A Walk in the Snow on Saturday January 23rd

Intro note:  This post was coming fast and furious the other day. It was flying out of my fingers faster then I could think, but I didn't have the silence I needed to finish. Since I started, I have been thinking of friends that will read this.  Friends who have lost people they love recently.  Some deaths were expected, others sudden.  Some unexplained medical phenomena, others suicide.  I can't talk on suicide with much authority, and I don't mean for it to sound like I can.  I can only tell you about me.  I can tell you that as someone who has a past of self-harm, as someone who tried to take their life, it never quite goes away as an option.  I can tell you that this is NOT a cry for help.  I am fine.  But as I often tell people, although I have a healthy eating lifestyle now, I will be a recovering anorexic and bulimic for the rest of my life. I feel too, that as someone who contemplated suicide multiple times and who almost succeeded on at least one occasion, I will never be completely rid of those demons.  I have dark thoughts at times.  Never anything I would truly act on and if I felt compelled to do so, rest assured that I have a support system in place that would drop anything and everything to keep me safe.  Also, I love my kids with a ferocity that crushes any demon.  There is no question. I pray that friends who read this don't find it offensive or flippant.  That said, I wrote exactly what was going on in my brain because, well, it's what I do.

The last few days have been hard.  Harder than the norm anyway.  There are several things that have contributed to that, but mostly I'm learning that it's hard to grow.  I have been telling myself and everyone else that I can't wait to get out on my own, then I can start my new life. That right now I'm stuck and there's nothing I can do.  A friend told me yesterday as I was texting her from the side of the road in tears, "Baby Doll, embrace this moment.  Don't rush through it.  Trust me on this. Please get to know you. Show your kids who YOU are." And I texted something back that equates to "I can't do that here and now."  And she responded,  "but you're finding yourself now...you will understand when you look back.  Stop fighting your journey...you hear me?"  I can't stop thinking about that.  I wanted to schedule my growth and my new life for when I was ready...but life doesn't work that way.  

My general mood lately has been low.  Again, nothing in particular, just several things that add up.  So I cried yesterday and I cried last night and I cried in front of my husband which I DID NOT want to do today.  Sometimes it's just too much.  I want what I want right now and I want people to be the people I want them to be (including myself) and they aren't.  That is actually the crux of it right there. I'll say it again so you can see what a brat I am:  I want what I want right now and I want people to be the people I want them to be (including myself) and they aren't.  A friend suggested I go for a walk.  I debated, and when round three of the waterworks started, I bundled up and headed out.  It was actively snowing.  Visibility was low and the wind was showing off.

There was a group of neighbors on my sidewalk as mine is the house next to what is the closest thing to a sledding hill in the neighborhood.  They were chatting, drinking glüwein, watching the little ones sled and I thought maybe I would just hang for a bit, but quickly realized I had to be alone. I said I was going for a walk and went down the street.  They yelled after me to be careful because there was ice under the snow.  They were right. Thankfully I did not slip, though I mentally formulated a scenerio should I break a bone from falling and how I would get back to the house and they'd have to call an ambulance and the kids would freak out. Some with excitement, others with fear.

I wanted to walk down by the creek behind my house, but after following what must have been a plowed road several inches and hours ago, I could not find any trail going that way.  The snow was up to my waist at times when I went off the path, so I doubled back and walked toward the health clinic.  I was trying to avoid people so I steered clear of housing areas, which really wasn't necessary because there was next to noone outside.  As I came upon the clinic parking lot, a plow was heading in my direction.  The sidewalk was nowhere to be found so I stepped away from the road and toward the parking lot.  I was up to my thighs in a patch of snow.  The plow driver was doing some acrobatic manuvers with his rig, so I figured I'd better just stay out of the way.  I didn't know if he was going to go back where he came from or pass me and continue up the road where I had come from.  He didn't seem to know either so I looked at the parking lot and thought "I wonder...."  Frankly, I have no idea what I wondered. Next thing I know I had decided to trudge the length of the parking lot, maybe 40 yards.  It might be less, but I'm sticking with 40.  Sounds somewhat impressive right?

I started heading toward the clinic building.  The snow was up to my waist.  I will walk the length of this parking lot I decided.  I knew I could do it, but it wasn't gonna be easy which was enough of a reason for me to compel me. I was completely alone at this point, the plow was gone in some direction, I wasn't even sure which.  It was me, the snow, and the far end of the parking lot.  As I was pushing my way through I thought, this is wild. One of those bizarre experiences where you feel like you are possibly the only person on Earth. Cue the Dr. Zhivago theme music. 

I knew I was making progress, but the length of the lot seemed longer suddenly. I felt like I was moving my feet and not getting anywhere. Suddenly I was angry for thinking this was a good idea.  Now, it just felt dumb.  About 3/4 of the way, I stopped.  I had to catch my breath.  I was so very frustrated thinking "geez, this is gonna take forever."  And it hit me.  It was a perfect metaphor for my life.  Pushing through snow, or jello, or molasses. Anything that makes it hard to keep moving.   And I thought, my feet and legs aren't even cold.  There is not a soul around.  I could just lay down and go to sleep right here. Calmly. Quietly. Peacefully. But I didn't.  After about 13.8 seconds of cost-benefit analysis, my head was filled with the faces of those 5 little babies I held as newborns all over the States and in Germany and promised that I would never leave them intentionally.  I also promised Baby Gerard that I would take care of his siblings here if he would watch out for us from above.

I started walking again.  Now the tears tried to come, but it's hard to cry when your face is frozen.  The first few tears that dropped froze into tiny little rivers on my cheeks.  The next tears didn't even make it that far. They froze on my eyelashes.  The only thing that wasn't freezing into solid matter was my snot! And yes, you are welcome for the visual.

I stopped a second time.  Partly because I felt like I was in a dream where the hallway elongates and you can never reach the end, but also because I realized that this was a brutal workout!  I have a few freakazoid exercise friends.  I could suddenly picture Stanley, Leigh, or Sheila bringing people over here on a plow then making them trudge through the parking lot repeatedly while they yelled upbeat, chipper, annoying as hell encouragement to their students!  The thought almost made me laugh.  I figured I'd at least burned enough calories to have a Mike's when I got home so I finished going the last several yards and circled back around to the road.

I got on a road that had already seen a plow and only had a few inches of packed down snow on it. I was able to get home reasonably easily.  On the way home I didn't feel much better.  I was still frustrated, and in turn, depressed.  But I was physically tired.  Somehow that helped a little bit.  It was really the only thing that changed so I had to go with it. I pondered again the metaphor of trudging through the snow and how it was so similar to my current situation.  It was eerie I thought.  And then I thought, wait, what if no one else would think that's cool?  Maybe they would think it's weird...maybe they would think I'm weird.

This journey of mine is not only to find Mary again, but also, to love her.  To appreciate her quirks and accept that it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks.  If someone doesn't like me, I need to learn that that is okay.  I like me...or at least I'm trying to.  Yes, I'm dramatic. Yes, I can get very deep.  Yes, melancholy and depression are familiar faces.  Yes, I laugh so hard that I cry.  Yes, I feel like 80% of song lyrics are somehow directed at or describing me, my life, my situation.  Yes, I take them as my own and quote them in general conversation. Yes, I see metaphors all over the place.  Similes? Not so much.  And Yes, I crack myself up.  Yes, I do.  And yet, I still am unsure that Mary is worth the love that I hope she deserves.  Even from myself.

What if, I wonder, I end up alone?  What if no one else ever understands me the way I am finally learning to understand myself?  Will that be so bad?  Yes and No. Yes, as my first thought that came to mind when my marriage shattered was "Who will I be buried next to?" True story -  my sister, who made me repeat it three times because it was such a bizarre question to ask at that moment of hysteria, will attest to it. No, as these kids will always be here for me.  (I am hoping figuratively, but kinda nervous it may be literally). Additionally, I have friends that amaze me on a daily basis with their love and support.  But what if, I never have a partner that not only understands my metaphors- but likes to hear them?  What if, I never find someone who feels music the way I do? What if, I never find someone that wants to ride with me on the highs and lows? What if?

I was almost back home and not feeling much better.  But you are physically tired I told myself,  physically tired is good.  Physically tired is too tired to cry. Physically tired is too tired to fall apart. Physically tired is too tired to fight or yell. Many years ago I learned that physically tired was too tired to hurt myself. Ie:  Physically tired is safe.

And then I remembered; there was a person who understood me once.  A person who picked up on my metaphors sometimes before I did.  A person who understood my need to connect through music.  A person who could see into my soul.  He was there and gone in the blink of an eye.  I won't bore you with the details, but once upon a time, there was a person. It suddenly occurred to me that I found one person that "got" me.  Just because he wasn't the one, doesn't mean there won't be another. Maybe. That was my thought as I trudged back to the house and was met with wet hats, gloves, and boots, dirty hot cocoa mugs, and hangry kids.

Was I happy? No.  

Did I wonder why I didn't lay down in the parking lot?  Briefly.  

Was I physically exhausted? Yes.  

Did I take a journey? Yes.

Did I grow? Yes

And that, my friends was success.

Epilogue:

Later that night I took the dog for a walk, because, you know, I have no children capable of such activities.  Actually, I volunteered as I enjoy late night snow walks where the moon is out and it is bright in an ass-backwards kinda way.  My walk began on the same road I had started out on a few hours before.  I can't remember how I spent the time between walks, but I was a completely different person than the one who trudged up this street earlier.  Really.  I was at peace.  I was comfortable.  I felt at ease in my own skin.  I smiled.  AND I was happy.  The highs, the lows, this journey- it's time to embrace it.  "Man I love this life."

Changes

What a day.  What a week.  What a year.  What a life!

Music.  It defines so much.  How many times do you hear a song and it immediately reminds you of a person, a place, a time?  For me, many MANY times.  I am sometimes amazed at what I remember when I hear an obscure song.  A tune comes on that you rarely hear on the radio or it was never very popular in the first place, but it was playing when something significant happened.  It spoke to you about whatever you were going through at the time.  Someone you knew loved that song or made fun of that song.  Your boyfriend dedicated it to you on the radio in 10th grade. (You know, when you held the cassette recorder up to the radio to tape it?) You did a cheer dance to it, it played at your wedding, you heard it sung at a funeral.

Bruce Springsteen was a huge part of my childhood, mostly, because I had four older brothers who liked him.  In trying to be cool, I memorized most of his songs.  At that point there weren't a ton of 3rd graders musing over the lyrics of "Greetings from Asbury Park," but I digress.

It just seems fitting that a line in an Eric Church song which sums up my feelings for music, is in a song called "Springsteen."

"Funny how a melody sounds like a memory..."

That. Is. It. Exactly.   I shouldn't have to describe it beyond that.  If you feel that I should, perhaps you should just stop reading here because we are obviously not on the same wavelength.  Bye Felicia!

For all those who have stayed, I'm glad you get it.  

As I think about this, I'm tempted to make a list of songs and what they conjour up.  For starters, and in no particular order, here are a few examples:

I will never be able to hear _________  without thinking of _________ .

"Buddy Holly" by Weezer - driving my sister to the hospital when she was in labor.  (I started to sing...her head spun around 3 times.)

"I Love Rock N' Roll" by Joan Jett - my first real kiss on the Minuteman ski lift at Roundtop.  (I had a runny nose.  I'll leave it at that.)

"Burning Down the House" by Talking Heads - being in a dorm room at Rutgers.  (It was the first song I ever heard on a CD. It was the first time I had White Castle. It was a night which did not end well.)

"Changes" by David Bowie - driving myself to the doctor on the day I found out that Baby Gerard had died inside of me.

I remember it coming on.  I liked David Bowie.  This was a good thing because I was trying to stay calm while I drove.  I had realized a day, maybe two prior, that the baby wasn't moving as much.  Was it moving at all?  This was my fourth child, how could I suddenly not know if the baby was kicking?  At the advice of my sister, who did in fact manage to keep her head despite the spinning and delivered my niece that night of Buddy Holly, I made an appointment for an ultrasound.  It was really just to put my mind at ease.  If you know me, you know my mind is rarely, if ever, at ease.

I was about 23 weeks along.  Was already in maternity clothes, showing enough for the Germans to glare at me while I walked down the street with three kids shoved into a double stroller.  You could see them mentally doing the math and realizing that, although they looked alike and were a cloud of chaos, there were in fact three children in the stroller and this foolish woman was about to unload a fourth. Not to mention that this STUPID AMERICAN was allowing those toddlers to suck on icicles they picked up off the sidewalk like they were popsicles. (Yeah Fraulein, sue me!)

.  

Back to David Bowie.  I liked him.  Again, a good thing to have a song I could sing along to as I drove to keep my mind off the fact that I somehow already knew I was about to get the most devastating news of my life. 

The song along with the following argument with myself ensued:

"Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes. 

Turn and face the strange ch-ch-changes...."

Oh. My. Word.  God is trying to tell me something!  

Don't be an idiot. It's a song on AFN.  

No really, think about it.  He is telling me it's bad news.

No really, get a grip.  Coincidence, that's all.  I knew I should have asked a friend to come with me.

"I watch the ripples change their size, but never leave the stream."

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

Calm down.  Don't run over that tiny German car.  Be glad you have a jeep so the Germans will stay out of your lane.

I can't calm down.  How can I calm down?  I'm in a foreign country.  I want my Mom.

Wuss.

"Turn and face the strange ch-ch-changes..."

I don't want to face any changes.  I want everything to stay exactly the same.

Oh Lord.  Don't be so stupid.  If this child is alive, things are gonna change fo' sho!  Maybe that's all this song means.

"Time may change me but you can't trace time."

This is the time that is going to change me forever.  Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

We're in the hospital parking lot.  Turn off the car, open your door, get out...

I can't.  I need to sit here until this song is over because maybe if I do, it will be okay.

Great.  It's official.  I'm crazy.  

Seriously, think about it.  What if nothing is wrong?

Uhhhh?  How about going to find out?

Well, if nothing is wrong than I will love this song forever, because it talks about facing time and change head on.  And the baby will have an anthem!

Honestly, I have NO EARTHLY IDEA exactly what this song is about. Except maybe it's about The Breakfast Club.  Yeah, the baby will have an anthem, we'll all have an anthem, it'll be anarchy!

"I said that time may change me but I can't trace time."

It's over.  Oh no!  Oh God.  I have to go in there.  I don't want to go in there.  Maybe I could just drive home and not find out and everything will be fine.

Dude!  Did you hear that?  

What?

Well, first he said "you can't trace time" but the last time he said, "I can't trace time."  Huh.  I never noticed that before.

Seriously, my baby's life is in the balance here and suddenly David Bowie's choice of pronouns is what I am debating in the German Hospital parking lot?

Well, yeah.  It's like that time I was reading the Exercist late at night and when the book closed, I saw the 666 on the cover, but I had never noticed it before, so really, was it ALWAYS there?  Creepy!

And I went in.  And the doctor turned on the monitor.  And the doctor swung the monitor around so I could not see it.  And the nurse frowned.  And the doctor said, "This baby is kaput."  And the doctor left the room.

My first son was delivered a few days later.

That was over 12 years ago, but I remember like it was yesterday....every single time I hear that song.  It all comes back; the fear, the drive, sitting in the parking lot forcing myself to listen until the haunting sax notes at the end.  And in those 12 years I have only heard the song in it's entirety a handful of times.  If I can change the channel, leave the room, put my hands over my ears and hum, I will do it.  Anything to not go back to that moment in time.  But I do anyway,  it only takes a few notes.

David Bowie's death five days ago, conjured up so many memories for all of us who were touched by his music.  Major Tom completely freaked me out as a kid.  True story.  I loved the song, but it scared the daylights out of me.  Ziggy Stardust seemed like it was cool, but I really had no understanding of what he was doing.  And then came the 80s!  God Bless the 80's in all their musical glory.  "Let's Dance" was totally awesome because an established rock star of the 70's had embraced the pop style of the day and had everyone I knew dancing to "Modern Love" at the Carlisle Barracks teen club. Good stuff.

When I heard years later, in some TV interview, that Bowie came to despise some of those songs it broke my heart.  If I have it right, he felt he was being forced to do the pop thing when he really wanted to do the David Bowie thing.  He was mocking "under the moonlight, the serious moonlight."  Wait, "the serious moonlight" was a profound statement was it not?  Suddenly, I worried everything about my formative years was a lie.  I was totally bummed.  In time, I got over my disillusionment and tried not to think about that interview when the radio station had 80s weekend.  Instead, I just sang as loud as I could to annoy my children.

Seeing the news and posts about David Bowie's death has made it difficult to not think about his song that took on such meaning for me. I love to use music to help me tell my stories my way.  Who knows, maybe I have misinterpreted all of his songs, all of his lyrics. Like how when I was very young I thought Carol King was singing about a broken down car causing someone to miss a birthday party. "It's too late, baby, now it's too late though we really did try to make it.  Something inside has died..."  But isn't that one of the gifts of music? We can hear what an artist has given us and find a meaning that maybe only we understand. Maybe everyone takes something different away from the same song and how cool is that?

On that cold October day, David Bowie sang.  He sang about searching for something, for himself perhaps, for who he wanted to be.  About how time changes things, but it's not always so quick and obvious.  About how time goes on, and history repeats itself in the children we raise.  About how we age, and there's nothing we can do about it.  At least, that is what he sang to me.

Rest in Peace Mr. Bowie and thank you for being there.

Thoughts on a New Year

I think my Facebook post on December 31 last year was something to the effect of, "Goodbye 2014, don't let the door hit you on the way out."  I was bitter.

I still am at times, but as they do, circumstances change.  I have changed.  Last year, I was in survival mode.  Only a few close friends knew my marriage was ending.  I was unable to tell my parents because I did not want them worrying about me.  I was unable to tell my kids because I did not want to disrupt their lives prematurely.  I was unable to tell myself that I was going to survive.

So while 2014 was about making decisions and coming to the realization that I could not stay in my marriage, all the while trying to hold it together so my terror was not visable from the outside, 2015 was different.

2015 was about putting it out there.  The good, but mostly the bad and the ugly.  

It was about inviting my Dad to lunch and chugging a Mikes in the Panera parking lot at 11 am to work up the courage to tell him. (Hey, I suggested several establishments that served alcohol, he was stuck on Panera- desperate times and all that)

It was about deciding to wait until school got out for the summer before telling the kids, yet telling every one of their teachers, counselors, coaches, and mentors in case they found something out unexpectedly and needed those adults in their lives to be ready to give them immediate support.

It was about crumbling into a ball at the top of the stairs when Tali looked at me one day and said, "Mom, are you okay?  Do you need to talk?"  And bless her heart, she sat silently with me and when I finally pulled it together gave me a hug saying, "It's gonna be okay" even when she had absolutely no idea why her mother was a mess.

It was about losing it while talking to the cheer coach because something had happened and I didn't have the strength to deal with Josie's anxiety when I was drowning in my own.

It was about dragging myself out of bed at 5 am and going to the gym with Lyra even though I had cried or been awake all night and promising myself that someday, SOMEDAY, she would realize what a sacrifice it was.

It was about trying to ensure Charlie had a good year at school even though he was not thriving.  Trying to have time and energy for a boy who was trying to figure out how to transition from cute little kid to awkward pre-adolescent, while I was trying to figure out how to make the transition from Army wife to single Mom.  

It was about falling apart at IEP meetings because I felt so inadequate when the school personnel told me it would be better to have him arrive early for school instead of 5 minutes late everyday.  (Timeliness  has never been my forte.  Being depressed does not help.)

It was about bursting into tears at the craziest of places because of the stupidest things.

And it was about growing.

It was about realizing that I had love and support from more people than I could imagine.

It was about learning that I am stronger than I realize.  

It was about learning that falling apart doesn't always mean you are weak.  Sometimes, something just has to give.

It was about seeing the compassion in people when I started to say my reality out loud and finding out that the world was still turning regardless of my marital status.

It was about sucking it up and going on vacation "as a family" to show the kids that we can all still get along. (Yes, Rodney King, we can)

It was about spending my first holiday alone and realizing a day on the calendar isn't what makes time with family special.

It was about forgiving myself for not turning in the paperwork on time, for forgetting someone had practice, for being late to yet another meeting, appointment, therapy session.

It was about figuring out that yes, the Mike's dulled the pain in the evening, but it also dulled the ability to function the next day.  (And weighing the cost-benefit analysis of that particular problem)

And it was about loving myself.

It was about accepting that I may be desirable.

It was about learning to take a compliment.

It was about laughing with friends.

It was about getting out of the house!  (Who knew a world of lunches, happy hour, and dancing with the girls still existed?)

It was about allowing the kids to see me as more than just a Mom and understand that I deserve to have a life too. (This second part is still a work in progress)

It was about seeing myself as Mary again, and trying to remember who she was and wanting to find out who she will be.

It was about having the openness to love again.

It was about taking the chance to trust again.

It was about finding out that when someone lets you down, you have a choice to lay there or to pick yourself up and keep going.   

It was about being stubborn enough to push through the pain, not give in to the demons (or mean people), and know that Mary is worthy of good things.

It was about completely forgetting the statement I just typed above and learning it again.  And again. And again.  And yes, again.

It was about still believing in the fairy tale, no matter how many times you see it slip through your hands.

It was about the reality check of reeling it all back in and reevaluating my priorities.

Yes, I am still bitter.  Check back in an hour and you'll be amazed at my hostility regarding marriage, single parenthood, special needs, anxiety, aging parents, the unfairness of the world on any and every level.  BUT, I am trying to find the happy.  Or maybe even just the contentment in this life o' mine.

2016 is going to be a good year!  I'm excited to see what it brings.  

This year will mean a house for the kids and I to make into our home.  A HOME!  Not a rental, not post housing, no white walls- the possibilities are endless!  

This year will mean more independence, more responsibility, more growing up for myself as well as the kids. And we will succeed and fail together.

This year will mean so many things.  

Scary? Yes.

Exciting?  Most definitely!

So 2015, I would be lying if I said I wasn't glad to see you end, but I am thankful for what you gave me.  Insight, growth, strength, love, and hope.  You may not be remembered fondly, but you shall be remembered.