Category: deep stuff

thankful

My Facebook news feed has been full of friends giving thanks daily, and I imagine they’ll keep on truckin’ through Thanksgiving. It’s a nice concept; I like it. I certainly don’t post it on Facebook, but I try to stop and find something to be grateful for daily all year long. When the day has just sucked, finding something to be thankful for is at least a momentary attitude adjustment.

What am I thankful for in 2013? Oh, all kinds of things, both important and silly. I am thankful for my siblings, all of them. I am thankful for gigantic flannel shirts with sleeves that cover my hands. I am thankful for friends that disregard all the pet hair and have a good visit anyway. I am thankful for kindred spirits who think my craziness is perfectly normal. I am thankful for oversized mugs filled with cozy beverages. I am thankful for friends who reference episodes of “The Young Ones.” I am thankful for my kiddo and the fun we have on adventures, just the two of us. All this, and more.

Give thanks. Usually there is a bright spot in even the worst of days…and as the saying goes, it takes darkness to see the stars.

I remember

Our brains must make us forget painful things so we don’t fall apart. I tend to be of the stoic, push through the pain, move ahead type. I don’t stop to examine how I feel, and I don’t take to the bed and weep for days, even if that’s what I want to do.

The holiday season from Thanksgiving to New Year’s is creeping closer, and I took Minime to see the Christmas lights in Pigeon Forge Sunday night. On the drive back home, I was thinking about all the lights and decorations and festive music, and suddenly I remembered a whole chain of holiday hurts that I had forgotten. I had shoved them way way wayyyyyy back in the recesses of my heart because at the time they happened, I had to be stoic and brave and tough in front of my kiddo and carry on with the holidays like all was well.

…But the hurts are still there. Despite my efforts to lock them away, I remember. Maybe it’s important to process the hurts now so I can let them go, so I am thinking them through and trying to bid them farewell.

Uncomfortable

Just because I write stories or blog, it doesn’t mean I want people poking around further in my private business.  I understand that might be confusing because I’ve been blogging along for 12 or 13 years and shared some stuff that’s pretty deep and painful, and I’ve published some stuff here and there in other places too that was tough to write…and that’s all private stuff out of my head and heart that I’ve shared.  Know that it stops there: that’s all I’m willing to share with the world, whatever I’ve typed up.

I had someone reach out to me this week that read my book.  Hooray for the handful of people that read my book!  This is someone that lives in NC, read the story about my biological father, realized they knew who it was and decided to followup with me.  She had “more to the story” that she wanted to tell me.

Let me back up a little and say when I wrote that piece of “truth” for my “Truth and Fiction” minibook, I had met no one in my father’s family, none of my relatives or siblings from his side of the family.  My story was MY truth, my experience growing up, my feelings.

I was fortunate enough to meet my paternal grandmother and my siblings this year, but it was after the book had been published.  My grandmother shared some things that changed my perspective some, because of course I only knew one side of the story up until that point.  She told me some things that eased the burden on my heart, and I was happy and grateful to meet my siblings at long last.

Earlier this week, this person that read my book offered to share with me further insight on why my father wasn’t in my life, offered to clear up misconceptions.  I politely declined, and I will continue to politely decline such offers from strangers unless someone is a long lost biological relative of mine. 

Here’s why I’m declining: even knowing now that my father did make some efforts to see me over the years, it doesn’t change my childhood.  I still grew up without him, I grew up without my siblings and I grew up with some relatives by marriage that didn’t treat me like I belonged. 

My paternal grandmother told me my father did try to reach out to me a few times, and that makes me happy, but it doesn’t change the past.  I don’t need to rehash my childhood with strangers, even well-meaning ones, because it doesn’t change anything.  I never had a birthday with my father, I never had a Christmas morning with my father and growing up knowing someone was deliberately not in my life, no matter the reason, screwed with my head a little.  This isn’t a tantrum or a poor me story, it’s just the plain and simple fact that even new information can’t change the past. 

Reaching out to me and offering details from 40 years ago just makes me super uncomfortable, and what I published in my book and what I will publish on my blog is all I’m willing to delve into with folks I don’t know.  I tell my stories for my own benefit and because maybe someone out there can relate somehow, feel less alone…but like many people who write or draw or paint or otherwise share their deepest thoughts in a creative way, what we’ve put out there is scary enough, hard enough to share and that’s as deep into the water as we’re willing to wade at that point in time.

I am glad folks are reading my stories, and I do appreciate the effort someone made to reach out to me.  There’s a line  I have to draw between me and what I’m willing to share with the world, and I hope that makes sense, because it’s never my intent to hurt anyone else’s feelings.  It’s my intent to protect my own feelings and this year has been full of challenges; I’ve waded about as deep into the waters of my soul as I can take without losing my mind.  Just because I’m uncomfortable doesn’t mean that it was wrong to reach out to me, but yeah, I’m super uncomfortably freaked out with what I’ve already shared in 2013.

Thanks for reading.

scary medical tests

My odometer rolled over to 40. The doctor of Mysterious Lady Parts said go for a mammogram…so I went.
Ladies, if you’ve had this done, you know they just grab your bits and smash them all around and they don’t kiss you or send flowers the next day. It’s so…clinical and cold and impersonal. Grab your flesh, smush it, take images, repeat.
I’m 40. This is a baseline test. No big deal.
Only, it was a big deal. Radiologist saw something and wanted me to come back for more images and an ultrasound, but they can’t get me in for both for a week. Oh my god. “Panic” is not the word for the blood running cold terror…knees quaking, hands shaking. I know the statistics and the odds; very slim that I could have cancer……….but not impossible.
I spent the next week in a nervous haze. I spent a Sunday afternoon curled up in my pjs with a good man who held my hand and told me everything would be okay, and even if it wasn’t okay, it would still be okay. I kept repeating “okay” to myself, trying to borrow from his unflinching reassurances.
I had the images done again, and I was hoping the imaging tech would say there was nothing there when she re-imaged me, just a shadow or too much tissue squished up…but she saw something and sent me to ultrasound.
In ultrasound, the technician found something and showed me…something small but something out of place. She said it could be as long as 5 days before a radiologist looked at all the results and called me.
Sitting in the car outside the imaging center—it sounds so dramatic to say it, but it’s true—I looked at beautiful trees ablaze with fall color and I wondered if this could be my last autumn? Dramatic, yes, but in a week full of health concerns, I became so aware of how there are no guarantees, no timelines, no calendars that say how long we get, no matter how healthy we are or aren’t.
I waited. When the call came through to say it’s a cyst, it will disappear on its own, I nearly collapsed with gratitude. I’d been carrying around such fear and stress for days. The relief was huge.
My takeaway from this whole thing is that I will be regular with my exams to find any problems early on. I will also live while I can. I’m pretty honest with those closest to me, but those who stayed close during this scare heard my truths, heard me open up big time, and I don’t regret it. I don’t regret being vulnerable and asking for love when I needed it, and I should do more of that even when I’m not scared out of my mind. Receiving love is something I struggle with, but I liked the feeling of being held in positive thoughts and total care when I let down my guard, so maybe this health scare came just in time to show me the right way to live.

Priorities

I was cleaning and cooking for a party on Saturday morning.  I’d been cleaning and cooking for hours in expectation of the arrival of friends and family that would undo all my cleaning efforts in a matter of a few minutes.

While steam mopping the dining room floor, I started thinking of my paternal grandmother and her funeral service a few weeks ago.  No one mentioned whether or not she had cereal bowls in her sink when they visited her over the years.  Not one person at the service praised her sparkling toilet bowl or marveled over how there were never dust bunnies behind her sofa.  They talked about how kind she was and how funny she was.  People told stories about how she made them laugh and adventures they had.  Friends and relatives spoke of my grandmother’s generosity and warmth, and they passed around photos of birthdays and Christmases.  No one ever discussed whether she put out snacks for guests that were store bought or homemade, and no one mentioned how often she Windexed her windows.

Where am I going with this?  Priorities.  How do we lose our way so easily?  We exhaust ourselves cooking and cleaning for six hours for a two hour party, working so darn hard that we’re relieved when everyone leaves and we can finally just collapse in the recliner. 

What if we straightened up the house for just a few minutes and put out whatever snacks we have, even the dreaded store bought ones, and just enjoyed our guests?  What if we put the energy into being present for our friends and family, rather than scrubbing the floors and polishing the tables?  What if we were so full of exuberance over their presence that we hated for them to leave, rather than feeling glad that they finally left?

I’m not saying that we shouldn’t tidy up a little to welcome folks into our homes.  When I visit friends and family, if you have water rings on your coffee table, I don’t care.  I didn’t show up to grade you on your cleaning and peer into your floor vents for lint.  I came to laugh and share some time with you.  I hope when you come to see me that I’m not so exhausted from moving all the furniture around to vacuum that I can actually relax and enjoy the visit…and I hope you’re not coming over to look underneath my couch and recliners!

We waste so much time on the silly stuff.  My guests would’ve like the Walmart bakery brownies just as well as the ones I baked that morning.  They came for a party and parties should be fun.  They came to make memories with me, not grade me on my culinary arts.  When my funeral rolls around someday, no one will say “oh I loved Kat but I wish she would’ve baked us snacks from scratch for her pumpkin party in 2013.”

Priorities.  We worry about how the house looks and how we look.  We expend so much energy into all these little time-sucks that don’t matter at all.

On Sunday, I had a guest coming over in the afternoon.  I showered, but I didn’t get all dressed up, unless you call changing into fresh pajamas getting all dressed up.  I tidied up a speck after the previous day’s party, but I didn’t dust, vacuum, polish and whatever else I “should’ve” done…and you know what? We had a marvelous afternoon, one of the best in recent memory.  I had energy to be fully present and we whiled away hours talking about everything and nothing…and it was fantastic.

Priorities.  Focus.  Remember the point of the effort you’re making.  If you’ll be too tired to enjoy the party, there’s no point in throwing the party at all!

good stuff

Even after hitting an emotional bottom and splitting my soul into bits like Humpty Dumpty earlier this year, I am pleased to report there is still good stuff out there. It is terrifying on many levels to be open to letting someone tiptoe around the edges and into my life, but I am taking some risks, being real, being vulnerable. I won’t let a few bad people from my past rob me of the chance to be happy in the present and in the future. It’s good to laugh and smile again.
It is scary to let the good stuff in, because I know how much it hurts when the good stuff goes away…but I don’t want to miss out on this or any opportunity to be happy. There are risks, but I want to take them. I want to live and love to the full width and breadth and depth of my capability, to feel giddy joy. I want a happily ever after, but a happily right now is better than the isolation of taking no chances. Maybe I will get my happily ever after at last, and maybe I won’t, but I will never know unless I allow the good stuff into my world. I hope the good stuff stays and multiplies.

foul weather friends revisited

Fair weather friends: they only like you when everything’s coming up roses.
Instead of those, I have some foul weather friends: they only engage and interact when their life sucks. If their life is peachy keen, they don’t pay attention, they don’t listen, they fall off the map. If they are partnered up in coupledom, they ignore the hell out of me. They, quite frankly, are sucking as friends right now.
I guess someday when it rains and pours on them again, when they aren’t all coupled up, they might want to listen to me when I talk or want me to listen to them. I may not be available that day. Leave your message at the motherfucking beep.

Goodbyes And Hellos

I only met my biological grandmother a few months ago.  I liked her right away; her sass and humor were a warm welcome to this long lost grandchild.

My grandmother went into the hospital and didn’t get to go back home.  She was laid to rest in a lovely service yesterday on a beautiful sunny day filled with blue skies and fluffy clouds.

One of the good things about where I’m from is also one of the bad things: everyone knows who you are.  Everyone knows your business.  Everyone knows your kin.

Standing with my kiddo beside me waiting for the service begin, I heard one of the old folks behind me whispering.  Old folks don’t whisper very well.  “That’s his oldest child, she’s the doctor’s granddaughter.”  Yes, that’s me.  The oldest child, the oldest grandchild.  My mother’s father was the local doctor, so everyone knew him, knew her and knew me, too.  I turned around and looked at the old folks, trying to muster a grin, and they hushed their gossip.

I looked beside my kiddo at who had just approached and taken a spot near us on the grass, and it was one of my brothers.  I’d only met my sisters so far, but I could have picked my brothers out of a crowd of thousands easily.  This brother was another of the long lost and until recently unclaimed variety like me, but I knew him right away.  I whispered in the kiddo’s ear that it was one of my brothers next to her, and she whispered back to ask how I knew.  I just knew.

Saying goodbye to family you only just met is hard.  The service was sweet with a beautiful poetry reading, and the familiar refrain of “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” was repeated often to remind us all that this is the normal circle of life, the normal way of things.  I was sad because I still have so many questions, and my grandmother was most likely the only one left to give me answers, and yet here we were, gathered to celebrate her life and say goodbye so soon after saying hello.

After the service, I found my sisters and spoke with them briefly.  They had throngs of well-wishers to greet and thank.  I didn’t have any throngs since I only just came out of hiding a few months ago, only just stepped out of the shadows where bastard offspring lurk.  I found my two brothers and stood in front of them and said something like, “Hello, sorry to meet you on such a sad day; I’m your oldest sister.”  They looked surprised but happy.  The kiddo says I look like my brothers, and I don’t disagree.

I had to hurry away after that, because it was just too overwhelming.  Too many important goodbyes and hellos sandwiched into too short of a time span.  I was feeling shaky with so many emotions rushing around at once.  They are my family.  I don’t know if there is a place for me among them after all this time, but they are my family.

bday project 2013 still underway

I think I’m going to make an effort to spread kindness for my birthday month!  Little things, simple things.  Mindful kindness, not just the automatic knee jerk reflex politeness.

I’ve put away weights at the gym for others.  Pushed in grocery carts.  Left candy in the kitchen at work…which was funny, because shortly thereafter, someone brought me candy from the kitchen!  Thank you notes to some people who made a difference in  my life.

This is good stuff, so I want to keep going.

What’s that sound???

That sound? That ticking sound, like a bomb threatening to detonate?  Holy crap, I think it’s my biological clock.

So.

After the failure of my long-term relationships (being an adult sucks sometimes), I’d pretty much given up on more kids really.  I’d convinced myself I didn’t even want them…even though we all know I’ve wanted a whole freakin’ tribe of my own all along…but every turn of the calendar page told me to shut that dream down, be done with it.  Not gonna happen.  You don’t want it.  You never wanted it.  Throw it away.  Forget it.  And so I did.

Or I thought I did.

Today, in my post-Vegas jet-lagged confusion, I forgot my lunch at home and had to go out for something.  Found myself at IHOP, tucked away in a corner where I could at least see trees and daylight for a little while.  A few moments after my order was taken, a family was seated in the booth opposite mine.  A baby girl in a hot pink tutu was placed in the high chair at the end of the table.  I tried not to look…not looking, not looking…omg I’m looking! And this sweet toothless girl in her hot pink cute ensemble is staring at me and smiling.  So I wave.  And she waves. And I wave. And she blows me a kiss. OMG!  All the wishes for a big family, for being mom to a whole herd of kooky kids, for some kind of reliable male partner, all that was set free in the instant that kiss was blown at me by this fuzzy headed little creature.

And now I’m just kind of an emotional girly mess.  The clock is ticking loudly.  Time is wasting, time was wasted on people who had no intention of every trying to be a family.  There is a window of time left where I could have my own kids, but that window seems so short, especially considering I’m missing the reliable male partner portion of the equation, the one who helps change diapers and helps make ends meet and wants to be a part of this whole thing.   I turn 40 next week and the biological clock is starting to sound more like a cuckoo clock in my head–was I cuckoo for wanting the kids and the partner…or was I cuckoo for not figuring out a way to do it on my own? Either way, I feel cuckoo, emotional and kinda overwhelmed.  Life has a way of working out and you never know how your dreams will come to fruition…but I am feeling skeptical about this one.

I’m not hell-bent on more kids having to be my biological children.  I could foster.  I could adopt.  I need more money and more time, though, than being a single parent paying all the bills provides.

I’m sorry if the sound of my ticking clock disturbs all of western NC.  I thought I’d pulled the battery out of that clock and tossed those out long ago, and that the clock was on lockdown in a vault somewhere.  Blame the sweet little kid in the tutu for my emotional chaos.