On the issue of seeing my kids (2 nieces and a nephew) this past year has been a rollercoaster. My sister, who is the mom of Ramona and Beezus, has had undiagnosed mental illness that has progressed to a level that is affecting her ability to make good decisions. Her use of alcohol has also increased. This mix, along with being a mean person, has made her harder and harder to deal with. With the older two girls she often made the decision to send them to me when she could no longer handle parenthood. Sometimes she made the decision before things went bad, other times it was after the cops or dcf had visited her home. It was always before they had to enter the system. 

Eleven years ago, she had another baby, let's call her Mae. When Mae was eight months old, she locked all three of them out of her house. The three of them were out on the street in Wichita. Their dad had a cousin who lived there and was willing to drive them the four hours to my house. This is when the decision-making skills started to noticeably decline. This is also when she became more verbally and emotionally abusive to those who tried to help her.

She then went on to have another baby Finn. While she was pregnant, she quit drinking and took Mae back into her home. They moved back in with me when Finn was 2.5 months old. The older two had stayed with me when Mae went back so now all four of us were a family along with my son Lane, who still lived at home. Two years later she was pregnant again. She called to tell me and said she was sorry. She did not move the other two back in immediately. She waited until Finn's birthday in November, she did not let me see them for a few months. This was the start of her withholding them when she was trying to hurt me. Ray was born in March. I kept them several times for a week or two at a time so she could work. Her job is of the nature that allows her to work for a week or two then take a week or two off. When Ray was eight months she called me crying, I could hear Ray screaming in the background. She said she could not take it anymore. I drove to Wichita and brought all three kids home. For over two years we lived happily as a family. Yes having three young kids in my forties was tiring, but I had the older two girls to help. Beezus had a baby when Ray was one, so the family was growing.

Then she decided she was going to move closer to the family. She moved twenty miles away. The plan was to slowly integrate the kids back into her household. I do not remember why she became angry with me. There was no slow integration. She showed up at my house and took three kids who did not recognize her and put them in the car. When they cried she said "you will be fine," in a sharp tone and drove off. A lot of drama ensued in her life, lost her job, wrecked her car, went to a mental hospital, started a pattern of calling 911 a lot, seemingly for attention. The kids were back with me.    Then she quit drinking. We had a whole summer of the kids having both of us. We took them swimming together, had birthday parties, it was a good summer. Then she started drinking. I had lent her a pickup. It was old and did not go in reverse, there was no air conditioning, but it was good for driving around town. Then a house fire happened. The night before, when we realized how drunk she was Beezus had brought the kids to my house. She got even more drunk and started calling to demand we bring them home. She called our mom to demand she get them back for her. She was able to get out of the house that night, but nothing was left. 

The kids stayed with me while she spent the only money she had on hotel rooms. As she ran out of money and options, she became more erratic. She finally agreed to come stay with me. Then one day she loaded up the kids and all of their stuff in my pickup and left town. They were homeless for weeks, then ended up in a homeless shelter. I went six months without seeing them. That was the longest stretch of time without them since Mae was born. It hurt, that was the intention. As life does it stabilized, she found a place they could live. Over the next few years more drama happened, there is always drama. Kids were with me, not with me, removed from the home for three months. The pattern of calling 911 too often continued. The pattern of not letting me see them for months at a time continued. Whenever she needed help she would call me and I would get to see the kids until she did not need me anymore. A couple of times she completely forgot to drop the pretense and would say things like if you give me this I will let you have the kids next weekend. Sometimes, did not fulfill her end of the bargain, sometimes she did.

Then, last Friday the kids were removed from her home. They spent some time in a shelter. Tuesday they were placed with me. We are happy. Today, Finn asked me to get ingredients for sundaes. He made both of his sisters a sundae then sat down to enjoy his. 

Being Alive

     I have vowed to post regularly; to use this time to explore my thoughts and feelings about life. Today, after a rather uneventful day at work, I could think of nothing to say. I shut my laptop and decided to work out. This is new, the working out. Before the move I walked a minimum of 4 miles a day. After the move I have focused my attention on work. Exercise has become sporadic, I might walk 5 miles on my day off, then go three days doing nothing. I do have a stand-up desk, but that is not a free pass. I can feel myself getting weaker, less nimble, less quick. 

    After my workout, I felt I deserved to watch a movie. I almost rewatched The Whale. I have spent part of my day in Moscow Idaho, in that movie. Fun fact, I once lived very near Moscow. That was a long time ago. Instead, I watched Joy the Birth of IVF. I realized that unintentionally I have been watching movies about life and death.

     It started with The Man From Earth, which explores longevity of life and what you can do with it. There is not a sequel, shut up it does not exist. The next day I watched The Whale, which deals with death and dealing with the mistakes that are made and the good we do. The saddest part of that movie, for me, is when we see the apartment from the outside and realize he lives on the second floor. How long has he been isolated? Then in his last week four people come into his world. He has forgot to live until it was time to die. Tonight, I watched a movie about giving birth, but even more it was about what can we give to others, what good can we do.

    I realize I have thrown up a hodgepodge of thoughts and references. I also realize that if this essay were graded it would be called sloppy. But life is sloppy, thoughts are sloppy, expression can be sloppy. After giving all of this much thought I think that all of us deal with life and death, no matter how long or short our lives are. More important is the idea of being alive. What do we do with this life while we have it?  What can we do to give value to our life?  I suspect the answer lies in giving. I guess it is for each of us to decide what we give. We can give help, opportunities, life, love, art......

The Whale

 I was soaking in a hot bath with tears running down my face, I thought 'If Mick walks in, I will have to explain this.' I was not ugly crying; I am prone to that. It was as if I was over hydrated, and the water was just leaking out my eyes.

That sentence brings a lot to unpack. Let's start with why was I soaking in the tub? I do not know if you noticed there was a storm overtaking the USA shaped like Bezos' rocket ship. It plowed the KC area, so I spent hours shoveling snow, just to free my cars. Afterwards, I climbed into bed with a bowl of stew and a few slices of Italian loaf. I warmed up while watching The Whale. I loved the movie: it moved me Bob. As I often do when I watch a movie that moves me I read about it on Wikipedia, I read the about it on IMDB. I read the reviews. Then I did some stretches; I ran a bath. Suddenly, while I soaked in the tub it all boiled down into that one thought I was waiting for. 

It all came down to one idea. We can talk about the acting, which was amazing. Or the make up, which was also amazing. But, the writing, it hit nerves.

We are all slowly killing ourselves while trying to save somebody else.

That is it; that is all.

 Well, here we are starting another year. This morning, I was reading an article on Substack about attention being our number one currency. This made me start thinking about my attention and how I am spending it. If where we spend our money shows what we value, then how much more so does how we spend our attention. 

Having a day to spend all to myself, I decided to take a long walk. I walked with no distractions; I did not put on my headphones to listen to a podcast or music. The time was used to think about the word attention and what it meant and how I was using mine. Mostly, my mind just wandered around. After more than an hour of walking I thought about the word attention. I repeated it a few times. The word intention followed it into my thoughts. What are my intentions in life? Should my attentions lead to my intentions? Quality was the next word that came in through the open door. Quality? What does quality mean in the context of my life. Quality of life, that is a phrase we use often when discussing death, but what about when thinking about how to live one's life?  What would a quality life look like to me? What brings me joy? Who do I want to be when I am alone? How do I want to spend my attention? 

These are the questions I am going to start answering for myself. I feel like I have the beauty of a blank slate to write on. I have moved from one corner of Kansas to the opposite corner. Kansas is a big state, so just in distance it is a big move. Bigger than that is the move from an extremely rural area to being 30 minutes from Kansas City.  I moved from a house, town, a county where I had lived for more that 20 years. A place I had raised my family and knew everybody to a place where I can feel alone. What do I want to write on this blank slate? What brings value and quality?

 I was shocked to see that I have not posted since 2018. Life has moved so fast. Today has been a day of rapidly changing emotions. In the last few years I have moved across the state. Mostly to be closer to my babies. I do not get to see Ramona, Beezus, or Bezus' very sweet child as much, this breaks my heart.  I also have had a promotion at work, which is good.  Today, I was driving along in the country thinking about what I have gained by moving here. I have met so many people who are a positive in my life; I am happy. Then on the way home I was listening to Joni Mitchell.  I suddenly had a vivid memory of Jason videoing  me while I sang along with a song on the radio. He titled it, "This is why I love you".  He was the son who loved me for my quirkiness. I was listening to both sides now by Joni Mithell when I had this memory. I listened to it twice.  I also cried. This kind of saddens is the good kind; I remember what I had, and what i lost. I had a son who adored me. I loved him. I am luckier than most.

ok, full disclosure, I am angry and drunk, so I may regret this in the morning.Since my last post I have only seen my babies once, they came down for Easter. I took that Monday off and had one of my best days ever. I worked in the garden while they played in the mud, jumped on the trampoline, and swung on the swing-set. It was a beautiful day.

Now it is the first of May. My bf played "Hey there Delilah." That is the name my sister's new baby. It made me nostalgic, so I texted my sister. She had an excuse for not letting me have them and told me to come there. I had only asked for a weekend, with kids I have raised, not too much, but the answer was no.

That is not what hurt the worst. My bf, who is generally thoughtful, told me not to take it so hard. I asked him how he would feel if somebody had taken his children for a year. He told me it was not the same thing.

Of course, I cannot love somebody else's children as much as he loves his. But I do. I have my own children. I have a point of reference. I do love them that much. Some people may not be capable of loving other people's children as their own, but I am.

hopefully this anger will be dissolved by morning, because we have started the moving in process.

Sharing children, a picture of me pouting

Last night I drove my babies to their mom so she could spend some time with them.  The plan was that she would keep them until Saturday, drive to my house, we would do Christmas on Christmas eve and she would drive home on Christmas. Driving on Christmas sucks, I know, but she had to work the day after Christmas and did not have a baby sitter. I was excited about having the kids for Christmas. I have had them for most of their childhood and for all of their Christmases. The same is true of their older sisters.

While we were switching out their car seats my sister told us, Ramona was with me, that she was not coming down for Christmas. She has to work the day after and cannot afford the drive now, because she spent all of her money on presents for the kids. This is not unusual. She has never been good at managing her money. She gets excited and goes shopping and then can not afford necessities. That is one of the reasons I have her kids so often. She has rarely been able to budget for daycare, but she can always afford cigarettes and beer.  I was hurt and angry when I heard this, but I just finished putting in the car seats, which is a job I hate, buckled the kids in, said my goodbyes and drove the 2.5 hours home.

My sister never intended for me to raise her children. She loves them and wants to raise them, she just struggles with the day to day parts of it. She is great at buying gifts, taking them to concerts, Disney on ice, taking pictures, all of the really fun parts of being a mother. It is in those in-between weeks, when kids just want to play outside, or have fun that she struggles. She spends too much time ruminating about her life, about how other people have wronged her to focus on the much more important time at hand. I cannot say I am not unhappy about this. Sure, I wish she would be healthier mentally and be happy, but I have loved the time with her kids.

Once she became pregnant she quit drinking. I am always proud of how quickly she just quits when she is pregnant; I have seen other addicts unable to do that.  Now that she has quit drinking she wants to get her life together and have the kids move back in with her. She kept them for six weeks this summer because Beezus went to stay with her and babysit. When Big Mac came home he was a little more clingy. I think he had felt a little abandoned by me. That is my biggest worry. Mac is all sunshine and smiles. He loves to take my hand and run through the yard. I worry that we are damaging him, by the long periods away from me, because he does think of my as his primary caregiver. Yesterday, he would not let Ramona put him in his car seat. She came in to and told me that he was afraid I was not going so he would not get in. I went out and buckled him, he gladly got in once he knew we were all going.  When I had buckled him in the second time, in his mom's car, he was fine until I said goodbye, then he started screaming. He was still screaming when I left. It broke my heart.

I realize that this is what many divorced families go through and that most kids do deal with it in time, but I hate it. That is one of the reasons I decided to stay married to the boys' father for so many years. I did not want to share holidays or have them leave me for weekends. Childhood is short and I wanted to be selfish with theirs. I really did love the time spent raising my boys, and maybe I am using this bonus time with Mac and Madds to relive it.

I started the drive hurt. I was crying. I could not believe she was being so insensitive to me. I felt that after all of the help I gave her it was a slap in the face to promise Christmas until I took her the kids, than to take it away without a thought. I felt like just quitting. I do not have to come running when she needs help. I could not answer my phone and let her work out raising children on her own. Then I progressed in my pity and wanted to run away from everybody and live as a hermit. That wiser part of me was listening to this and saying things like, 'you are just angry because you are hurt.' and 'how will this help Mac with dealing with this.' I also know that my sister does not hurt me on purpose. She is more considerate of my feelings, than she is of most peoples. She just does not have it in her to consider most peoples' feelings at all. By the last hour of the drive I was more reasonable. I know that I will continue to help raise these kids, because I love them. I will do it on their mom's terms because I have no legal rights. I also know it will turn out ok because I have been through this all before. The hurt, anger, tears, and resolving to do what is best for the kids, is all part of helping to raise other peoples children. It turned out well with Beezus and Ramona, it will be just fine this time. To be honest, I will take all the in-between days of playing, eating, hugging, and normal childhood days over the Holidays. Those in-between days are when childhood happens.

In the middle of a conversation my niece, Ramona, and I start to giggle. I had just said the sentence "Practice saying  'I don't like it when you act like a bully Grandma." The ridiculousness of the situation had suddenly struck us as funny. I was having to train the children to stick up their grandma, who just happens to be a bully.

Like any true bully she only picks on the people who will not stand up to her. Being strong willed and bossy Ramona and I are rarely bullied. She uses manipulation on us instead. Fria Chica and her son are compliant, so they are bullied often. Just the other day my mother stood in the Fria Chica's house and called her a piece of shit. She is in her thirties and raising two children, and still my mom treats her like she did as a child.

As an adult I have guilt that I did not stick up for my sister more when she was younger. She is nine years younger than me, so she was still a child when I was moving out. I do not think I realized how badly my mom talked to her until I was older. She talked to my older brother like that his whole life. When you are raised in the situation it can be hard to recognize until you get out and learn more about life.

My older brother had the same mental illness my mother does. I suspect that both of my parents had undiagnosed mental illnesses. In all six of their offspring, that lived to adulthood, I see traces of one or the other illnesses. I suspect my father was bipolar, and have no clue what my mom's would be classified as. I do not think she will ever admit there is anything wrong with her. When I was a child she would often say that every thing wrong with her children they got from their dad.  My older brother could be a bully to children at times. He and my mother spent a lot of time together as he got older but much of it was spent fighting.

She would insult him and treat him like he was stupid until he would explode. His explosions were childlike. He would tear up something he had created, give away his beloved possessions, get out of the car to walk home, no matter the weather or distance. It was tedious by the time he was in his forties.

 My mother can be equally tedious.  She has an air about her that lets you know she thinks she is smarter than everybody else. When with a group of girls that are talking about attractive men she will say, "I don't think he is that good looking, but I think I must have better taste than most people." She must forget I have seen the losers she dates. That was a hateful thing for me to say, but I do tend to get hateful inside when she is like this. Maybe that is why I find her tedious, she brings out the worst in me. She has better taste buds than everybody else too. That is why she can only drink filtered water. The thing is we grew up poor. Now she is retired and poor. I cannot figure out what in her life has given her this arrogance. It does not stem from her accomplishments; she seems to have been born with it. She still tells me how much better she is than her sisters and brothers.

I wanted my children to have a good relationship with their grandmother so I never talked to them about how she was. I just limited their time at her house so she would not get annoyed and insult them and invited her to my house instead so they could spend supervised time with her. They do all love their grandmother now that they are adults, but they have learned to limit their time with her themselves as well. Not because she bullies them, but because they too seem to find her best in small doses.

She did not bully them much as they grew up. Instead she tended to spoil them. I remember her saying something rude to Lee once when was under two, too young to remember, we were making the long car trip home from Oregon to Kansas and had stopped to get dinner. She said something, I can't remember what, to him and I snapped back, "He is not your kid." She never said anything like that to one of my boys again while I was there.  One day when Jason was about four he told me that Grandma had something rude to him while he was at her house. He wondered why she would say that. I talked with him about it and was quietly trying to decide how I was going to talk to his grandmother about this. I did not have to. The next day was Easter, and a beautiful day, so we had walked the park to play as a family.  On the way home Jason was in front of me walking with his grandmother and he asked her why she had been so rude to him. She was clearly flustered and as far as I know never talked to him like that again. As a matter of fact they got along really well. One day he jokingly told her to 'go to hell.' She told him he could not talk to his grandma that way. Later that night he called her, told her to 'go to hell', and hung up. A few days later she called and did the same to him. It became a running joke through all of his teenage years.

Every time I start to remember all the negative with my mom I realize that there was positive as well. The reason I had to try to think about how I was going to talk to her was because I am protective of her. She seems fragile to me. As if she needs this arrogance to survive. I do not remember when I started watching what I said to her to protect her feelings, but it was before I entered jr. high. She is a complex person, like most of us.

It is late, so I will make this short. I have promised myself I will start writing something everyday, even if it is just rambling about my life here. For the past few years I have been trying to learn to live the fullest life I can while walking around with a dark hole inside of me. For the most part I am doing better. This summer though I have started having a dense depression deep inside of me. It doesn't keep me from being happy and enjoying most days. It is just so heavy to carry around. I takes all of my energy. Not one of my summer projects were completed this year.

Last night I had an emotional breakdown and talked about my childhood, while crying, and drunk, with my boyfriend. This is something I rarely talk deeply about with anybody. Not because I don't like talking, but because there are so many better subjects to talk about. Today I decided to get a better grip on my mental health. Part of my self prescribed treatment is to start writing down my feelings about my childhood. So, even though this intended to be a fun blog when I started it is certainly slipping down the slope to cathartic.

The breakdown was triggered by watching the movie A Glass Castle. I had already read the book, and knew what I was in for, but did not expect it to cause me so much pain. I read the book before Jason died I don't think I realized how much more fragile I am now until last night. Tomorrow I will go into more details about my reaction to the movie. I need sleep.


*The new baby is a girl, due in March.

Oh, and my sister is pregnant again. I like to think that she will decide to grow up and raise this one, but since she started the conversation with "I am sorry," I assume life will follow its course and I will be raising a new baby this time next year.

I am happy with Big Mac being the age he is. A new born is a lot of work and we are past that, or so I thought. I guess it does not matter how I feel about it, the baby is coming, I may as well get happy.

My last post was raw. I only noticed it in the re-reading, but it was. Now I feel I have had time to process my brother's death, but I have not accomplished what I need to. Who was he, my brother, I feel I need to answer that, but I dread the attention to detail it will take. My life is bogged down in the day to day problems of dentist appointments and dinner parties, this will be satisfying work, but it will be work.

I haven't talked about my brother much on this blog. I don't know why that is. He has been as much a part of my life as my sisters have been, but much less dramatically. Fria Chica had a new baby last month, a long story. My mom carried the baby to my brother's apartment, he lived next door to her, and found him dead. He was only 46, three years older than I am. What the fuck? We are too young for sudden death. I am racked with guilt for not spending more time with him. Sometimes I would not answer the door when he came over. I valued my time in solitude over talking to him, but I thought we had decades left in front of us. Going through his apartment I have found that he had a rich life all of his own. Not everything is about me.

My little guy is still living with me, he goes home to his mom periodically, but is usually to be found here making me smile. I do still live with the constant fear that something will take him away from me. I feel that I love him too much. When I used that phrase in front of his mother, Drama Queen, she laughed and told me I can't love somebody too much. She is right, but I still feel that way. He has been sick, a cough and runny nose, common childhood illness, but I lay in bed and worry about hantavirus.  He is sleeping well tonight and seems to be on the mend. Maybe soon I will have to find another reason to beat myself up.

That last sentence was a joke I have with myself. I portray my life as endless angst, but am generally a joyful person. Honestly the two live happily side by side in my soul. I planted my garden today. May 21st seems late to plant, but the weather has been crazy here. We had over 10 inches of snow earlier this month. I put my potted herbs outside today and am now listening to the wind beat them up. My little niece, Rapunzel, helped me plant today. She has been a bit of sunshine in my life. Some days I feel like I do not give her enough attention because I am busy with her little brother, so I have been trying to make sure we have one on one time everyday.  I really do love these little people.

movies

So, I'll preface this emotional rant by saying that I had the most lovely night tonight. I went to the movies with a couple of friends to see Florence Foster Jenkins and thought it was on the best movie  I have seen in a while. I laughed, I cried, it moved me Bob.

But, while watching the previews, while drinking a Blue Moon with the obligatory orange slice,  the preview for Collateral Beauty came on. I'm sure this will be a good movie and I will like it, but tonight all I could think was "Fuck you." Don't send your personifications at me and tell me to move on. Don't tell me how beautiful life is, don't call it a gift, until you realize how soul shattering it is to lose a child. I'm sure be the end of the movie Will Smith's character will buckle to reason and get over it. I'll cheer for him and love him like the rest of the crowd, but as for myself I still say "Fuck You!"

Still, if you live near an independent theater which will serve you a beer to watch the movie with go spend your money there. It is worth it.

New baby boy

So, what is new? Everything, nothing, for the most part my life stays the same, but there always seem to be new kids.

     My sister, Drama Queen had a baby boy in November. I was not stressed out when I heard she was pregnant again, like I was when she had her last baby girl. When I found out Drama Queen was pregnant with her I did not think we were in a good place to have a baby, but it turns out she fit right in.  This time it was easier because I love that little girl so much so, I was happy to have another baby. I went to stay with my sister when he was born and I fell in love with that little guy.
     He came to stay with me when he was two months old and other than the occasional week or two has been here every since. Then, quite suddenly, he has went home to his mom. Ramona and both of the little ones went home. Now, with just Beezus and I, my house seems amazingly quiet. I'm not sure to do with all of my time.

     What I did not expect was the amazingly high anxiety levels having a new baby have caused. I had them when his sister moved in at eight months, but Jason's death was still raw then so I thought I would be better. Before, I have always been extremely confident with babies, much like I was confident with life. I always just assumed everything would be fine. Now, I am sure something will go wrong, somebody will be hurt, I will allow the new baby to die. As he reaches ten months my nighttime anxiety has lessened a lot. I feel like I am sleeping better, but I have been in a serious funk for the last month.
     What works best for me is to meditate and spend time alone trying to find the root of my sadness. Finally it came to me that I simply love this little guy too much. I am living with the constant fear that something will happen to him. To counter act this fear I have been meditating on the idea that nothing is permanent, and that I can't let fear of the future keep me from enjoying every moment I have with him. It is helping; I am coming out of my funk.

#bragging moment: He is learning to walk and is so stinking cute.

It has been some time since I have had the courage to come here. I have mentally composed many posts, but have left them untyped in the recess of my brain. When I came here tonight it startled me to see that I had been a blogger since 2005. That was ten years ago.

Ten years ago my life was silly. Pain had no real meaning to me, although I did not realize that at the time. I thought I understood pain and suffering, but I really did not. Now ten years later my life is still silly.

Tonight I came home from work early. I work two jobs, but since I left my main job early I was able to clean the office building and come home much earlier than usual. I had intended to spend the extra time outside since today is supposed to be the last day of this stretch of unseasonably warm February weather. Instead, I was starving, so I went to my kitchen and made the kids steaks and potatoes. Diva was coming over to work on a college paper so I made her a steak too.

later in the evening we were standing outside. She was smoking and I was staring into the stars. We were talking about her latest sexual escapades. Being single her day to day life still makes for a funny story. I was asking her the delicate question about how a boy I went to school with was in bed. She had just found out the answer this weekend. I had honestly always suspected this particular man was gay, so I was really interested in the answer. Yet, as we spoke, I was conscious of the building Jason had hung himself in. I wondered if he could hear me. I wish I knew how it all worked. Life does go on. It is just as silly. I just can't laugh at it in quite the same way.

It feels good to be back.

Time

Time healing all wounds is a matter of perspective. I know from experience that for most people in the community Jason's death is an event that happened six months ago. In collective experience six months is a long time. I remember when the towers were attacked on September 11th. Like the rest of the world I was shocked. I was not sure if I should continue on with the plans for my day. I did, simply because I could not think of a reason not to. I drove to Liberal and went grocery shopping. Everybody I met was in the same state of shock I was. The thought that made me the saddest was knowing that in a few days, or maybe weeks, my life would go back to the how it had been. So many people were suffering a tragedy that would hurt for the rest of their lives, and I would be ok in a few weeks. I was right. It did not take long for the every day tasks of my life to smother my thoughts of a tragedy so far away. I know that this same thing is happening concerning the death of my son. 

Jason's death is becoming something people will talk about without emotion. They will shake their heads in sadness, remember where they were when they heard the news, but remembering will not make them feel as if a knife is twisting in their heart.

For me the pain has changed also. I no longer feel that raw, horrible pain that was with me for the first few months. I do not wake up and feel as if I have been kicked in the gut when I remember. The pain is now an ache that resonates through my soul. I miss my son. It has been six months since I have seen him, hugged him, since he has made me smile. There is no cure for my missing him. I know that this is the shortest time I will have been away from him. Everyday the time between us grows longer. My pain grows in size. Soon it will be bigger than me.

For several months I have actively tried to balance my time so that I was both keeping busy and spending time alone with my grief. Lately though I have lost that balance. Somehow I let myself slip into a constantly busy mode. I do not think this has been good for me. I find myself fighting back tears at work more often. If I do not find time to deal with my emotions they are going to overwhelm me.

Part of the reason is having the girls living here. It is hard to find time for yourself when you have a baby in the house. Twice in the last week I have wanted to give up. I felt like I needed to quit trying to raise children, quit everything. I just wanted to be left all alone. I do not handle stress as well as I used to and raising children is stressful. Especially when the children legally belong to someone else, someone who is erratic and hard to deal with.

Today I had the most beautiful day. The morning I spent with Lane and the baby. He laid his head in my lap while we watched soccer highlights. She kept pushing his head with her foot in an attempt to claim her territory. After lunch I dropped the baby off with my mom and drove Beezus and Ramona to the Two Buttes Reservoir to jump off of the cliffs. Back at home I took a long shower then drank a glass of wine with Fria Chica while we sat in hammock chairs and watched the sunset. It was a wonderful day off.

Tired, I was in bed before eleven. Around midnight Lane woke me up to talk about a pickup he wanted to buy. I fell quickly back to sleep. Over an hour later I hear Lane say, "I'm going to the beat the shit out of that boy." The door slammed. He was gone before I jumped out of bed.  I knew right away which boy he was talking about. Beezus has been running around with an eighteen year old boy from a neighboring town. Lane asked around about him and what he found concerned us both.  He had come home that night to find his pickup pulling away from the house and Beezus's bed filled with a wad of clothes. She came in quickly to insist she had just been out at the hammocks. Lane came home without having fought. He did stop the boy on the highway out of town and threaten him. The boy insisted he had just been buying her cigarettes. Lane pointed out that he was buying cigarettes for  a fifteen year old and that in Kansas anything he did with a fifteen year old was illegal.

Through all of this the only thing Beezus seemed concerned about was her phone. Lane had taken it from her. I had taken it from him. She does not seem to have any concern for the people around her. She is very much like my sister.

I could not fall asleep as quickly after this interruption. I am worried Lane will be hurt because of me trying to do the right thing.  Frankly I am also worried about Beezus somehow hurting all of us because I am trying to do the right thing. Trying to keep this girl out of trouble is a fulltime job for Lane and I. It is way too much stress for both of us right now.

As I slowly started to slip back to sleep the baby woke up. She had been sleeping fitfully for awhile. She crawls in her sleep sometimes. This time she crawled into a wall. The bump on her head woke her up. Something kept her awake and crying for an hour. She is teething. It also seemed like she might have a stomach ache.

I do not want to do this anymore.

It has been six months today since I found Jason. I am not sure if that is why Lane and I have been so emotional today or if it is just a coincidence. After working a half a day I came home and was immediately irritated with the kids. Lane and I argued off and on all day. During a point while we were not arguing he mentioned that he thought he was depressed. I responded in what I thought was a helpful way. That just started another fight.

While we were arguing, not long after I came home, I found a water leak under the kitchen sink. It was an easy one to fix. Soon I was turning the water back on. For some reason there was only a small stream of water coming from the kitchen sink. While we were looking for the cause of this lack of water another pipe broke. We decided to just replace the faucet with an extra one my brother had given me.

After a whole day of trying to take out the old faucet we still have no water. There is a fitting I just cannot get to budge. The prospect of working all day with Lane made me happy. Apparently he did not feel the same. He gave up on the project when we realized how hard it was going to be.  I know I am surrounded by people who love me, but it seems like when life gets to be the hardest I am always alone. Most likely I cause this myself by pushing people away and refusing to ask for help. It just seems like people usually let me down when I need them so it is easier to just go it alone.

I came to bed and tried to sleep. This is the night the baby decided to wake up crying at midnight. So here I am awake.  She is sleeping soundly now. Maybe I will be able to go back to sleep soon. I am ready for a good day.

     I spent most of my day feeling despondent. A string of good days is still followed by a bad day or two. Yesterday I could feel the mood settling in. I had spent Saturday night in Amarillo with my boyfriend. It is simple phrases like that last one that make my head itch and my stomach ache.
      I have been dating the man who came to Rolando's birthday party.  We took his two daughters to Amarillo to do some shopping. Even admitting it here that I have a boyfriend makes me cringe. Obviously my flaws as a parent are apparent now. How can I have a boyfriend, try for any level of happiness, when my son has only been dead for six months? There is a battle going on inside of me. It is between the faction that knows I have to try and live and the faction that insists I am a horrible person for being able to do so.
      Sitting here alone in my room crying won't make Jason any more alive. I also feel that I am showing Lane how to move on too. He has become indecisive since Jason died. He has made it clear he won't move away from home. Because of this he turned down a scholarship to WSU and decided at the last minute not to sign with the Navy.  Then, just a couple of days ago, he told me that after he finishes the vo-tech course he is signed up for he is planning on moving to Colorado. Inside I was ecstatic.  Even talking about moving away is a big step for him.
     However, there is that faction of me that is disgusted. If I truly loved my son would I be able to go to Amarillo and have fun? It would have been different if it had been my nieces I took down to shop. Then it would seem like a necessity. I was not necessary on this trip. Although his youngest daughter did seem excited to have somebody to try on dresses for and to talk about boys with. I did make her shudder though when I mentioned that her dad was cute. It was just a frivolous weekend for me. Somehow I can't stop that thought from making me sick.