Control, it's not just a word in the dictionary

I like control. Maybe my two short marriages and all those relationships in between were a hint. Maybe the fact that I wake up at 4:30 a.m. at the latest so I can drink my coffee and be in the shower at 5:30 to be at work way earlier than I need to be is a hint.  Even when I think I am going to just sit and be at work on time, it doesn't happen....I am regimented to say the least.

I need control. I am realizing here in the 52nd year of my life that I have none. People live and they die, you make decisions, people override them, you work hard to make something happen, it doesn't happen. I am not dealing with this realization of this loss of control well.

I will live with me

I'm sitting here, the night before, a year after, the worst day of my life. My mind is where it was a year ago. I'm just trying to process the year behind me. None of it has been easy. There have been better days than others. Some days are not those days.....

Me and Andy had a fight. We don't have big fights. Ok, they are pretty big, but not big like I've had in my lifetime. Voices raise, we yell over each other, but in the end..... monotone "I love you. I'll talk to you later." So, as far as fights go, I've had worse, but none that rip at my heart more.

I need to forgive.  He needs to be angry.

It's not that I want this guy who killed my son to feel peace and love, that's not it, I want to quit directing my energy toward hating him and use my energy toward the people I love and that one I miss.

He thinks it's a betrayal and I'm letting him off too easy.

I think it's a relief.

My son is dead, whether he died of leukemia or fell off of a bridge or got shot in the chest. The outcome is exactly the same.

I just can't be angry forever. It takes all my time and my energy. I loved my son and I love my sons who are still breathing. Anything that takes away from that is, in my mind, a disservice to them.  I think maybe, my son is too young to feel the drain of hate. Maybe he has never felt the lack of real emotion that hating someone can steal from you. How can you love when you hate, it's so overpowering? How can you forgive when you hate, you are so busy hating.

I tried to explain that I wasn't forgiving him so he could feel better, but I was forgiving him for me. He will live with himself for the rest of his life......and I will live with me.

Wind

I'm sitting here this morning, I've been up since about 2 a.m., but that's pretty typical of me. I am sitting and I'm listening to the wind in the tree outside my window. When I lived in NM I would sit out on my porch and listen to the wind in the Elm that was living in the corner of my lot.

Isn't that the best sound? So quiet and so calm,  if that tree could talk it would tell you that it loves the wind.

Isn't it funny how we have these things that happen outside our window, but if you think about it, that wind has been around the world. Wind doesn't have borders. Air is everywhere. That air that is blowing through the leaves of the tree outside my window here, is the same wind that blew through my tree in NM. It's kind of comforting. Like the moon and the stars.

We are all connected in our disconnection.

It's been a year

And I'm not sure how I feel about that. I feel like the feelings have faded and then I feel guilty because I don't want anyone to forget you. This is all so new to me, and so awful. Thanks Benj, for being the one to make me do this.

I wish you were a baby again and I could hug you and kiss you and you were so cute and snuggly.  You were so cute, with your bravery and your curly hair and big smile.

I just want you to know I miss you, every day. There are a thousand things I want to say to you. But mostly that I love you. I always have. I always will.

I am thinking...

...that maybe I should delete this blog. There is just so much pain here and I didn't start out thinking that this is what it would be. No one can predict what is going to happen, I didn't predict this. I apologize for making those of you who read this deal with this over and over. I remember when I lived in NM and they shot a bear out of tree with a tranquilizer and it fell and hit electrical lines. I watched that bear fall over and over and over and I thought why do they keep showing this? I don't want to see this anymore! I imagine you feeling the same way.

Purring: As a weapon.

That was my topic. It was funny, it was thoughtful, it was about my cat. Hahaha. That lasted about a day. Actually a few days. She meows to wake me up, she surrounds me in the shower, funny stuff.

I'm not funny. Sometimes I am, not often.

I really wanted to be funny, for the people who read this, because, MY GOD, who wants to read this depressing shit every day?

But I'm planning my trip back to NM to say a proper good bye to my son. On his birthday. And I realized that I don't remember what time of day he was born. I pushed him out of my body and I don't remember when. What kind of a mother am I? How do you forget that?

I found myself curled up in a ball, on my floor,  crying, and crying and wishing I could make myself disappear. But I don't, and I won't, and I will do what I need to do and it will never be enough. And then I will go on, and everyone will go on, but Benjamin, who will never go on, but he will be missed, forever.

I'm Treading Water in a Sea of Vodka

A slice of lime is my flotation device.

I realize this isn't healthy, it's not even sane, but I am not at a point where I care. I see myself doing less and less, caring less and less, and I don't care. Which I guess makes the less and less redundant.

I go to work, I come home, I fix a drink or two or three or eight, and then I go to bed and I do it all over again tomorrow.  I'm rarely hungover and actually, until that final drink hits me, I'm rarely drunk. That's probably not a good sign.

It worries me more and more how little I need to do to get by and how much I know that. I don't take the trash out, I haven't checked my mail in two weeks. I feed the cat, I do my dishes, my car has no gas. It was too much work to stop and put gas in it this morning. When the low fuel light comes on, I'll fill it up. I haven't done any school work, I didn't even enroll this semester. I buy instant stuff for my lunch. I always buy a piece of fruit or two, then I carry them around until I throw them away. I have lived for the past two weeks on PB&J and instant Mac & Cheese... and crackers.

I don't want to see anyone and really, if anyone knew how I really am, they wouldn't want to see me. I've canceled plans even though I rarely have any. Something comes up and I fix a drink and say "Maybe next time"

I don't know what to do, but I know that as long as I don't care, no one else will either. It seems kind of like a whirlpool that I'm not sure I stand a chance of getting out of.  I'm afraid to sneeze because if I do someone else might die. I spend most of my time wondering who will be next and hoping it's me. Not in a "I want to die tomorrow" way, but in a "I just can't say good bye to another person right now, please just keep everyone safe until I'm gone" kind of way.

I really usually only cry when I drink. It feels good to cry. It's so much work to hold it all in and act like it's ok all the time. I know I can't crumple up and give up, so I go to work, I pay my bills, and then I pour myself a drink and I let go. And let myself go. And let my life go. Going, going..........gone.

Wallowing

I was going to spend this weekend with a girlfriend. She was wallowing. I understand wallowing. Just take a day and wallow. We are entitled.

I have done that. I'm sure people are tired of my wallowing. I'm tired of my wallowing. It doesn't make it less important however.

I'm sick of being sad. I'm tired of crying. I want nothing more than to just move on like nothing ever happened, unfortunately it did. I can't move forward. I can't move on. I can't even freaking move.

My cat is even being nice. That's scary, she's not a nice cat.

Do you think one day you just wake up and all the pain you've felt for all of these months is just gone? I don't know, I'm asking. Where does it go? What happens to it? I was just starting to feel normal and my niece died. My beautiful 27 year old Down's Syndrome, happy all the time, give her an action hero and she was content, niece. She was so beautiful.

Her and Benjamin didn't know each other, I hope they do now. I can see Benjamin taking her hand and saying "Come on with me, I'll show you the way around" and I can see Betty saying "Let me tell you stories about your Aunt Kari"

I'm acquiring quite the collection in this place we like to think of as Heaven. I don't believe in Heaven, but I don't believe our souls die either.  I feel Benjamin, I feel Betty. I miss them both more than you can imagine but I think they are here, somewhere, and I feel their warmth. I see things that make me think of them, make me feel close to them and I send them kisses.  I wonder if people think I'm crazy when they see me pucker up and send a kiss to the Heavens:? I hope so.

I don't open doors...

Someone knocked at my door a minute ago. Do you know I wasn't even mildly curious to who it was. I don't open doors. I wasn't expecting anyone, my house wasn't on fire, I don't open doors.

It's funny, I watch tv shows and people open doors. Someone knocks, they open their door. I find I'm  kind of amazed by that. My new addiction has been Nip/Tuck. I could go on and on about what a terrible show that is. I watch it, but it's kind of like smoking crack, I know it's bad but I watch it anyway.  For God's sake they had midget sex in Season 4, how exploitive is that? But I watch it....and what always amazes me is how Christian opens his door. If there was ever anyone on Earth who shouldn't just open his door, it would be Christian Troy.

Anyhow, the point is....my doors are closed and locked. Physically, emotionally and in every other way I can lock them. What's in is in, nothing else gets out, don't knock.

Let it Rain

It's a windy day here. scattered showers. I like scattered showers. I will take scattered showers over hot and humid any day.

I'm going to ramble here and I hope you can follow it, or if you can't, at least forgive me for just typing in any direction I go...I have a journal, it lays next to my bed with a very nice pen next to it. I can't write in it. When you write it down on paper it becomes permanent and I'm not ready for permanent...

The alone I'm feeling is overwhelming.  It blankets me like a fog. I'm here alone in so many ways. I mourn my son and I look for any little sign that he's still here with me, I want to feel him. I want him to tell me it's ok. I grasp at straws. It's funny, 333 was always our "sign". We woke up to 3:33, we saw 333, when he got his driver's license we both saw 333 on a license plate and knew it was his day. 333 is gone. Now I see 222. 333 minus 111.

My friends have moved on. I don't blame them. Life is about living. But I'm stuck.

My "surviving" son is going through hell. Not any kind of hell I can imagine, I never had to watch anyone I love die a horrific death. But I see it, in my mind, over and over and over, anytime things get quiet. I try to clutter my mind because that keeps my thoughts from going there.....

I can't even say out loud the things I think, the questions I have ....

What do I say when people say "How many kids do you have?" How do I argue gay rights when my gay son is dead? How do I differentiate between how my son died and who he was? I say "The police shot him" and watch the judgments form...

(words & music by Joe South)
If I could be you, if you could be me
For just one hour, if we could find a way
To get inside each other's mind
If you could see you through my eyes
Instead your own ego I believe you'd be
I believe you'd be surprised to see
That you've been blind

Walk a mile in my shoes
just walk a mile in my shoes
Before you abuse, criticize and accuse
Then walk a mile in my shoes

Now if we spend the day
Throwin' stones at one another
'Cause I don't think, 'cause I don't think
Or wear my hair the same way you do
Well, I may be common people
But I'm your brother
And when you strike out
You're tryin' to hurt me
It's hurtin' you, Lord HAVE mercy

Walk a mile in my shoes
just walk a mile in my shoes
Before you abuse, criticize and accuse
Then walk a mile in my shoes

Now there are people on reservations
And out in the ghetto
And brother there, but, for the grace of God
Go you and I,
If I only had wings of a little angel
Don't you know, I'd fly
To the top of a mountain
And then I'd cry, cry, cry

Walk a mile in my shoes
just walk a mile in my shoes
Before you abuse, criticize and accuse
Then walk a mile in my shoes (3X)

Blood is thicker than Water

I've heard that my whole life. Let me tell you when blood is thicker than water:

1. In a measuring cup
2. On your white shirt
3. In your sippy straw
4. In that movie "Carrie"
5. If you're paddling through it

Blood is only thicker than water in biology.

I just came from a family reunion which included 183 of my closest relatives. That was less than half of who was invited  With that many relatives just how thick could that blood be? 

We all wore color coordinated tee shirts and then spent half of Saturday trying to figure out who had the cool colors and who didn't. Alpha cousins? We had one of the cool colors. So did the Cunninghams and the Dudleys...who were all those people in pale beige? What did they do to deserve that? Maybe just not show up at the meetings?

We had hot pink. Fortunately I had my hot pink $2.99 Walgreen's flip flops...I was rocking.  

It was good to see everyone. Our group had a water balloon sling shot and took great pleasure in slinging water balloons at the gray cousins...poor gray cousins, they didn't have the vibrant color and then they had flying water balloons to deal with on top of that.

I realized, in this short weekend, that although I have a "family", my family was not there. My family consists of people who don't share my blood but share my feelings, my thoughts, and my love.

Blood is only thicker than water in science.

It's another Day

I don't know if anyone reads this. I write for me. I just have to get this all out of me because it eats at me like a cancer.

I found out more details about how my son died. It was worse than I thought. How can it be worse? He's dead no matter how he died.  Knowing he laid on the sidewalk dying, while his brother was questioned on the curb, hearing the gasps for breath, watching the police shine a flashlight in his face, while NO ONE, not one person did anything to try to preserve my son's life, is like a knife.....not a sharp knife, but a dull knife, being stabbed into my chest and slowly pulled upward.

My mind says I should be healing, my heart says it's only just begun. I don't know if anyone can relate to this sudden realization that your child is gone. Dead. It happens daily and it happens often.  It just doesn't happen to MY CHILD.

I don't know what happened. I think that I finally started hearing things, because for awhile people were talking and I heard a noise, I just couldn't decipher it. Now I can...and I want to go back...to the days I couldn't decipher it.

Repeat after me...

During the week I'm ok. I work, I live, I'm ok. During the weekends life slows down, to a speed I cannot handle. This is my thought process on Saturday morning...I wake up. I start the coffee, the cat is yelling, I feed the cat her special Saturday cat food, I make a cup of coffee...and then.....

I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. If I could do it again I wouldn't. I'm sorry. Forgive me. I'm sorry.....then I drink and I sleep and I wake up again and rinse and repeat......FUCK!

Life moves on...

...one day at a time from June 4th. Nothing will ever be the same. I was talking to my son tonight and I said "If you talk to your brother....", he used to ask "Which one?" He doesn't anymore.

I have decided someone needs to make these people accountable. Someone needs to say "Prove it", that someone, right now, is me

What else do I have to do? .

Foxes and Chickens

Good morning boys and girls. I have a little story for you today.

Once upon a time there was a hen house where all the little chickens went to lay their eggs and hatch their little chicks. They had lived there a long time and were quite content.

One day a fox came by and he said "Hello Chickens, nice place you have here"  The chickens, being the trusting souls that they are said "Well good morning Mr. Fox. It is a beautiful place, isn't it? We're very lucky to have such a fine place to raise our babies."

The Fox, being a fox, sees his golden opportunity here. "Living in such a nice place you must worry all the time." "Oh no" said the chickens, "we feel very safe here."

"Oh really", said the Fox, "What if someone else sees this beautiful place and they want it for themselves? What if someone sees so many wonderful chickens running around here and they are so jealous they want to hurt you, or steal your babies, or even worse...what if they want to EAT YOU?"

"Oh my", said the chickens, "we have never thought of that!" The chickens immediately became nervous and started clucking among themselves.  The fox sat and watched and waited....

Soon the chickens gathered around him. "What shall we do Mr. Fox?" they asked, "We are so afraid."

The Fox said oh so gently, "Oh don't you worry, my little friends, for I have just the solution for you" Relieved to hear this the chickens waited anxiously to hear what they could do to be safe.

"Me and my friends will keep you safe", said the Fox. "We will stand guard outside your beautiful home and make sure no one tries to take it from you. We will stay out here at night while you sleep so no one can get in and hurt you or take your babies." "Oh thank  you, thank you, thank you, " said the chickens and they all went happily about their business of living, clucking among themselves about how lucky there were to have found someone so willing to see to their safety.

Later that evening all the chickens filed into their little coop, happy in the knowledge that someone was there watching over them. The foxes gathered outside.

The next morning all that was left in the chicken coop was feathers,  empty nests, and one lone chicken that had hidden behind a pile of straw! The chicken ran out of the coop in the morning and ran up to the foxes and said "You did this! I saw you! It was you! I'm going to tell the Farmer and he will have you all killed!" 

The foxes, knowing that the little chicken was absolutely correct and being very afraid of the Farmer said "Oh no, little chicken, you are wrong. You must be in shock, we are so sorry for your loss, we are going to help you find who did this, because obviously dear chicken, it couldn't have been us for we were out here all night guarding your little home and we saw no one go in. We are going to help you find out who did this."

The little chicken, knowing that he alone was left to vindicate the death of all of his family and friends, and knowing he was outnumbered by the foxes asked timidly "How are you going to do that? What will you do?"

"We will investigate" said the foxes, quietly high fiving themselves behind their backs. "We will make sure that whoever did this comes to justice. Just give us some time and we will get back to you with what we have learned"

A week later the foxes came back. "Well, little chicken, we have found who did this terrible deed and we are going to tell you so you can tell the Farmer and justice will be done." "Who?", said the little chicken, "Tell me who killed my family and my friends! Who would do such a thing?"

"After a long and thorough investigation we have come to the conclusion that it was the Rooster. He's an angry fowl and he wanted that coop all to himself. The foxes you saw were there trying to protect you but sadly, the Rooster was too fast and too violent, they couldn't stop him in time. You were the only one we could save, and you should be ever so grateful that we were here for you. Now go tell the Farmer and when he gets more chickens to keep you company and we will come back and guard you again."

The moral of this story, boys and girls, is that if you have foxes watching the chicken coop, you will need someone to watch the foxes, and that someone should not be another fox.   Foxes watching Foxes: this is what happens

A New Day

So today was just a day. My neck hurts. I had some guy tell me months ago that when your neck hurts it's usually actually your back, by your shoulder blade. He told to me to swing my arms forward and backward and that could loosen the muscles. I've been doing that so much today I look like one of those yard birds whose arms swing in the wind. I have tried heat, I have tried cold, I h ave taken ibuprofen and Tylenol together. I am hurting so bad I'm seriously thinking about using my "back massager" on my back. 

I read some of the news today. I'm so glad that little girl in Missouri was found. SO glad. I'm really, really sick of hearing about the oil spill. I don't care anymore. It's a spill, it sucks. It will eventually be cleaned up.

Today I got an email from a true Obama hater. You know, you can have your political views, but when you dump them on me I'm going to fight back. Try using snopes now & then. My favorite thing these days is sending back the email with the snopes link and the message "not true".  Funny, I never hear back on those.

Oh, and if you're going to use your Facebook page to express your really sensitive political or religious views, believe me when I tell you I won't be reading them.

Oh, and just for the record, Jake might suck, but Vienna was a gold digging liar. I'm sorry her only talent is seducing a dumb pilot, but it's not going to make her a star, and now she's famous for what she did wrong. Sucks to be her.

Yay, takes the pressure off of "sucks to be me".

Oh, and one last note...really, seriously, keep your marriage difficulties off of Facebook. It's cheap and it's ugly and most of all, it makes you look ridiculous, especially when a day later you're both professing your undying love and devotion. Seriously people, this is a marriage, there are children involved, this is where the whole "don't air your dirty laundry" comes into play.

Today was a Good Day

I woke up this morning and I cussed at the cat and I made coffee and then I remembered. That is like a big deal in my book. When I remembered it didn't make me want to kill anyone, it didn't even make me cry, but it did make me sad.

I can do sad. I did my laundry and then I headed to my parents house to drop off some stuff I had. On the way there I passed the thrift store.....I couldn't pass the thrift store....so I went in. I found some cute stuff, then headed on to my parents house.

I wasn't sure they were home and I wasn't sure that I wanted them there. But my Mom was. I walked in ready to be mad. "Where were you? Do you even know how much pain I've been in?" But she was and she did. She couldn't handle it, but she did. She gave me coffee and she listened to my stories, and she took me out to look at her garden and I know she cared. Not the way I would've cared, but the way she does. 

She gave me some cards that went to her house instead of mine. They meant a lot to me. She asked me what they said...I weighed it. Reading them to her I would cry,  and finally getting that she doesn't cry...I said "They are sympathy cards and they mean the world to me."

I feel like I'm healing. There is a big part of me that feels like this is so disloyal to Benjamin At what point do you live everyday knowing that your son died the way he did, and be ok?

It's the old "ok" question.....and it makes me feel like a traitor.

Miscellaneous thoughts

I remember the day I learned how to spell miscellaneous, it was a grand day. I didn't have to write misc. anymore, I could actually write the word.

Why do people who ride bikes think that they have to wear spandex? I remember riding my bike for miles and miles and I don't think I ever wore spandex. It's a thing. "I wear spandex because I'm a bike rider" Well dumbass, I can see you're a bike rider, you're on a bike taking up a 4th of my lane and now I have to move over. How about you moving over Mr. Spandex. I'll bet your turn signal doesn't even work. 

I made myself the grandest of dinners tonight. I cooked a steak, medium rare, sauteed some mushrooms and baked a potato, and then added some sour cream, some Wasabi to dip the steak in...it was scrumptious. Another good word.

I went out and took a walk by the lake yesterday. I sifted through the trash to find my beach glass. People are such pigs. Always bitching, always moaning, but rarely seeing their part in the problem. Shut up!

I sent the ex an email today, telling him that I was wrong for thinking he was something he wasn't.....like a good person or something. That the blame falls entirely on my shoulders since he's proven himself to be a dick time and time again. How shocked I was when he walked out on me when I had car problems, or my best friend died, or my kids drove me crazy or I hated my job...and for some reason I was shocked again, when he walked away while I mourned the death of my son.

Do I seem angry? I'm sorry, I totally mean to sound angry, but I should probably keep it to myself. It seems to make people uncomfortable. Not that I'm uncomfortable. Not sleeping, the guilt, the replaying of the whole thing over and over and over in my head. The hellish waking up, the nightmare of going to sleep knowing that I'll wake up again.

Sucks to be me. 

What I really look forward to is more people telling me I'll be ok. That's what is important. Me being ok. I really like that look that they get on their faces, or I hear in their voices...you know, that judgmental look and sound. I had one lady say "He was 29, oh he wasn't that young" she also said that "Maybe this will open your other son's eyes"....oh, I'm absolutely, positive it did.

I'll be ok. My son is dead but what I'm thinking about is the day I'll be ok. 

I'm NEVER going to be OK. MY SON IS DEAD. I DON'T EVEN WANT TO BE OK!

I made an appointment to get some counseling. I don't know how normal this amount of anger is....I've never had a child shot in cold blood in front of his brother before. Hopefully they can help me shed some light on the way I feel. But the one thing I promise you, the one thing I swear to God, I will never, ever be ok. I may learn to cope. I may get through my day. I may even laugh....but I will never, ever be ok. 

What is the definition of brave?

I'm wondering who decided that living was brave and dying was not. Who said that? Why is staying alive and breathing air brave?

It seems to me that for as long as I can remember, breathing has been hard. I have made the decision time and time again to keep on doing it and I'm wondering why. What the fuck am I doing this for?

When my son died everyone told me he's in a better place...really? What place is that? It's not here with me. How and why is that better? I don't believe in Heaven and the only Hell I believe in I'm living. I have been living, it's been endless and I'm tired.

I have seen, felt, imagined the end so many times. It seems like it would be releasing and pleasant but I can't do it because it is considered being a coward.  It would hurt the children I have left. The children. They are grown men. And now instead of 3 I have 2. I have this gigantic hole where he used to be. He needed me the most and I let him down.

I guess now I see why living is brave. Because when you suck at it and everything you do is just one more mistake it IS brave to face another day. Eventually it's going to catch up to you and everyone will know you for the fraud you are...and that day, you will either fight for your life or you won't.

Granddaughters

So I'm talking to my granddaughter about her time at camp....she said she had a blast, but the canoes were too old and the pond too dangerous. A dangerous pond? Old canoes? Where exactly did she go to camp!

I asked her if they at least had camp fires. She says yes, she got burned at one on her collar bone. Burned? What the heck? So I'm asking her how burned? Is it bad? Did it blister? How big is it? Nickel size? Dime? Quarter? And she says...."it's like a medium sized vampire bite." Hahahahaha!

God I love that girl.