An Anniversary

Once upon a time I was the mother of three children. Now I am the mother of two.

No, I have not lost a child to death. It felt worse than that. I carry the grief of losing a loved one with a large helping of hatred stacked on top. I have not lost a child to death, so if you have, and you read this, do not take offense. This is my story and I'm allowed to feel and think and see the way I choose. I do not want to compare my grief to anyone else's. 

Tristan entered my world in 1995. Terek joined Tristan and I in 1998. In 2001 Chelsey, age 4, became my third child, and my only daughter. She fit right between my boys in age, and they quickly became buddies. It didn't take long for them to start acting like siblings. I fostered the love that grew between them. When they were little all three were inseparable, roaming the neighborhood playing games and laughing. Occasionally fighting.

For over ten years it was this way, with some changing and growing. Then on January 11th, 2012 she left and never came back.

Blending a family can be very delicate and I took the challenge of step-parent head on. My goal right from the beginning was to treat Chelsey as if she were my own, which included scolding, an occasional spanking, and chores along with hugs and kisses and bedtime stories (the last being a favorite for all of us). 

The past three years has been a progression of emotions. Anger (at myself, Eric, Chelsey and Jill), hatred, then sadness, remorse, and back to anger, then indifference. The indifference was a relief, but it didn't really end there either.

Fifteen is such a volatile age. The day Chelsey left she did it big, with a lot of crying and screaming, dragging many family members into the drama. It ended with her mother, Jill, pushing me out their front door and slamming the door in my face.

I don't think children shouldn't lie to their parents, but they do. When they get caught they should not get away with it. Especially when it's a whopper of a lie. Unfortunately Jill and I do not parent in the same style. 

In the first few months after she left, Chelsey played the victim card. Email and text messaging was the only way she would communicate with her dad. She repeatedly said things like "Amy's boys are treated better than me" and "I don't think (insert complaint here) is fair". Isn't that how every teenager feels? And she tried to emotionally manipulate Eric by playing the "if you loved me you would (insert some sort of monetary purchase here)". Eric is not the kind of dad who takes his daughter shopping. If that is how she feels, that love is purchased rather than given, then she's got something wrong with her thinking. 

This is not the girl that Eric and I had been raising with Jill for the previous decade. I found myself wondering what she was going through and how I could help. I continued to text her, just a simple hello, how are you, just to keep that communication open.

After a few months Chelsey cut off all communication with Eric and I. She would not return text messages or answer her phone. We still saw her in passing. She would stare at me if she happened to be picked up or dropped off from school at the same time I was getting Terek. We would pass them on the road while out running errands. These glimpses were like a dagger in my heart. I shed a lot of tears. Eric comforted me, but turned off his own emotions. 

Terek would see her in the halls at school and she would just glare at him. Her friends started bullying Terek. He started taking different hallways to his classes so he wouldn't bump into her. This was especially hard on him. He was two years old when she became his sister. He loved her. Her treatment broke his heart. This is when I began to hate her. 

I was trying to understand why she was so hateful towards Eric and I, but the attitude towards Terek was unacceptable. Who was this girl who could just sever ties as if those family members never meant anything to her?

June came and Eric received a Father's Day card in the mail, signed Chelsey AND Jill. Ouch.

July came and Eric got served. Jill sued for full custody, back child support, and a handful of other ridiculous things that she didn't get. It was obvious what was important to them: money and possessions. 

Friends, when/if you ever get divorced and a judge says something like "I hope I never see you two in here again. If you have disagreements try to work them out among yourselves". Don't listen. Even with documentation, emails, WRITTEN agreement, between Eric and Jill stating that neither party owed child support to the other due to joint custody, Eric still got nailed for that back child support. Chelsey's teenage temper tantrum cost us over $10k. 

Almost two years after the day she left I text her and got a response. She agreed to see me and we met at a little coffee shop. We talked for over an hour, then she went back to the house with me. She appeared to be surprised when she saw the entire house was packed up and nearly empty. I told her we were  moving. We sat on the kitchen floor and played with puppies and talked for another hour before she said she needed to leave. She hugged me, told me it was good to see me, and that she'd keep in touch. After she left I felt such a relief, as if everything was going to be okay.

I felt this was the turnaround point where our family could start to heal again.

The next day she blocked my phone number.

That day in November of 2013, just before Thanksgiving, was the last time either Eric or I have heard from her. 

The third anniversary of her departure from our family came and went. I spent a little time that day thinking about the last three years and how much we have changed. I'm still angry at her but it doesn't hurt as much, and it doesn't consume me the way it once did.

I know Chelsey has changed. That's a given, but I don't put too much thought into it. I just don't care anymore.

I wonder if she's ever thought about what SHE did to US. Did she ever consider what her absence did to Eric, to me, or to the boys? How our family dynamics changed? The daily routine that suddenly felt wrong because she was missing?

Children, teenagers, should know that their actions have consequences beyond themselves. They should learn that they don't get to hurt other people to get what they want. They especially need to learn coping skills when life gets hard. I believe Jill did Chelsey a disservice by letting her make all these decisions on her own. Eric and I did a lot of communicating with Jill during the first four months and it all came back to the same thing "what Chelsey wants is what she gets". Jill allowed Chelsey to run away from the problems at our home. Her lack of cooperation with Eric undermined his ability to parent.

Frequently, family or friends ask Eric or I if we have heard from Chelsey. They ask us how she is doing. When we tell them we don't know we get a variation of the same response. Something along the lines of "when she's older she'll want her dad in her life again" or "when she's more mature she'll come back around".

If you, yes YOU, have ever spoken those words to us, you are forgiven. Just know, we don't want to hear it anymore. Our lives have moved on.

I look around our home, our new home that Chelsey has never set foot in. There are family photos on the walls and she is in many of them. I look at them with a mixture of sadness and happiness. The fun stories they tell are what is important. Two of those children are a daily presence in my life still. They have become kind and independent men. I am proud of them.

As for Chelsey, I no longer have regrets. I did all I could do.

The Silence of Amy

Three weeks ago, on October 11th to be exact, I made a decision to be honest. It was hard and painfully brutal to the two of us involved. I confessed my sins to the one person it would hurt the most, Eric.
In the previous months I had become a liar and a cheater. The lying was hard enough, the cheating didn't actually happen, but I came close enough for it to be wrong. I could have destroyed my marriage and everything that was dear to me.
Short story: my near infidelity saved my marriage (or common law relationship if you want to get technical).
Long story: an old friend re-entered my world a few months prior. This old friend and I have a history together that includes friendship, passion and sexual discovery and other things that are nobody's business. Through a tornado of emotions and reminiscing we made plans to meet. Discreetly, for old time's sake. It never happened. I put an end to it at the last second. I realized that this man, who has been in and out of my life since we were children, has always, always left a trail of destruction behind him when he leaves. This time was no different. He is poison to me, intentional or not. What really snapped me out of it was a drunken phone call one night with a dear friend, my confidant whom I had been telling all my secrets to. With a thick Jack Daniel's tongue he chewed my ass, told me I was stupid for looking for intimacy outside of my marriage and that I was better than that. Because I am better than that. He said many other things that night, he made me cry, and he made me think. I can not express how much that drunken phone call meant to me or how important his friendship is. Afterwards I asked myself several questions. What am I doing? What am I looking for? Am I searching for a feeling, physical or emotional? Am I trying to replace something? Am I happy with my life? I won't go into detail about how I answered all of those questions. I will tell you that had this old friend re-entered my world six months sooner or later the result would have been very different. Never in my life have I felt so confident and comfortable in my own skin, yet entirely vulnerable, as I have through the summer of 2014. It has been confusing, leaving me feeling more like an adolescent than a woman approaching 40.
One night while away from home I opened the door of communication with Eric that I hadn't realized I had closed. He was angry and hurt. The next day I cut my mini vacation short and rode the five hours home to be with him and try to explain what I had done and why. In typical male fashion, he assessed the problem and tried to figure out how to fix it. Because he fixes things and he is generally good at it. Through days of crying (me), grunting (him) and talking (both) we dug into the nitty-gritty of our relationship. What we discovered is that although I'm the one who screwed up the biggest, there were lots of little screw ups done by both of us over the years that we needed to work on if we were to have another 13+ years together. I finally told him how much I hate that he drinks as much as he does, how crushing it is to watch my birthday, Christmas, our anniversary, cruise right on by every year without him acknowledging that they are important. I also told him how much he means to me. We were so busy living our lives that we didn't notice we were falling apart.
The result, three weeks later: I am no longer looking for that thing that I thought I was missing when I started making all my bad decisions, because it was right here at home, just waiting for the unknown damage to be repaired. Eric has cut back his drinking, REALLY cut back  his drinking. He doesn't sleep well at night but he no longer spends the first three hours or more of his day trying to fight off the hangover. We have made sex a priority. Almost daily. No excuses. We vowed to never be too busy for each other again. Eric still has  moments where he lets his mind wander into the what-if's and becomes angry with me. When that happens he tells me, and I understand, and we talk through it. I would never expect him to just get over it, and am very thankful that he has the heart to forgive me even if he can't forget. Only a few weeks have gone by but I think we have gained some valuable relationship skills needed to continue with the rest of our lives. What's that old saying? What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Eric is an amazing man. We used this opportunity, this incredibly negative moment, as a tool to make our lives better. Communication is they key, love conquers all.

                                                   

High(ish) Speed Happiness

"My mind was like the postal service three days before Christmas." Thomas Lang, The Gun Seller by Hugh Laurie.

What a perfect description of my brain. Only Hugh Laurie wasn't telling a story about a man with ADD. The main character was explaining how jumbled his brain was after receiving a concussion while getting his ass kicked. Same thing, right? Not really, but I reread it several times just for the chuckle. Ask anyone who has ADD/ADHD if they can focus on one thing at a time. The answer will most likely be no, except under certain circumstances, like hyper focusing. We are always thinking about what we did and what we have to do, and rarely are we thinking about what we are doing. The average person is a multi-tasker. An ADHD'er is a multitasker that is really bad at it.

Now, let me tell you about my motorcycle. It's a Yamaha V Star 650, cruiser. Top speed is about 83 miles per hour. Not too terribly exciting unless it's your first bike and you are the one riding. It's step up from the TW 200 that I've been riding for a few years, and it's a great beginners street bike for a woman of my stature. It will satisfy my need for adrenaline and adventure for, oh, another year or two, or until A) I get a bigger, faster bike. Or B) I go down at a high speed and kill myself (someone knock on wood).
I've always considered myself to be an excellent driver. I do it for a living after all. While at work I see a lot of automobile accidents. Friends, every time you get behind the wheel you are risking your life. Right now you are saying "I know, I know", but you don't know the way that I know. I see dead people. Well, I have, not regularly, but enough. Last week I saw a car that had jumped the cement barrier of the freeway. A few weeks before that I saw a motorcycle on State Street that was almost unrecognizable after t-boning an SUV. In both cases the ambulance was in no hurry, indicating that whoever they were there for was already dead.
When I was 18 years old I saw a dead man with no face, the road had removed it for him as he slid across, after rolling his truck. I was the first person on the scene. A police officer had asked me to stay put until he could come back and ask me questions, then went off to help the paramedics with the second man, who was still alive. I stood there on the side of the road and stared at the dead man with no face. I had nightmares for years. I can clearly see it in my mind, still. And when I drive the road between Beaver and Minersville I can still point to the exact spot where it happened. I found out later that he had been drinking and driving.
So what I'm getting at is that the road is a dangerous place.
It's dangerous and I have chosen to drive on two wheels as often as possible.
The risk is so high when you ride on a motorcycle. Objects in the road become much more hazardous. Chunks of tire, a ladder fallen off a truck and left in the lane, even a squirrel running for it's life, all become dangerous objects that can end a riders life in the blink of an eye. Then there is the stupidity of other drivers. On a motorcycle there is no protection. If I go down I fall victim to physics; gravity and inertia.
This past Friday I was cruising through a canyon, leaning into a curve, taking it just a little faster than  my comfort zone would like, just because that's how I get my adrenaline pumping, and I thought to myself, was I happy before this? Could I have possibly been happy before I got this bike? I'm sure I was, but my short-term memory had to argue. The reality of it is, when I am on my bike I am THERE. I am present in the moment. I no longer have a scrambled brain without focus. While riding I am aware of all of the dangers. I put my favorite music in my ears, hit the road, and my mind clears. I am living in the Now, the freedom to just BE. All nerves are alert, reflexes are ready, eyes see everything exactly as it is right now. I am focused on many things all at once that equal one thing as a whole. Life. Survival. It is beautiful and it is rare and I am addicted.

A Different Kind Of Heartache

As parents we will do anything to ease the pain of our children.
Every maternal instinct I have screams to me to make my oldest child's life easier. It's so hard watching him from a distance. Watching  him make his own way in the world. Watching him struggle with his insecurities and trying to find where he belongs. I want to wrap my arms around him and bring him back home where I can feed him and do his laundry and take away all the heartache that he has and will endure.
I am also aware that there are some things I just can't do for him. By helping him I would be doing harm. Every baby bird has to leave the nest. If the mama bird kept letting the baby return to the nest whenever flying became difficult, the baby bird would never learn the skills necessary for survival.
I have absolute confidence in Tristan's ability to survive. He's tough, he's smart with money, he's a hard worker. He's likable and funny. He's got this! He can do it! But when he calls me and I hear sadness in his voice all I can think about is him at 6 years old with his arms wrapped around my waist, telling me he will never leave me. If I allow myself to move through the memories of the years I will also remember Tristan at 15, 16 and 17 years old telling me with regularity that he hates me and can't wait until he can move out. Rough years indeed. Now, at 18, he once again wraps his arms around me and tells me he loves me. The ache in my heart is probably from the loss of the little boy that was.
He's right on the edge of truly discovering the freedom of being an adult. With opportunity and guts he can do anything he sets his mind to. Every day I cross my fingers that he explores the world as a single male before he finds a girlfriend.
Sigh.....this parenting thing is harder than I ever thought it would be. The rewards have been infinite and, if given the option, I would not go back and change the path I took that lead my boys and I to this day.
I remind myself that we all had to do it. We all left the nest and soared. Tristan will soar. I pray every day that he soars high, higher than I ever did.
Tristan will succeed. And every step of the way he will be calling to tell me about it.

Nobody said it was easy 
No one ever said it would be this hard
~ ColdPlay, The Scientist

 Please, don’t worry so much because in the end, none of us have very long on this Earth. Life is fleeting. And if you’re ever distressed, cast your eyes to the summer sky, when the stars are strung across the velvety night. When a shooting star streaks through the blackness, turning night into day, make a wish. Think of me. Make your life spectacular, I know I did.

~ Robin Williams in the movie Jack

Being 38....and other things

I am almost 39.
That is close to 40.
I look in the mirror and see signs of aging. I don't want to age.
I REALLY don't want to age.
Of course the alternative is worse.
As I approach this milestone in my life - four decades, WOW - I have concerns about where its been and where it will go next. What have I done? Will I leave a mark? Are there still things to do that require a young body? If so, I need to do them soon before my joints are arthritic. Grandma B lived to be 81. If I live as long as her then I'm almost halfway done already! That's terrifies me! So I find myself searching for my next adventure, for my next big adrenaline rush. I want to rediscover passion for life. This boring adult same-shit-different-day life is not satisfying me anymore.
Mid-life crisis looming!
I may need therapy.

When I look back at my life there is a particular time that I like to reminisce about the most. High school. The girl that I was from 14 to 18 was so many things; beautiful, stubborn, insecure, confused yet confident. I believed I was everlasting.
At 15 there was big hair, tight pants, black eyeliner and giggling over dirty jokes.
Who am I kidding, I still giggle over dirty jokes.
By the time 18 rolled around I was a senior in high school and the big hair turned into long curls, and the tight pants made way for loose cutoffs and peasant tops. From 80's punk to 90's hippy.
Never mind the appearance though. That is only surface image.
Forget "sugar and spice and everything nice". The illusion of immortality combined with being impulsive and fearless created Amy.
During the teen years many things happened, most of which I was not prepared for nor mature enough to handle.
I lost my virginity. I got a drivers license. I fell in love at least twice; Brett and Brandon, oh! sigh. This is also when my illusion of family was destroyed, when my mother and her sisters announced that they had been sexually abused by their father, my grandfather. What a downward spiral that turned into.
I drank my first beer and smoked my first joint.
Wrecked my first car.
I learned how to swear and played just as rough as the boys.
I car surfed down main street.
I spent more than one night crying for a daddy that didn't acknowledge my existence. Growing up without a dad is harder than you think.
I made new friends, lost old ones, beat up a few and had sex with a few.
I got busted for shoplifting and had to do community service. I beat up a girl in the Top Stop parking lot and had to do community service. I got busted skinny dipping at the city pool at 2am and, again, had to do community service. My criminal behavior ended up being a very positive experience. For my community service I worked for the police department, filing their paperwork and doing odd jobs. This built a lasting bond between one of the officers, Joe L., and myself, that carried into adulthood. He took his own life in 2004 and I still mourn his loss.
Mostly what I remember about being Amy during this time is the emotions. The events matter of course, but the emotions have stayed with  my memory long after the details have faded. The pain of a broken heart. The adrenaline rush of a first kiss. The rage and anger. I had a lot of self-doubt. Some was body image (thanks Mom) and abandonment issues (thanks sperm donor). But mostly I had fear of being ME. I was impulsive and lively, hyper, the life of the party. Until all my energy became annoying to those around me after short amounts of time in my orbit. For years I focused so hard on being cool that I'm sure I came across as being phony. If anyone had been able to read my mind they would have heard me repeating words like "don't wiggle, just sit still" and "don't act so excited". I was especially insecure when it came to boys. I desperately wanted their approval. If only I had realized then just how beautiful I was, that I didn't need to try so hard to find love, that it would happen if I let myself just BE myself. (And who needs love anyways when you have LIFE!)
Well, hindsight is always 20/20.
Life has been interesting, and my experiences have shaped the woman I have become. And that woman, she is AMAZING.
Like Pink in her song Conversations With My 13 Year Old Self, I too have much to say to the girl that I was.
Perhaps another blog for another time.

And It Begins.....

This could be the beginning of a love/hate relationship with myself. On one hand I like to keep my life to myself. On the other hand I feel this desire to share my thoughts with the world.

As an adult woman with ADHD (yes, the H belongs in there. I know they say adults grow out of that, perhaps I have for the most part, but it's still there), I will find blogging to be a particular challenge. Focusing, being consistent with any task, takes enormous amounts of self-discipline and focus.
Most of my life I have pictured a future that included the written word. No, not scripture. MY written word. On paper is where I thought it would be at; in novel form. I have all of these amazing true stories that I could tell, and a lot of ideas for fictional stories as well. First I need to hone my writing skills. I suppose a blog is as good a place as any to start. Then perhaps some creative writing classes at the local college, eventually.

I'm very intimidated by the Amy who wants to share all her words with the world. She is confident and smart and funny and likable. The shy Amy is reserved; terrified that readers will be critical and judgmental. Worried that her words will not be eloquent. Worried that all her chatter will become annoying. But skill comes from practice, and the confident Amy doesn't care who she annoys.
One of my favorite phrases the past two years has been "life begins just outside your comfort zone". It's too easy to stay within the familiar, to stay home, to say no when invited on girls night out, to do the same thing every day. It's safe. But what fun is that? I stepped out of my comfort zone when I joined my book club. I did it again when Eric and I started looking for a new home. Again, when I sat on my first motorcycle, when I started practicing yoga, when I started opening myself up to friends again after years of living my life as if I were one dimensional; mom, wife. The result was a beautiful home in a small town with a motorcycle parked on the front porch and amazing friends that I can say "I love you" to and it doesn't catch in my throat from fear. All of these things were hard and scary. And they improved my life. It's time for me to expand my comfort zone again, just a tiny bit. So I begin a blog.

This quote is from a friend (whom I will not name). You know who you are, and if you read this please forgive me for my plagiarism. It's stored in my mental filing cabinet to be retrieved whenever I'm feeling anxious. Even the most mundane of tasks can seem huge when I am scared (like right now, as I'm considering tapping on the "publish" button above). I think these words are brilliant and I hope that they can help someone else the way they help me:

"Anxiety, you are no friend of mine. Life is too short to live avoiding irrational fears. You're so convincing, A nasty trick. Hijacking my mind, interjecting worry and doubt between what is real and what is perceived to be real.

From now on, your attempts to alter my course will be considered and taken as an emotional response and warning, that what I am about to do is important. That I should pay attention and learn from what is about to take place. You will become a tool that I will use to stay aware of the opportunity that is before me." -B.K.