It was September 13^th, several weeks ago now, when I was finally allowed see my children after a month of enforced separation. It was a morning of jumpy anticipation after a nearly sleepless night, just waiting for them to arrive...

We sit on the grass which is just damp enough to cause that panicky moment of having to ask each other to look at our backsides to see if it looks like we pee’d ourselves.  We are lucky, everyone has a dry backside but we agree that if we’d had wet patches we’d at least all look the same! 

The sky is brilliant blue, the sun is warm, and the air on our skin feels like the breath of angels.  There is, within each of us, a unifying sensation – the feeling of a sigh released. We smile at each other, smile and smile and smile and all the while our words tumble over each other like puppies vying for attention.  I can’t get enough of staring at them while they talk and smile and laugh.  I soak in the view before me: my son and my daughter, my Buddy and my Bear… the shape of their mouths, the flash of their teeth, the way their eyes crinkle at the corners, her freckles, his mole, her vibration and his stillness, and how the color comes into their faces as they become more and more animated. 

My breath finds the center of my soul once again, having come undone and been lost so many weeks ago, I am glad for it’s return.  When I feel my breath returning to my core, I realize how long I’ve been without my own breath, without my own center… it’s amazing how long you can survive without breathing, and how far you can go without knowing where your center is.

We have take-out Chinese food in Styrofoam containers.  Amidst constant chatter, serenaded by Buddy playing his guitar, with much waving of sporks and napkins, warmed by the sun and by love, we eat.  Eating – sharing a meal – such a common place necessary every day act taken for granted so often.  But for us it is fortification of our souls, a spiritual fulfilling, an event uniting us as something so much “more than”.  And I am grateful, so marrow deep grateful that I a mother, that I am their mother.

And in the center of that gratefulness is a lockbox of sorrow, injustice, and rage so huge that I can’t give it any attention for the risk of it exploding open like Pandora’s Box, contaminating and ruining every moment from then on.  Instead I smile and I look at my children, my breath and my center returned to me, and I allow gratefulness to marinate in my soul, allowing the power of forgiveness to encase that Pandora’s Box and seal it off until forgiveness itself can melt it away.  I will not think of how long it may take, I will only feel the gratefulness and allow the forgiveness and I will breathe.

We talk about intense emotional things.  We talk softly, murmuring at times as if by whispering we can reduce the painfulness of that which we talk about.  We pray together, another unifying fortifying fulfilling action that cements us as one.  Then we refocus, we relax, we return to joy and we find our Fortune Cookies – artificially colored and prepackaged in factory sealed plastic but tiny treasures we somehow believe in anyway.

Buddy goes first, and as he reads his fortune aloud he stares into my eyes with an intensity that speaks more than any words ever could.  “Only the person who risks is truly free.”  We grin at each other, instantly connecting our just finished discussion and current circumstances to the quote.  “Keep it – it’s perfect” I say to him.  He nods.  Bear is next.  “Right now you need to be patient.” she slowly reads aloud.  Then her face lights up and she looks up at both Buddy and I. “OH! I get it! It’s true huh?!” and Buddy and I are laughing now and her giggle completes the music of our love. 

I read mine last.  “Stuff happens. It’s your response that counts.”  Bears attention has already moved on to the remains of her Chinese food but Buddy and I stare deep into each others eyes again.  We don’t even speak, just look at each other.  “Oh man,” he mutters solemnly.  My response is similarly muted and solemn, “Yeah –  but, good huh?”  He smiles and grins. I grin back as I collect the three fortunes and slip them in my wallet.  I will use them someday for a blog post.

Stuff happens. Be patient. Take risks.

        

I am here - only I've relocated a little. 

In the past few months my life has undergone changes I never thought would happen, never wanted to happen, and never saw coming.  I spent a lot of time mired in pity and wishing I could change or undo the way things have unfolded, and it was really hard to climb out of that pit I'd fallen into.  Every now and then, I must admit, I find myself slipping back into the hole but I am able to grab onto the edges and haul myself back onto solid ground.  The thing that keeps me going is when I look forward, look ahead, and look up. 

I am seeking a life that is whole - a life in which I can complete myself instead of relying on someone else or something else to make me complete.  My life has so long been only a shadow of someone elses life, and been just an image of what someone else told me it was that it is now excruciatingly hard to reinvent myself into just me... but I have been told I'm stubborn and no one who knows me could argue with that.  So I've got stubborness on my side - as well as YOU - so many of you rooting for me and praying for me and cheering me on, my three biggest fans being my children.  Thank God... oh Thank God for my kids... and for you.

I am no longer living in the same state as my children, I am 3 hours away from them and could use every prayer you have for protection of our hearts and spirits, protection of our love and bonding, and prayer for our future.  Every day is a battle of wills for me to keep looking forward, and I know my children must face confusion and doubt daily also.  Soon... soon... thats what we say to each other and what I ask you to pray for us for.  That SOON would come as quickly as it could, and that our ability to survive the time in between would be great and solid.

I don't have easy access to email or internet so don't worry if I don't reply to you.  If you have my #, give me a call, I'd love to hear from you!

Be well, enjoy these autumn days, and think of me making myself whole and complete instead of completely in a hole!

Love
D

        

What title do I give this?  This post is a letter to my son, and my daughter.  A letter to my friends, and to my "friends".  It is a post about truth, intuition, choices, and despair.  And it's a message to the man I married.  It also might be against the law.

I last saw my children on August 11 - that is 20 days ago, and it is not by choice that I am unable to see them.  Twenty days without my children.  And for the last 8 days I have been restricted from even contacting them in any way.   If you know me, if you know ANYTHING about me, you will know without a doubt that I am destroyed by this.

If you know my children, you will know that this is as painful to them as it is to me.  They may not show it, but at their ages of 11 and 13, it would be important that they 'appear' to be mostly unconcerned.  Also? I don't even know what they've been told, but I have my suspicions that it is NOT the truth.

Son, I miss you.  I'm so sorry that you have to see this unfolding this way.  I spent so much time assuring you, promising you even, that this was going to be ok.  I told you that daddy and I were grownups and we would always take care of you, and we would be respectful of each other and put you first.  I didn't know that I would be the only one who planned on doing that.  I'm sorry.  I love you.  Hang in there.  Remember what I said about how when people are hurt they sometimes do things they might not normally do because of pride or anger - and don't let yourself be that way.  I miss you. I love you. I love you.  I love you.

Baby bear, oh how I miss your sweet face.  Today is your first day of junior high and I will never forget that I couldn't be there.  I'm so very sorry.  I wanted to be with you last night to ease your 'night-before' fears and nervousness. I wanted to help you pick out your first day of school outfit, and see you walk off with Buddy to the bus.  I hate that I am not there, I love you so much and hope that today was a great day, and that you will write down everything that happened so I can read about it later and share it with you then.  I love you. I love you. I love you.

Some very very special friends of mine have come flocking out of all corners to rally around me.  I have been unconditionally loved and believed and supported by people I haven't even had contact with in years.  The moment they understood what was happening, they came to my side.  These are people who KNOW me.  Not just people who I see and who think they know me, but these are women who've faced the battlefront of toddlerhood and preschool with me, friends who've seen me face the demons of learning disabilities and politics and school principals.  Friends who know, without a doubt, without having to ask for someone elses confirmation, that I am ok, that I love my kids, and that what is happening in my life is unconcionable.  You know who you are, and I thank you.

There are other friends of mine who've chosen the easier way.  The more polite way.  The uncomplicated way.  As my pastor said about not choosing sides because there was love for both my spouse and I, and because choosing sides would alienate someone, some of my "friends" have smiled politely and offered to pray for me while watching my life be destroyed - watching me experience jail, criminal charges, and financial ruin.  You know who you are.  When you don't take sides, when you don't take a stand, when you 'stand' on politeness and 'love for all' and 'fairness', you fall...   And when you reach out with both hands, then yank them back in them middle of my fall,  you have to expect that the next time you reach out for me I will not be as open or honest as before.  Really. That should not be a surprise. 

I placed every ounce of trust and faith in my spouse.  I did it because of love.  But also because that's what I thought I was supposed to do.  And I turned over all control out of trust and faith and love.  Right or wrong - too late now - but it's what I did.  And when things were going bad I assured and reassured and promised that I would never harm the relationship he had with our children...  to see him methodically and deliberately ruin me is so unimaginable.  It's like watching some kind of supernatural magic show where you really can't believe what you are seeing - where what you know and what you see are so at odds that you wonder what kind of joke is being played, or what show is being taped.  Unbelievable, and gut wrenching, frightening, horrific... so wrong.

I miss my children.   I miss myself - who I was and the life I had a year ago.  And maybe I made choices that have not been ideal, but I do not deserve the force of wrath, retaliation, and degradation that is being forced on me.  I don't know if I'm remotely strong enough to withstand it, in fact I'm pretty sure I'm not - but I know I don't deserve it and that my children don't deserve it.  I know it's wrong.

And now?  Now I finally know who my friends are.

Buddy, Bear?  I love you guys.  I miss you.  I think about you every second and I cry sometimes because I miss you.  I know you are safe or else there isn't a force on earth, legal or otherwise, that would keep me away from you.  I know you are safe and healthy and so I sit here helplessly waiting for the moment I can see you again.  I miss you.  I love you.  Be good... and don't forget that I am right here.

        

I don't know much.  Really, I don't.  There are very few things I feel confidently sure of, positive enough to bet on, and would fight over just to express my believe in. I know certain things with out a doubt - things that I will hold onto until my last moment and they are two foundations.

1)     I am a good mom.

2)     I was a good wife.


I can hear anything about myself, negative things, and feel embarrassed, guilty, ashamed, regretful... but when I hear anything negative about my actions as a mother or a wife, I will defend myself.  I may not have done things the way others would have, but I am only just 'me' and I've done what was right in the moment for my kids, my marraige, and my life.

My kids are incredible.  They are smart, kind, compassionate.  They are funny and bright.  They love - they love me, others, themselves.  They are personable and witty.  They can step outside themselves and give to others, like the foster children we've had, or their own friends in need, they are just totally great people.  And I haven't seen them in 17 days because someone is trying to label me as a danger to them.

I was a good wife.  So much of marriage is personal and I can't tell you all the ways I was a good wife, but I was faithful. I was devoted. I gave respect, honor, and forgiveness.  I worked hard to make it a true partnership not just a 'marriage'.  I loved.  I loved and I expressed that love and I was a good wife.  I know it's been said otherwise, and maybe the last 2 years have challenged me and I've made some errors that hurt my spouse, but I was a good wife, the best that I could be given the tools and knowledge I had.  That's all anyone can do.

I also know one other thing... I need my kids.
I've been told to fight for them, to let them go, to reinvent myself, to go beyond the law, to appeal to fairness and mercy, and to give up.  I've been told so many things.  And all I know is that I need my kids, and that they need me.

If you see them, or have a chance to talk to them, tell them I love them.  Tell them I'm trying, and I'll do what I can, but I miss them and I love them.

d

        

... It only matters how others percieve them.

My cousin told me that once.  He was angry at me for something I'd done and when I said, "my intention was xyz" he gave me the response.  Later on I'd argued with someone else about that concept, they felt it wasn't true, that it DID matter what your intentions were.  I guess, as in most everything, there really is no straight out black and white division, but just shades of gray.

I have a wonderful friend who tries to do everything with intention.  Tries to make everything focused, so that her actions matter, that they aren't just snap reactions to any given thing.  She'll tell you this is a moment by moment concious act and it doesn't work quite as often as she'd like, but I have tried to be like her.

As I've been dealing with my personal issues over the past two years, I've been selective about what I've said to whom.  I've tried to mind my tongue and be concious of how MY story is really only mine and that other people involved in my immediate life have their own stories.  I develop my own set of behaviors based on watching other people around me.  I hear X say "ooh, Y did this thing and it was so cool" and when I see everyone in agreement, I figure that Y's action was good and something I should consider doing.  Also if X says, "Y really messed up this by doing that" and others agree, then I know that I shouldn't do the same thing.  I think about people I admire and respect and try to model my behavior to theirs.  I hear advice and I ponder it and try to mold it into something that works and fits and feels comfortable.  But mostly I deal with things by listening to my heart.  My heart is what drives most every action. 

A professional, and dear friend of mine, said to me, "D, you are quirky and wonderful - but this is not a time or course of events in which quirky and wonderful are veiwed as valuable qualities..." and I was honored at her description of me, but overwhelmed by her following suggestions about what exactly I DID need to do.  It is so foreign - to behave in a way that does not consider the emotion, the heart, the soul, the 'feeling' of it, or the growth of inner nurture.  To do, act, behave, not just intentionally and purposefully, but ignoring the heart entirely and see only black or white, good or bad, right or wrong... I don't know if I can even do that.  I can be intentional - though that usually means I intend to do something that makes it easier/better/more peaceful for someone else.  I can be purposeful - though my purpose is less about concrete material end results and more about the manor in which an event happens.  I can usually see clearly right or wrong - but this starts getting hazy because when I look at the WHY behind actions, and I look at the WHO behind the WHY, I find that even when I agree an action was wrong, I have compassion and understanding for the reasons behind it and find it difficult to assign true blame. I am not a black and white thinker.  I am a rainbow.  I am a sunset, a sunrise, a harvest moon, a meteor shower.

I am being asked to behave, to act, to do - in a manner I don't understand and that feels backwards and wrong, it goes against everything that feels normal and right and I instinctually fight it.  It is so hard - and the ultimate goal behind it is that it doesn't matter what my intentions are, or really even what my actions are, it only matters how others percieve them.

I have left a trail of perceptions behind me that I didn't even know about.  When my intention was privacy and respect, the perception was reclusive and suspicious.  When my intention was nuetrality, the perception was guilt and weakness.  This is going to take time to clean up... and I don't even know if I have the tools to do so.

Would you pray for my family?

Thank you...

        

A great talented writer shared her labor story.  You can read it here. 

When I read it, I found myself responding viscerally and automatically to everything she said.  Not because I've also been through labor, not because I've also been through unmedicated labor, but because almost every step of the way as she described her experience, it felt like she was describing the way my marraige is coming to it's end.

Maybe you have your own 'labor' - your own life experience in which you went in completely unaware how helpless and futile you would feel, and how completely changed you would be afterwards.  Maybe it was labor, maybe it was marriage or divorce, the death of someone you loved, or the birth of a business... but I'm sure you will find her words amazingly apt.

Have a good, good day today...

D

        

I was unprepared to be in that place.  The very idea of it  was so foreign that I wasn't even entirely sure it was real.  Oh, but it was.  And frightening then, because I did not speak the language, understand the directions or the rules, and I was in a completely different time zone unable to determine if I needed to catch up or slow down.  And I was alone.  I shake my head now when I read back over my notes from that trip - odd to re-read them and remember it slowly like it was a movie I'd watched so long ago that I had to be reminded of it scene by scene and never quite prepared for what was next.

I was equally unprepared, at least superficially, to be making the aquaintence of so many other people just as derailed as I was.  I say superficially because while I was terrified and horrified and reluctant to sit and discuss the trip with them, it felt like home as soon as I did.  My heart maybe, or my soul, heard some core genetic calling, felt on familiar territory, the cadence of speech patterns and subtle body language that was just different enough to matter was as familiar as my own heartbeat.  I could breathe.  I could breathe!

Then I was home.  Home in the place I'd come from, the place I was grounded in, the place I knew... that had the familiar scent and form, where I could walk in the dark and not stumble, where I could be vulnerable in safety.  Yet I had brought some of my trip with me and left some of myself behind in a large enough way that I felt somehow... in between those two places.  One foot in firm foundation I'd built, one foot in firm foundation I'd been built from.

I take a drive and the route is one that is visually familiar.  Broad leafy trees forming canopies over the road.  The sun filtering down in visible hazy rays from the blue sky.  Old multi-storied and shuttered houses sprawl outwards with neatly trimmed grass and tidy white fences.  This is the view I've always seen - at least the one I've seen that always seemed to make sense, to bring pleasure, to be relieved by.  Only I drive this route with a different heart.  A heart mired in memory, in the sure knowledge of what might have been, what almost was, and what I'd tasted more than enough of to never forget.  A heart unhindered by the social protocols of PTA and department store cosmetics, of the politics of politeness and niceties and proper use of adjectives in mixed company.  I drive, myself in my same skin, same clothes, same outward trappings while my heart beats on in an entirely separate way and the things I say outloud shock even my own ears - and I wonder how and where the words come from.

I am unseated, shaken, off-kilter.  I have been nudged off course in the faintest way, maybe imperceptibly to others but in a way that peirces my spirit and both reduces me while stretching me in the same moment.  

My old friend tension is here.  With a vengence and full calvary she rides in and resumes her place.  She takes away my breath, pinches my mouth, seals off my heart.  What I see and what I feel battle grieviously for the right to rule.  I am left with aching I don't understand - desperation and disgust all at once.  Repulsed by myself, who I was, who I became, who I am, who I am yet to be: because they all seem at odds with each other and I can't see how to weave them together to form an entire whole.  I have only listless strands torn by regret, broken by pride, weakened by the weight of each others existence.  I am 15, and 32, and 57 all at once.  I am in between 5 and 19, pulled by 29 and 37 in one direction and by 24 and 40 in the other direction.  And I am inbetween "unable to breath" and "not sure I want to breath".

I want what I can't have, and won't take what is offered.  I don't want what I've already had, but I hunger for what I'd been given and for what I'd given up.  I need the forward motion but am running backwards... and skipping sideways... and silently smiling through the tears that fall on my angry fisted hands.  And I am in all those places at once, in between.

I am fearful.  I am greedy.  I am tired and worn out and beyond caring but find I don't know how to rest, to renew, to release.

And the re-worded, edited, un-cited lyrics (and the successful search to reveal their origin!) only make it worse.

        

There was a time

Once upon a time

and not so long ago

That the ice cream dripping upon my leg

Would have been licked away

After being massaged into my skin

By your touch

Then kissed on the originating spot

to sear in the message

of your love…

 

So that when your tongue

Warm

Wet

Familiar

Touched my skin

I would have already begun

To think of

Your luscious mouth

Elsewhere

On my skin

 

Tonight

This time

Newly alone 

And unknown

The ice cream dripping upon my leg

Melts away

Slides down

Pools

Onto

Virgin sheets

 Unnoticed

Except for

The glaringly obvious

Lack Of Attention

 

Much like

My tears

Which slide down my cheeks and fall

Onto

My

Sharp

and boney

Clavicle

Pooling in the divot

Where your kiss once landed

Before streaming

Off my shoulder

Sharp and pointed
(like your heart)

To land on sheets
soaked in
night

after night

after night

Of

Tears

 

What a waste

Of perfectly good

Ice cream

        

I am here, in this present place, and breathing in, and out, and in, and out... and holding hand with good friends.  Thank you for your thoughts...

D