Friends

The service for my friend Brian was beautiful.  It was held at the mountain in the next town over from where we grew up.  They had a huge tent set up at the base of the mountain and it was standing room only.  Saw many of my teachers from high school and even elementary school...and many friends and classmates.  He left quite a mark on the world...one that won't soon be erased.

I'd gone to the celebration of Brian's life with my friends, Tracy and Tiffany.  We were talking about how our group of friends was such a ragtag bunch.  Tiffany said that she'd been thinking about it and realized that what bonded us together was the fact that most of our parents were highly dysfunctional..lol.  Tracy's mom died when we were 15 from cancer she'd had for several years and her dad had remarried within a year to a woman that was really difficult.  Tiffany's dad was an alcoholic and her mother was in denial.   Our friend Shannen's dad was a state cop and was very strict...heaven help us if we beeped our car horns in the driveway for Shannen...oy. My parents...well, you all know my story.   And nearly all of our other friends had issues at home as well. 

I think Tiff was right.  But even with our individual issues, we were a tight group..fiercely loyal...and to lose one of the gang just feels wrong. 

Time for wine.

Totally Gutted Tonight

I promise that after this week is over, I'll try and get back to your regularly scheduled postings here...but for now, you're stuck with "Melancholy Girl".

Got an email from my n-mom tonight.  She wanted to know if I thought I'd be able to drive down to Delaware on Wednesday til "I don't know when". She said, no pressure...she knows it's short notice.  I wrote back, my anxiety level rising, and asked her when the funeral services were...and she replied, "Thursday".  My grandfather's wife, a real doozy and a half, decided to give the family four days to make travel arrangements to make it down to Delaware.  We have family all over the country and it's ridiculous for her to have planned this all so quickly.

So, I can't go.  I want to go...I need to go...but because of my fucking job, I can't go.  It's worse for my n-mom and n-sister because they are going to the wake and funeral of the baby tomorrow and Tuesday (again, I can't fucking go to those because of work) and then have to drive eight hours to get to Delaware. 

FUCK.  Yes, I'm swearing a lot tonight.  I don't fucking care.

The Cruelest Month

**This post may possibly be triggering re: infant death

Brian went first in early September.  A horrible car accident.  Gone in an instant.

And then just two days ago, a tiny baby...the grandson of my n-mom's best friend (who was there when C went into labor with me so many years ago) slipped from his parents' arms into the arms of the angels.

That one hit me hard because I remember going through my own miscarriage and understanding the deep pain that his mother and father are feeling.

And then tonight...as I drove home through the driving rain, my phone rang.  It was my n-sister.  My grandfather passed away this afternoon, right before she called me.  I was driving on a highway so I couldn't pull over...had to just keep driving...so I could make it to the gas station parking lot and lose my shit.  And I did...lose my shit I mean. 

This is a picture of the family as we gathered in Delaware to celebrate his 80th birthday in 2009 that first weekend together...

My grandfather's first words to me when I met him were: "You're so pretty..." as he held my hands. 

I just saw him in May...and I knew it would be the last time I did.  I'm in a deep state of grieving right now and am not really sure what to do with myself.

March...July...September...December

The four months in the title are the worst months of the year for me.  Not because of any adoption crap..but because they are the last months of the four Quarters that make up my job. 

We're in crunch time at work...and I am sick and tired of feeling stressed and anxious, worrying about making my goals.  I'm seriously done with being a Credit and Collections analyst.  It's no fun...at all.  I shouldn't dread walking in the door, wondering who's going to pay their damn five million dollar bill.

The thing is, I don't want to go back to my old standby of being a retail whore (no offense to any retail whores out there)...I'm just not nice enough to smile nine hours straight when really, I'd rather not be bagging up your shit and working holidays just to pay the bills.  I did that for too long and it sucked.

So what do I do?  I have to pay the bills...and while my job isn't fun, it DOES pay the bills and I can take care of my kids...with some help from my daughter's dad and my boyfriend..and to a very, very, very, very small extent, my son's father.  (Was that too snarky?  Sorry, his child support is pretty much nonexistent these days and I'm really sick of the crap.)  I want to do something worthwhile with my life while still being able to live.

Frig.My.Life.

Four: Holy Crap, Really?

Background on the blog author: Married..has five children entrusted to her care.  Three biological, two adopted from Ethiopia.  Large following on her blog...most comments on her posts are full of  "Oh, you're so awesome..." and "Oh, I feel the EXACT same way..".  What's scary is that the commenters probably DO feel the exact same way as this author.  

~~~~~~~~~~

I'm really, really glad all my kids are back in school.

There. I said it. The three children that I birthed and nursed and raised from scratch, and the two children we begged and cried and screeched for and fetched from Africa...all five of these kids are in school. And I am happy, so happy, happy, happy, happy, hip-hip-hooray Mary Poppins happy. 

Holy crap, really?  Fetched???  Like a dog fetches a bone or a ball???  I can't fault her for being glad her kids are in school...but honestly, I was annoyed with this post the minute I read that.

~~~~~~~~~~

She then has pictures of the children she "fetched" from Ethiopia at the airport on the day they landed.

Underneath the photo of the girl, she captions it with this:


"I am crying with joy. R is ready to sprint like FloJo from the screaming white people."

Holy crap, really?  First of all, why do some adoptive parents do that?  Why subject a child who has just flown across the world, taken from all that they've ever known..everything familar..to a loud crowd of Rah Rah cheerleaders with signs and balloons at the airport?  Wouldn't it make more sense, if you're going to take a child from his/her country of origin, their home, and bring them to a strange place to keep things quiet so they have a chance to adjust?

~~~~~~~~~~

Another picture, captioned:

"Insert audio of yelling and cheering. GAH, why was she so clingy?"

Holy crap, really?!?   Is she really that ignorant that she could even say that?

~~~~~~~~~~

And then, surprise surprise, she laments about the end of the honeymoon period with the girl:

R gave us about 12 hours of honeymooning until her terror burst onto the scene. Sometimes her fear is so palpable, it literally takes my breath away. New places: terror. New faces: total insecurity. Transitions: help us, Jesus. She has asked us every single day since July 22nd if she is going back to Ethiopia. Every. Single. Day. When I discovered cashews to be a winning legume for her impossible palate, I told her:

"Yay! Good job! Cashews are good for you and will help you grow big and strong!"
"Big? Ah-Rrrremy? Big? Cashews?"
"Yes!"
She pushes them away and starts crying.
Once again, I am bewildered and befuddled.
"No! No Ah-Rrremy grow big! Me big, then go back to Ethiopia! No! Dis is no!"

Holy crap, really?   My heart weeps for this poor little girl. 

~~~~~~~~~~

And then we find out how she really feels:

 "Actually, I haven't had a shower in three days, I lost my temper with my uncontrollable daughter this morning and had to walk outside, I'm constantly cleaning up pee because uncircumcised tee-tee goes sideways onto walls, and sometimes when my two littles are asleep and we're downstairs with the original three kids who are so stable and healthy and easy, it creates a nostalgia so intense, I think I might perish. But enough about me. How are you?"

Holy crap, really?  Nice...refer to your biological kids as the "originals"...and excuse me if I don't feel bad that she's dealing with an uncontrollable daughter and not a stable, healthy and easy adoptee.  It's just so sad.

 

Beautiful Mourning

Eight years ago today I had just dropped off Chase with my ex.  Drove through Dunkin Donuts and went to Barnes and Nobles to wait for them to open.  It was a beautiful pre-Autumn day and I’d decided to hang out in one of the store’s big comfy chairs before going next door to the office supply store where I was working at the time.  I didn’t have to be at work until noon so I had tons of time to relax and prepare myself for the day.

The time passed quickly though and I got my stuff together and at 11:30am headed out onto the sidewalk to go to work.  My coworker came out of our store and said, “There you are…we saw your car but didn’t know where you were…you need…”  I interrupted him…”Sorry…did you need me to start early?”  He had an odd expression on his face.  “No…Christina you need to call home.” 

Okay..weird, but okay.  I got into the building, put my stuff away and called my mother’s apartment.  I was staying with her at the time with the kids, trying to get my feet back under me after my breakup from my ex.  No answer.  Hmmmm.  Tried calling my sister’s house.  No answer.   Mom’s cell phone.  No answer.  I walked up to the front desk and dialed my father’s apartment.  No answer but I left a message.  “Hi…work just told me to call home but I can’t get ahold of Mom…can you call me back?”.  As I hung up the phone, I looked up at another coworker, Eric, who was watching me intently.  He quickly looked away and I started to get cold and hot.  What was I missing here?

I went back to the Copy Center and decided to call my grandfather’s number.  He lived in the same building as my father so I figured that if something was going on, he might have talked to my mother, or my mother might even be there.

“Hello?”

“Hi Bumpa!  I just got to work and they said I needed to call home but I can’t get ahold of Mom or Cindy…have you talked to them?”

“Chrissy?  Have you heard about Curt (my father)?”

“No…Bumpa, what’s going on??”  (In hindsight, I should NOT have asked him that question)

“He passed away this morning…”

“Oh my God…What???  I’m on my way.”  I dropped the receiver back down on the hook and realized that Carlos was standing next to me.  He pulled me up into a hug and said, “Come on Christina..we’re going up front.”  Then he used his walkie-talkie and said, “Linda and Maria, Christina knows.  Can you meet us up front?”.

Someone grabbed my purse and keys and brought them to me in the manager’s office.  Things get hazy after this point but Linda, one of the supervisors, drove me to my father’s apartment building.

As we drove into the complex, I saw a police car parked in one of the spaces.  Then I saw my sister’s car.  I wanted to tell Linda to turn around…to not leave me there…but instead, she got out of the car, gave me a hug and told me not to worry about work…to just keep them posted on anything that I needed. 

She drove away and I walked to my grandfather’s apartment.  They must have seen me coming from the window because the door opened before I had a chance to knock.  My sister was standing there, clearly had been crying.  My mother, Maddie and my nephew were all in the room talking to Bumpa. 

They told me that it was a heart attack.  A massive heart attack that had killed him.  After a few minutes, my mother asked me if I wanted to go see him.  My entire body wanted to scream…”NO!”.  Instead, I nodded my head.  There was a police officer standing outside his apartment…he tipped his head at us when we walked up to him.  He opened the door and I saw him, sitting up in his rocking chair.  There was another cop in the room and he moved off to another area so we could have some privacy.

He was clearly gone.   And had been gone for several hours.  I had never seen a dead body…well, let me clarify that.  I’d never seen a dead body that wasn’t in an open casket.  For weeks afterwards, I’d see him sitting there..the grayness..the mottled skin…the death. 

Today is difficult.  I’m torn.  He was abusive.  He was short tempered.  He was a man whose moods could flip at the drop of a hat.  But he was the only father I knew growing up and while I’m incredibly angry at him for what he did and for how he was…it’s difficult.  I cannot forgive yet…but I still grieve.

Remembering

I'm writing this just as they begin the first moment of silence, marking the exact second American Flight 11 crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center. 

Watching the televised memorial ceremonies...the replays of the coverage from that fateful day in 2001...brings me back to the feelings of shock and dismay that I felt upon watching the second plane fly into the South Tower...knowing that while one plane could have been an accident, two planes had to be the work of terrorists. 

I will never forget the men, women and children who perished that day...I will never forget their sacrifice.

Resting In Pieces

The stress of the past few days has finally caught up with me.  I am in the beginning stages of a horrible head cold.  Never fails that if I’m dealing with a lot, I get sick.

It started Friday with my blowout with K, my ex’s wife.  Admittedly, not my finest moment.

Saturday was actually wonderful…went out with Steven for our 8^th anniversary to a really nice restaurant.  But that was kind of stressful too because even though I told myself I was being an idiot, I had hoped that it would have been “THE” night for a proposal.  No go.  But it was amazing to reconnect as a couple and the food was yumtastic.  I’ve had people tell me that maybe I need to propose to him…but that’s just not how I envision things to go.  And so, I wait.  Usually patiently, but sometimes, not so much.

Sunday was laid back…spent a couple hours with Maddie at my mom’s pool then watched a movie with Steven.

Yesterday, I picked up Chase from K again and aside from me asking her how things went with a response of “Fine” and a side of her infamous stink eye on the side, I was outta there.  Got home and was reading FBook and almost threw up.  One of my good friends from Kindergarten through high school died in a car accident while on vacation in Germany.  He was the first friend from school to die and I’m not quite sure how to handle it.

Makes your own mortality come zooming to the forefront of your mind. 

I immediately called two other friends that I’ve stayed in contact with since school and had to deliver the news to them because I didn’t want them to see it on FBook first.  What comforted me was telling them both at the end of the calls that I love them…and hearing them say it in return.  We may not be invincible beings, but we are human beings and feeling love was something I really needed last night.

And so, to Brian, rest in peace my friend.  You were an amazing person and I will never forget you.  We spent many a car ride home from school and Peer Leadership meetings blasting the radio, singing along to Elton John and Neil Diamond at the top of our lungs.   You were the person who coined my nickname “Steener”, said in the funny voice of our Physics teacher.  You were the one who helped me pass Geometry in our sophmore year.  You were the one who was unafraid to get up in front of the entire school and lip sync to Copacabana, dressed like Barry Manilow.  You were brilliant in life..and you are brilliant in death.

Calm, Cool and Cat Hair Free

I've had the night to think about the events of the past week and have decided that since what I set out to do was ultimately accomplished, I  need to move on and stop getting myself worked up about the situation.  Because of that, I've edited the two posts I had written about the cat hair debacle and saved them as drafts. 

What I *should* have done yesterday instead of letting myself get goaded into a fight was to just say, "There are Chase's clothes...Here is a box he can use for his clothes while he's at your house...if B needs to speak to me, he can call or email."  And just gotten in my car and left.  THAT would have been the "bigger person" thing to do.

Instead I found myself getting defensive for not wanting my son to bring cat hair home after a weekend at his father's house.

::thud::

Back to your regularly scheduled Christina very soon...promise..lol.