas in my life that were not dealt with until I was facing my own 50 Shades of Gray Hair.

I thought those shares would be the end of my life as I knew it.
But they weren’t.
In fact, very little has changed (to any degree)
I’ve found that people, like water, take the path of least resistance whenever possible.
And I understand it.

But, I also understand, it cannot matter to me what other people think or do.
Anymore.

It only matters what I think and what I do.
Not easy…never easy to be consciously selfish.
But necessary.

I’m very close to scaring myself out of continuing.
Think I’ll go pour myself some liquid courage.

I’ll be back…

I hope