Still Alive

I'm a horrible blogger… so so sorry to leave everyone hanging for so long.

There's not much to say besides that we are doing well. The well said predictions of most came true… "this too shall pass" and it has. I am settling into this new life. It isn't what I had planned and some days I still feel that I have taken a thousand steps backwards. But we are here and we are surrounded by wonderful people who love and wish the best for us.

San Diego is becoming home… again. I never thought I would return but I sincerely underestimated the value of family. The sunshine is certainly good for the soul and I feel myself revitalized more and more as the days pass.

Sephira has settled into a new school. I have learned a lot about being a parent with the helpful support of those around me. I am certain that I am a better parent held up in the arms of others.

I miss the mountains and many other things about Asheville. I sincerely hope that we find ourselves back there again someday.

Thanks to everyone for the kind and healing words. I hope I have more to write soon!

Falling Down

People often say to me that they wouldn't be able to do what I do... raise a child and finish school... live alone... etc. I always say... what's the alternative? Show me what falling apart looks like and I'll gladly do it.

Turns out, no one had to show me.

Falling apart looks like this...

1. Packing everything you own up with the knowledge that you might never see some or most of it again and taking a flight across the country and into the arms of your friends and family... who of course will now have to provide a place for you and your child to live as you no longer have a house and still haven't found a job and now have no money...

2. Spending 2 hours in the front seat of your best friend's car convulsively crying in the most unlovely and unattractive way possible (remember that on top of being out a home and job you are also out one grandmother and one boyfriend (whom you may or may not have had high hopes of having a lasting future with))

3. Spending the subsequent 2 days in bed nearly comatose and having the worst thoughts you've ever had in your life while also pondering the fact that you might possibly be completely losing your mind (or finally showing signs of having lost it long ago) while also realizing that your best friend may never speak to you again because he is so freaked out at your brokeness (I'd be freaked out too) and also that your daughter may be scarred for life at seeing her mother such a ridiculous mess

4. Getting swept into the arms of the most loving and compassionate people possible and realizing that you aren't losing your mind, just simply unraveling under the weight of it all, and that even if you are losing your mind it's ok because there will be people who love you and will come feed you jello if you ever get locked up (isn't the fear of being crazy really just the fear of being alone?)

5. Waking up feeling like a hand grenade without a pin in it- completely uncertain if you will make it through the next 24 hours (or trip to the grocery store) without turning into a blubbering mess of human and freaking people out because you are crying over which brand of milk to buy or where to park the car (ok that part hasn't happened yet but it certainly could)

6. Also feeling like your soul has been rubbed clean with a loufah and you no longer have a thing to lose in the world (especially after publishing to the world that you are possibly crazy) and that you can now be just about anything you want to be because nothing can be worse than being crazy (except, possibly, for being mean)

7. Realizing that you should probably change the name of your blog because advertising that you are crazy probably isn't the best way to advertise for a husband... not that you could handle finding one at the moment and would know what to do if you did....

I don't know if I'm crazy or not. I do know that I am damn tired. But that's ok... that's life and everyone hits the bottom at some point. What I have recently discovered about myself is that I am not the superwoman I thought myself to be and that I cannot or do not want to do this all on my own. At the moment I am not even capable of doing it all on my own. I love my daughter but being with her 24.7 kind of makes me feel insane and so I am learning that wanting a break from a little person does not really mean that you love them any less. I also realize that perfection is not attainable and probably really shouldn't be something to strive for. It's like running an uphill marathon everyday of your life... I want to coast downhill for awhile... so maybe if I just aim to be a little less than completely mindless I'll do ok.

So a big thank you to the arms that have held me up lately. I hope there is a day I can give back as much and more. I'd like to believe this is a season... my season... my time to weep... and "fall down REAL bad" (as Sephira would say).


Random thought- I'm not sure why but shouting my dirty laundry to the world always makes me feel so much better about it. Maybe it's because I know that even if 10,000 people read this and turn away in disgust there will most likely be one other who knows what this feels like. I didn't think I would want to mention this time of my life to anyone who hadn't directly witnessed it... or to let anyone know how very un-with-it I am at the moment... but it feels oddly strange to get it off my chest.

Some days I wonder whether my child will be the ultimate love of my life. Even if I found the man of my dreams, could it ever compare to the love I have for the being the came out of me?

For my grandmother, the answer was no. But she never found the man of her dreams. She married… a loveless, narcissistic ass. She died… 1 hour and 26 minutes ago… having never known what it felt like to be in love. I know this for a fact. My grandmother wrote her life story in a poignant and mournful memoir. She sent it to me one year ago. I am the only human, besides my father, to ever have read it.

She didn’t want my cousins or siblings to read it. She didn’t want them to know the true nature of our grandfather… whom they all adored and to whom he showed the upmost affection. We never talked about either of our pasts but she knew enough to know that reading her words would never lead me into a reality I had yet to discover for myself.

My grandmother had been utterly and despairingly shy as a young girl. With nearly 10 years between herself and the next youngest child in her family, she was more like a niece than a sibling to her brothers and sisters. She grew up in the shadow of her mother’s wrath, which glowed like the sun after being left by her husband for a much younger, brighter woman.

My grandfather didn’t even show up on their wedding day. My grandmother (we call her Mama Jo) spent her wedding day “hunting him down” with his sisters. When he didn’t show up in Texas, they drove to the last place he had been seen… some small town in the Midwest. They followed his trail long enough to know that he had spent his time… and money… drinking away everything he had received from the army… enough money to put down on a house. What he didn’t drink he spent on women. This was my grandmother’s wedding day.

And yet, when they finally found him… weeks later and out of money at a sister’s house in San Diego… she still married him. That was and had been the plan. It was about the only plan she had ever had for her life and she meant to stick by it. For my grandmother, it was the only means of escaping her mother, even though she had spent the last four years paying her own way through college. He was one of the only men to ever show interest in her (though I think she probably wouldn’t have noticed interest if it had hit her in the head). She was beautiful… though I don’t think she ever knew it or believed it. She was tall and thin and had this strange way about her.

The mystery to my grandmother is that she somehow came out a fighter. She literally spent the first half of her life doing what everyone around her told her… being shy and submissive and never speaking up… but I swear she still had that fire inside of her that I feel in the pit of my own belly.

When my dad was born, Mama Jo spent months sleeping on the couch because the crying baby kept my grandpa up at night. When the kids were older, Mama Jo worked while my grandpa had one affair after the other… most or all of which she knew about.

My grandpa died of emphysema when I was a baby. It was the first time in Mama Jo’s entire life that she became free. Honestly, I think it was the first time in her life that she was ever happy. Before I was born, something inside of her broke… or came alive. It was during the last affair that he had… she simply broke. She shut down, inside and out. But when she woke up, she realized how strong she was. She stopped… taking shit from the world, from her husband, from anybody. She started living for herself. She’s been fighting ever since…

She’s been fighting cancer for years. Back in ’05, we were both diagnosed with cancer… I with cervical, her with ovarian. We had surgery the same week. I got better and had a baby as a result… she got better, for awhile, but eventually had to concede.

She died tonight and I feel that I failed her. I feel that it was me who was supposed to show her what it meant to know true love. I had so many questions… but her being 2500 miles away made it feel like there was never the right time to ask them. I had a plan. I planned to fly to CA when she was sickest and share those thoughts and questions, find answers in her last minutes. But she slipped away quietly today, unplanned and without time for me to day goodbye.

I wanted her to know that I knew. Maybe I didn’t know what it felt to spend a lifetime feeling unloved… but I knew what it meant to spend a moment, an hour, a day. I knew what it meant to wonder if you would ever be the center of anyone’s universe.

But I also know that she did feel the center… of two people’s universes. I know that she felt a love unmatched in her son and her daughter. I know that she would have given up any worldly comfort to make them happy. She loved them beyond any love any other human could ever experience.

And so I wonder, if our children aren’t the greatest love we might ever have. My grandmother loved her children fiercely. So fiercely that to this day they have no idea what she gave up for their happiness. She thought about them every waking moment. She wanted to know them, understand them, help them… even though I think in her last moments they remained a mystery.

I wish I could have been there. I wish I could have held her hand and told her that love is only an idea, a thought in the minds of many. I wish I could have reassured her that she knew the truest love of all… one of the only loves that thousands of other women have claimed to understand… the love of a mother.

I wish I could have told her how strong and brave and beautiful I thought she was. I meant to tell her all these things. I thought I had more time. I grieve now for time… and for the beautiful woman that holds a piece of my soul… and for the fact that I will never meet another human that understands or knows me that way that she did.

I knew her. I understood her spirit and my spirit understood hers. Now her spirit no longer walks this earth and I feel alone. I feel that there is one less person to whom I may speak these thoughts to and they will be understood.

I mourn her loss and I mourn that I didn’t’ get to say goodbye. That I didn’t get to tell her that I would love in her place.

The Saga Continues

Alright... I think it is finally time to tell you about the man that has come and gone. I apologize for my elusiveness these past few months. Sharing my own dark secrets with the world is one thing, but it is incredibly difficult to share things which involve another. So... this is all going to be a bit vague, as I have to somehow find a way to share my story without betraying another's privacy...

The last few months were gleefully full of love and romance and laughter. G was a very kind and patient and giving soul. I am more than grateful to have shared the time that I did with him. My daughter loved him and he was great with her. Simply put, it was good.

But something shifted in the slightest way about a month back. I think neither of us wanted to notice and so kept on as though it hadn't. I never realized how very delicate certain loves can be... sometimes a house of cards. Take away one small element and, despite the seeming insignificance of the piece, the whole damn thing can come crashing down.

And so it goes. I wouldn't take it back. It was perfect for what it was and perhaps exactly what I needed.

I feel far removed from my original goal... a husband. I've perhaps gone entirely in the other direction. Yes... there are things that I want... more babies... someone to watch sunsets with... share meals with... wake up to. But I find myself overwhelmingly respective of my own independence as well. And though time does seem to be swallowing up my life at a baffling rate... I still have plenty of it. There are so many things that I want for myself and in my own life and I realize now that sharing it with someone else might mean compromising some or many of those things. It goes the other way as well. There are some dreams I'm simply not willing to compromise on and it is a lot to expect another to want the same things for his own life.

So... for now I am going to slow things down a bit.... relax and let the chips fall where they will. It's bubble baths and girl's night out for awhile. It's too cold out to date anyway.

The not so great return

I’m having a complete and total pity party. I’ll be fine in a few weeks but for now I’d like to wallow.

It’s done… graduation… school… the whole nine yards. I keep waiting for that sweep of relief but it hasn’t come yet. It’s been lost in the tide of worry over finding a job, a home, a school for Sephira… in the next step. And I’m angry. I’m angry that all that work… all that “head to the ground and get it done” stuff seems to be for nothing. It might not be true in the long run but for now I feel that I’m not any better off than I was 2 years ago.

It’s not the struggle that I mind… I can deal with the struggle… it’s the worry. And there’s so much to worry about… health insurance, safe neighborhoods, good schools, music lessons… the list goes on.

Months ago I felt strong, empowered, talented and independent. Today I feel small, overwhelmed, and alone. Each new step is twice as frightening with a child in tow. Each mistake is multiplied; screwing up one’s own life is one thing… but the life of another?

When I was 23 and pregnant I felt scared and completely alone. I didn’t think I could ever be good enough to be anybody’s mother or responsible for another life. I had no one to share the burden with, no one to guide me when I went astray, no one to help me make those really big decisions. But mothering was kind to me and so was my daughter. I found that it gave more than it took. I didn’t regret a moment of it.

Now I am 26 and I once again find myself scared and alone. Scared that the beautiful being I gave birth to might ever for a moment cease to be in my life. Terrified that I could ever be away from her laugh, her tiny hands, her brilliant presence. Frightened that I might fail her in some way, impede her greatness, shadow her light with my own immense darkness. And the loneliness has changed as well. If a tree falls in the woods and nobody hears it…. If a baby takes her first step and I am the only one to see it… ?

It has been me and only me through early mornings and late nights, through teething and fevers, through dinner and breakfast, through bedtime battles and nightmares, through firsts and lasts, through every waking and sleeping moment. I have decided on schools and doctors, on birthday parties and discipline methods… on everything. I’m exhausted and completely spent. This is it… this is life and reality and there is no break from such. Perhaps it’s simply a matter of coming to terms with the fact that this is it… this is my reality and it might never change. But there is something so disappointing in working so hard to make things better only to find things so much harder. Finding no relief at the end of a hard days work (or nearly 2 year’s work) is completely deflating.

You try to do what’s best. You work hard to make decisions for the future. You do it all because you think eventually it will add up to something. But what if it doesn’t?


I know I’m not the only one in this situation. I know that people have faced harder trials than this. I know that we are only as strong as the challenges we meet. But what happens when you literally feel that you cannot put another foot in front of the other? What happens when you no longer know what you’re working for?

I don’t think I’ve stopped believing in miracles… I just think that I stopped deserving them. I look at those around me with good things in their lives and I want to hide my hands… but I no longer no why. There was a day when the answer was obvious… but now… is it just built into my existence? Are our futures mapped out at our births?

I told you this was a pity party.

Break Time

I know I've been away awhile and it may be even longer before I find the time for another good post. Things are just a wee bit hectic at the moment. I'm graduating in 5 weeks... and finally saying goodbye to my loooong and (somewhat) lucrative college career. Combine that with the holidays, a toddler in the throes of the terrible twos, and the new man in my life and I'm left with very little brain power to contemplate the joys and woes of romance. Be assured however that there will be more good stuff to come... much more.

Hopefully I will find the time for a few sappy holiday notes... but be patient if I don't. I'll be back.

Oh... and if anybody knows anything about anyone who might be looking for a writer (to hire... not to marry) please PLEASE please be sure to let me know.... communications/journalism/marketing... all good things.

Love and Marriage

I spent Sunday afternoon with a couple who will be celebrating their 64th wedding anniversary next month. They had known each other only 4 months the day they were married. They are an incredible, vivacious and hilarious duet and it was humbling to hear their story.

I suddenly felt that I didn’t know as much about love as I thought I did.

I’ve looked back over the many comments shared on this blog and the more I read the more I can’t help but feel that our entire generation knows very little of love. It seems that the younger the contributor, the more jaded the comments become. Was love simpler 65 years ago? Was marriage a greater necessity and therefore and greater success? I don’t think so. A misconception about the role of love has seeped in over the years; the descending generations seem to have lost their way. Many of us seem to think we deserve love without having to earn it. Yes, we all deserve love… to be loved… to know love… to have love… but one cannot receive anything so great without a willingness to give something as well, not to another, but to oneself. We earn the ability to truly be loved only when we are able to truly love ourselves.

Love and sex and bodies and beauty all seemed to have been poured into the same bottle and tagged with the same label. I see 7th graders- 12 year-old girls- in high heels and mascara, whose lives already revolve around this self-obsessive quest for love, insisting they know what it is, or need it, have to have it, can’t live without it. This is our culture… drive-thru love that satisfies the midnight munchies, a craving, an inclination with empty snacks that leave the lover hungrier than before… love that doesn’t require a last name, or even a tomorrow. How can an entire culture be so willing to love another… with entire industries built around finding love, needing love, wanting love… and yet be so unwilling to love itself, to love oneself. We have become love zombies, running around sucking the love out of each other but completely unable to give it to ourselves.

The couple I met with on Sunday, Jan and John, insist that one of the reasons things went so well was because they each knew themselves before they began. At 21, Jan insists that she knew herself, where she wanted to go with her life, what she wanted, and she knew what she wanted out of the man that was going to go there with her. She wasn’t sitting by idly waiting for a man to love her so that she could know love, have love in her life. She already had love… she loved herself.

When we start dating at 12, we begin our lives by shaping them to be what we think someone else would want or like. We don’t give ourselves the chance to be alone, there’s no opportunity to get to know oneself, to get to love oneself. We become obsessed with our flaws and our shortcomings, comparing ourselves to characters from Grey’s Anatomy and Sex in the City, we mold ourselves according to what we think the world expects us to be. We wait for the world to show us love.

I’ve been waiting for the world to love me for as long as I can remember. It wasn’t until I had my daughter that I encountered real love. I didn’t have a clue who I was without the world to dance for. I owe a lot to my daughter. Her birth and life was the first reason I had to sit with myself, be with myself, to get to know and love myself. I would have never truly been ready for love without such an opportunity. It was agonizing at moments, like running a marathon, but the tiniest of prices to pay for the chance to know myself outside of everything I had so long used to define me.

I am dating… a wonderful man… and the scariest part is learning to trust my ability to love myself enough to love another… to let myself be loved without doing what I think is expected or trying to please or changing who I am. It’s easier to love another than to love myself; easier to rely on another person’s love to fill me up than to work at it for me. I am grateful for his patience and willingness to grow and for his ability to know and love himself.

64 years of marriage between two people who still make each other laugh makes me believe in love… and that anything is possible.