It’s Saturday morning and I am enjoying the luxury of sleeping children, walked dogs, and nothing pending on my to-do list – at least that I can remember. I seized the moment as an opportunity to test out the newly acquired email addresses for my fellow “groupies.” I wished them a relaxed week with plenty of opportunities to take deep breaths, hug thier kids, and enjoy the little things in life that make smiles happen….like a little break from the rain.
Who asked?
I was pissed when I left my support group on Wednesday. Pissed – Because the facilitator came on a little too strong with her comments on what I should do about BoBo. She’s never even met him.
I am really fed up with the number of people who are willing to give their free advice on how I should be parenting and what I should be doing. While I admit that I need to make some changes, I fear that any rash actions on my part may push BoBo in the opposite direction. I also feel overwhelmed and paralyzed by the thought of adding more to my already full plate.
What I need to do is take better care of ME. I’m not suggesting that I sit on the couch eating bon-bons while my son gets lost in a cloud of smoke. I’m just finally admitting that my body has been letting me know that I need to care for it better.
My throat has been sore since at least Christmas. Sometimes the pain is mild. Other times it hurts bad enough that I get up in the wee hours to drink a cup of hot tea. I have been feeling like the weight of the world is upon me as well. On my chest to be exact. Perhaps it’s just stress, but I am too young to feel this way. So, today saw the doctor and had many tests done.
If you want to help, put some skin in the game; don’t tell me what you think I should be doing or tell me how mad you are at BoBo for putting me through this. Push aside your judgement and think for a moment what you might do if your Dad died when you were a teenager. And don’t call someone else to tell them what they need to do for me either.
Protected: Dearest Son
Too Vulnerable
Like a wound,
constantly irritated,
and rubbed raw
until the scab falls off;
my soul is wide open
and exposed,
leaving me
too vulnerable.
If I should die before I wake…
I don’t think that I was any different from the majority of the population in thinking that Tom and I would grow old together. The only reason that crossed my mind, for why we might not, was if we split up. I often wondered if, after the kids were grown, we had enough in common to want to play out the rest of our lives together. We really were very different. But we did love each other.
Of course I never dreamed that he would die so young. I found myself carrying out a promise to take care of him, thinking that we were supposed to be old and gray by the time I had to take on that role. It isn’t always how you plan it.
Tom often would complain that his life had no meaning. He never felt that his existence had a purpose. Simply bringing in three wonderful sons, and raising them up with values and happiness was not enough for him. I now realize that his happiness was held hostage by a grief that I could never fathom. I do believe that he came to terms with this before he died. Still, we are very different individuals, he and I.
Ever since Tom’s death, the prospect of dying before I am old and gray has threatened. Even with the breast cancer scare, I promised the kids that I would fight to the end. Thankfully, it didn’t go that route. I didn’t then, and won’t ever, make promises to my children that I will be around forever (or any other measure of time).
Knowing that I won’t be around for eternity, there are a few things that I want to see/accomplish before I do die. I think that my list is simple. Unlike Tom’s initial thoughts on the meaning of life, I believe that if I can make a difference in my children’s lives, then mine will have been worth my existence. I need nothing more than that.