Monthly Archives: March 2012

What Is It With Men?

Let me start by saying that I am depressed. I was already depressed before my mother died (I can’t believe I used the word), but it’s been so much worse since. I’ve been in something of a fog for over a month. Most days, I don’t want to get out of bed. The only reason I do is the girls, my blessed furbabies. I remember that I am all they have and I love them so much. Without them, I probably would have said “Screw this! I want to get out of this soul-sucking life.” It’s as if the pain has no end and I don’t want to stay in the dark anymore. I am so, so tired, even though I can sleep 13 hours at a time. Part of that is the fibromyalgia, but most of it is stress and depression. I probably need to increase the dosage of Elavil I’m on to 75mg/day. I only dropped down to 50mg/day because my mother hated it when I slept all day, even though it was temporary until my body got used to the increase. Now, she’s gone. As long as the girls are cared for, I can sleep. But after seeing their little faces, I can’t leave them in crates all day while I sleep. If Micki would just not counter-surf on my dresser or go into my laundry to find whatever treasures it may contain, I could just let them out. Snippet would get on the bed, Micki would counter- and laundry-surf before getting on the bed and all would be well. The only problem would be that both Mick’s and Snippet’s claws are in dire need of trimming. I can see them tearing up my sheets.

I’m not sure what I want. It seems that there are men out there who want to fuck me. I wrote about the neighbor last night. He’s married and there’s no way I’m going to be with him–ever. He’s not my type at all. He’s not bad to look at, but I don’t like the way he wants money for everything. He doesn’t do anything without expecting money in return. That’s not to say he doesn’t care, because he does. He just also cares about how much he can get for things a good neighbor would do because he’s a good neighbor. Plus, I honestly like his wife. I don’t want to hurt her. I also don’t want to be in a situation where I have to shut this guy down. That would create a serious PTSD attack. I’m freaked just thinking about it. What if what I say doesn’t matter? I know he’s got a record, but I’ve never plunked down the bucks to find out what he was in prison for. Maybe it’s time I did. For all I know, he could be a sex offender. God, I don’t think I could go through with that again. I’d be trapped, though. I have to survive because of the girls.

I went to my favorite music store to see my favorite, totally too-cute-for-words musician/salesman, Corey. Now him, I’d like to more than fuck. He reminds me of someone I saw while at Kent named Morgan. For some reason, I can’t remember Morgan’s last name. Oh well. What I do remember is his wild, flaming red hair. My musician/salesman has a darker shade of red hair, but it is most definitely red. I am such a sucker for wild, red-headed music types. Where Morgan was a roadie and general all-around stage hand. Corey is a real musician who, from what I’ve gathered from others, has serious guitar chops. He’s less than half my age and I don’t even care.

Anyway, I went into the store and tried to find a book that would help me with scales and chords because that’s the best way to train my ear so that I don’t need a keyboard in order to bang out a melody. I waited and waited, learned that he was on a conference call; waited some more while he went to lunch with no idea that I was even there. I waited for an hour, not realizing he’d come back until I heard him paged, finally caught his eye and finding the kind of book I needed, sauntered over to see him and wait until he finished with a customer, then waited some more after he was paged again and just gave up. I asked the sole woman who seemed to work there to ring me out, handed her a business card and asked that she pass it to Corey and I left. I’d been there about two hours. That just looked bad for both me and for him. I think I did the right thing. It wasn’t his fault that I waited so long. He would have talked to me but I told him that money always came before socializing. *shrug* That’s just the way it is. I didn’t want him to lose money because of me. So, I left. I called the store later, but he’d left for the day.

I went from the music store to Burger King. The only reason I did was because I had to use the restroom. I also needed to eat something because I felt too dizzy to stand up. I got my food and sat down to eat, something I almost never do in fast food restaurants. There was a not-too-bad looking older man there with a thick accent. He asked what happened to my leg. I gave him the short version, no pun intended. I told him that I was born with something wrong with my leg. I didn’t feel like going into the entire story because, in fact, it was none of his business. But, since he was clearly an elderly gentleman, I cut him some slack. Somehow, we started up a conversation. I think he was talking about the weather and Mother Nature. As I listened to him, I realized that he was a very interesting man. He’d almost be the kind of man Mommy wanted for me: self-sufficient; totally into me, and; basically gave me whatever I wanted. I could see myself as his lover. He made it very clear that he wanted to be, but that he thought I should lose weight. *sigh* If it’s not one thing it’s another. Why won’t someone just care for me as I am? For Glenn, it was my disability. For God only knows how many others, it’s my weight. If they only knew how little I truly do eat, they’d be astonished. Maybe weight loss isn’t as simple as 1, 2, 3. My weight didn’t stop him from feeling me up which, probably because I felt so much like crap, I took some satisfaction in knowing at least someone appreciated my boobs. A good bra is priceless. One of these days, I’ll wear my white shell over one of the good bras and show some cleavage if Corey doesn’t get it yet.

I’m going to sleep. I still feel like crap, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t think time will heal these wounds. There’s too much loss, too much grief and too much loneliness. I’d say that I feel pathetic, but that would BE pathetic.

I’m Not There Yet

I’m listening to Taylor Swift’s Last Kiss. Although it’s about losing a lover, something I’ve done all too frequently, the premise of loss is ever-present in my life and in this house. We’ve lost so much over too short a time. Oddly, the girls seem totally OK about Poppy’s absence. I didn’t see that one coming! Still, every night for the last two or three nights/days I’ve had dreams where I was happy and content because I knew my mother was still alive. I kept that feeling even after waking up, if only for a minute or two. I cried out for her, as I often did, to get our resident pee-pot, Snippet. In all fairness to the little snip, she came here with a bad bladder infection that wasn’t helped at all by two rounds of antibiotics. Plus, being used to larger dogs, we didn’t stop to consider that little dogs have little bladders. The upshot of it all is that Mom was doing LOTS of puppy laundry. Now, it’s up to me. Thankfully, the cranberry pills we’d started giving her over a month ago and stopped about the week Mom died, seem to have worked. Now, watch. I’ll bet she pees tonight or tomorrow morning before I can get her out.

This house feels so empty. I keep wondering if my prescient thought as a teen had anything to do with Mom’s death. I knew when I was a teenager that I wouldn’t be able to live my life until my mother died. I didn’t want her to die at all. It’s just something that I knew to be the truth. I feel so guilty about thinking that way. Unfortunately, it’s the truth, as much as I wish it wasn’t. It’s as though God took my mother so I could be free. I’d been putting off my application to the grad program in Journalism at Kent State because I just didn’t like the way my mother was getting around. More accurately, not getting around. I was so worried that something would happen to her and I’d be an hour away, unable to do anything. If she’d had an aortic dissection while I was in Kent, I don’t think I would have been able to cope. In my eyes, it would be my fault. Mom kept telling me to go and do this and gave me a lot of encouragement, not wanting me to worry about her But if I didn’t worry about her, who would? Her brothers are all wrapped up in their own drama. Her oldest brother is married to a toxic waste dump of a woman. Actually, I think I called her a puta, not that she’ll ever know what language that’s in to look it up. No matter, she is what she is and my uncle married her, so she’s his problem until she makes herself mine.

It’s been a few days over a month since Mom died. I feel like it was yesterday. It’s taking me forever to do the simplest things. I need to get the VIN # for the van I drive and add another checking account # to the list of things the attorney needs to open an estate. It would take less than five minutes to do, but it feels as though it will take five hours. I’ve been sleeping a lot lately. I don’t know whether it’s because of the coming sinus infection or depression. Perhaps it’s a little of both. How can I feel so empty and so full at the same time? I feel very alone in the world, although I know I’m not, at least not completely. But it’s true that once the funeral or memorial service ends, the survivors are on their own. That pretty much describes me. It’s just three girls and me. If anything were to happen to one of them, I think I’d die right there. I pray each time I go anywhere that God will keep me safe so that I can come back to my girls. I’m all they have. Frankly, I don’t think they or what’s left of the family can support another loss. Since darn near everyone in the family from sea to shining sea knows me, I think I’d be missed a bit.

There was someone else in my dreams recently. Robin. God, I can barely type her name. She hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s just that I think back to that day when we were all at Oberlin. She walked past the car or van or whatever and I stared at her and then decided to speak. All I did was say “Hello.” She said “Hello” in response. That’s been the sum of our conversations. It’s been over 25 years and I still can’t accept that he chose her instead of me. I have to do it. The person with whom I fell in love does not exist anymore. What’s left is a horrible shell of that person’s basest being. How long am I going to mourn him? I don’t know. How long does love last? I will always be in love with the person who was and I can’t bring him back any more than I can bring my mother back to life. It’s strange that Mom would tell me that we’d find our way back to each other. Maybe she said it to make me feel better, but that’s not her style. Platitudes were her style. Spoken premonitions, especially about a man she could barely stand, were not. The funny thing is that I think he doesn’t want me around because I do jeopardize his marriage. Maybe that’s why he did what he did. Or, more probably, he can’t stand me, or is at least telling himself that.

The two people I love most in the world don’t love me. Mandy could call me from where ever she is, but she hasn’t even bothered to check in with me to find out how I’m doing. Whose fault is that? Both of us have played a part in this mess. I never should have told her. She’s distancing herself and I can understand. I lost one of my best friends because I was afraid of losing her without her knowing how I felt. Was it really that important? I’ll never know. Glenn won’t call for reasons I don’t understand. As I’ve said before, there’s more going on here than I realize. I can feel it. Still, I’m going to have to accept that he’s married to someone else and has been for a very long time now. There was a time when I wished her ill. I don’t anymore. I don’t because she doesn’t deserve it. If anyone in that family deserves something horrible, it’s Glenn himself. But I don’t want anything to happen to him either. When all is said and done, neither of them should be part of my life. I think I’m going to write to Mandy. It’s time someone called this game due to bad timing.

Oh, I didn’t feel like eating again today. My stomach hurts and generally doesn’t feel well. But the real reason for not eating is just that I didn’t want to.

I forgot to add that Clayton the neighbor is getting freaky. He ran his hand across my cheek from behind and it repulsed me. I pretended that it didn’t happen, but I fear that I’m going to have to set him straight soon. I don’t relish that conversation because I really do need a male around to help me out. I just don’t want to sleep with him in order to get what I want. That’s especially true since I don’t want to do anything that would hurt Sharon. She’s a good person.

Something Strange Happened Yesterday

Well, I finally did it. I drove to the Flats and handed over Poppy for euthanasia. On the way I said a lot of prayers and tried to convince Mom that this was the right thing to do for everyone, including Poppy. I felt so badly for her. She was drooling, forgot that she had food in her dish, didn’t bother with any of the cat boxes, which were spotless, btw, and kept getting harassed by Snippet. At 20 years old, she did not need a young whipper snapper of a small dog thinking of her as just another toy. I could look at Poppy and know that she wasn’t thinking straight. On top of it, she was skin and bones. No matter how much she ate–and we gave her two cans a day–we couldn’t put any weight on her. Peeing in Micki’s downstairs crate sealed her fate. It was just time.

The drive to the Animal Protective League (APL) was uneventful until I got off the highway. That was when I realized the APL was in the Flats. For all you non-Northern Ohioans, the Flats is an area that runs along the Cuyahoga River and has a lot of businesses, factories and tony restaurants and clubs. It was the first part of Cleveland that was settled in the late 1700s. It is very easy to get lost there because the streets wind around the river bank and there are hills that bring people up and down from other parts of the city and back home again. In addition, it’s one of the few places that still has swing bridges. They are so cool! I’d kind of hoped I’m see a ship navigating the water as I drove through the maze. Alas, no ships, but for once my GPS got a Flats district address right, even though I didn’t do exactly what it said.

I got there and told the clerk that I wanted Poppy euthanized. I told them that she was 20 years old, she was drooling, had some sort of infection in her guns, had licked her fur into giant mats that she wouldn’t allow anyone to comb, etc. They said, “Euthanasia. That will be $35.” My eyes bugged out. When I phoned them–twice, no less–there was no mention of a fee for euthanasia. I thought they’d do it for nothing since I didn’t want cremains. Would they rather I let her lose in the area so that she can get killed by a car? I’m on frickin’ MEDICAID, for Christ’s sake! My mother just died and her retirement checks haven’t started coming to me yet. I said, I’ll give you $20, but that’s all. Thanks, Poppy. I won’t be eating anything soon. I had to split the $20 between cash and an almost maxed out credit card. Just peachy.

I went to see my shrink before the trek to the APL. I was 20 minutes late because I’m still learning how long it takes to take the girls out, get them watered and fed, sit with them while they eat and then take Micki out again to poop. I still have to wait for her to poop since she’ll look around and see what else is going on before she feels like going. *sigh* That’s about 10 minutes spent waiting for her.

Finally, Micki does her duty and I can hurry up and get dressed. I’m really glad I took a shower the previous night because that saved around another 20 minutes. I knew that I’d see the shrink, but I also wanted to stop where I get my music supplies and show my lyrics to the sales guy who’s quite knowledgeable about things musical except music theory. Now I’m wondering if I showed him the right one. I went through my WordPress app as opposed to the browser. The WordPress app is annoying in that it doesn’t show the finished post. It shows the HTML of the post you were editing until you hit Preview and then it will show not the final product, but the edited product. Oh well. I’ll show him again later. It will give me an excuse to go back.

Like I said in another post, there’s someone I’m working on and that would be him. I don’t know what I’d do if someone called me a Cougar. I think I’d probably say, “Oh well. Just because he’s half my age doesn’t mean a very nice man should be ignored. There aren’t many left in the world and he’s single. There are even fewer of them. I told him on a previous visit that he’s been messing around with girls. It’s time you got yourself a woman. I wore a nice, little dark pink camisole top, blue jeans, sunglasses, dark reddish-purple lipstick sand black sandals. Under the cami, I had on a pink bra that, because I’ve lost weight, doesn’t quite do what it’s supposed go do. Therefore, I have to work on it a bit to get it right. Regardless, I made sure that I was noticeable. He liked the lyric that I had on my iPhone. When I left, he said, “It’s always nice to see you.” I smiled because that made me feel better and that also means that he’s getting to know me. I think he’s got an old soul. Then again, he’s also a musician and I’m used to that. Slower wins the race, in this case.

So, after I leave the music store, I drive to the Shoreway. It’s the beginning of rush hour, but traffic is moving east and not west until the split that goes to the West Side and the other to downtown and the airport. Now that was backed up. Still, we made it there by a little before 6p.

I really didn’t want to put Poppy down. She was such a spirited little devil! Even as an older cat, she was spirited, but in a gruffer way. For some reason, she looked as though she was in a permanent scowl and would accost anyone who’d dare mess with her. It was just a front, though. She was as gentle as ever. But picking her up made my skin crawl because she was all skin and bones. No animal should ever be that thin. I’m sure there was something very wrong with her that we didn’t take her to the vet to get straightened out. Most of the reason is that we thought the other cats were eating her portion. Then, when all the other cats died, Poppy really upped her intake. Still, she was skin and bones. Even the bones felt like they’d break under too much pressure.

Even after putting down my last $20, I wasn’t allowed to be with Poppy when she made her transition. That hurt. I really wanted to be there with her and not all alone with people she didn’t know. I’d been talking to her a lot on the drive there and talked to her some more when she was on the desk, knowing I’d never see her again. I told her that it would all be over after a few minutes. Then, she could run, jump, chase mice and butterflies all she wanted. Best of all, she’d be with Mommy and that would make both of them happy.

So, I said in the title that something strange happened to me today. I got off the highway and made it into my garage. I shut off the engine, but after that, I have no idea what happened. I fell asleep right in the Puppy Van with the garage door open. I don’t even remember closing my eyes. I didn’t wake up until about 11p and realized what happened. It scared me a little, especially since I don’t even remember closing my eyes. I’m not on any meds during the day that I haven’t been on already for ages. Falling asleep in the car while in the driver’s seat is something very new and potentially dangerous. OnX, get thee to the Sleep Disorders Clinic pronto!

The Unabridged, Unadulterated, Ugliness of Truth and Life

I can feel some psychological pathologies coming back because of the excruciating, unrelenting pain I’m facing with each minute of the day. Although I’m overweight, I have been a borderline anorexic for many years. Whenever I get depressed I refuse to eat. It’s the one thing that I can do to myself by myself other than the obvious, cutting. Yes, it’s a control issue. I am absolutely terrified that I will end up in a hospital within a few days to a week because I’ll momentarily lose control or I’ll be so distracted that I’ll have an accident. I’d bet on the former more than the latter. Right now, I want to lay in a fetal position and just fade into nothingness. If it weren’t for my girls, I would have ended this hell days ago.

My mother did everything she could to come back to me. I watched the hospital personnel working on her and I am so deeply grateful to them. If there was anywhere in the world she could have been saved, it was Cleveland Clinic. She died within less than an hour of collapsing, but not because they didn’t try. Funny, I immediately knew who they were working on even though I couldn’t see into the room because of all of the people. Now, she’s in an urn in a cabinet as I hope her spirit roams free to learn all that it can before coming back again.

Glenn is a completely different story. There was no closure at all. I’m not sure there ever will be. I am haunted by it, hounded by it and can’t cope without it.

Glenn’s silence makes me feel ugly. I feel as though I’m as big as a house–a fat Miss Frankenstein that he can’t stand to look or talk to. For him, I’m nothing. I am as insignificant as an ant in the street. There’s an argument going on in my head that says he’s an ass and that I’m so much more than either he or I believe myself to be. I admit to being obsessed with learning why he did what he did. I strongly believe he owes me at least that much. But he’s male and males do the dumbest things on earth and call it “funny.” His “fun” nearly cost me my life. I’m not sure he gives a damn. I sent word and asked him to phone. He hasn’t. All the speculation in the world won’t give me an answer that will be satisfying. I wonder how he lives with himself. I could never do to someone what he did to me. Most people couldn’t do it. That level of cruelty is characteristic of bullies. When did that happen? Why did that happen? Was I right all those years ago when I called him a sociopath? I know that some are made and some are born. He’s always had a fairly hostile relationship with his mother and his father seemed to be a much nicer (non-pedophile) version of my mother’s second husband in that he’d immerse himself in the newspaper to keep from dealing with whatever was going on around him, like his wife.

I wear an artificial leg on the right side. I am what’s called in the UK a “thalidomider.” My mother took the drug thalidomide in 1961 when she was pregnant with me. It wasn’t approved by the FDA because there were a large number of babies born with major birth defects both externally and internally. Many didn’t live at all. It’s killing me, but what if Glenn made the decision to marry that woman, Robin, because she was whole? This isn’t a new idea, but has popped up very strongly this moment. I can’t argue with him for it. She was a med school graduate when they married and I’d just learned that I had fibromyalgia and would never work a consistent 9 to 5 again. I’ll work again, but it will be on my own terms.

I started this post very early this morning. I stopped at the above paragraph and did what I said I wouldn’t do again and that’s write him another letter. I got a lot out, but I just want to stop chasing him and be discarded at every turn. I feel pathetic because I need and want him in my life. I’ve got this incredibly strong feeling with no basis at all that there’s something else going on that I know nothing about. Whatever the case, I can’t make him say anything. If he did say something, would it be kind and compassionate or will it be emotionally abusive? If I have to ask that question, what am I doing trying to find the beautiful man he’d become instead of a twisted, narcissistic hot emotional mess of a man? I just keep hoping that some portion of decency is left in him. And if it’s that hard to find, is he really worth it? If I had a friend in this situation, I’d counsel her to seriously re-think whether she wants to be an emotional and, possibly, physical punching bag.

I don’t need anyone who, for whatever reason, makes me feel like I’m worthless. The grief I feel is so damn powerful and it’s fucking with my brain in ways that I’d never expect. I don’t understand why this is happening? I don’t understand what I’m doing? I know that I really want to take a razor blade and start cutting again. I haven’t done that in years, but it’s as though the words I’m typing aren’t enough. I feel like I’m screaming and no one hears. I have an appointment with my therapist tomorrow. Maybe she can help me figure out why I feel so utterly hopeless, helpless and worthless. When will this hellish nightmare end?

Aside

This post was originally written March 20, 2012. I’ve been up all night, probably because I don’t want to face sleeping. It’s not the sleeping that’s the problem. It’s the twilight state just before falling asleep that reminds me how … Continue reading

Letting Go

The first words that come to mind are from the iconic Nat King Cole song “Nature Boy” with words and music written by Eden Ahbez.

There was a boy
A very strange enchanted boy
They say he wandered very far, very far
Over land and sea
A little shy
And sad of eye
But very wise
Was he

And then one day
A magic day he came my way
And while we spoke of many things, fools and kings
This he said to me
“The greatest thing
You’ll ever learn
Is just to love
And be loved
In return”

(instrumental interlude)

“The greatest thing
You’ll ever learn
Is just to love
And be loved
In return”

There’s another lyric floating in my head. It’s one I’m writing so that I have someplace to put the feelings I have inside. Otherwise, I genuinely fear I’ll go mad with grief. A little background is in order.

As some of you may know, I lost my mother late last month. I don’t care what a child’s relationship is with his or her mother, the wound it leaves is devastating. Reading some of the information available online, I’m finding that it’s not my imagination or some pathology that’s making this loss so much more difficult than losing my father in 1987. Women have a special relationship with their mothers that cannot be replicated. We may utterly adore our fathers, but it’s the mothers who nurture us and understand us because they were us. I know that I’m still in the early stages of grief and I’m told my ability to handle it and/or get used to it will get better over time. It must, because everyone loses their parents and they don’t go barking mad. That is, unless the losses keep piling up.

My brain works differently than other people’s. It’s something I’ve had to accept and live with. Sunday, it finally truly hit me that the man I’ve loved for nearly all my life, Glenn, is gone. We met during my freshman year in undergrad. I saw him and wanted him BAD. And he wanted me, but was involved with someone else at the time, too. Actually, I’d say several someone elses. Eventually, after what seemed an eternity and a transfer from one school to another, I finally landed him. We carried on for 17 years, even through the early portion of his marriage to the woman I definitely knew he was involved with my freshman year, one of us going to or leaving from New Jersey to Ohio. Occasionally, if I was traveling on the East Coast, we’d meet up wherever I was. Since his wife was a doctor and they didn’t have children then, it wasn’t a big deal for him to take a drive. He was my first truly adult love and I loved him like I’ve never loved any other man. He was the only man for me. He still would be if he existed, but he doesn’t.

The rest of the story would fill a lot of bandwidth, but it’s safe to say that we each made huge mistakes. His was leaving me alone for two years and then calling because he wanted phone sex. Mine was in telling him while fuming at the gall of his request that I was no longer sleeping with men. Then, I had a nightmare of a reaction to a drug my psychiatrist had me on that obliterated both my inhibitions and my internal EDIT button. I’d wanted to talk to him ever since he hung up on me when I told him I was only sleeping with women and identified as a lesbian. In truth, had we talked about it even just a little, for him, I would have made an exception. He was the man with whom I was so utterly in love, even though I was pissed as hell with him. So, I tracked him down, which was fairly easy to do. I checked out his property and where he lived via a few paid search sites with public records. Then, I called him at work.

He decided, for reasons I’ll never know nor understand, to play an incredibly cruel and humiliating trick on me. He pretended to be interested in possibly getting back together. This evolved over several phone and chat conversations. Then, after I sent this really honest, though really corny, video to him, I didn’t hear from him. I caught him online a few days afterwards and asked if he liked the video. (Even I didn’t like the video because it was far too corny for words.) He said no. He went on to mock me, tell me that I’d fallen for a lie, tell me to give it up, to move on, he didn’t want to hear from me again, blah, blah, blah. I tried to get answers for why he’d done such a horrible thing for nearly a year. I don’t remember the sequence, but his response was usually no response. Actually, I thought he’d blocked my e-mail but continued writing because I really needed to talk with him, even if it was a conversation that took place in my head.

The last time I actually talked to him, he threatened to have someone beat me up, I think sexually assault me and kill me if I came near him or his family. In my precarious mental state, he broke me. And I do mean that literally. I tried to commit suicide even though I’d found evidence that the drug I was given went a very long way in determining my actions not just toward him but everyone I encountered. I was in ICU for four days and a mental ward for an additional three-day hold. The psychiatrist who saw me in the hospital knew that the drug I was taking could have really horrible side effects, thank God. He was perfectly happy to let me go because I wasn’t a danger to myself or anyone else. I was, nevertheless, furious with Glenn.

I am supposed to be dead, but I’m not. I took enough meds to be dead, but I’m not. They were in my system long enough for me to be dead, but I’m not. Why?? I honestly don’t know. Sunday was the first time in all the years in between then and now that I’ve seriously thought about what it would be like to make the pain stop. The reason I haven’t is because there are three lives (actually four since I couldn’t go through with Poppy’s euthanasia Saturday) depending on me. Yes, my grief may well drive me mad, but I have to hold on to enough reality to make sure they are cared for.

Sunday carried with it something else: the realization that Glenn is really and truly gone. That realization alone would overwhelm me, even after so many years. Now, I’m trying to deal with two losses, either of which would devastate me, but together have me seriously wondering whether I can absorb this much emotional pain. The Glenn I met as a young man and watched grow into a fully adult man, doesn’t exist anymore. He wouldn’t do something to me that was humiliating and cruel, (although I do remember him totally ignoring me while in the campus club one night when his current wife/then-whateverthefuck was there). I have also surmised that he did so in front of an audience of at least one other person. What does that make him? Well, it isn’t the Glenn I knew. I wish on everything precious to me that I could have the man I loved and adored back in my life, but clearly, for whatever reason, this one hates me. I, on the other hand, will always love the one I knew, even though I knew then that he could go on to a really dark and hostile place or be a loving, caring, sweet person. It was the latter that I knew, loved and believed in.

Hmph! Well, I guess I ended up telling the whole story anyway. Basically, I’m dealing with a great deal of loss and it’s going to get worse. I’m hanging on by my fingernails as it is. I’m hoping and doing a lot of praying that I can make it through. Monday, I have to go into my mother’s bedroom and start searching yet again for insurance policies as well as some other things.

I wrote the lyrics to a melody as yet to be written. In fact, I only have a very vague melody in my mind. However, that does not mean these lyrics can be used without my permission. They can’t–unless you want a lawyer on your ass that will sue you for everything you’ve got. They will be registered in the U.S. Copyright Office ASAP.

You Never Taught Me to Let Go

I’ve loved you for life
I’ve loved you for a lifetime
My heart was full and eyes were bright
Cuz you’d taught me to love right

I loved you when I hated you
I loved you when you hated me
I loved you so completely
So unconditionally.

Then one day you were gone
Leavin’ me wond’ring what went wrong
You were gone so fast, no time to ask
How I’m s’pose to let you go.

You never taught me to let go.
You never taught me to let go.

There I was alone
Left wand’ring in the cold
My heart so filled with love it burst
Leaving me broken, bent and bowed.

You never taught me to let go.
You never taught me to let go.

Lord, please, God in heaven
I don’t know what to do
The pain inside dropped me to this ground
And now I’m begging you.

Lord, please, please,
Please tell me how
To endure the ache inside
I’ve tried so hard to help myself
But break a lil’ more each time.

Please, God teach me to let go.
I don’t know how to let love go.
Please, God teach to let go.
I can’t bear this pain anymore.
Please, God teach me to let go.
Cuz I’m gonna go insane.

Love never taught me to let go.
Love never taught me to let it go.

© 2012 OnX

Goodbye, Mommy. Goodbye, my love. I’ll see you both on the other side one day.

A Letter to Mom and a Prayer to God

Mommy,

You’ve been gone almost three weeks now and I am an emotional mess. I know you didn’t want to die. You tried so hard to come back, but the doctors couldn’t fix what was wrong. At least, those couldn’t. How I wish you’d listened and sought a second opinion about having the aneurysm clipped, but you didn’t. Now, there’s nothing anyone can do.

This is the one time I think you can truly understand my pain. It’s the same pain you and your brothers have experienced. The difference is that we lived together in the same house for most of my life. Everything here reminds me that you’re not here and never will be again. The urn containing the remains of your shell is beautiful. I think you’d be pleased. Why wouldn’t you? You can see everything and both the boldness and subtleties of your exquisite taste are evident. Teddy helped me choose it.

Poppy the cat

Poppy a few years ago when she wasn't quite as senile.

You’ve probably guessed that I’m writing for more than just mere small talk. I don’t know how to do this and I sure as hell don’t know how to tell you, but I am going to get dressed and drive to the APL to have Poppy euthanized. She’s 20 years old, can’t take care of herself and isn’t using her cat box anymore. Cats are so much more expensive than dogs. I’m finding it easier and less expensive to care for the canine crew than for one, very old cat.

Truth be told, Mom, some of the choices you’ve made over the years are coming back to haunt me financially. I don’t know how I’m going to survive until your retirement starts coming in. When it does, I don’t know how I’m going to keep Medicaid without the special needs trust that you kept putting off setting up. Maybe my lawyer can figure something out. Wesley has been a little cold and doesn’t get that I’ve lost the person who shared more of me than anyone in the world. Then again, he’s a man and it’s different for them.

Getting back to Poppy, I pray to you and to God that you understand that I need you both in my life. Church is man-made. Religion is man-made. Trusting that there’s some entity out there that is larger than I am is an act of faith. God, I ask you to please, please help me hold up. I feel as if I’m going to fall off the face of the world. Worse, I don’t think I’d mind doing so if I didn’t have the girls to care for. Mom, I am happy that you are reunited with loved ones who preceded you. But I also know that you’re concerned about me. Again, I ask you and God, please, help me be strong and remain that way. Please don’t take me away from this world yet because Berry, Micki and Snippet only have me to depend on. I haven’t made a will for myself yet.  I need to be here for them.

God,  You took my mother away earlier than anyone else in our family. You have graciously allowed us to live into our 90s. I can’t even pretend to know the reason. Maybe you needed an excellent educator to teach the small souls who will one day make their appearance on this plane of existence. I’m clueless. I just want her back even though I know she’ll never be back, at least in the form she was in when she left. I’m trying to accept that, but please give me some time. I am a lost wretch who hasn’t been found yet. I’m blind and I can’t see yet. I hurt so much that I think I’ll split in two from the pain. So God, please, please allow Mommy to soothe me once more. If that’s not possible, then I have to accept it, not matter how much I don’t want to and can’t right now.

Perhaps this is more suitable to the job I have today: God, please keep me safe on the highways and streets I must travel so that you can receive Poppy’s soul. Please help me have the courage to stay with her during her transition and allow her spirit to scamper freely among the fields. With these words I pray to you, God. Amen.