Facing The Past And Looking Forward

Today is my son’s 17th birthday. What a difference a year makes.

Last year, my husband, son and I were in a Destin, Florida townhouse on the bay celebrating his birthday with his first lobster. Laying by the pool, feeling the sun on our faces. A life taken for granted. A life now gone.

Today, my husband and I are not together, and divorce is down the road. I was downsized for a second time, and just started ANOTHER job. Between my unemployment and the high cost of living, all our money is gone… there won’t be any more trips for a long time. I am broke until I get my first paycheck Friday.

My son Dylan is recovering from a much-needed surgery, which is the only silver lining in the dark clouds I face every time I stop and let myself think. 

I know that analyzing yesterday isn’t as important figuring out tomorrow. But it is overwhelming. After 22 years of security, contentment, love and companionship, it’s hard to just see one car in the driveway. When Stephen was in Ohio, I knew he was coming home. This time he isn’t.

The details of all that led up to this seem trivial now; they are the same things that break up marriages every day… because while all divorces are different, they are essentially the same. They are the end. They hurt. They are the death of a family.

I watch my son shutting out his father, but there is a conflict I cannot fix. I cannot heal their relationship. I can only hope that one day they find their way back to each other. Tonight, Stephen is coming by to see Dylan for his birthday, but I don’t know what to expect. I can only hope at some point, they can be close again.

For me, it’s the letting go that’s hard… not so much saying goodbye to the past, but losing dreams I shared with Stephen, for our future. That is what I grieve the most. Knowing that next year, when my son is feeling better, the three of us won’t be back in Destin to have more lobster. And all the other things we will never do. It breaks my heart.

But like I said, what a difference a year makes. After everything life has taught me, I wouldn’t dare guess what could happen by the time he turns 18. I just know with time, I feel… I hope… and I HAVE TO BELIEVE that as he recovers, my heart will also mend. And we’ll both be able to see through the clouds. Maybe even feel the sun on our faces again. 

 

Jesus Loves You, But I’ll Kick Your Ass

I’m back, weirdos! You asked for it! Now I’m gonna fill you in…

So, here I am counting down to Dylan’s surgery and I couldn’t help but post.

We are all a little anxious about the resection. As many of you know, our life has been in a holding pattern since we found out this was coming. Hell, it’s really been that way since we got the diagnosis of Crohn’s disease. But as dangerous and risky as surgery is, my son wants it more than anything. And I want it for him.

Still, I feel very stressed out. The insurance company keeps wanting proof of coverage in an attempt to get out of paying for this. I have to yet to obtain their “pre-certification” — as if some desk jockey can tell if my son needs surgery from a piece of f–ing paper.

And to top it off, here they come. My family.

So far, I have only a taunting comment on my blog, but I feel it beginning. The comment is under my brother’s name, but it reeks of his wife. Who misspells his own name? Besides, she loves causing trouble and she cannot spell. Two dead give-aways. The main reason I hate her: because she is a hypochondriac, always complaining of invisible ailments, while my son’s illness is all too real. There are other reasons, but I don’t have that kind of time.

Familiar is the feeling I always get before a huge family scandal, usually involving someone in the hospital who could do without all the bullshit. But this time, it isn’t me or my grandfather or grandmother in the hospital. It will be my son. And God help them, if after all this time, anyone tries to start trouble with me now.

Most normal people would wonder, why my brother or his wife would choose to argue with me on my blog? Why not an email or phone call? I’ll tell you why: because no one in my family has the nerve to say anything to each other. They have all mastered the art of passive aggressiveness to the point where one look can speak volumes of judgemental hate.

And let me be clear on the fact that out of my entire family, only my grandmother and my cousin call and ask about Dylan’s health. Not his grandparents, his aunt, his uncle, or even my aunts. My mother called me a couple of times after my paternal grandmother died, but where is she now? Under my father’s little thumb, I suppose. Talk about the absolute worst grandparents EVER. You’d never know they live 15 minutes away. That hurts. I want better for my son than that!

I am ashamed of my family… the way they gossip, the way they treat people,  the way they act as if they are better than others, although nothing is further from the truth. I had to overcome verbal and physical abuse by my father, a hypocrite who calls himself a Christian. His heart is full of racism and hate, worn proudly like it’s his Sunday best. From him, I learned how not to scream at or hit my child. I also learned there was no reason to hate other people, no matter our differences (apparently this does NOT apply to family…)

I guess you could say I won in the end. I stopped a cycle of abusive behavior. I made my own family. I came out ahead. And I feel that way – until one of them pops up to remind me — of everything I’d like to forget.

Loving An Addict

You may think, Oh God, is that even possible? Believe me, it is. No one starts out as an addict.

This is what I’ve learned from watching someone I love deal with an addiction:

You know the old saying “it’s not hurting anyone” … It’s when addictions start to hurt that people take notice. Sometimes the last ones are the addicts themselves.

The addict isn’t the only one who is changed by the experience, those who love them are too.

The addiction isn’t my fault. I did not cause it. I can make it worse, but I can’t really make it better.

If your frustration comes out in hateful and/or violent ways, you have a problem yourself.

You may feel entitled to your anger, but serving it like a tennis ball and firing at random will destroy what is left of your relationship.

If an addict needs money, they will find a way to get it.

There is no set limit on love.

There is, however, a set limit on trust. And you can still love someone despite that. Go figure.

If you make an addict choose, you will not be chosen. They may say they choose you, but until they earn what trust they have lost, you’ll always be suspicious.

Suspicion is a horrible feeling, and no way to live. If you are up at 3 a.m. going through your loved one’s car or purse, I am talking to you.

An addict has to choose to get better because  they want to, for no other reason. Any other reason is a set up for relapse. No one else can make them choose to stop.

Addicts will lie even when they could tell the truth or even if they know they will get caught. If you imagine feeling the need to lie like that, you can see the power of the addiction.

It’s easy to say “never” until you live it.