Harry Potter's Penis

The other morning, I saw an interview with Daniel Radcliffe (again, for those who are clueless…this is the kid that plays Harry Potter) on some morning show. It’s weird. I watch HP every SINGLE night. Really. I’m not exaggerating about that whatsoever. So, here I am seeing over and over this little baby (I think of 11 as a baby, anyway) growing into basically…well, REALLY…a man. And here he was speaking as himself. Harry Potter is a man. So…of course, this led me to Google the dude. Shouldn’t have done that. Next thing I know there’s Harry Potter’s PENIS hanging out for all the world to see. Holy Shocker Of The Century Batman! Look, I don’t live under a rock. I know the kid decided to do a naked show on Broadway to get away from the Harry Potter “image”…but I sure didn’t want to be staring at his ding-a-ling when just the night before I’d seen him as an 11 year old kid. I seriously felt like some sick pedophile. But really…I couldn’t STOP LOOKING! It’s his PENIS! OUT THERE! For everyone to SEEEEEEE! It was like looking at the pictures of a train wreck. You don’t want to look…but you kind of have to. In order to protect my brain from completely spazzing out, my overly analyticalness (shut up, I know it’s not really a word) kicked in. I mean…here’s this guy who is BARELY an adult acting in an extremely deep and raw (yes, I know I shouldn’t say those words after talking about someone’s penis…just hang in there…get it? HANG in there?) Broadway role. Would he have done this role if he WEREN’T Harry Potter? This kid probably thought that the only way to get away from being type-cast as a nerdy wizard was to whip out his little wizard to shock the Harry Potter out of any casting director who happened to glance his way! So, I start looking through the MILLIONS of pictures of this guy. There are cameras following his EVERY move. There were all kinds of websites: What Daniel Radcliffe Likes to Eat! What Daniel Radcliffe Does on the Weekends! Daniel Radcliffe Caught Smoking Weed! Daniel Radcliffe Likes to Screw His Assistant Hairdresser! (Nope…not making that up!) Daniel Radcliffe Waving His “Magic Wand” All Over Broadway!! (Okay…so I made that one up.) Seriously…from the time he was ELEVEN! This poor kid has had NO childhood. Since the HP craze has been going strong for a decade…this kid hasn’t been able to take a CRAP without someone knowing about it. It makes me wonder about what the parents were thinking. Did they think that HP wouldn’t be as insane as it’s turned out to be? I can’t imagine ever wanting my child to never EVER have a life that was his own. And Daniel Radcliffe won’t ever have a life of his own. He’s done filming all the HP movies. But the very last one won’t be shown until next year. He’s doing all these “grown-up” roles to get away from HP. He supposedly plays a dad in one movie. There were several pictures of him celebrating his 21^st birthday in Russia or somewhere. He was clearly tanked, and the headlines were bashing him for it. Really?? Let the poor kid get toasted in peace already. And you know what? As much as it creeped me out…I say, let the guy wave his magic wand wherever he wants to. I mean, he kind of earned the right to put Mini-Potter on display if you ask me. The moral of this little story is: If a Hollywood agent comes around saying that your son would look great as a kid wizard…you may want to think about the fact that it could all lead to a decade of craziness…and his pecker being public. Just sayin’!

To Whom It May Concern

**DISCLAIMER: This post does not mention any names even though it is very clear who it is about. IF you comment on this post, please do not mention actual names or your comment will have to be deleted. Post DOES contain cuss words, and the post is not nice…at all. If you don’t like reading about not nice things…please skip it. Thanks! ~Management~***

To Whom It May Concern:

Rarely do I ever say that I hate anyone. But you…you come really close to the number one spot of People I Loathe. I doubt you’ll ever read this, but just in case you do…I have a few things I’d love to say to you that I would also love the world to read.

You are a piece of shit on the bottom of my shoe. It isn’t fair that my mother is dead, and you are living with your faux family in the house that SHE built from the ground up. My mother loved that house. She loved picking out every aspect of what would surround her in her living space. But instead of her being there…your skank of a new wife is living in MY MOTHER’S HOUSE! Oh, but she’s not the only one who lives there, is she? Nope. You also have two children who live there with you. One of which was “created” while my mother was still living in HER house and still married to your cheating, lying ass.

Your daughter was in the NICU just a few floors down from where my mother lay in a hospital bed after having both breasts cut off to save her life. You did put on a good show. Looking back, I can see that now. I mean, I definitely believed you when we all went down to the cafeteria, and we ran into that “lab nurse”. I believed you when you told me that you knew her and was trying to get her to get Mom’s labs back sooner. I believed you when you claimed that “stress” made you introduce me as your “step”daughter…which you’d never EVER done before. It wasn’t until years later that I found out about the lies.

All. Those. Fucking. LIES!

It must’ve been exhausting…keeping up with them all. I wonder how that “lab nurse” felt as she went to check on your real daughter in NICU where she really worked as a nurse. I wonder if she whispered to her, “I’m sorry that your daddy has two families.” I wonder if she went home that night to her own husband and told him about the man with one family upstairs in the cancer ward dealing with his wife’s double mastectomy, and the other family downstairs in the NICU dealing with a premature baby girl. The man with two lives…that was you.

You thought Mom was going to die before she found out. You actually HOPED she would die so that you’d never have to face up to the consequences of your horrible actions. But she didn’t die…and that left you with a big problem, didn’t it? Instead, you treated her like shit and made her feel like the cancer made her “unlovable” until she finally gave up and left you. Wow…what a show you put on THEN! Crying hysterically…snotting all over yourself as we pulled out of the driveway. I actually felt SORRY for you then. It disgusts me to know that as we were driving away from you…talking of how much we’d miss being a family…you were already planning on when you’d be able to marry the Skank. You were already planning on when you could move your “real” daughter into my mother’s house.

I’ll never ever forget the day that I found out. I didn’t get the pleasure of finding out from you, or anyone else. Nope…I had to find out from your own brother’s MySpace page. Funny how things turn out. YOU were the one who taught me all about computers. YOU were the one who made me capable of being able to “snoop” on the computer and put pieces of information together. Funny that it’s exactly what you taught me that led me to the truth about you. I’ll never forget seeing the picture of a little girl who looked remarkably like you. I’ll never forget seeing the caption under the photo with the both of you that said, “Daddy”. I’ll never forget the picture of you pushing her on a swing set in what looked like my mother’s backyard. I’ll never forget the picture of you and your daughter…sitting on a hospital bed with some strange woman and a baby boy who had your first name as his middle name. It was like being punched in the gut over and over again…each punch coming swifter and harder. Mom was out of town when I found out. She wasn’t due back for several days. I wasn’t about to tell her over the phone when she was in a different state. I had to lie. I had to keep up your ugly ass lie for days. I remember spending hours just staring at the pictures. I remember pouring over the pictures running the math through my head. There was just no way that I could make it work in your favor. But I did try. I didn’t want to believe what I was seeing. I didn’t want to believe that the man that I grew to trust and love was playing me for a fool. I didn’t want to believe that you had made my mother feel like everything was her fault. I didn’t want to believe that you had made ME feel like I had destroyed our relationship. But there it was…staring me in the face. I’ll never forget when Mom got home. She knew something was wrong when I insisted on driving over to her house so quickly. I’ll never forget having to almost pull over several times on the way because I thought I was going to vomit. I’ll never forget the look on her beautiful face when I told her that you got remarried. She thought that was the worst of it. But it wasn’t. Even when I told her the whole truth…she didn’t believe me. She told me that I must be mistaken. I only wish that I had been. I was thankful that it was so long after she left that we found out. I’m not sure that she could’ve handled it then. I’m so happy that she was able to “trick” you into taking her phone call. I’m so happy that she was able to tell you what a piece of shit you really are. I laughed when she told me how you had cried. I laughed.

So…was it worth it? Are you happy now? I honestly hope not. You deserve nothing less than to be absolutely miserable. However, I am not completely cold-hearted. There are innocent children involved. And I hope for THEIR sake that you never betray them. I hope that they never see what you really are. And if they do…I can only hope that it doesn’t ruin the rest of their relationships in life. You’re probably saying to yourself, “But I would never abandon them. I would never leave them.” Yeah, well. You told me the same thing. You betrayed and abandoned your wife and so-called daughter at our greatest time of need. You threw us away and left us to believe that there was something wrong with US. When all along, YOU were exactly what was wrong. Did you think you were doing us a favor? Did you think that you were being a big man by telling my mom that she deserved better than you? Well, you were damn right about that. She deserved a hell of a lot better than you. It’s funny to me how a mistake can make so many things make sense. The “failed” counseling sessions. The “excessive crying”. Cutting off all communications with “seemingly” no reason. Yeah. It all makes sense now.

I never thought of you as anything less than my “Dad”. I didn’t call you “Dad” just because I wanted to call SOMEONE “Dad”. Sometimes, I still try to figure out what I did wrong. I wonder what I did or didn’t do to cause you to feel like I wasn’t enough of a daughter for you. I wonder sometimes what made you feel like you had to have a “mortality” check by making a child that was truly “yours”. Now that I know what you really are…now that I know what you’re capable of…I can honestly say that I’m glad that you’re not my father. I’d be ashamed to admit that you were. I can only hope that your “real” daughter never has to experience that pain and guilt. I hope she never finds out what pain was caused in order to bring her into this world. I hope she never finds out what you’re truly capable of. Not that you deserve that kindness. But she does.  

I did learn a few things from this situation. And not all of them are bad. I learned that my mother was stronger than I ever thought possible. You made the biggest mistake of your life, letting her go. She was the most amazing person I’ve ever known. I’m glad that you weren’t with her in the end. You weren’t worth her love…and she deserved a hell of a lot more than YOUR definition of love. I’ve learned that I have more capacity to trust and love than I thought I did. Although you may have crushed my heart and destroyed my spirit…it was only temporary. I know that I can trust the man I love. I also know that if he ever does betray that trust…I will survive because I’ve survived a lot worse. Don’t think that I’m giving you credit for anything that I’ve learned. You don’t deserve any of that. I CHOOSE how I feel. You do not have any control over my life, how I live it or how I feel. I refuse to give you that power over me.

The one thing I can hold on to is that you will be made to regret what you’ve done. It may not be tomorrow, or next week, or even in the next decade. All I know is that one day…it will come back to bite you in your lying ass. I hope that you never forget what you’ve done. I hope that every time you look at your daughter’s face, you remember the pain you caused. I hope that you live a very long life so that you will have that many more days to think about it. To think about what you could have had…and what you threw away.

Mom’s gone now. I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’re devastated. I want to punch you in your fucking face. You have no right to be devastated. YOU were the one who let HER go. YOU were the one who did the unthinkable. It is a testament to Mom’s amazing character and strength that one of her last wishes was for me to call you and tell you that she forgave you. I did what she asked. I called and told you that she forgave you. I spoke to you for less than a minute and hung up the phone. If I hadn’t hung up when I did…you would’ve gotten an earful that would’ve sounded a lot like this blog post. Personally, I don’t believe you deserve her forgiveness. You definitely don’t have mine. But I want the world to know how awful you are…and therefore how wonderful my MOTHER was for forgiving a piece of shit like you.

It’s not fair that such a wonderful person is gone from this earth. It’s not fair that she’s gone, and you’re still here…living your Brady Bunch life. Just remember…the Skank wrecked the home of a woman dying of cancer. I’d watch my back if I were you.

Sincerely,

The One Who Will NEVER Forget

Randomness Version 2.0

It’s that time again, my friends! Time…for some randomness.

  -  I have no idea how Twitter works. I mean, I’ve tried…maybe not hard enough…but I HAVE tried to figure it out. I just don’t get all the hype about it. Isn’t the Facebook status enough? I’m not being sarcastic…I really want to know. I’m not quite sure why there are so many different abbreviations and something with the # sign at the end of things. I guess I shouldn’t knock it too much because when I had JUST a MySpace, I couldn’t understand why people were flocking to Facebook. And now that I have a Facebook, I can’t imagine ever using MySpace again. But Twitter…for some reason I just can’t get into it. There needs to be a “Twitter For Dummies” or something.

  -  Some people seriously shock me. There are times when I just sit and stare and want to blurt out, “Are you SERIOUSLY an adult??” I mean, people act crazy sometimes. I’m sure I do, too…on occasion…but really?? Is it REALLY necessary to sit and complain ALL the time? The worst ones are the ones who complain about the stupidest crap I’ve ever heard of. It’s so much worse since Mom died. I just want to say, “Really? You’re crying tears in your fifth alcoholic beverage because your favorite soap opera character got kicked off the show? Well…my momma died. I win.” Sure, it’d be easy for me to drown my sorrows in booze or start popping pain pills again. But, I don’t. One reason…I know that once I get sober…again…I’ll have to face the same exact situation that I tried to block out with other things. Another reason…and this is a big one…I’M A FREAKIN’ GROWN UP!!! I really do try and put myself in other people’s shoes. But sometimes, it amazes me that certain people realize that there are OTHER people in the world other than themselves. Thank the Good Lord that I rarely have to deal with these kinds of people. I think I might just go crazy if I had to deal with it on a regular basis!

  -  I love for my home to be really clean, but comfy and cozy at the same time. I’ve lived on my own since I was sixteen, and I can proudly say that every place I’ve ever had, I’ve always been able to have people over who would brag about how great they felt in my house. Technically, I’m still the kind of person who loves to keep the house clean and comfy. However, I have an abundance of animals in my house…especially since “inheriting” my mom’s 3 cats as well. It’s incredibly difficult to have a clean and comfy home when said home smells like a giant litter box. Add to that the stress of having your mom/best friend die…you really don’t feel like cleaning. So…my spirit isn’t really “right” at the moment. My house resembles the wreckage after a hurricane…or one of those houses on Animal Hoarding. Ok…maybe not THAT bad…but it’s wayyyy past the point of where I’m comfortable having people over. I’m hoping I can get this place back to where I want it to be before Thanksgiving. Then, I can give thanks for a house that truly feels like a home.

  -  I have purchased a Sleep Number bed. It will be here in a couple of days. I’m somewhat conflicted about this purchase. First, I’m thrilled that G and I will FINALLY be able to sleep in the same bed…in the same ROOM…because we’ll both be able to pick what firmness we want for our sides. Also, I really need to quit smoking. Since I’ve been sleeping in the living room, I’ve stayed up half the night just puffing away. With the new bed, I won’t be ABLE to stay up smoking because I’ll be right next to my non-smoking hubby-to-be. I’m hoping that the change in routine will help me quit. At the same time, I am a creature of habit. I happen to love living in my “comfort zone” be it a good or not-so-good one. I love sitting up, watching the same Harry Potter movies over and over, typing (mostly) nonsensical blog posts, smoking cigarettes, drinking Mello Yello, and eating roasted in-shell peanuts. Yep. That’s my routine…and I love it. So, it’ll be a bit difficult to let go of that, but I know it’ll be well worth it. Not to mention…sleeping in the same bed with the man who is trying to knock me up can only HELP the baby-making process, right? Right!

 -  I used to REALLY want a motorcycle. A Harley-Davidson Sportster 883 Hugger to be exact. I used to imagine flying down the road wearing a men’s white undershirt, tight leather pants (yeah…this was back when leather pants were the hot thing…give me a break), and black motorcycle boots. My super long, blonde hair would be all tucked up under my black full-faced helmet. I’d pull up to the Harley outlet where all the stereotypical Hog riders would be gathered, swing my long leg over the bike, rip my helmet off, shake my luscious hair out, put on my aviator sunglasses, and stride past them while they all checked out my rockin’ bod and firm booty. There were several problems with this fantasy. One: I was fat. Two: I had mousy brown hair that was cut to my chin. Three: leather pants + fat legs and butt = lots of chafing. And four: I didn’t have the money or the know-how to purchase a Sportster in the first place. But MAN was it a great fantasy to have!

  -  I’ve spent the past hour or so reading all the posts from when Mom was in the hospital…until after her “Celebration”. This is the first time I’ve sat and read everything in order. Gosh…it seemed like it happened just SO fast. It seems like one minute, she was rejoicing with me over the doctor giving me the “green light” to start trying to have a baby…then the next minute, the doctor was telling me she only had days to live. I remember telling that doctor, “I’m not five years old. I’ve fought by her side for the past eight years. Please don’t bullshit me or walk on eggshells. Just tell me.” The doc looked me right in my eyes and said, “OK. She only has a week or two…but that’s being optimistic. More than likely, she’ll be gone in a few days.” I remember feeling like someone had sucker punched me in the gut. I keep going back and forth about it…but right this very second…as I’m writing this…I’m glad the doctor was “real” with me about it.

  -  The absence of Mom being gone is just getting sharper as time goes by. Tonight, as I was saying goodnight to my hubs-to-be, I said, “I really miss my momma.” And he leaned in to hug me and whispered, “I really miss her, too.” It occurred to me then, that I sometimes forget that everyone else lost her, too. I should be more sensitive to that fact. I haven’t been very supportive to anyone else who has lost her, and I’m sorry for that. I would say that I’ll be better about it, but right now, I’m struggling just to keep breathing. I hope, though, that the people who loved my mother know that I do realize that they lost her, too. I always tried to tell her how many people she had touched. I tried to show her by making three huge letter books for her. She never did quite understand what she “did” to make everyone love her so much. There were no words in my vocabulary to describe to her the pure “essence” of her spirit that she gave to everyone she came into contact with. I hope and pray that she sees it now. Thank you…all of you…who loved her. 

Take a little trip…take a little trip…take a guilt trip with me

Guilt is about to totally consume me. Mom’s been gone for seven weeks. I have laughed more than I’ve cried. I’ve been in more good moods than bad ones. I’ve gone whole hours without thinking about her. I’ve cried only a handful of times.

If I mention to someone that I haven’t been devastated, I usually get a similar response. Mom had cancer for 8 years…so maybe, deep down, I was “preparing” myself.

Nope.

Believe me when I tell you that I was NOT prepared for this. Sure, Mom and I talked about death quite a bit. I’m sure many of you who were close to her will remember her mentioning MORE than once that she was worried how I’d handle her dying. She thought I was in denial about it…that I couldn’t accept the fact that she would eventually die from this stupid disease. And she was absolutely right. I could talk to her about insanely morbid things…but something in me shut off when we did speak of it. I mean, how could I even fathom her being GONE?? Here I was, staring at her completely beautiful, healthy face talking about how I’d never see it again. It was illogical to my brain. DOES NOT COMPUTE!!

People often say, “Well…it wasn’t sudden. You were probably subconsciously ‘ready’ for it.”

Nope…again.

In the grand scheme of things, Mom’s death WAS very sudden. On June 8^th, G proposed to me. Mom was beside herself. She had been looking forward to me getting married since about…ohhhh…2 years after G and I met. And we met TEN YEARS AGO! Exactly one week after we got engaged, she called to tell me that she had a brain tumor. Well, crap. Of course, this scared me much more than any other “findings” in the past. This wasn’t just a rib…this was her BRAIN for goodness sake! I went with her to one of only three Cyberknife treatments. The nurse even let me come back and watch how it worked. I burst into tears the second I saw Mom lying on that table with this weird mask over her face. Don’t get me wrong. The Cyberknife radiation isn’t a scary thing. It’s basically like this huge hair drier that zooms all around your head sending invisible radiation beams through your brain. That’s not what made me cry. It was the mask. That damn mask hid Mom’s face from me. Before treatment began, they put this mesh-like material over Mom’s face to make somewhat of a “mold”. That way, they could put it over her face, BOLT it to the table, and they knew she was in the same exact spot every single time. I couldn’t stand looking at this mesh-like version of my mother. I couldn’t stand thinking that she could be claustrophobic with something so close to her face that her eyelashes brushed against it. But, after three days, the treatments were over. Mom even felt better for a while. When she started having balance issues and headaches we all thought that it was probably some delayed reaction from the radiation. The oncologist even went ahead and did another brain scan a few weeks earlier than intended and the tumor was shrinking faster than they could’ve hoped for! I knew another miracle happened. I just knew that Mom had dodged yet another bullet. But Mom’s balance, headaches and vision just started getting worse. So, she went to the University Hospital to see a specialist. They immediately admitted her into the hospital to run some “tests”.

Two weeks later, my mother was dead.

So, yes…to me…it was VERY sudden. When she was first admitted to the hospital, she was very alert…being her normal charming, sweet self. The nurses that worked with her those first few nights couldn’t believe how quickly she had deteriorated a week later when they came back on rotation. No, I don’t think any of us expected this. G even went out of town after she had surgery because the doctor said she’d done great. Thank God he got back in time to say goodbye. I’m not sure he would’ve forgiven himself if he hadn’t made it back in time.

I’m rambling…so I’ll try and get to the point of this post. I feel immense and sharp guilt. Mom and I were as close as a mother and daughter can be. I know I’ve said it so many times…but we were absolute best friends. I used to say that I couldn’t even imagine living without her. I couldn’t fathom getting married and having children without her by my side. I guess a part of me still doesn’t know how to go on. I just do. There’s nothing else I CAN do except go on. But…why am I not curled in the fetal position mourning my mother? Why am I getting up every day, getting things done? It’s been almost TWO MONTHS, and I’ve had ONE DAY that I had a few meltdowns. The day that I cried so hard…I thought…this is it…the crazy sadness is about to come crashing down. But I went to sleep, woke up, and went back to getting things done.

I feel guilty that I’m not crying for her all the time. I feel so damn guilty for not mourning her with the crazed pain and sadness that I expected to have. I feel guilty every time I laugh, every time I have a great day, every time I “forget” for a few hours because I’m distracted by what I’m doing. I keep thinking that the day will come when I’ll collapse on the floor while pain envelopes me. That day never comes! Some days, I still feel like it’s all not “real”. But I KNOW it’s real. Some days, I TRY to get upset. I think about not having heard her voice for so long. I think about never seeing her beautiful face ever again. I replay the two weeks that I lived in the hospital room with her over and over in my mind. I think about all these things, and I still don’t cry. I view these thoughts and memories as if I were watching someone else’s life in a movie. I have somehow detached my emotions from it. I can just look at what’s going on in a logical, matter-of-fact kind of way instead of viewing it through the veil of my emotions. I don’t get it! I’m mad at myself for not screaming for my mommy every single night. I feel like I’m not honoring the bond we had. I keep thinking, “If we were as close as I know we were, and as close as other people know we were, then why am I not more upset?” Not only that, but I was SO emotionally dependent on my mother. It didn’t matter what subject we were talking about…I was always searching for her approval. So, how am I making all kinds of crazy decisions without having a meltdown after each one…knowing that Mom isn’t here to either validate me or scold me.

I can’t even begin to tell you how many times people have told me, “There are NO rules to grief!” Maybe not…but I had a different idea of what MY grief would look like after I lost the most important person in my life. And what’s going on with me now is most certainly NOT what my idea of grief is. I feel so guilty every minute of the day. I feel like I’m unintentionally lessening the importance of the bond we shared. I feel like I MUST have that period of time where I’m so sad that I can’t function. If I don’t have that time…if it never comes…what does that say about how I view my relationship with Mom?

Many of my well-meaning, loving friends have said they admire my strength. They tell me that I am unbelievably “strong” and “inspirational”.

Nope. Nope. Nope.

I feel like a fraud. I don’t feel like I’m very strong. If anything I feel like I’m incredibly weak. I honestly don’t believe that “strength” has had anything to do with my lack of emotion. And it really is just that…an absence of mourning and emotion. Maybe “absence” isn’t the right word. The pain and sadness are definitely THERE. I feel it from time to time…especially at night. It just rarely manifests itself into anything more than a fleeting thought or feeling.

The thing is…I’m extremely grateful for the lack of pain and sadness. I don’t WANT to feel those negative emotions. And that by itself makes me feel a huge guilt as well. How dare I feel happy and excited about my future, when my mother won’t ever be here to enjoy it with me? How could I possibly NOT feel guilty about having even one moment of happiness, when I’ll never have the privilege of sharing that happiness with the person I shared everything with?

I don’t know the answer to letting go of the guilt. Yes, I’m scared of feeling the complete weight of what mourning my mother may be like. At the same time, the guilt of NOT feeling that complete and raw emotion is starting to chip away at my armor a little bit. And my armor has quite a few dents in it already. As pretty much everyone has told me at one point or another, “Only time will tell!”

As for the mask…the one that made me cry when I saw Mom wearing it? Yeah, they gave it to her after her treatments were over. She thought it was funny. I did not. But now Mom’s gone…and that mask belongs to me. Although I hate it for what it made me feel…I can’t bring myself to throw it away. It is, after all, the exact mold of my mother’s face. Funny, how something that you absolutely hate…ends up being one of the only things you have left to hold on to something you love.

The Unbreakable Vow

So, I’m doing my usual nighttime routine…watching HP…and one tiny little fantasy blip of a conversation started a roaring avalanche of random thinking in my brain.

The Unbreakable Vow

For those of you who have been in a coma or a submarine for the past decade and haven’t read nor seen any of the Harry Potter series…let me give you a little background on the unbreakable vow.

The unbreakable vow takes place between two parties who are literally bound together by magic. The best way to describe it is to use the actual scene in HP. (And no, I won’t “give anything away” to those of you who have lived under a rock.) Okay, so a student is in danger and his mother is worried sick about him. She and her sister, the student’s aunt, travel to the student’s professor’s house. The professor tells the mother that he is aware of the situation and will do what he can to protect the student. The aunt challenges him to make the unbreakable vow to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the student will be protected. He reluctantly agrees. So, the mother and professor join hands, and the aunt binds them together with magic. The aunt asks the professor, “Will you, Professor, do whatever it takes to keep Student safe?” The professor replies, “I will.” The questions and answers continue until the aunt and mother are satisfied that the student will be thoroughly protected…no matter what. They are so sure of this fact, you see, because the consequence of BREAKING the unbreakable vow…..is death! Of course, the professor doesn’t have a death wish, and he IS dealing with a bone-headed teenager. So, he has to make sure that the bone-headed and strong-willed teenager doesn’t do anything STUPID to put HIMSELF in danger. Are you understanding why the unbreakable vow is such a big deal? I hope so…because I have no idea how to explain it any better than that.  

Okay, so I realize that the unbreakable vow is just part of a fantasy world. But it really got the wheels cranking in this dusty head of mine. What if the unbreakable vow WASN’T fiction? What if there were severe consequences if you broke a promise that you made to someone? Wouldn’t you choose your words and actions more carefully?

Take marriage for instance. Here are some vows that may be read during a wedding ceremony:

(Name), from the moment I first saw you, I knew you were the one with whom I wanted to share my life. Your beauty, heart, and mind inspire me to be the best person I can be. I promise to love you for eternity, respecting you, honoring you, being faithful to you, and sharing my life with you. This is my solemn vow.

Sounds sweet, doesn’t it? Sure it does! However…think about if this was an unbreakable vow. You will DIE if you do not abide by what you have said to this person that you plan to spend the rest of your life with. In this case…I think the marriage vows would read a LOT differently. I imagine they’d go something like this.

I promise to love you…as long as you act loveable and not act like an untrained monkey. I promise to respect you…as long as you don’t act like a fool idiot who doesn’t deserve respect at that moment. I promise to honor you…as long as you don’t make some stupid ass decision without consulting with me first. I promise to be faithful to you…as long as you keep putting out and McDreamy never walks into my house naked, ready to go. I promise to share my life with you…as long as you don’t keel over before me…because then all bets are off. This is my solemn vow.

In all seriousness, it is a bit sad that some people don’t take their vows as seriously as they should. Although, I’m not sure I’d WANT someone loving me or honoring me just because they don’t want to die over it. However, I think we should all use this as a wake-up call. Be careful who you make promises to. Be careful what those promises are. It’s so easy to break vows these days…so easy to “go back” on a promise. I wish we could all take them as seriously as an unbreakable vow, instead of something we say because we only mean them while we’re saying them.

Something to think about, anyway.

A Writer Forever Changed

So, for the past few days, I’ve been re-reading my old blogs. Yes, blog(s)…plural. Of course, many of you who have known me for several years may remember “Mare’s Life”. I had that blog for over a year and a half. There was also “The Procrastinating Writer” and “Flavorful Randomness With a Hint of Reality Bitten”. The latter two just didn’t pan out like “Mare’s Life”, but I’ve been reading through all three of them. Mom commented on so many entries, so I’ve been soaking them in just like I have everything else about her. Reading “The Procrastinating Writer” kind of made me feel a bit odd tonight. It really is clever writing. I can say that now…being so far separated from it. I had forgotten almost every entry from that blog, since I rarely re-read anything I’ve written. It was written during a time of huge change in mine and Mom’s lives. Mom had gotten a divorce. We discovered other areas of cancer. We discovered a lump in MY breast. We discovered that my ex-stepfather had started another family while he was still married to my mother. We discovered that his newborn daughter by another woman was in the NICU a few floors down from where my mother was recovering from getting both of her breasts cut off. We discovered that no matter what…we could get through anything together. I can read the emotion changing with each entry. It’s odd. It’s like reading about someone else’s life. I found myself being a bit jealous of that former “me”. I don’t feel like I write things that are quite that clever or witty anymore. I was much more opinionated. I took chances with what I wrote. Writing has always been such a huge passion in my life. When I’ve had nothing else…I’ve had writing. For years, I’ve had people telling me what an amazing writer I am. I still, to this day, do not believe it. Not that I think people are lying, or just trying to be kind…I just have this horrible negative self-talk that will never leave me alone. I’ve actually written about this issue several times before, so I won’t bore you with it now. But it has been a bit strange, reading my writing from years ago as if I were reading someone else’s writing. I can see it there. I laughed a lot while I was reading. Weird.

Mom was my constant cheerleader when it came to my writing. If I had written something that I thought was particularly fantastic…I would call her. She would read and re-read and ALWAYS comment on it. (She knew I loved when people commented on my blog. For some reason, it made me feel “legitimate” or something.) More times than not, Mom’s comment would be the only one there. But it always made my heart soar to see her name. She would always write similar things. “You’re amazing!” “This was awesome!” “I’m so proud of you, Baby!” Even though my dream…no…my deepest desire…was to have hundreds and thousands of people reading and commenting on my blog, somehow, just having that one sentence from her was enough to keep me writing.

It’s so different now. She would have hated my last post describing in detail the way that she died. She was always worried about who would read what. There were many posts I ended up taking down after getting that speech from her. Now…I can write whatever I want, and she can’t tell me to take it down. Though, to some, that may seem like some kind of freedom. To me…well…I’d give anything to hear her say, “Take it down!” I don’t feel guilty in the least bit about writing, and keeping, that last blog post. Even though it exposes such a private issue…I honestly believe that people should know that truth.

I don’t know where my writing will take me from here. I miss the days when I could write and be funny. I miss that cleverness. I don’t feel like my writing is anything like it used to be, though it still brings me some joy. Or maybe it doesn’t. Instead of bringing me joy, maybe it’s become just my outlet…and that’s all. And maybe because Mom took a part of me with her…maybe my writing will always be less than what it used to be. Either way, writing is my love. It is my heart. I don’t know what I would do without it. I have always wanted the people I love to love my writing. It’s one of the most important parts of my life, so of course, I want the people I love to love it, too.

So, my writing has changed. At least MY perception of it has. But I have forever changed. Half of me is gone, though five weeks later, I’m still not sure I can believe it. Regardless, I’ve changed. I am a writer forever changed. And forever is something I struggle to accept.

Death Is NOT Pretty

***DISCLAIMER!!! If you think it will upset you to read about the nitty gritty details about how Mom died, then please stop here and skip this post. If you think it will upset you to read about how death is NOT pretty, then please stop here and skip this post. If you think it will upset you if you read a post in which cuss words including the F-bomb are scattered many, MANY times throughout, then PLEASE STOP HERE and skip this post. Thanks! ~Management~***

Death is a bunch of bullshit. I don’t know where people get the idea that it’s all peaceful and lovely. It’s NOT. Mom SUFFERED for FIVE FUCKING DAYS. During the last 24-48 hours that she was alive, I had to stick a TUBE up my own mother’s nose to suck out the pus that was pouring out of it about every 5-10 minutes. I had to suction out her mouth because fluid was bubbling up through her TEETH. Fluid started coming out of her EYES. Her skin turned waxy and pale yellow. She would scream in pain if anyone even touched her. When they tried to give her a bath (I mean, really? Does she REALLY need a damn BATH before she dies???) she screamed out, “I want my mama!” She had staples in her head in the shape of a circle. They shaved HALF her head. The staples got infected. The “circle” on her head swelled like a baseball. It was red, swollen and painful. Oh, but they REMOVED them about 10 hours before she died. The “death rattle” lasted for almost 2 whole days. I actually got USED to the horrible, rattling, gurgling, drowning sound that came from my mother’s throat. You could hear her struggling to clear her throat, but she lost the ability and the energy to do so. So, I sat and listened to my mother drowning in fluid. Before she was completely unresponsive, she’d have these massive hallucinations. One time, she tried to throw herself out of bed to “save” someone. I had to lie on top of her to calm her down. Yeah…I had to throw ALL of my weight on top of my dying mother to keep her in her fucking bed. She was SCREAMING at the top of her lungs, and hitting me and saying that no one would help her. Another time, when I was trying to calm her down, she hit me in the face so hard that my mouth bled.  No, death is NOT pretty. It’s ugly. It’s disgusting. It’s painful. It’s suffering. After five straight days of watching death happen, I was WANTING MY MOTHER TO DIE. How horrible is that?!? I WANTED the nurses to give her so much pain medicine that she would just die. And then she did die. And now I’d give anything to have her back.

I fell asleep right before my mother died. I had literally been awake and constantly hovering over her for almost 48 hours. My uncle finally made me go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat. I got a red velvet parfait. I will never eat another one as long as I live. I don’t remember much after I got back up to the room. I sat down to eat my parfait, and the next thing I know, my uncle was saying, “Mary Beth! GET UP!” I jumped to my feet just in time to grab Mom’s hand. I told her how much I loved her, and that it was okay to go. Her breaths were almost a minute apart. I stared at her face, absorbing every aspect of it. Then, she took another breath…and no more came after that. I didn’t cry. I kissed her. Then I took a pair of scissors and cut her hair. I kept cutting and cutting. I knew she’d have a hat on in the open casket because of where it was shaved, so I cut as much from the back as I could and stuffed it in an envelope before someone could tell me not to. Then, everything was moving so fast. The nurse came in and said that I should go outside for a little while, so I did. When I came back, I looked at the person lying motionless on the bed, with the sheets pulled up to her chin. That was NOT my mother lying there. I had no problem packing my stuff and her stuff and walking out of that hospital because I KNEW that was NOT my mother anymore. I didn’t feel her spirit with me anymore. I went numb.

I was told later that I had fallen asleep face first into my parfait. Maybe Mom was waiting until I stopped hovering. I remember when I was little, and she would take me shopping with her. I would walk so close to her that if she stopped suddenly to look at something, I’d bump right into her. This went on for a while, when Mom finally turned around and said, “Please stop walking so close to me!” Even over 20 years later, whenever we’d go shopping together, I made sure that I walked at least five feet away from her. I told her once, about the time she said that to me, and how I’d remembered it all these years. I remember how she teared up because she didn’t mean to hurt my feelings. But she did hate it when I hovered.

During her hallucinations, there was one so bad that I was almost hurting MYSELF holding her down, so I knew I was hurting her. I was BEGGING her to stop. I was pleading with her to please come back. She did. It was one of the only times I remember her “coming back” out of the hallucination. All of a sudden, she grabbed me around the shoulders, pulled me down to her chest and said, “It’s ok, Baby…don’t cry. I’m ok. I’m so sorry. I’m so proud of you.” It wasn’t until she said “don’t cry” that I realized I was sobbing into her shoulder.

I was the one who told her she was going to die. I had to tell her by myself. The fucking doctor wouldn’t even do it. I had to sit there and calmly tell my mom that she had only days to live. I remember she just said, “Okay.” Then she smiled at me. She told me how proud she was of me. I asked her if she was scared. She thought for a moment and said, “Not of death itself…but, yes, I’m scared of the process it will take to get there.” She was right to be scared. And as she slowly became unresponsive, she would briefly wake up and whisper to me that she was scared. So, I would lie with her and sing her the lullaby that she sang to me when I was a baby.

           Go to sleepy little baby

          Go to sleepy little baby

          When you wake you’ll find sweet cakes

          Ride the pretty little ponies

          One is red, and one is blue

          One is the color of candy, too.

Death is not pretty. It’s not pretty for the one going through it, nor is it for the ones watching them go through it. I miss my mother with every cell in my body. I am somewhat comforted by the fact that she is no longer suffering.

It’s not fucking fair that she’s gone. It’s not fair that she left me alone. It’s not fair that she won’t be here to see me get married or see my first child. It’s not fair that I don’t “feel” her. It’s not fair that I had to pick out her casket all by myself. It’s not fair that I had to write her obituary all by myself. It’s not fair that I only have pictures of her now. It’s not fair that soon…I won’t have anything left that smells like her. It’s not fair that all these people who were supposed to “be there” for me have up and disappeared off the face of the fucking planet. It’s not fair that the brunt of my emotional craziness is left to my husband-to-be who works 70 hours a week, and to my best friend who never even got to meet Mom. It’s not fair that THEY have to deal with me when there should be other people to listen to me, but don’t even have the fucking balls to pick up the phone and check on me for five minutes. It’s not fair that they don’t want anything to do with me now that Mom’s not a part of the “package” deal. It’s not fair that they’ll all come running when I say that I have something of Mom’s that they can have. It’s not fucking FAIR that Mom’s not here and they are and she can’t talk to me about any of it and they WON’T talk to me about any of it. It’s not fair that so many GOOD things are going on in my life right now, but I feel guilty for being happy about any of it because SHE’S NOT FUCKING HERE!!!!!!!!!!

Death is NOT pretty. It’s ugly. It’s scary. It’s one of the worst things you could ever witness.

Mom, however, is, was, and will always be the most beautiful thing that could have ever existed. She didn’t deserve to die the way that she did. The unselfish part of me is thankful beyond belief that she is perfectly whole again. But the selfish part of me wishes that she was here with me now…perfect in every way in my eyes.

I love you, Mom. I wish you could tell me that you love me too. I miss you. I wish you could tell me you miss me too. I’m proud of how strong you were. You left this world a little less beautiful when you left it. 

Let The Realization Begin

I slept until 4:30 yesterday afternoon. Apparently, I needed the sleep. I usually go for weeks, sometimes months, without sleeping more than an hour or two a night. Then, after a few weeks of that, I literally pass out for almost an entire day.

Something was different when I woke up. I don’t know if I dreamt about Mom, or what. But almost immediately, I was getting tearful. I listened to a voicemail that my aunt left for me, saying that she had brought some more of Mom’s things to the house. The last clothing she ever wore. As I hung up the phone, I realized that tears were pouring down my face. My throat felt like it was closing up on me. A little while later, Mom’s brother…my most amazing uncle…called me to tell me what they had accomplished as far as getting some things out of her house. The moment he said, “Hey, Niece-of-Mine,” it took everything in me not to start sobbing on the phone. I could barely get any words to come out. I cried some more when I got off the phone. I didn’t understand why I was so “weepy” all of a sudden. I decided to head over to pick up Shiloh from her “puppy sleepover” with her brother, Emmett. The entire drive there, I found the road in front of me getting blurry as tears filled my eyes. Thoughts raced through my mind.

*She’ll never come back. Never.

*She’ll never be on the other end of the phone line when I want to call her just to hear her voice. Never.

*She’ll never be here for another birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas. Never.

*She’ll never hug me again. Never.

*She’ll never take me on the trip we had been talking about…the “just us” trip that we never got to take. Never.

*She’ll never see me try on my wedding gown on the day of my wedding. Never.

*She’ll never be in any more photographs with me. Never.

*She’ll never sing the lullaby to my child that she used to sing to me as a baby. Never.

*She’ll never place her cheek against my ever-growing belly to tell her grandchild that “Grammy” couldn’t wait to meet him/her. Never.

*She’ll never again read my writing and tell me how wonderful it is…even if it is crap. Never.

*She’ll never get to meet the friend who has changed my life and views on friendship. Never.

*She’ll never come back. Never, ever again.

She’s gone, and there’s NOTHING I can do about it. She and I were about as close as any two people can be. She was the one who knew me inside and out. She was the one who could make even the worst situations seem better. But she’s not here to make this seem better.

As I drove to pick up Shiloh, these thoughts just ran through my head over and over. I felt the tightness come back into my throat. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I walked into the house, and my sweetest friend was standing there. Knowing me like she does, the first thing out of her mouth was, “What is it, sweetie?” Well, I had a total meltdown right there in her kitchen. I literally cried on her shoulder and snotted all over the kitchen floor that she had just mopped. She said all the right things. I felt better.

A couple of hours later, I left and began to just drive around. I’ve been doing that a lot lately, especially when I know G isn’t off work yet. As I was driving close by to where he works, my phone rang. It was my incredible hubs-to-be. The tears came yet again. As he gave me words of encouragement, I looked over and there he was, driving right beside me. He drove behind me all the way home to make sure I was okay.

It’s 4 weeks today since she left. Tomorrow will be my 30^th birthday. The day after tomorrow will be exactly one month since she left this world. Why has it taken me a month to really let it sink in that she’s not coming back? Why couldn’t I have stayed strong like she was? I can’t stop thinking about the last two weeks we spent together in the hospital. I think about how every time she woke up, she would call out for me and say, “It’s okay, Baby. It’s okay.” Even though I wasn’t crying or upset at the time, she was only thinking of me. She was so selfless. She was always so worried about me. When it got to the point where she was only lucid for small amounts of time throughout the day, I would talk to her and hug and kiss her. She would get the most peaceful smile on her face and tell me that she loved me.

I wish I could hear her tell me she loves me just one more time.

Randomness – Version 1.0

I used to write a blog a while back, and ended up with quite a few "followers". One of everyone's favorite blog posts was the "Randomness" posts. So, here you go! The first Randomness post of this new blog. Believe me...there will be many more to come. :-)

        -  If I am by myself in the car coming home from somewhere, I always drive down the road that goes through the hospital because I want to be as close to the hospital as possible when I’m thinking about Mom. It’s the last place she saw my face. It’s the last place she spoke to me. It’s the last place she gave me a hug and said, “Everything will be ok.” It’s the last place I saw her alive.

        -  I have the strangest and nerdiest nighttime/bedtime routine of anyone I know…and probably of anyone YOU know as well. See, I have every single Harry Potter movie recorded on my DVR. Every night, I watch different ones from the time I get in bed until the time I get OUT of bed in the morning. I also have a huge bag of in-shell roasted and salted peanuts, a full pack of cigarettes, a brand new 20oz Mello Yello and my laptop. By the time the sun is coming up, I’ve gone through half the pack of cigs (sometimes more, sometimes less), I’ve eaten most of the peanuts, I’ve had the entire Mello Yello, I’ve probably written some nonsensical thing for the blog, and I’ve MAYBE gotten a couple of hours of sleep somewhere in there. Everyone tells me that the caffeine and nicotine don’t help my insomnia…but I think it’s all the peanuts I eat. ;-)

       -  I’m a grown-up. I realize that cigarettes are bad for me. I realize that they can cause severe and possibly fatal diseases. I realize that it makes my breath, hair and clothes smell bad. I realize that they’re the reason that I have a yucky cough in the morning. I realize that they’re the reason that I take longer to recover from a cold or bronchitis. I realize that they’re probably the reason that I GOT the cold or bronchitis in the first place. I realize that I NEED to quit. I realize that I need to quit to help the blood flow to my bones. I realize that I need to quit because my awesome hubs-to-be, who is a NON-smoker, will like to kiss me more often. I realize that I need to quit because my mother got cancer when she was only 41 years old. I realize that I need to quit because I want to have a baby. Trust me…I realize it all. I’m an adult. I’m not stupid. I know all of these things already…so please stop telling me. If you’ve been a smoker and have been through everything I’ve been through, and you were still able to quit and STAY quit…then by all means…give me some advice. But…and this is a BIG but…if you have NEVER smoked a cigarette in your life, PLEASE do not tell me how “easy” it should be to quit. Yes, it SHOULD be very easy to quit…but guess what…it isn’t.

        -  I turn thirty on Saturday. I know a lot of people who dreaded the big 3-0. But I’m pumped about turning thirty. It’s the start of a new decade. I truly believe that my thirties will be vastly greater than my twenties. I mean, really. If my thirties aren’t better than my twenties…I’m in some deep poop. I feel a bit guilty saying that, though. I mean, Mom won’t be here to see my thirties. She won’t even be here to see me TURN thirty. It’s hard to get excited about a “big” birthday when the person who gave birth to you is gone forever. I have to have something to look forward to, though. It’s taken me almost thirty years to find a friendship that isn’t a one-way street. It’s taken me almost thirty years to get engaged to the perfect man. It’s taken me almost thirty years to decide to REALLY try to have a baby. My twenty-ninth year on this earth was incredible and horrible all at the same time. Everything in my life has taken a turn for the better, but I lost half of me when Mom died. I have to realize how blessed I am that at least Mom got to see me find that amazing friendship. G got to call and ask her permission to marry me just moments before he proposed. Just two weeks before she died, I was able to tell her that I was finally going to give her that grandbaby that she’s been wanting for years. And a few days before she lost consciousness, I was able to tell her that my doctors ALL gave me the “green light” to start trying. The smile on her face will live with me forever.

       -  Most of my close friends and family know that I have GAD and OCLW. These are the technical terms I have come up with for my weirdness. GAD stands for Geographic Anxiety Disorder. I have a very hard time driving somewhere that I’ve never been before…at least 10 times before. I’m ok if the “new” place I’m going is located in an area that I’m pretty familiar with. To this day, I refuse to drive through downtown Birmingham even though people tell me that it’s the easiest place to drive through. If I were forced to drive through downtown Atlanta…just shoot me, please. OCLW stands for Obsessive Compulsive List Writing. This one is pretty self explanatory. It’s probably one of the reasons that I absolutely LOVE writing “Randomness” blog posts. I get to write them in somewhat of a list form. I will write to-do lists, NOT-to-do lists, things-I-need-to-eventually-put-on-my-to-do-list lists, home-project lists, supplies-for-home-project lists, gift lists, things-that-make-me-happy lists, things-that-tick-me-off lists, regular-grocery lists, color-coded-grocery lists, color-coded-sorted-by-type-grocery lists, holiday lists, holiday-decorations lists, holiday-gifts lists, what-I-want-for-certain-holidays lists, what-ideas-I-have-for-other-people-for-future-holidays lists, ideas lists, ideas-for-novels lists, ideas-for-characters-for-novels lists, ideas-why-I-can’t-ever-get-started-on-my-novel lists, lists-of-lists-that-I’d-like-to-make lists, and every other list you can think of. The GAD…I could do without. However, I kind of dig the OCLW. ;-)

  - I wish there was a way that I could put into words how much I appreciate my hubs-to-be. I tell him how much I appreciate him. I make sure that I say “Thank You” for everything he does for me…even for the “small” things like bringing me something from the kitchen. But I wish there was a way to get him to TRULY understand how much I respect and admire him. The man literally works an average of 65-70 hours in five days per week. He works faithfully and loyally for a company that treats him like crap even though he’s worked there for fifteen years. He will show up on time to work…rain or shine, sleet or snow, hurricane or tropical storm. In the decade that we’ve been together, I’ve known him to take time off work other than vacation only twice. Once, when he had his wisdom teeth SURGICALLY removed…he took one day off work. The second time, he took a medical leave when he had to have serious back surgery and was out of work for about six weeks. Even though, after fifteen years of work he’s earned four weeks of vacation…he has been known to only take two or three weeks because he’s been needed at the store. He does all of this to take care of his family. The sad part is, I’m the only one who tells him on a regular basis how much his hard work is appreciated. I wish I could wave a magic wand and make it all better for him. He’s worked so hard in every aspect of his life for so long. I hate seeing how exhausted he is every day. I hate seeing how defeated he is after someone at work has berated or criticized him. It breaks my heart that more people in his life don’t just grab him in a hug and say, “Do what makes you happy. Be HAPPY in this life!” Instead, most people in his life just “expect” him to be giving and loving…but they never give it back to him. Other than me, I don’t know of one person who has asked him, “What do YOU want?” To many people, it doesn’t matter what HE wants…it’s what THEY want him to be. So…I try. I do my best to smother him with love and appreciation. But it’s hard to make up for everyone else who constantly make him believe that he’s just not good enough. It’s so ridiculous. If anyone on this planet deserves happiness and is WAY more than good enough…it’s him. I am unbelievably grateful to have him in my life. I am incredibly proud of everything he has and will accomplish in his life. But more than anything else, I want him to be happy again. Not just having happy “moments”…but truly happy, content, spontaneous and loving life…just like he used to be. He deserves all of that and nothing less. He probably will never read this. Hell, he barely has time to shower, let alone read some nonsense I’m writing on the computer. However, if he ever does happen across this in the future:

“My love, my hope for you is that you get everything in life that you could ever even DREAM of having. I hope that I get to see that light come back into your eyes because YOU have made the light keep burning in mine. You are everything and more that I could ask for in a husband and father to my children. I can’t wait to see you with our son or daughter. I pray that you feel hope somewhere inside of you. I pray that there is still a spark of the dreams you had for yourself somewhere in your heart. I wish I had the words to express how truly grateful I am that you chose me. I hope and pray that you know somewhere inside of you that my respect, admiration and appreciation for you is beyond any words that my meager vocabulary could express. I love you more than my own life. Always & Forever!”