kay? come home.

much like any other day i can be found planted at the scrapbook shoppe.  but the day started with the final step in the completion of filing bankruptcy.  something we both hated with the knowledge of no other choice.

we met at the designated location standing on the sidewalk, waiting for the little white haired man on the other side of the door, trying his best to unlock what seemed to be too much of a task.  a bit of nervous laughter between us.  time seemed to crawl.  with the sound of the click as the door was opened we found ourselves shaking hands goodbye.  it was over.  the weight was lifted as husband and wife left to finish an otherwise uneventful day.

as i sat amongst my fellow scrappers laughing, double overed, eyes filled with tears because it was too funny, my cell rang.

with the remnants of laughter still in my voice i answer knowing its my husband.  the laughter stopped.  something in his voice silenced us all.  was it the look on my face?  was it the air of silence; his hesitation when i answered?  my husband.  i could feel his hurting throb in the emptiness between his words.

"kay?  come home." 

"what's wrong?"  i ask going into automatic overdrive.

"you need to come home.  kay?"  the crack in his voice stabbs, piercing my heart, something caught in my throat.  my head hurt. 

i hear his breath shudder with pain.  knowing he needs to feel something tangible.

"they laid me off.  i don't have a job.  kay?  come home."

"i'm on my way.  its going to be ok."  hearing myself lie.

but i don't go home.  rushing from my tools of creating scattered about i head for those who hurt my sweet husband.   taking his fear with me.  ready to assualt those who are evil.

reaching my destination to face those who have made a mistake; demanding an audience with the upper echelon who refuse to see me.  to face me.

i pace.  i rage inside.  waiting for answers.  demanding, yet again, for those guilty to appear and give credence.  fear driving them to hide.  with the truth of their mistake no one appears.  they know i know its wrong.

i find myself on the curb of a building that had demanded more and more from a man i love so dearly.  33 years of pure innocent loyalty.  knowing it was all for naught. 

sobbing uncontrollably as the street traffic picks up there is a tap on my shoulder.  i look up to see a box of tissues with an offering.

"you are in my prayers."  and she walked back to the evilness she recognized as truth.

she was right... and i hate it.

its been so many years.  and, i'm no longer searching.  for anybody.

it was my birthday.  i want to say it was my 36th birthday.  maybe, but not sure.  anyway, i remember sitting alone in my house.  husband at work.  kid in school.  so i made a phone call.  it seemed like years since i had talked to her.  i had to psych myself up just to dial the number.  a phone number i've always known and will never forget.  "hello?"  "hi."  silence.  dead silence.  "do you know what day it is?"  "no, what?"  "its the day after my birthday."  finally she says, "who is this?"  you see, the day before i made that call it was my birthday and i had waited all day for her to call me.  looking back i don't know why.  but i did.  "its your daughter."  "oh."  i suppose what it had all boiled down to was just one thing.  for me that is.

the relationship between my mother and i was like taking a rubber band and stretching it and wondering when, or if, it would break.  so goes that particular phone call.  that "oh." was like a punch in my stomach.  it took all i had to stay on the phone.  it hurt.  i hurt now as i think about it.  she gives me this "oh, well, happy birthday then."  like, ok, you wanted me to say happy birthday so i said it.  so i plunged right in.  "thanks, but, you know what i want to hear."  she played stupid for a minute or two before i just blurted out "WHAT. IS. HIS. NAME?"

i suppose i caught her at the right (or wrong depending on how you want to look at it) time.  finally, after 18 years she said, "why do you want to know?  he never wanted to know about us.  he saw us on the street and kept walking!  so why do you keep asking?"

because i wanted to know.  my whole life, as far as i was concerned, had been a lie.  i had a right to know who my biological father was.  what i knew to be my entire family (as well as family friends) knew that i was adopted and i didn't.  i guess i would have felt differently had my childhood been something other than being pushed from pillar to post.  but it wasn't different.  i had a very angry mother.  i don't remember her ever smiling.  looking back i do know it was hard for her raising 2 kids and waiting for a child support check.  she worked hard.  she took care of my brother and i.  i know that.  but that isn't the point.  she had kept that name from coming out of her mouth for 36 years and i wanted to know that name.

****** ****!!!

it was like a bomb had gone off.  i just sat there.  on my couch.  in my house.  holding a phone.  in the silence it seemed like an eternity before i grabbed a piece of paper and a pen to scribble the name down.  after that i can't remember if anything else was said; other than "thank you."

eventually i found him.  eventually i understood.

she was right... and i hate.

letting go

i don't want to.  i didn't want to.  i thought i never would.  all of them profound. 

i am a true believer in the cliche' "things happen for a reason."  truly i believe it.  and, not to forget, "what goes around, comes around."  you may never know the reason of why something happened or why you made a certain decision.  and, you may not ever have the chance to see "what comes around" finally.  but these two statments are permanently stamped into my brain but reside in my heart for protection. 

my oldest son is almost 25.  he's married to a beautiful young lady and they have a preious little girl.  my first grandbaby.  i thought i would NEVER let go; no matter what.  he's MY son.  i tried so hard to keep the connection between us.  in every way possible i tried my best to let him know that no matter what, i love him.  it hurt.  it consumed me totally.  and right in front of me are my wonderful understanding husband and our precious little boy.  and i continued to torture myself while my family suffered.  they deserved better.  they deserved the best from me.  but, i couldn't see the forest for the trees.  but.  finally.  i let go.  with no explanation to anyone.  i turned back to my husband and son.  the life that was passing me by while i did everything i could to keep a part of my past alive.  to me it was worth it; the holding on.  but it took too much from me.  it took what i needed to give my husband and son who never wavered from what i chose to do.  mike and max were with me every step of the way.  i am blessed.  i finally realized.  THEY are my life.  and i have returned to the living. 

i will always carry a broken, bleeding, trying to mend, heart. 

i will always remember.

words matter

today i have joined a new project called "words matter."  after months of spending time bouncing from blog to blog i came across one that grabbed my heart.  dana over at roscommon ackers has been gracious enough to share her world with us.  although her world has been frought with deep deep sadness she has called us together to share the words that we think matter. 

the heart aches.  no matter what you say.  your heart does not forget.  fifteen years ago my life was turned upside.  before i knew it i was divorced and left with nothing.  including my son.  it was a bitter battle for custody.  the law stated that both parents had to see a court appointed therapist.  at the time i was living 3 states away.  i was allowed 1 hour with this therapist.  she asked "how are you feeling?"  and, by that time i was in a rage like a mother bear protecting her cub.  it wasn't pretty.

i was deemed "an unfit mother."

NO, STUPID!

when i was eleven years old i remember standing in the kitchen with my mother doing the dishes.  i remember she asked me "who won the war between the north and the south?"  well, thinking since i lived in the south i said "the south."  i suppose i was in the 6th grade at the time.  looking back i really cannot recall much about elementary school other than the things that embarrassed me.  so, there i was standing next to my mother instantly knowing i had said the wrong thing.  she stood there looking down at me with that look.  you know the kind of look that says things you don't understand and you don't know why?  it was the look that was on my mother's face every time she looked at me.  so i stood there looking up at her.  she looked at me and said "NO, STUPID!"  i felt so ashamed.  i just stood there.  i can remember as we finished the dishes her irritated, jerky, snatching movements.  yet again it was just one more instance of the disappointment she felt in me.  it hurt.  the words she said hurt so bad.  she never did tell me the "correct" answer; eventually figuring it out on my own.  years later i got the chance to go to college.  i was in my late 30s.  i was going thru a very bitter divorce and custody battle, working full time, and taking a full load every semester.  one day i received a very important letter.  it was from the college announcing my ACADEMIC EXCELLENCE.  there was to be a banquet honoring those who had accomplished that cherished goal.  i got in my car and drove to atlanta to my mother's house.  when i arrived there was just a bit of small talk before i pulled that letter from my purse.  with so much pride and a pounding heart i handed the envelope to her.  as i stood there watching her look at the envelope and opening the letter i wanted to just SCREEEAM "NOW ASK ME WHO WON THE WAR BETWEEN THE NORTH AND THE SOUTH!"  as she read the letter i calmly said "not too bad for someone who didn't know who won the war between the north and south is it?"  she looked over the top of her glasses while still holding the letter and said "you've got to be shitin' me."  i just stood there and smiled.  drawing out the moment of my glory.  the relief of feeling important and knowledgeable.  and i said "no mama, i'm not.  i never forgot what you called me.  a child never forgets."