Stings

I stepped on something today that stung me. Literally. I have no idea what it was, but it sure was a stinger. The bottom of my foot instantly swelled up and I had a fever for about an hour and a half. Allergic reaction much? I guess so! It took me several hours of attempts (and then soaking my foot in epsom salt) to finally get the stinger out of my foot. I might add, that the sting sight wasn't really hurting all that much until the stinger itself was actually removed. Now the bottom of my foot is just swollen and hurting.

I find it funny how life situations can reflect our hearts sometimes. My heart feels swollen and sore. Quite frankly, a bee stung my heart yesterday, and now today I'm left licking the wound that's festering.

In the moment of the bee sting, I was so angry with the "bee". My heart was wholly focused on the ridiculous actions of the bee and how utterly inconsiderate it was. Don't get me wrong, the bee was being foolish. His actions were reprehensible. I make no excuses for his decisions.

Why are there almost always "buts" when stings arrive? This story would be no exception. I was not an innocent bystander. I fought with the bee, instigated it, prodded it, and punished it, and then I ran away to my corner to hide when the bee stung me. I hate when the blame goes in two directions...

So here I sit, being given the silent treatment (which is incredibly unfair, except that I know the bee always runs away to hide when he thinks I'm disappointed and enraged with him), with a stung and swollen heart, feeling sad. Here I sit, still angry, but much more hurt than anything by the actions of the other day. Here I sit wishing and wanting for things to be different than they are, but trapped in the actuality of what is. Here I sit, waiting for the stinger to be removed so the healing can begin. Here I sit hoping that the grief of the attack will overwhelm you to the point of needing to talk to me. Stupid girl, huh?

Yowza

For the past few days I have been working on completing a project that should have been finished a year ago. I am a procrastinator. I get involved in a project and then I get busy with life and the project goes to the back burner and activities come to the front. Before I know it, the project is packed away in a bag somewhere, and I'll "stumble" upon it while purging myself of stuffitis. I hate having stuff just to have it. If it isn't meaningful, useful, something I actually use, I don't want it. Call it the byproduct of your house burning down in front of you, or Army/college moves... Whatever it may be, it's how I am. I can't stand the idea of having stuff just to have it. 

So I've been working on this project and I looked down at my hands, which are bleeding (seriously... I've been working on it that much), which then caused me to look down at my shirt, and I burst out laughing. I am COVERED in string. Seriously! I don't know how/when it happened, but my pink shirt has become bedazzled with a gazillion little pieces of thread. So this is the image: hair in a pony tail (um, it is RARELY not in one. It's called kids...), hot pink tank top covered in tiny pieces of white thread, fingers covered in cuts, rug burns, and scabs, head phones on my ears (have to stay motivated!), and a smile on my face. 

PS. At church yesterday I wore one of my new outfits, can I just say that a bunch of people said how nice I looked. It made me feel rather lovely. :)

There are moments when I wonder what it must be like for you to be married to me. I wonder how many times you've swallowed your pride, and let my ego, my need for defeat, my overbearing personality crush you. I wonder how many times you've wanted to sucker punch me with words the way that I've done to you. I wonder how many times you've laid in bed wondering what the hell you were thinking when you married me. I wonder how many times you wished to get your freedom back and unchain yourself from this melody.

Does it bother you that I tell jokes all the time? Do you ever wish I was more quiet, less ridiculous, better and not asking questions? Do you ever wish I was someone else?

When I honestly assess things, I truthfully have no idea why this boy from BFE fell in love with a city girl from LA with nothing but attitude, a rebellious side, trapped in a deeply religious spirit. I was egotistical, self centered, hell bent on my own plans. What the hell did you see in me?

I have never been the pretty girl. That's not to say that I'm fugly, I don't think I am, I'm just saying, I've never been the girl that the fellas walk by, double take, and say "Oh my gosh I. must. have!" I just haven't been. I was the one that people sort of loved very gradually. I inched my way into people's hearts slowly. I never had anyone suddenly need me, throwing all caution to the wind. I knew I wasn't a 10, but I knew I was funny, and I knew I was smart.

The thing is, you didn't care. In your beautiful brain I was a 10. It didn't make any sense to me, and truthfully it still doesn't. What on earth do you see in me?

I think it's funny that when we got married, both of our families "warned" us about the other. I think it's sad, to be honest. I think it goes to show how little they know either of us. As if your temper, and my ego, were the front and center aspects of our personalities. They're so minor in regards to us. They are almost nothing on the scales of who we are. But yet so many people are blinded, overwhelmed and completely focused on them.

The truth is, I didn't believe you were possible. I didn't believe a person who loved me like you do, existed. I didn't believe there was someone strong enough to be my man. I didn't believe that a man existed who was capable of turning my crazy into something normal, or at least sticking around for long enough for God to do it. I didn't believe that someone existed who was capable of loving me at all. Love was something I was created to give and never to get in return.

When you showed up on my radar I was literally thrust into a movement that was going faster than I knew how to process. I had always been the one in control. I had always been the one pulling the puppet strings. I had always had an escape clause. I had always been capable of quitting, if I wanted to. But with you, everything clicked. It was perfect, weird, chaotic, uncomfortable, and lovely all at the same time. You were so easy. You were too easy. I suppose when you left and I had all the time in the world to process and psychoanalyze, I jumped ship. I still remember that conversation like it was yesterday. I was scared. Not of you leaving me, or not loving me, but rather I was scared of me not being able to function in your love. I was scared that I couldn't live in anything normal, since it was nothing I had ever known before.

Somehow your love was bigger than my insanity. Somehow it still is. Somehow we ended up married, years later, with four kids, two dogs, a minivan... Somehow, this crazy chick from LA ended up with the greatest experience in the world. Somehow this girl, who never loved anything more than her ability to ditch it, ended up loving someone she had to face the possibility of losing, for the majority of her marriage. Maybe that's the extra special beauty here... We have to keep choosing each other over and over again.

The crazy thing is that I still feel like a girl who just got engaged. I still feel like everything is right before us and my life is about to begin. I still feel excited about every second, every touch, every experience. I still feel like I just met you and the high of knowing you exist is pumping through my veins.

You and I became we. And "we" then became four people, walking around in four little bodies, with "us" in them. Look what our love has done? We produced people! Wow. I mean, wow. I'm literally the luckiest girl in the world.

I love you Chief. Bigger than the whole universe.

Adventures of a Mrs.

The lobster was in a fowl mood today. He was irritated and frustrated and upset with himself. I knew immediately that he was not a happy kitty in the sandbox when he said hello. Actually he didn't even say hello I just looked at his face and say 'uh oh'. Okay, I didn't really say uh oh out loud, but I thought it in my head. Sort of.

The lobster and I are incredibly rarely both in a bad mood. When he is in one, there's this aspect of myself that immediately starts trying to make him laugh. I can't really control it. It happens subconsciously. He's just so cute when he's angry, and my heart just loves him so much that I don't want a single second wasted on upset feelings.

I have to admit there are times when I can't get him to snap out of it. Those moments don't come all that often, but they do occasionally happen. Sometimes he'll only switch back to happy when I become angry. It's like he's wearing a "I'm upset" suit and he's only no longer upset when he takes it off and I put it on. Today was looking like it might turn into one those days, until I pointed out that he will only be satisfied when I become angry. I said Why can't we just skip all this crap!? He started to crack... His tense jaw line and stern expression softened, ever so slightly, and I knew I had him. Once the concrete wall behind the dam starts to crack, it's only a matter of seconds before the whole thing comes crashing down. I'm too perceptive to let his half smile go ignored. I love his laughter too much to not chase after it.

Truth be told, I love laughter in general, not just the lobster's. Laughing is my most favorite thing to do, and I want to do it almost constantly. There are very rare periods (what I call, "dark" days) when I don't feel like laughing.

Anyway, the funny part of this entire diatribe between me and the lobster is that towards the end of his frustration, he said Ugh! You are NOT letting me be irritated and I want to be! By this point he was laughing, and his irritation was gone (so he was ever so slightly irritated by the fact that he was no longer irritated), so I said Do you want me to interrupt you? (This irritates him) Say something and I'll interrupt you! He said No! I said How about some chips? Do you want me to get some chips and chew into the microphone? (like nails on a chalkboard to this man) He said You know? You are really ruining this for me! And the laughter began...

This is the beautiful side of love. This is my favorite part of loving him and being a part of his life. I love laughing with him. I love turning moments that completely suck and are frustrating, into moments where grumpiness can't take root and irritability can't seem to stick around. I love being the person that keeps his jawline from being stern, and his heart from being too self deprecating. I love being his girlfriend.

Fashion Forward, or is it fasting forward? :)

Last night, at about six o'clock, I believe I hit my wall. I think I finally reached the point where I was so tired of talking on the phone, having the same conversation eighteen thousand times (slight exaggeration, but whatever), that I said to the kids "Want to go on an adventure?" Now, adventures in my book are awesome possum. They only come when I have the inspiration to do so, but they are the moments when we get in the car, see where our curiosities take us, and revel in the excitement of the moment. "Adventures" are one of my most favorite experiences.

So at the time of day when I'm usually winding down and preparing the kiddos for sleep, we piled into our minivan and drove. We listened to music and sang our hearts out. Lolli finally popped up and said, "Hey guys! Why don't we talk about Daddy?" Now, I am a sucker for any sort of conversation that involved the lobster, so we turned the music off, and started talking. I said, "Lolli, how do you want to talk about Daddy?" She said, "Why don't you tell us things about him?" This then was proceeded by a half an hour of our four children asking me all sorts of things about the lobster, and me answering them. It was incredibly uplifting. Talking about him lifts my spirits, it takes me to a completely different mental plane. He is just that good.

We inevitably ended up shopping. I realize this is a complete female stereotype, however, if you know me you realize that I fall in to almost none of the female typical stereotypes. I hate shopping. I knew the situation was about to be forced upon me, when my last pair of jeans finally gave under the thread barren pressure of having been worn for a lot of years and tore. I needed some new clothes. We saw a sale sign and headed in. Walked out with two new pairs of pants for me and some tops that are not, wait for it.... polo shirts. I went through a weird polo shirt addiction phase. I despise shopping so much that when I find something that semi looks decent on me, I go crazy with it and get it in every single color.  This is how I have avoided stores for long periods of time.

This morning I woke up and decided that FRGness was going to wait. I just wasn't feeling it. So the phone calls were sent to voicemail, and the emails were not answered. What did I do instead? Make a rug! Seriously. Instead of FRGing, I literally made a rug. Pretty cool, if you ask me. It just goes to show how much of my "happy" time FRGing takes up, and how much I need to learn to say "no, I'm not doing this today." My problem is that I am a workaholic to the core. I think I developed that aspect of myself when medical school was my central focus. It's virtually impossible to be a surgeon without a workaholic mentality. You just won't be able to cut it (yes, pun intended...lol).

Tonight we had a meeting and I wore my new clothes. I kid you not, eight people came up to me and said, "Look at you! You look nice!" I was like, WUH! Do I normally look hideous!? Okay people. I get it. Yes, yes I did. Way too many polo shirts. Way too little focus on appearance. Not that one must be vain, but I want the lobster to know that he is married to a woman who values his opinion of her. I know the lobster thinks I'm gorgeous. I know he is crazy about me. I guess I've allowed myself to be too lazy for too long. So, I'm trying to get some outfits together, make myself more comfortable with this fashion stuff. I want the lobster to come home to a woman who looks put together, not awkwardly dressed up.

Can you dig it? :)

The journey

Today has been a roller coaster of a day. I got to talk to one of my best friends, who despite the fact that it had been approximately a year and a half since the last time we'd spoken, she still falls in the category. Call me loyal, call me sappy, call me completely over attached to people...whatever. It's a title that takes an enormous amount of insanity, hilarious moments, worrying about my out of control decisions (like disappearing from college for over a week.... true story! Another day another dollar...), but once it's earned it probably takes just as long to lose. Things are different now. I'm so different. So is she. It's amazing to hear her little chicken nugget making noises in the background. She probably has no idea how that warms my heart. How much that little boy brightens up my face because I imagine what he does to hers. I imagine her face as he's laughing hysterically and it just brings me to a completely difference place mentally. It makes my spirit smile.

On the flip side of that, I've been diving into the ridiculous emotional game of what if. What if is a dirty word to a spouse with a deployed husband. It brings hope, devastation, worry, anxiety, excitement, and defeat all in one complete present. It's a crazy ride this lifestyle. Here I am at the beginning of a new day with fear settling into my heart and I just want to be near him. I just want to look at him, and keep looking at him until I fall asleep. I just want to touch him and feel him. I want to go to sleep knowing that he is right next to me. I want the what ifs to go the freak away and the for certains to arrive. It's such a silly notion since nothing in life is for certain, ever.

I have so many things to look forward to in the future. I have so many experiences to be incredibly excited about. I almost feel like I felt right before the lobster and I got married. I almost feel like our whole lives are laid out before us and all we have to do is begin step one.

Except that step one is a big one. What if step one is the final step? What if step one is nothing like what I've been hoping or imagining? What if step one is goodbye? What if...


A friend of mine put my anxious thoughts in perspective today. I'm thankful because it was exactly what I needed. I had been reeling off of so many unknowns and so many changes that I was nearly crazy this afternoon. My dear friend, who is in so many ways a part of my family, reminded me that all of this is a process of steps. I need to stop thinking in the terms of big picture and refocus to each moment, each aspect of the journey. This moment, for this day, I know what to expect. It was actually an incredibly monumental moment, because there is something spiritually beautiful when a friend can climb into your mountain of crazy, pull you off the cliff, and set you right back down in reality when they have no idea that they're doing it. This kind of crap makes my friend incredibly uncomfortable, but I figure God stuck me on 'em for a purpose, and maybe it's for my emotional crap! :)

So here's a toast, at the end of my day, to a thousand things chiseled down to one step at a time. Here's a toast to die-hard old friends, surprise heroes, the world's greatest husband (seriously.... he really is the greatest. You can argue all you want, but you aren't married to him...), and the excitement of coming to terms with having no idea about what's around the bend. Here's a toast to raising our feet up for step one.

Reflections

Today me and the firecracker of my children had some words. She was acting out ridiculously, and my reaction to her was completely inappropriate. I screamed. To be honest, I think my reaction startled her just as much as it startled me. We both sort of looked at each other in shock. Then the words of Rosa popped in to my brain: When talking to our children, we often forget to ask them to help us. Help us by making good choices. Help us by speaking kindly. Help us by controlling ourselves. We often command them to obey instead of asking them to.


Her words shot through my like the explosion of a M1Abrams. It knocked me back. I was embarrassed. I was ashamed.

I called my little firecracker over, who was back to screaming at me, and I laughed in my brain about the horrible example I was. How could I "command" her to obey me, when I was displaying the very behavior she was!? So I said Listen. I think we both struggle with self control, don't we? She got silent. I think we both scream sometimes when we're angry. Do you think we should do that? She said No. I continued So I want to tell you that I am very sorry for screaming at you. I was not being a good role model. We all make bad choices sometimes, and I made a bad one. Will you forgive me? She said Of course I forgive you. I said Thanks. Now, since we both have this problem, do you think that maybe we could encourage, pray for, and help remind each other to be self controlled? She said Well I just can't think of how to do that! I said Me neither. How about if we just say 'Remember we need to be self controlled' when we're feeling out of control?


The kid who usually screams and sasses me and won't calm down for eighteen hundred thousand hours, immediately switched from angry to crying. I think in so many ways she and I are remarkably similar. A couple of weeks ago I felt like I didn't relate to her at all. I suppose I don't remember being four and not able to communicate the anger and abandonment I felt. We are both control freaks. We both feel much safer being angry than being hurt. We both hate crying. I don't mean that in the general girly way of saying that we don't like to cry, she and I will avoid it at all costs, and do almost anything to prevent the real emotions from being displayed: withdraw, be angry, act silly, deflect, change the subject...

Today I recognized myself in my youngest. It gave me a completely different viewpoint. She and I are both struggling with our lack of control. We would both rather be angry and distracted than hurt. We both love a human being that compels us, and forces us, to experience these periods of circumstantial devastation. Maybe this is part of our life journey: to learn to live in sadness. Not avoiding it, ignoring it, or translating it into anger, but to dwell within the moments of pain and to be okay with that.

Maybe she and I need to learn to turn our eggshells into feathers.

Coins

A moment passed this evening that struck me. I was standing at the refrigerator and I felt you there behind me. I felt you almost move through me, as if the ghost of your memory was kissing me on the neck as I pulled the milk carton off the shelf. I got goosebumps, just like I normally do, and I felt my brain wanting to turn around to kiss you back. In the split second of the beautiful scenario, my mind remembered that it wasn't real and I continued on with my milk carton.

I believe that at that moment, your spirit left you, perhaps momentarily, perhaps hallucinatingly, perhaps however, and came to visit me at the refrigerator. Maybe you were day dreaming, maybe you were sleep dreaming, or maybe our love is just that strong so as to cross barriers of space and time.

The nay sayers are reading this email saying I'm ridiculous. They're saying to themselves That poor girl. She just can't accept that he isn't there. Maybe they're right. Maybe I can't. Maybe I'm lost in illusions and fantasies. If that is the case, I am quite happily so. Who says reality can't include fantasy? Who says they are mutually exclusive?

On the flip side of that coin, I can still say maybe they're wrong. Maybe the human spirit is more powerful than we give it credit for. Maybe we really do have the ability to peak in the windows of the human soul, when two are merged together as one. Maybe he and I truly are enmeshed, entangled, mixed up, and so completely jumbled together like a bowl of cooked spaghetti that him being in Iraq and me being in the US have truly become irrelevant. Maybe we get to be the exception to the rules of separation. Maybe I am wandering around all day long in his dreams, and maybe he is in mine. Maybe my day plays out, spiritually connected, as if he was here the whole time. Maybe our hands get to touch, our faces get to press, our lips get to meet, and our bodies get to relax.

Maybe fantasy is so much better than reality. Maybe illusion keeps us from being lost in this dust storm.

Delicious

We live our lives focused on letting go. We let go of our hurts, our childhoods, our parents' failures, our past loves, sometimes our current ones... We live our lives acting on the belief of life's series of farewells. We grow up and say adieu. We get married and say goodbye to our singlehood. We give birth and close the book on selfishness...

I have spent a hundred million hours on trying to let go. I have pondered a world without you. I've lived with your ghost. As I sit here writing this, I am wrapped up in your uniform, your smell, your presence, trying to absorb the lesson.

I think the purpose of life isn't really about letting go, but rather about holding on. Life is about discovering what really matters. Is it love? Is it faith? Is it children and plans? It is a Norman Rockwell picture? Is it the "American dream"? What is it that we're holding on to and why?

For some people, what they hold on to is acceptance. For others it's being loved. For some it's chasing the unobtainable. For some it's conquering, leading, or destroying. For some it's searching through the rubble and finding one person who seeks them out. For some it's being the seeker. For some it's feeding the homeless, fighting for the unborn, playing games in politics.

When I look quietly and calmly at what really matters to me, what matters deep down in the quiet of my screaming, in the depth of my soul, in the beat of my heart, it's you. Everything else is an extension off of that. It isn't the symbol of you, or the idea of you. It isn't the picture that we have painted together, or the wonderful things that you have given to me. It is the beauty of molding myself, bending my will, breaking my barriers down, so that I can more fully and freely love you.

We waste so much time trying to "let go" of hurt. We try to let go of our pasts as if they're some anchor that keep us locked in place. I think we're trapped by our unwillingness to honestly, genuinely, and passionately hold on to what matters. I think we're consumed by keeping our hands filled to the brim with everything else under the sun, instead of the precious gold that we need. I think we waste our time, our energy, our hearts, our experiences on things of little relevance.

I am learning that while letting go is messy and awkward and painful, holding on is where all the good stuff is at. Holding on is yummy.

Lobster

I fall more and more in love with you every second. I swear that every moment I think I can not possibly love you more, something happens that I fall more and more and more. You are the most courageous, beautiful, humble, honorable, supportive, wise man I have ever laid eyes on. You are filled with wisdom from God alone in how to lead me. I am humbled that you would care so deeply for me. I am madly in love with you. There are no words to express how lost I would be without you.

Thank you for being strong enough to be my man. I am always and forever, yours.

I'll be seeing you.
Me

Memories at Dinner

The kids have begun this tradition at the dinner table just recently. They thought it up all on their own and I have enjoyed it the past few days, if I'm completely honest. They have these neat ways of holding up beautiful memories and lighting up the room with them and it makes me smile. Anyway, the tradition that they've begun is that at dinner, we go around the table, and we say things that we miss about daddy. It's a time in our day where we stop and focus on the fact that we wish he was here with us, but we also remind ourselves about how amazing he is. I love the way their faces light up as they recall the things about him that they love. I love the way that they each make sure that their things are never duplicated. I love that the memories that pop up end up bringing up stories, which then have us all laughing.

One story tonight was Char's. She shared that one things she loves about daddy is how he has pillow fights with them. This then led into a lengthy discussion about the last pillow fight they had with him, and how he won, even though it was four against one.

Some occasional things that are loved about daddy have surprised me. For example, "I love when daddy plays games on his cell phone" or "when daddy wears pajamas." Those certainly cracked me up, but those are aspects of him that are so beautiful and special to who he is. It isn't difficult to conjure up the memory of him in his blue pajama bottoms, wearing a white t shirt (or an army company shirt), sitting on the sofa playing a game on his phone. The thought makes me smile.

I love this new tradition. I love that our four beautiful children thought to do it all on their own.

Standards of Grief

Over two months ago, my little Charchee's world was shattered: her daddy left for Iraq. Since then, she has refused to talk about him, has been overwhelmingly angry, and screams almost constantly. Her behavior has perplexed me, frustrated me, angered me, hurt me, and brought me to tears in helplessness. It didn't seem like it mattered what I did. No amount of time outs, removal of toys, or any other consequences was changing the way she behaved. She was angry and out of control. 

A few days ago, in a moment of complete exasperation, I started talking to her about how illogically she was behaving. 

Char, why are you so angry?

Because.

Because why?

I just AM!

Do you feel better when you scream and hit yourself? Does it make you less angry.

No.

So why do it? Does it make sense to do something that only makes you feel worse?

I don't know if she had thought about it that way. I also don't know if saying that to her changed anything in her. That was a particularly difficult day. She had been breaking things, throwing and screaming for hours. I was emotionally exhausted and I just didn't know what to do. So I told her to keep screaming. Maybe the child just needed to scream. Why are we so eager to prevent our children from venting their emotions? Why do we have these standards of how they are and are not allowed to feel? I do agree that there are times and places to scream, but if I'm honest, there are moments when I need to scream too. Why should we expect our children to be any different, especially when it's so clear that they are struggling with a elephant sized emotional set of circumstances.

So for two days I let her scream. I didn't let her hit, or throw, or break things, but I did let her scream. By the second day, the screaming was radically reduced in length. Instead of screaming for hours, she was screaming for five seconds. So why am I telling you all of this? Because last night, in a random moment, my little Charchee started to whimper. I asked her what was wrong and she said I just miss my daddy... There it was, ladies and gentlemen, the statement I know that my little four year old has been needing to say for months. This morning, it was followed up by a statement about how she misses having pillow fights with him, again unprovoked, while we were eating breakfast. I can't be certain that her rage is gone. I don't know if it is. I understand her anger. I have it myself. I can say though, that my child who has been having the most difficult of times, is finally talking about her daddy. She's finally in the mourning portion of her grief. 

I miss her. I miss who she is when he's not deployed.

Sometimes you get locked out of your house, because you need to sit in the breeze and soak up the outside air. Sometimes no one will answer their phones, because you need to experience the silence, and the experiences that come with it. Sometimes you're sitting in a crowded room feeling completely alone, because alone is exactly where you need to be in that moment. Sometimes a calm comes while your child screams at you for three hours, because you just don't have any fight left in you anymore. Sometimes you keep yourself so busy that you can hardly remember the last time you sat down, because you need to be outside of your house as much as possible. Sometimes you're so busy doing everything else but what you probably should be doing, because should is a quarter too short of a dollar and you just can't.

Sometimes you're screaming as loud as you can, because you have the strength to. Sometimes you should be screaming but are silent, because you don't have any willpower left. Sometimes you are more depressed than depressed can even describe, because you just need to be. Sometimes you need to grieve, because your heart has some unspoken that it needs to ache over. Sometimes you don't know what that is, because you aren't supposed to at this particular time.

Lobster

Before you left me for Iraq, you told me that I had to learn to let you go. I have been spending the past two months running as fast as I could from that lesson.

The day you left, I wore a smile. I stood there and hugged you. I think I was cried out. The pre-deployment days were filled with emotional wars against that experience. I was so afraid to take you to that place and turn around and leave without you. I am so afraid. I am scared to even write this.

Did you know that I had a moment where I was actually thinking that I wished it would just happen already? I literally prayed and begged God to just get it over with and send those two freaking people to my door so that the agony of this experience could just begin. So that I could just let you go, so that the hurt that I believe is coming my way will just start. The waiting was agonizing.

Tonight I was sitting here and for the first time, I was able to cry, sober. I was able to hurt and be angry and scream at you, without alcohol running through my veins. You asked me today what I was medicating. I was being an asshole and I told you some bullshit response intent on creating a reaction from you. For whatever reason, you didn't take the bait. 

When we were sitting at the gym, I didn't have anything to say. I didn't have any tears to cry. I was numb. I was sad, but more numb than sad. And I drove away from that place, pulled up to our house and into our garage and I started screaming. I beat the steering wheel and I just screamed. I felt like the screaming would never stop, until you left. And in that moment, when we were all standing outside, and Lolli was right there with me, a strange moment of peace flooded over me. All of the battles that my insides were waging finally settled and a calm arrived. It was almost like my spirit was begging God for something to change, and when the plane left, I had my answer. I knew. You had to go.

I don't know how to let you go. I don't know how to be without you. I'm falling apart chief. I mean, I'm really falling apart. Not just in the emotional baggage, missing her deployed husband way. I am disintegrating like a handful of sand in a windstorm. You tell me I have to learn to let you go when I have finally learned to need you.

This isn't about deployment. This isn't about you being over there. I've done this. We've done this before. I know how to handle the mediocrities of daily life in your absence. Heck, it's sort of the story of our lives. The handling of the kids stuff, and the household stuff, and the general running our stuff I can do. It's me. I don't know how to "do" me. 

So tonight I had this moment where my hands felt the fabric on my grandpa's chair. Not just in a passing happenstance kind of way, but they really felt the chair. For a moment the ghost of your hand passed through mine, and my skin remembered. It remembered what it felt like to hold yours and the memory hurt. It ached. Before I knew it I was clutching the arm of the chair, bawling my eyes, curled up in the fetal position and screaming. I hate you for leaving me! Why did you leave me? Why did you leave me here all alone? I need you! In that moment of emotional agony I heard your voice so clearly it was almost as if you were standing right behind me You need to learn to let me go...

Maybe that's why you're still here. Maybe that's the great lesson that I'm supposed to learn this time around. Maybe you're supposed to be the shepherd that guides me down that path. Maybe you're here, to teach me how. Maybe you're the only one who can. And maybe when I finally really learn how to do it, the lesson will make it unnecessary for you to actually go. Maybe this is all about the process. Maybe this is really about the journey.

This is, after all, the story of us. So tonight, I'm sober, and I'm hurting. Tonight I'm crying and I'm angry and I'm lonely. Tonight I want to feel you touching me, or kissing me. Tonight I want to see you sitting on our sofa playing on your damned cell phone. Tonight I want to lay next to you in our bed. Tonight I want to keep you up until all hours of the night, talking about the things that inspire me, challenge me, ignite me, or vex me. Tonight I want to feel your hand holding mine. Tonight I want to talk about you. Tonight I want to hear about you. Tonight I want to experience you in a way that isn't laced with hiding, running, or ignoring.

The reality is that tonight I'm on step one of learning to let you go. And it's all because of those three stupid things you made me do today. 

Lobster

You taught me how to feel alive. I never really did before you came around. I was sort of humming along, in black and white, telling jokes and trying to think about anything other than myself. There was no color. There was no magic. I had no excitement, or girlyness. I wasn't giggly. I was overbearingly hilarious (I tried to be anyway), crazy outgoing, hidden in a sea of people, focused on my goals and ambitions. Nothing was going to stop me.

You popped into my life as a complete miracle. It was like you came and brought color with you. I was instantly in love. I lost all of my masks. My walls came tumbling down, along with all of my rules as well. I couldn't stop myself. I had to love you. I fell in love with everything you brought: color, giggles, light, laughter, normalcy, love, focus.

You saved me from myself. You saved me from a "normal" existence. You saved me from living my life to fulfill the status quo of expectations laid out before me. You saved me from a life of gray.

I don't know why I was so surprised that you were able to save me again. I don't know why you were the only one who could pin point exactly what I needed. I don't know why I was surprised that you could reach me, when I seem to have forgotten how to reach myself.

I did all the things you told me to today. I don't feel like the gray is completely gone, but at least I feel like I accomplished something valuable. When I was pouring myself out at you, immersed in my lackadaisical misery, you said something that I never thought you would: You've been like this before. Back when the triplets were born.

So in the haze of what can only be God Himself telling you exactly what to tell me, you gave me an assignment. When you gave it to me I thought to myself that it wasn't going to happen. I thought it was silly and impossible to do on this day of all days. Before I knew it, I was accomplishing task one. Then when I came back from that, task two was being finished. Then, about three hours ago, task three found its way into the completed category and here I sit, laughing, because you were right! You were exactly right about what I needed.

Thank you chief. You always know how to save me, especially when I don't think it's possible for me to be saved by anyone.

I live in this huge house, with these four kids. I have a refrigerator full of food. I have clothes to wear and money in the bank. I have a paycheck I can anticipate being there when I need it to be.

Yet I hate the cost.

I hate giving up the hand holding. The kisses. The touches. The closeness. The silent moments, sitting together on the sofa. I hate being here without you. I hate our half empty bed. I hate being around "our" friends. I hate holidays. I hate birthdays. I hate every days. I hate myself, and the fact that I can barely function, or function in some completely screwed up way, with you gone. I hate that nothing has any meaning, if it doesn't connect back to you. I hate that nothing matters to me, if it isn't a part of you. I hate being sober. I hate sleeping. I hate being awake. I hate every moment that I'm not sitting there next to you.

Remember last year when my eye went hog wire and it was red and hurting? It's doing that again. Maybe it's stress... Maybe it's seasonal. Maybe it's loneliness. Maybe even my damn right eye misses you more than it knows how to handle.

Where the hell are you? Fuck it. I know where you are. I know what you're doing, or at least some glimpse of what you're doing. I get it.

Why aren't you here? Why does it take me two months to scream that out into the darkness? Why does it take my hands two months to ache? To hurt? To cry? Why does it come on the heels of the greatest day I've had in ages? Why? Why aren't you here to talk to? Why don't you feel my broken heart from a million miles away?

I need you. I cease to exist when you aren't here. It's a sickness. I know. But I'm too loose to hide it.

Hail to the Chief

Finding my normal after D day has proven to be incredibly difficult. Beginning to feel like myself again after the ripping of you out of our picture has been painful. I haven't necessarily handled it gracefully. I have had tantrums, consumed too much alcohol, been angry, rejected, hidden, cried, and ignored. I have made efforts to pretend like it wasn't that big of a deal. I have also wallowed in misery and behaved like it was the end of my world.

I think I'm slowly starting to feel normal again. I catch waves of myself randomly. Today was one of those days. I didn't feel like I was trying to fulfill some status quo of what everyone is expecting of me. Today I just felt like laughing, so laugh I did. I loved it! It was wonderful. It was amazing to laugh with you. It was amazing to see you smiling. It was hilarious to watch you eat chocolate cake on "the phone". How quickly your "rules" of behavior start to dissipate... :)

I miss making dinner for you. I miss watching you do the dishes, and leaning against the counter talking to you. I miss standing behind you and messing with you while you try to accomplish the cleaning of the counters and sink.

I love when you ask what's for dinner. I probably love it too much! ;) Sneaky! Sneaky!

I love that you make fun of my insane fears of commitment. And that we could laugh about how if you had just passed out, you and I would probably not be married. I love that you can make fun of the fact that I am, in a way, the runaway bride. Okay, not in a way, in a LOT of ways!

I love that our wedding day is a complete blur in your mind. I love that it is in mine, and that the main portion I remember about the whole event was how badly I wanted to get the hell out of there and just have the whole ordeal over with. I love how that is so typical of you and me, and how it really means absolutely nothing about "us". I think I really would've been much happier to have it just be a contract that was signed, in front of a judge, and no fuss, or embarrassment. I still think it's hilarious that being insanely in love with you is embarrassing to me, especially since it's impossible for me to hide.

I love that only after being married for as many years as we have, am I now contemplating the excitement of having a "real" (in the sense of traditionalism) wedding, and actually looking forward to the event. Only now, am I not terrified about promising to love you forever, in front of a bunch of people, who might be staring at me. Let them stare baby. I've got nothing to hide.

I love that you make me feel so young. I love that you make me forget that I have eighteen thousand children, and a million responsibilities. I love that you still make me throw caution to the wind. I love that you made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter. I love that you still ignite that rebelliousness in me, and mellow out the careful side of me. 

I love that you think I'm hilarious. I love that you think I'm the funniest person in the room, almost always. I love that you and I are drawn together like magnets, and the vast majority of the time, it doesn't really matter to us what anyone thinks about that. I love that you finish my sentences. I love that I can say a completely inaudible sentence, filled with fragments, incomplete thoughts and non-sentences, and you know exactly what I mean. I love that you know how much I love a good story, and you write them with me every. single. day.

I love being the yin to your yang, the sun to your sky, the shore to your ocean, the mother to your children, the heart to your love, the palm to your hand, the advocate to your devil, the love to your soul, the light to your dark, the peace to your war, the one to your Army, the highlight of your day, the weakness to your strength, the joke to your laughter, the 'm' to your m&m. There is no separation of church and state here. This is no government divided in three parts. We are not two individuals, married together as one. To divide us is to ill define us, because with you and me, there really is no line to define where you end and I begin again. 

Letters to...

Dear You,

Get the hell over yourself. Seriously. You take yourself way too freaking seriously. You need to calm down. You need to chillax. Step outside and take a breather. Go for a walk. Stop crying all the time. Stop emanating disappointment and rage all over the place. You are vomiting escapades that really only embarrass yourself.

Have you really contemplated that this isn't that big of a deal? Have you really sat still and just acknowledged that you're being a bit dramatic? I mean, really? You have so much more than the majority of people around you. Sure, you're different than anyone else you know. But so the hell what? I mean, who cares? Isn't everyone different in certain ways? Do you really want to meet another you? You'd probably hate that person if you did!

And enough with how smart and perceptive you are. We get it. We get that you're really freaking smart and you put to shame the majority of the world. We got it the first fifteen thousand times you felt the need to announce it to us all. Are you sure that you get it? I mean, you keep bringing it up in your blog posts, so I'm not really sure...

Your life has been hard. I'm sorry about that. I know that you have had more to grieve than the majority of eighty years olds you've known. I know you've been told countless times, by an endless list of psycho therapists that you have enough to mourn to last for a lifetime. I know that you've been able to fool pretty much every single one of them that you've ever met. I know that you're too smart to allow yourself to be analyzed, but who really wants to live like that? At what point will you stop and just rip open the covers to your inner self, allow in the sunlight and the cold fresh air, and scream at the top of your lungs "I'M FREE!" When will you show who you are to anyone other than that one special person that you've chosen to expose yourself to, or rather that has chosen you to invest in?

When will you acknowledge your wickedness? I don't mean your "I'm a sinner" wickedness, I mean your real I-get-drunk-so-I-can-fall-asleep wickedness. I mean the stuff you can't even say to your reflection. I mean the stuff you can't whisper in the dark.

When will you admit your dark side? The side that runs from confrontation. The side that is more fragile than a hollow eggshell.

When will you believe you really are worth something?

When will death stop feeling life a relief? When will it stop tasting like heaven on your lips, and like longing in your soul? When will you learn to love living?

You need to stop waiting for the agony that is just around the corner. You need to stop anticipating it in some foolish attempt to prevent the intense agony that comes as the hammer falls. You need to learn to revel in the agony as it comes, to grieve it, and to move forward, without carrying it around like a ball chained to your ankle. You need to stop being a prisoner to your past, your torturer, your abuser, your rapist, your lover, your enemy, your reputation, your ego, your... self. You have always been your own worst enemy.

Don't buy into the self love notion, just learn to stop having so much self loathing. You need to learn to ride the wave of in-between. You need to learn to be content there. You need to learn to laugh there. Stop trying to figure everything out beforehand. Let some things be surprises. Surprises of hurt, surprises of elation, surprises of love. Let someone shock you, I mean really shock you, and be grateful for it.

Learn to accept that failure is an option, and sometimes it's the most beautiful of them. Learn to recognize that times do come when you have to walk away. Learn to recognize that just because you couldn't make her love you the way you needed her to, doesn't mean it was a waste of time. It doesn't mean it was worthless. Learn that just because he was the greatest of failures on your chart, it doesn't mean he's a lost cause. Learn to forgive; them, her, him, yourself for not walking away sooner.

Stop trying to make everyone else so happy. Stop expending so much energy and thought in regards to everyone else's worries. You are literally worrying yourself into an early grave.

And for crying out loud, laugh! Keep on loving the way that you do. Keep on looking for the best in everyone you know. Don't allow the world to jade you.

As always, I wish you all the best. I have had the most vested of all interest in your development. I sincerely believe that one day you will look back and realize that I was right. Even if you weren't strong enough to understand it, at the time.

Always,
Me

Insights

Love is a sort of crazy experience. It displays itself in different ways: romantic or platonic, but it's powerful nonetheless. When I really break it down, whether love is romantic or platonic, it's side effects are the same. True love compels us. It moves us. It drives us. It motivates and changes. It challenges and accepts. It grieves and celebrates. It makes one self vulnerable.

When I reflect back on my life, I have been blessed to have many great loves. I have poured out my self at the feet of people who needed it, who loved it, who hated it, who resented it, who accepted it, and who gave it right back to me.

There are certain people, one is just destined to love. It isn't something that can be controlled or explained. It can't be justified or defended. It just is. It is because it simply has to be. I suppose my love for you falls immaculately into that category. I fell in love with you in about two seconds. It's strange because I believe that you were the first person I allowed that kind of love to overwhelm. It was so intense. It was so beyond what I was capable of giving. It changed me, in an instant, in to a completely different person. I was destined to love you. No matter how hard I tried to flee from it, I couldn't escape it. I could not exist, separately from you.

Today, love brought me to tears. Love compiled itself up inside my little heart and wounded me. Love hurt me. I wanted desperately, to have the safety of your love to run and hide in, but it wasn't meant to be today. I had to stand up in my wounds and communicate without you. I had to be vulnerable without you. It was agonizing. It was terrifying. It was embarrassing.

Today in RCIA, during a prayer of blessing, the catechist prayed this about me: my name, you are a beautiful and delicate soul. May you never stop seeking Christ. May you never forget how beautiful you are in my eyes.

The person who prayed that about me, doesn't know me. She doesn't know anything about me, yet she called me beautiful and delicate. Those are two words that no person on this earth has ever used, in conjunction, about me. No one, has ever, called me delicate, yet I am. As she prayed that, there I sat, silently weeping in my chair. Delicate.

To those who love much, a tremendous amount of vulnerability is exposed. To love is to risk everything. Every time. Even if it's in a platonic sense. To give of myself means to give all that I am, to defend, to preserve, to uphold. It is terrifying. It is excruciating to grasp the notion of not having it returned...

How does God handle this? How does he grasp the daily rejection? How does he keep loving with nothing in return? It devastates me. Why has he called me to give this kind of love? I am afraid. I am broken. I am too damaged. I am too selfish and prideful. I have too much sin that overwhelms me.

My darling lobster, your love perplexes me. It astounds me on a multitude of levels, simply because my mind believes it impossible to be loved. My heart believes it incapable of someone loving it. So I fear. I fear that this cosmic joke is about to be played on me and you must be destined to go away. Nothing beautiful ever lasts in my life. Everything comes with daggers. Everything results in betrayal, abandonment, destruction. I have always felt destined to suffer. My name implies such things.

I have never expected to be loved in return. I have always believed it to be impossible. But in this case, in this time of my life, I feel so desperate to experience it. I find myself disintegrating at the notion that the friends that I love, would not love me equally in return. I think my brain needs to believe that someone other than you could love me. I think I need something to hold onto just in case...

Just in case is such a sick and perverted sentence and I wish I wasn't writing it. What the hell does it mean? Like anything or anyone could ever possibly compare to you? My God it's completely impossible! It's unfathomable, but yet it terrifies me nonetheless. So much so that the slightest disagreement sends me into basket-case tears.

My love, I am so afraid. I feel so helpless and vulnerable and broken. I don't know how to believe in anything beyond you. I don't know how to trust that I'm valuable, apart from you. I don't know who I am, without you. I don't believe anyone is strong enough to handle my insanity. I don't believe anyone cares enough to.

I don't even know if I make any sense at all. Everything feels so jumbled up in my brain. I feel so lost in emotion, consumed by it. I feel so desperate.

So when she called me delicate, I crumbled, in that place, where we all had our eyes closed. I fell apart. To be seen, by a complete stranger, to be recognized, even with all my facades and my masks proudly displayed, is humbling.

I confess I ran out of there faster than a bullet out of a gun at the earliest chance possible. I'm not used to being so...exposed.

lobster

I loved talking to you today. I loved seeing you smile and hearing you laugh. I loved being with you. It's my favorite thing to do. I love looking at your handsome face. When we were talking about the things we miss, everything I miss really is physical. We are blessed to be able to communicate and bond through the internet or the phones. We are blessed that we are able to connect that way. How can I complain? What I miss the most is being able to snuggle. Touching, holding, kissing, just being.

I miss your calloused hands holding mine. I miss your scruffy face pressed against my cheek. I miss running my fingers over the top of your head. I miss your smell. I mean, I almost crazily miss your smell.

I always find it funny how your deployments remind me of my physical need for you. I know how much you have struggled with my issues with physical touch. You have been so patient and compassionate in regards to that issue. I like that while you're gone, I am reminded of how much I actually need you to touch me.

I find it funny that Charchee and I both struggle with this aspect in ourselves. We've both had traumatic experiences involving touch as children, and whether people want to admit it or not, I believe that childhood trauma (even if it can't be remembered) lasts a lifetime. It has bled into my soul and it has taken years of work to attempt to undo the damage that was done.

I hope Charchee learns, as a young child, to overcome this issue with touch. I hope she learns to allow people to hold her. She has lately been so much more connected to me. She wants to be with me. She talks to me. She is coming to terms with her sadness. It encourages me. You know how desperately I love our children and it was breaking my heart to see her so unhappy. Tonight she actually asked me to hug her!!! I was shocked! Then she said, "Mommy. I like bear hugs! I love them!"

Brun is in her usual fall/winter season of constant asthma. Her lungs are quite horrible, and I'm wondering if the meds she's on are actually working. I've been trying to keep the dust out of our house, but that is so difficult with the weather and climate here. Maybe it will be good for us to move out of this place, in order to get her to a healthier environment.

I miss you my love. You truly are the light of my life. I am incredibly blessed to be led by you.