just babes 12 years agoMy sleep has been troubled lately. So much so in fact that the other night as I slept fitfully, my eldest heard me make, "a noise like you were scared mom." He asked if I had a bad dream and it came back... in small bits. I asked why he was awake in the middle of night and was explained that he could not sleep due to growing pains and the heat of a long summer night. Thankfully my eldest does not normally suffer from sleepless nights. My sleep, when it actually comes, does not come without event. Either I lay awake and think of all there is to do, what lies up ahead, what could have been done differently, or I fall into a sleep full of out-of-control memories that have me calling out to the darkness in terror.
I do have another blog. It was started awhile ago and one of the first posts is titled "Once". I'm sure when that blog came into being I was looking for some venue to therapize my aching mind of it's long stored tortured memories. After a few of such "therapeutic" posts I decided that blog was best kept as an aside... until a later date. My dreams and fitful slumber have me believing that "Once" ought to be shared to free it from the confines of my mind and the trapped blog it's been living in. And so...
"i was a little girl. once. but not for so very long. not for long enough. i felt the weight of the world at the ripe old age of 4. or maybe it was 5. either way, i remember feeling responsible for the happiness of those much older than myself. mostly just mainly my sad momma. life wasn't so easy for her and that of course trickled down to me. her life decisions made my life something. not a childhood. in retrospect. there are memories. most slightly painful. some still make me cringe. like the time i had chili thrown all over me because I wouldn't eat it. yeah. we were in public. the asshole took off in our vehicle. my shoes were inside. the people at the food stand wouldn't give my mom napkins to clean her little barefoot chili covered child. instead they closed their roll down doors. it's much easier to pretend all's fine in the world when you can just roll down a door and all the bad goes away. if only i'd had a roll down door. i think this memory defines how I feel about my early "childhood". so out of control. what a mess.
it has been argued that since the "out of control" period was a short one it should not define my so-called childhood. but define it does. i grew up more and quicker in the first 8 years of my life than at any other time. at this point that 8 years is just about 1/3 of my life. 1/3 is a lot. that is my argument."
Perhaps I felt the need to release that memory because as I have stated in my previous post on this blog. I am purging. Trying to rid myself of the weight that I carry and have carried through this life. The weight that haunts my already troubled sleep. My dream the other night took me back to being a child. Being in the out-of-control confines of a man and my mom. But really, my mom is never in these dreams. It is just that man. My sister's father. I'm not sure I even remember his face anymore. I do know that as soon as I get close to seeing it in my mind's eye I quickly look the other way. I try and face as much pain and sorrow in this world as I can in the attempt to let it be known that I do see what is happening. I cannot possibly mend all the hurt out there, but I can let it know it is not alone. It is not unseen. But the hurt in my head... well. That's a whole lot harder to face... and so the images linger on the fringe waiting for me to feel vulnerable. Waiting for an in. Waiting for my defenses to be weakened. That's when the demons come out to play.
As I prepare to "bravely" reenter military life with my family, to support my husband's choice to go off and fight in any number of wars this country can muster, to singly mother my children in their father's absence in a world full of broken families... the demons of old have plenty of room to tread.
For a few years not so long ago I claimed to be an only child. It was much easier to pretend I was a singleton than have to answer the questions that inevitably come when someone asks if there are siblings. Younger or older? Well both actually. Where do they live? Good question on both counts. The sperm donor had a daughter. Jennifer is my half sister. I haven't seen her since about 7 and 13, my age and hers respectively. That is where that story ends.
The devil had a daughter too. Unfortunately he procreated with my mother and I was raised with the offspring of that disastrous union. My younger sister had no knowledge of her roots. Not until the age of 18 anyway. In all that time we were never close. We are two very different souls. I tried to believe that by divorcing her from my life I could push out all the memories that led up to her existence and all the miserable ones since. This paragraph could be a lifetime long so instead of filling in all the blanks I will simply say... sometimes after divorce people make up and remarry.
I feel that we all blunder through life in our own way. Sometimes our blundering doesn't really have any ill-effect on those around us and sometimes, like in the case of my sister... the blundering effects are tantamount to that of a nuclear blast. That may be a slight exaggeration but really, it's all relative. I have recently been notified that my sister is in rehab. She is an alcoholic and an angry violent one at that. What's that saying about the apple and the tree? Nature vs. Nurture? My sister never saw violence. She never saw alcoholism. She never saw naught but comfort. And she's the alcoholic??? Strange how this world works. Dustin has often said he believes people should have a license to have children. My younger sister has 4. One son from a misguided romance and three with yet another misguided marriage. About that license... Her children are all with the step-father/dad in her absence and all we can hope (outwardly) is that he doesn't skip town leaving her high, dry and alone. Possibly dumping her offspring on a doorstep on his way out of town. The reason this all sits so heavy with me is the fact that I see her father. The devil. and I see her in his place. I am not in her home and I do not know what her violent actions are directed at. I pray, and I do not pray often, that it is not at her children. I feel all torn and ripped at like history is indeed repeating itself and all we can do is stand by and watch the horror play out. Not for the first time in my life I am glad I am not my mother. I empathize with the children. Whose pain though does my mother empathize with?
This day is the twelfth anniversary of my marriage. Twelve years and three children later and we are doing just fine. Though I wonder if those twelve years ago had someone been assigned to decide whether I was fit to hold a license to care for an infant and raise them into adulthood what would the decision have been? I was a 19 year old unwed mother-to-be living with my mother's cousin. Not the best situation to bring a child into. Would the case worker assigned have been able to look into my heart and see that if there was one thing in this world I would break my back for it would be children? Not just mine but any and all?? Probably not. I have written before about lacking the tools and making mistakes and our innocent children being dragged along the way. Who are any of us to judge whether someone is truly fit to raise children in this screwed up world? I guess the proof is in the pudding and I am sad that my sister has made yet more mistakes in this life and that there are four children looking at her to be strong and that she is failing them. She failed her mother, she failed her father, she failed her sister, she is failing her children but really in this life... she is failing herself. Children are unbelievably resilient. My father is 5 years gone. My mother is trudging through this life as am I. I write. Mandi drinks. Time ticks away and our demons take advantage whenever they can. Some of us learn to rise above those demons and recognize them for what they are. Others continue the struggle.
Life is too short to struggle and so on this 12th anniversary of my marriage we will swim and we will eat and we will sleep and we will love and we will be thankful to all... even the demons... for keeping us aware of just how precious this time is.
I do have another blog. It was started awhile ago and one of the first posts is titled "Once". I'm sure when that blog came into being I was looking for some venue to therapize my aching mind of it's long stored tortured memories. After a few of such "therapeutic" posts I decided that blog was best kept as an aside... until a later date. My dreams and fitful slumber have me believing that "Once" ought to be shared to free it from the confines of my mind and the trapped blog it's been living in. And so...
"i was a little girl. once. but not for so very long. not for long enough. i felt the weight of the world at the ripe old age of 4. or maybe it was 5. either way, i remember feeling responsible for the happiness of those much older than myself. mostly just mainly my sad momma. life wasn't so easy for her and that of course trickled down to me. her life decisions made my life something. not a childhood. in retrospect. there are memories. most slightly painful. some still make me cringe. like the time i had chili thrown all over me because I wouldn't eat it. yeah. we were in public. the asshole took off in our vehicle. my shoes were inside. the people at the food stand wouldn't give my mom napkins to clean her little barefoot chili covered child. instead they closed their roll down doors. it's much easier to pretend all's fine in the world when you can just roll down a door and all the bad goes away. if only i'd had a roll down door. i think this memory defines how I feel about my early "childhood". so out of control. what a mess.
it has been argued that since the "out of control" period was a short one it should not define my so-called childhood. but define it does. i grew up more and quicker in the first 8 years of my life than at any other time. at this point that 8 years is just about 1/3 of my life. 1/3 is a lot. that is my argument."
Perhaps I felt the need to release that memory because as I have stated in my previous post on this blog. I am purging. Trying to rid myself of the weight that I carry and have carried through this life. The weight that haunts my already troubled sleep. My dream the other night took me back to being a child. Being in the out-of-control confines of a man and my mom. But really, my mom is never in these dreams. It is just that man. My sister's father. I'm not sure I even remember his face anymore. I do know that as soon as I get close to seeing it in my mind's eye I quickly look the other way. I try and face as much pain and sorrow in this world as I can in the attempt to let it be known that I do see what is happening. I cannot possibly mend all the hurt out there, but I can let it know it is not alone. It is not unseen. But the hurt in my head... well. That's a whole lot harder to face... and so the images linger on the fringe waiting for me to feel vulnerable. Waiting for an in. Waiting for my defenses to be weakened. That's when the demons come out to play.
As I prepare to "bravely" reenter military life with my family, to support my husband's choice to go off and fight in any number of wars this country can muster, to singly mother my children in their father's absence in a world full of broken families... the demons of old have plenty of room to tread.
For a few years not so long ago I claimed to be an only child. It was much easier to pretend I was a singleton than have to answer the questions that inevitably come when someone asks if there are siblings. Younger or older? Well both actually. Where do they live? Good question on both counts. The sperm donor had a daughter. Jennifer is my half sister. I haven't seen her since about 7 and 13, my age and hers respectively. That is where that story ends.
The devil had a daughter too. Unfortunately he procreated with my mother and I was raised with the offspring of that disastrous union. My younger sister had no knowledge of her roots. Not until the age of 18 anyway. In all that time we were never close. We are two very different souls. I tried to believe that by divorcing her from my life I could push out all the memories that led up to her existence and all the miserable ones since. This paragraph could be a lifetime long so instead of filling in all the blanks I will simply say... sometimes after divorce people make up and remarry.
I feel that we all blunder through life in our own way. Sometimes our blundering doesn't really have any ill-effect on those around us and sometimes, like in the case of my sister... the blundering effects are tantamount to that of a nuclear blast. That may be a slight exaggeration but really, it's all relative. I have recently been notified that my sister is in rehab. She is an alcoholic and an angry violent one at that. What's that saying about the apple and the tree? Nature vs. Nurture? My sister never saw violence. She never saw alcoholism. She never saw naught but comfort. And she's the alcoholic??? Strange how this world works. Dustin has often said he believes people should have a license to have children. My younger sister has 4. One son from a misguided romance and three with yet another misguided marriage. About that license... Her children are all with the step-father/dad in her absence and all we can hope (outwardly) is that he doesn't skip town leaving her high, dry and alone. Possibly dumping her offspring on a doorstep on his way out of town. The reason this all sits so heavy with me is the fact that I see her father. The devil. and I see her in his place. I am not in her home and I do not know what her violent actions are directed at. I pray, and I do not pray often, that it is not at her children. I feel all torn and ripped at like history is indeed repeating itself and all we can do is stand by and watch the horror play out. Not for the first time in my life I am glad I am not my mother. I empathize with the children. Whose pain though does my mother empathize with?
This day is the twelfth anniversary of my marriage. Twelve years and three children later and we are doing just fine. Though I wonder if those twelve years ago had someone been assigned to decide whether I was fit to hold a license to care for an infant and raise them into adulthood what would the decision have been? I was a 19 year old unwed mother-to-be living with my mother's cousin. Not the best situation to bring a child into. Would the case worker assigned have been able to look into my heart and see that if there was one thing in this world I would break my back for it would be children? Not just mine but any and all?? Probably not. I have written before about lacking the tools and making mistakes and our innocent children being dragged along the way. Who are any of us to judge whether someone is truly fit to raise children in this screwed up world? I guess the proof is in the pudding and I am sad that my sister has made yet more mistakes in this life and that there are four children looking at her to be strong and that she is failing them. She failed her mother, she failed her father, she failed her sister, she is failing her children but really in this life... she is failing herself. Children are unbelievably resilient. My father is 5 years gone. My mother is trudging through this life as am I. I write. Mandi drinks. Time ticks away and our demons take advantage whenever they can. Some of us learn to rise above those demons and recognize them for what they are. Others continue the struggle.
Life is too short to struggle and so on this 12th anniversary of my marriage we will swim and we will eat and we will sleep and we will love and we will be thankful to all... even the demons... for keeping us aware of just how precious this time is.
still babes 12 years later
Oh wow. I bet this felt good to release? I too come from a childhood where I had to grow up pretty quickly. I have a little sister who I love dearly and both of us "do not care for" HER dad. My two brothers and I came from one marriage and little sis from another. He was at times a good step-dad, and then became awful. It can be so hard to forgive, and to let this go and to not allow for childhood memories to define us as adults. You don't want this to "win" my friend. I think if you could find a way to forgive your childhood...it may help you. Once you let it go, pray about it and release it to God you may just feel a sense of peace. These feelings can be so haunting. I know.
ReplyDeleteHey btw, for leg aches at night, our kids use the Topricin pain cream. Works great and is all natural :) Hope this helps! Take care.