He's Really Sick

My son has been ill for going on two and a half weeks.  He goes back to Vanderbilt  (there's a clue to my identity...but I write the NAME because it's not the local hospital but the one we have to travel to; it carries weight to the significance of the thing) on Tuesday for an ultrasound of his liver and more blood work.  He's been feeling wrong and complaining of vague stomach pains for so long now.  I can't seem to help him, and he's just suffering while we dissect the sickness, doctor by doctor.  I feel myself aging with the worry of it and with the explaining SOMETHING IS WRONG and PLEASE HELP MY CHILD to each of them, more specialized as we go.  I have had a bad feeling this whole time, and it grows with the days.  I tell myself I have to think differently and will another fate into existence.

This thing with my son sure has taken my mind off of my divorce.  I think my (ex)husband is feeling it and living the reality of our divorce/his choices more than me; he's practically dead to me now.  There's just no room in my heart now.

The poster child

The back of my eyes hurt.

I have no time to write.  I'm drowning in work because I've been to the pediatrician, the clinic (x2 trips), the ER (in the hours of 10 pm-3:30 am) and to a specialist for my son all since 8 days ago.

I'm the poster child for when it rains, it pours.  But I refuse to lose my sunshine.  I want to be the poster child for mother fucking hope.

We're going to get my son well again.  It's been 2 weeks, and this specialist is going to have figured it out; and there will be relief for my child.

I'm going to close this entry, and I am going to rock this pile of work down and get enough sleep to survive tomorrow.

(And tonight when I go to sleep I'll think about that cute ER nurse that looked at me just like so and touched me just like so...)

And this trend where the weeks get harder ends here.

I'm the poster child for turning it into an opportunity to be a badass.  I got it all, LIFE, and I carry optimism in my heart.

"Life is 10% what happens to, 90% how you deal with it."

Holy Weekend

Five years ago, this is the weekend when our love began.  Again.  We referred to it as "Holy Weekend" in the years that followed, and oh god, there were moments when I felt perfectly in love in this life.  Loved.  He had me believing- completely- that I was his Sweet Baby and we lived for one another.  He was my second husband, but he was my first true love.  It happened in '98 when we met.  It happened again instantaneously five years ago.  As swiftly it came in, it's now all gone up in smoke.

I know he's thought of me, and that helps.  But only in a way.  He must miss me some on our weekend, on the first since he left.  But he was the one who did the leaving.

The thing I tell myself is that I chose my kids, and now I live for them exclusively.  But the truth is that he abandoned me, and he's left me utterly left and unwanted.  The greatest love of my life fizzled up and died in just a few short years.  Just past pathetic, the two and a half years of our marriage can only be classified as...sad.  Our Holy Weekend was a phony, a sham, a gimmick, and a lie.

He never really loved me.  Never.  Not with the kind of love that sustains.  Not really.

I wasn't hard to deal with.  I didn't expect much, and I asked for even less.  I just asked for room to be me.  I never lied or pretended to be someone I am not.

I am strong.  I will fight with all my heart for what I believe, for love.  For what's right. 

If I could be different, I would have been.  I would have done it for him.  I would have let him "be the man."  I would have let him discipline my kids in the too-harsh ways he wanted; but it never was my choice to make.  He wasn't the greatest love of my life.  I had already found it when he blew in with the hope of autumn five years ago.

This weekend is for my kids now.  The hope remains, and I will still feel completely loved.

Joy

I had to wake up at 5:20 on a Saturday to get my big girl to school for a band trip.  I'm so excited for her; it's been a lot of hard work.  I'm also pretty sad to spend a weekend without her.  I just prefer having my babies close.  My little ducklings following closely behind.

(That's two fold: 1. missing my daughter 2. waking up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday)

It was a long week, and I got less sleep as I went.  The beginning of the year is so hard for teachers (and students).  To aggravate the situation a little more, I work at a Title I school with limited resources and its own set of challenging situations.  A student assaulted me at school this week, and it's just not that shocking in a school like mine.

He slammed the door on my wrist in anger on the way out of the classroom.  It got very swollen very quickly.  I'm pretty tough, but I was very encouraged by the many many teacher-moms around me to file for OJI.  (I never go to the doctor.  Really, never.)  The doctor sent me home with a bandaged wrist and a slight enough concern to schedule a follow-up appointment for a week later.  I really thought I would end up canceling it.  But I'm having trouble in my hand now, and it's just not right.  There's a pinching and sickening feeling there.  Of course, it's my right (writing/typing/guitar playing) hand.

This child that hurt me is having so much trouble.  I've had special students before, but this one takes the cake.  Of course, this is the year of my second divorce.

My son is having his own trouble at school.  He always has.  There's just no way that any of these years (7 left) will ever be different.  I've always waited for a break with him; I know now it's not coming.  I've emailed his middle school teachers every day, and I imagine we will be progressing to the next level of meetings soon.  They aren't abiding by the IEP I fought like hell for, for all the years leading up to now.  They have no idea who they're messing with.

For the past couple of days, he's been getting sick, too.  I've been struggling with allergies, literally barking up a lung.  It's hard enough when we're all healthy. 

When it rains, it pours.  It pours on down.

The laundry isn't all done.  It just never is.  The floors need to be cleaned.  And I blew through too much money this month, especially eating out two nights this week after the injury.  I got everything else done, but only just barely.  I thought I would make this look easier...

I don't come home to the black hole my second divorce has made, though I feel the threat of it.  I've been coming home to my kids, and I work my ass of for them because it's not their fault.  I try to find time to play my guitar and dwell in possibility.  I will not be defeated. I will not lie down but instead rise up to become the most incredible version of myself.  I choose to grow strong from this life.

I still have my joy.  

(And every once in awhile, life throws you a bone.  I got a letter in the mail this week from the District Attourney's Office.  Child Support found #1!)

Telling My Lawn Guy Way Too Much

It wasn't very long after, and our lawn guy showed up to mow.  He told me that he had been paid.  I talked to him about dropping the service down to 2x monthly; he already knew about the divorce.  My husband had said more about it to the lawn guy than he had said to me.

#2 paid him for the month of May.  I assumed he mentioned the divorce to let our guy know he wouldn't be seeing him again.

That awkward exchange: the lawn guy saying it was none of his business and he wouldn't take sides.  That terrible moment when I had proof that he was telling people he would never be my lover nor my friend again.  It hurt me so bad.

Today, late with my check, the lawn guy showed up again.  It's been that kind of week, and I now know it's not going to all go seamlessly.  I had bigger dreams this summer for the way things would be.  I told myself to get a stamp and send a check and not make that man think I can't handle my shit.  But there he was.

I paid the man and apologized, and he was very nice.   He asked about things randomly.  Was the divorce final?  He didn't seem to be partial to my husband after all.  He said that when he paid him last, he said he might still see him.

Wait.  What?

And in my stupid heart, I felt that flutter of hope. It was the same flutter that I feel when the phone rings.  The flutter that fuels my dreams.  

Did he think he would be moving back?  Even for a moment?  Was there ever any hope?

It only took a moment and it occurred to me, of course, he did not know if I'd stay.    He was preparing for the possibility that I would be moving...not that he would be coming back to me.  

The lawn guy breaks my heart every time.

A New Year

School has started again.  August is the toughest month.  Tougher than even May, and I didn't know how bad it would be.  I'm getting through it on my own.  I don't have a choice.

When my best friend was here, I could breathe again.  Inhale, exhale; I remembered myself.  It helped to laugh with her about what a fucking pussy he is.  Screw him, after all, you know!?  I was a good woman fed a thousand lies.  I've survived a thousand broken promises now.

When she left, though, and I was alone again, the bottom dropped out once again.  But only for a moment...here I am, managing everything all by myself.  Every dinner, every packed lunch, every trip to the store; the kids have everything they could need.  I am handling my son's special needs with a peace inside me I've never had: we will make it.  Forever now I will know I was only down and out in my bed, wallowing with this pain, for a single weekend.  I've been the best version of myself since he's left.

There's things though that I can't admit to anyone...like the dreams I still have that tear me apart.  The home phone rang yesterday and it was his generic company number on the caller ID.  It could have been him: they all show up that way.  My heart raced straight out of my chest.  The aftermath of the adrenaline made me sick.  I answered it so quickly.  If I'm honest with myself I know I wanted it to be him; and I would have given anything to touch him again.  He's not quite dead to me.  He's just been dying for three months.  Almost there in this brand new year.

This is What it Feels Like to Move On

My best friend is visiting from out of state.  She's been here for a week, and she has a week left.  It's been good to be reminded of the person I have been for 22 years.  There have been many years without him.  It has been good to make new memories that don't include him, with someone who has known me better.  With someone who has loved me better.