I should probably title this, Day Before Christmas 2013. I should, perhaps, even forgo writing anything at all and simply down this Kahlua coffee...and then another. Or better yet, maybe i should simply go to bed and call it all a draw.
Except that it isn't.
And I can't. Not just yet.
This day blindsided me in many ways.
I'm not even going to go into what normally, or rather traditionally, happens on this day for us. Doesn't matter.
Today. Went to bed late, working on things. Got up a bit late, hearing the garbage truck in the alley. I am completely disoriented as far as what day of the week it is. For instance, today is, right now, actually Wednesday. To me, it feels like a Monday. I don't know why. Saturday was definitely a Saturday, last day of the bakery. Then Sunday was a Saturday. Monday was most definitely a Sunday and Tuesday, today, felt like a Sunday as well. Totally screwy. Anyway, heard it out there, kinda half heartedly got up to go drag the can out, just in case I hadn't missed it. I hadn't. I have the most awesome garbage guy. I almost NEVER miss getting stuff out to the curb. But there have been a few times, and bless him, he comes up to the house to get the damn things. The yard can had been hauled out and dumped, and the recycling can as well. I needed to get the regular garbage one out and did. That was neat. He's a nice man. Anyway.
Came in, did the morning junk, woke up younger daughter. She needed to get something from the store, I needed some groceries and we were too tired last night to finish. Got ready, got out. Had a great time, getting along well even with her usual introvert-in-public grump fest going on, one more stop to make...we park, she turns to me and says "So. I have a proposition for you..."
Great.
We're out of the car and she tells me that she's talking to Sarah.
Sarah? Really?
Sarah of the "Emma got me into heroin, she's a dealer, her mom deals, they forced me, Em got hauled into the school office, had to defend herself, rumors all over the town, still beating them down" Sarah?
That's pretty much what I asked, as far as clarification.
Yeah. That Sarah.
Needless to say, I stood there with my jaw on the ground. Went ice cold. Then flaming hot. Then I asked the horrendous question of "what the fuck for?".
Daughter chose that moment to realize that her method of approach and timing had probably been severely miscalculated and went, as she always does, on the offense.
Bad move.
Very. Bad. Move.
Initially, it was fine. Kind of. I just stared, very VERY loudly at her, and then walked away. I walked fast. Hard. Headed for our destination, with a deep knowledge that I needed to not be in a position to say a single thing to any living soul. We got where we needed to be, did what we needed to do, and then she chose to fling "you are behaving badly" at me.
What.
The.
Fuck.
Did.
You.
Just.
Say.
To.
Me?
???
Be quiet, kid. Very, very quiet. I am angry, I am dealing with incredibly strong emotions and you had better not even try that tact with me.
Fair warning.
Nope.
She's a bright kid, but at times like this, not very smart.
I looked at her, as she's yammering at me, and told her to be quiet. To back off. That I needed time to even get my head wrapped around the idea of that creature being in contact with anyone again. Diagnosed multiple personality disorder heroin and meth addicted freak zone is what that kid Sarah is, in my mind. I didn't say it. But I wanted to.
There are a few things that should not ever happen with me.
One: Do not EVER consider it a good idea to break news to me of that nature in public. The first time that happened to me was when my former spouse took me with him to sign for this house that I live in now. It was supposed to be for his parents, I had learned the night before, and we had to sign. Much discussion. Go for the signing, turns out that I am there to sign a Quit Claim. Person hands me that, I recognize it, read it, put down the pen and look at him. Person asks me if I have questions, I answer in the affirmative, tell them that my questions are not for them, request that they leave the room and look at him. And just look at him some more.
At last I ask him if that was how he was going to let me know that we were getting a divorce? Don't make a scene, he says. I'm not. I'm quietly asking for information necessary before I sign an legal document. He refuses to answer, I already know. I sign it. I get up, ask the person if there's anything else I need to sign, they say no, and I leave. Walk out the door, down the street. Call a cab. And leave. No scene. No yelling. Polite, very calm. No tears.
Later that night, after the berating over my bad behavior, I ask very pointed, detailed questions, very calmly and quietly. After awhile, the answers come. As texts. On my phone.
The details of the ending of more than half my life came to me over text.
That's the second thing. Do not ever do shit to me over text. Fucking balls-less.
I am more than reasonable. But you'd better allow me the time and space to process, with dignity and respect. Start pushing or try to bully me into feeling badly because I'm not falling into line, shit will be in your face.
So, a lovely fight was thrown in my face. I've said it before. I mean it. I will not fight. I will ask direct questions, and I will repeat them until they are answered. Then I will move on to the next step. Yell at me, that's your problem. I will continue to ask in that cold and "Creepy" way. Don't keep pushing me to break that line. You will not win. I will not fight. I will not argue. It's stupid. It's immature. It's dishonest subterfuge. Don't fucking waste my time. When you're ready to talk, to answer, to be honest, then that's what we'll do.
But in her fury, much was said.
I'm ridiculous and immature.
She's done with me.
She's moving out.
She doesn't blame dad for leaving.
I "always".
I "never".
...now, I'm keeping in mind that she's fluffing hugely to cover for the fact that she threw a grenade, and that she's 16, and that's she's herself, and other than ask her to specifically explain what she means by those things, I'm not biting.
Then she says,
"We aren't a family. What a joke"
Wow.
That one frigging hit home.
Hard. With a flaming arrow.
What is a family, then? I ask. Tell me. Define it.
Not this, is all she can say to me.
I stop hearing her. I can't. The white hot pain is too much. My ears shut down, my body shut down. Tunnel vision, I can't feel anything. I'm aware, after awhile, of tears falling, but I'm not crying. There's no sound. There's just nothing.
She's quiet, finally.
I explain that is was a poor choice, to bring up that vile creature's name in that way. She starts after me again and I remind her that while she can choose how to do what she is doing, and saying, she has no control whatsoever over my reaction and that it could swing quite wide at the moment.
Why?
When?
Why?
Where?
Who?
Why?
What?
I remind her of a great many facts. I tell her that she gets to answer my questions. Period. We do talk. Many things are resolved. lalalalalalala.
We get home, she goes upstairs, I begin baking. She's all fine.
I am still devastated.
No matter how hard I've tried, to create a family out of the 2 of us, and our friends, extended family, I've failed, in her eyes.
And no matter how angry she is at her dad, she is still angry with me for giving up.
I did. When it was quite clear that it was a done thing, that he was already legally bound by that other country's laws to another woman, that he had made his choice, I did quit. I walked away. There was nothing to fight for anymore.
She doesn't want us back together. She doesn't want it to be the way that it was. She's not looking for it to become something in some other way. She wants it to be a way that it could never have been. And it makes her angry that it isn't like that.
Well, sure. I get it. God, when i got married, I wasn't starry eyed. But I sure as hell hoped that it'd work. I was doing my best and giving it everything that I had, that I knew. It just wasn't enough. We weren't right. 23 yrs trying as hard as we could and it wasn't getting better...24 yrs and we separate. 2 months shy of 25 yrs and we're divorced. Lord knows, we didn't just give up. And someday, someday...she'll understand.
But for now, I just feel incredibly sad. It's a terrible thing to see yourself through your child's eyes and see that you are so flawed, frail and failed in their sight. At least in that moment.
I do take some comfort in a conversation that we had a few days ago. She was relating that when she finds herself beginning to get on the "my life sucks, nothing every works out" wagon, she realizes that everything that she has wanted to have happen in her life, really, has so far. Not at all in the way that she'd thought it could, or should, but it's still happened. You can focus on the goal, you can't always choose the path it takes to get there.
Yes, that rather sounds like life, now doesn't it? And I was impressed with her recognition of that.
Later in the evening, her dad showed up to bring her his gifts for her and older daughter. Incredibly generous, as always. And it's awkward between us, as these times are. He leaves, then sends a text to me, wishing me a very happy Christmas, a safe and healthy day and one honestly filled with happiness because I deserve that.
sigh.
Daughter opened her gifts from him last night. They were exactly what she wanted. I'm happy for that.
Dear friend contacts me at about 10:30, lost. Sad. Struggling. We can't talk, she's with family, but dealing with very large emotions herself. Goodness, was it in the air? So we text, I send her physical coping tools. After about 45 minutes, she's okay again.
I'm glad.
Older daughter, other than dreading later today and tomorrow, is doing well.
Christmas, it's such an odd thing. What does it really mean to me, I wonder? I went into a disconnect with this time of year about 7 years ago. I believe in the magic of it...and I absolutely identify with the message of A Christmas Carol. Those feelings, of empathy, concern, and such, they are key elements to the success and survival of us all. Is Christmas designed to be a reminder of that? For those who haven't yet gotten the message? I don't tie it to Christ, I don't tie it to a religious dogma any longer. The traditions of the pagan are awesome, and the aspects of spirituality I absolutely endorse. Not just for this time of year, but for always. Gift giving, it's token for me. I try to give of myself, to give things of meaning. I wish people Merry Christmas, but what does it mean, really? So it's an awkward time.
I...oh, I.
and so, that's all, I suppose.
Sarah is off drugs. She's been clean for almost 6 months now. She's told her family and others the truth. Daughter agrees that she understands how I find this idea terrifying. The idea of them talking again.
She is sorry that she went that route.
I am sorry that she didn't have the more traditional family life. I really am. I can't do a damn thing about it, it's all passed and she's almost an adult. All I can do is love her and support her and continue to be here and give guidance where she is willing to accept it. Help her maneuver through these years with as little fatal damage as is possible.
And pursue my own life in the process.
Write a book.
Edit a book.
Sell a house.
and move life along.
It isn't just another day...
and yet, in more ways than not, it is.
Every day, though, is unique. Full of every possibility.
Of love.
Life.
Laughter.
Tears.
Opportunity.
Healing...through the pain.
Every day.
They are all, a day.
And in a day, any day, is life.
So, I wish you Happy Christmas.
But more importantly, I wish you, Happy Life.
Be well.
Take care.
Go make it happen.
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