Jellybean and Spitfire

Her cause of death was "natural causes". 

There was a time I wanted to be just like her. She was a fantastic Mother. Her babies can attest to that. She was stern, solid, loyal, God fearing and the most mighty human I'd ever known. Her presence was known. And it was up to you whether or not she was your friend or your enemy. I assure you, you did not want the second option for yourself.

Many asked me why I stood by her toward the end and my answer was always the same. Because I knew her when she was good. And I always had hope that one day I'd get to be with my friend again.

We met in high school Spanish class. She loved to tell the story. She pissed me off one morning in class and we were tied at the hip for 25 years after that.

She was such a Daddy's girl. Spoiled rotten. He was a fine man with one big downfall.........he never let her stand accountable for her mistakes. He was always there to help clean her messes. When he died in 2008, part of her went with him. I know it's cliche to say that about a death. But its true. She was never the same. 

Trying to list the things we'd been through together is next to impossible but this post wouldn't be complete if I didn't attempt to list the most important.

First an for most the birth of ten children. We took great pride in telling people she had four girls before a boy and I had four boys before a girl. The looks on peoples faces when we were all together with all our babies........priceless  Marriage. Divorce. More marriage and more divorce. Deaths of parents, grandparents, aunts and friends. Vacations, cancer scares, miscarriages, crazy ex boyfriends. Bankruptcy, church, separation. Those who knew us know that we were a story book friendship most only dream about. After her fourth pregnancy her gestational diabetes that she developed with all her pregnancies didn't go away. That began a new battle for her daily. One she took lightly. We had many disagreements on how she should be taking care of herself better.

In 2012 she had her first back surgery. That was the beginning of the end.

I know her pain was real in the beginning. She had been through a surgery that caged her spine and put more metal in her back then I even realized was possible for a person to have. Dr.'s were very generous with pain medications. And when she ran out she had acquaintances that were equally as generous to share theirs with her. 

With a second failing marriage and bills stacking on top of each other I watched her slowly become a shell of a person. Evictions. Social Services. Her life was raveling apart at the seams. 

When a persons sugar rises dangerously high they become disoriented. During those times of extreme disorientation she would take and retake pain medications. Then take and retake them again. at the end of 2018 she earned herself a Narcan injection after an accidental overdose with her children in the home. After that she began to loose her most prized possessions. Her children.

A diabetic addict was recipe for disaster from the very beginning. She lost all ambition to clean, work, take care of her childrens needs and repair any sort of relationship she had with anyone. It wasn't long before she was completely alone and renting a house beside me. I thought with her beside me I could take care of her. Fix her. Repair her.

In 2019 I was granted custody of her children. Not many knew that. She wanted to keep it a secrete. She was embarrassed. That once mighty mother was at the hands of social services. 

After a while it became clear that me having custody was doing no one any favors. She was able to see them as often as she wanted and wasn't doing the work required to get them back herself. Her never getting them back was not our end game. Drastic changes were made and her sweet babies entered into Foster system. But it was that decision that was her turning point.

In July of 2020 she began to get clean. I had my friend back. Four months we rode around with the top down, took the kids swimming, gossiped till daylight, cooked. She made her peace with God and went to church again every Sunday. My prayers had been answered. She was scheduled to regain custody of her babies November 5th.

On the morning of October 5th she text me "I Love You".

Some time later she texted again and told me she wasn't feeling well and asked my opinion. "Should I go get checked out?" she asked.

"Absolutely, if it would ease your mind". I told her. 

She told me she was gonna lay down and take a nap and leaving the door unlocked in case I tried to reach her and couldn't. That was kinda our thing when she was feeling bad. 

She and I both suffered with crazy anxiety. And I thought she was just lonesome and worried after having her babies the previous week then having to let them go back. 

She texted back, "If I go the ER and they find something wrong they'll keep me and I won't be able to pick up the kids tomorrow to spend another week here."

In her last moments she was worried about seeing her babies.

I was sitting on the porch when I seen her bounce to her van and drive toward the store. I asked her where she was going. She text back and told me she went to grab something to drink. That was 2:20 PM. Before long she pulled back in and I seen her walk into the house. I wasn't worried. She felt like leaving for a little bit so she must be fine I convinced myself.

I texted her a couple times later in the evening with no reply. I figured she was napping. She had a crazy sleep pattern. 

On October 6th I woke up at 6:30 and seen my messages from the evening before had never been opened. I called her. And then again I called her. And text her. And then I got dressed and walked over. Her door was unlocked. Just like she told me it would be.

When I opened the door I immediately saw her. She was laying on her side facing away from me. Hair up in her signature messy bun, maroon Metcalfe County tee shirt. In that instant I thought her sugar had gotten too high like so many times before and quick call to 911 and a insulin drip would fix her. But once I got closer to her I knew. I knelt beside her.  She had little sprays of hair covering her face. I touched her and said her name. She was cold. She looked like she had gotten up to use the bathroom from a nap and never made it back to bed. She was laying peacefully. She hadn't fell. It looked like she just closed her eyes and laid down. 

It felt like an eternity for the ambulance to arrive. Even when I seen the flat line on their machine where her heat rate should have been it didn't sink in. 

When the coroner arrived and brought her out in a black bag and put her into the back of his vehicle it hit me. 

In that black bag was 25 years of my life. My secretes. My hopes. My dreams. Our plans of growing old with grand babies. All zipped away and leaving.

I think back a lot to 2012.

 What if they only gave her one bottle of pain medication and maybe one refill.

What if the Dr.s just simply told her "NO. No More meds".

What if those women hadn't sold her more.

What if I took her to the ER the day before when she told me she felt bad?

The fact is........she was a diabetic addict. The Dr.'s and pain specialist created an addict. Her heart was broken from years of abuse, stress and mental and physical abuse. She was tired. She had been ready for a long time but hated to leave her babies. Any effort she made to stay here with us longer was for them.

Our friendship lasted longer then most marriages these days. And I will forever carry that hateful, sassy, brilliant, loyal woman with me.

 

Just A Few Thoughts From a Parent Having A Bad Day

Someone told me once that you can have multiple children and no two will ever be the same. Each child requires different things at different times and its not the other siblings job to decide whether or not its fair. They are not the adults. The parent is. You do what you feel is best for that child at that time. 

That was 20 years ago when I only had 2 children and no real idea of what they really meant. 

98% of my marital issues have been disagreements on how to raise children. Sometimes, the universe aligns and we think identically. But, most of the time we fight. I go silent. Stew for a couple days. Threaten divorce. Know I'm right and he's wrong. Then roll over and give up because being a single parent is too much for my brain to comprehend all the while still believing I am absolutely right and he is disgustingly wrong.

Back when our kids "quirks" were beginning to develop and show themselves I threw myself into reading and learning all the things. That was roughly 2009. Eli was 6 years old. Zackary 3. I didn't have to read very far to learn that divorce rates for parents with children whom have a diagnoses is significantly higher then those without.

It was in 2011 that I started my Psychology degree. My intentions were to help my children and every one else's children. Now, 10 years later, I'm still treading water most days to guide my own young men. Thinking I would have time to help someone else is almost laughable.

I never finished my degree. Life happened. Most days I feel like I should be grandfathered in as a therapist because I know a few things. Because I've seen a few things. Solved a few things. Heard speakers dozens of times. Been to retreats. Support groups. Church. Dr.'s. Specialist. Therapy for them. Therapy for me. Court. Emergency management placements. Hospitals. Rehabs. Read the books. Drown myself in all the knowledge. I think that's why I carry so much resentment when my husband doesn't agree with my parenting. He's not done those thing's. How could he possibly know what's best when I've raised these kids? Not because he wasn't interested or a bad man. But because he was busy keeping a roof over our heads and food on the table. He didn't worry about the kids because he knew "I had it". And I didn't worry about the bills because I knew "he had it".

Trust me when I say that type of thinking can only last so long. After a while I lost myself and became a very pissed off human. It wasn't until death took my best friend of 25 years, 8 months ago, that I started therapy myself. Loosing her was my breaking point. She was the only person I had to bounce my thoughts off of without judgement. If I felt like I was about to loose sight of reality I went to her. If I was about to hang my kids up by their toes, I went to her. If I needed adult conversation, I went to her. She was my person. Since her death, I have had to learn to make Danny my person. It's not been easy because for so many years I tried very hard to not need anyone for anything. 

Our kids are older since I began this blog space for myself all those years ago. Now 22, 17, 15, 11 and 6. And another sweet baby boy has came into our lives. A grandson whom is now 3. 

I imagined years ago when we reached this point in our lives that things would be better. I had this false sense that when the kids were older they would no longer need me. That I was such a badass perfect parent they would reach 18 and fly the coop perfectly and never look back. I failed miserably on so many levels. Because of our "arrangement" all these years........if they fail to fly the coop correctly I feel the only one to blame is me. I was responsible for raising the kids while he handled the rest. Their success or failure is a direct reflection of the foundation I was supposed to build for them.

Just a few thoughts from a parent having a bad day.

My biological Grandmother has passed away. I’ve often wondered how I would feel when someone from my other family left this world. The verdict is still out because the opportunity to grieve her death properly was stolen from not only myself, but the rest of her family.

Mary was the first person I met from my biological dads side of the tree. I was around 21 years old if my memory serves me correctly. She lived in a big civil war home in Jonesville, Va that was equally as intriguing as she was.

My sister from my mothers side of the tree introduced us one evening. My exsistance didn’t surprise her. After looking me up and down a few times she invited me in her home and began to explain to me how I was wanted and she’d fought for me to the best of her ability at the time. But in those days there was little to be done when the birth certicate identified no father. We exchanged addresses, phone numbers, and some photos and stayed in contact like clockwork for several years.

Mary was a little tiny hot headed blonde with no filter who enjoyed her alcohol. I connected to her from the moment we met. She had no filter. If she thought it, she said it. This was much different from the Granny I had growing up.

This was a time in my life that was very difficult. I’d met this brand new family. Soon after I went through a divorce, and then another. I had children and then more children. As time passed we spoke very little. I take responsibility for that. I should have done better. But I made excuses that if she wanted to speak to me she would have. Looking back now I realize that it was equally as much my responsibility. 

When her health began to decline there was no one to receive updates on her from. And I blame that on her son. Yes, my biological father. He wasn’t exactly Daddy material. Not to me, or my siblings that he actually raised. And I use the word “raised” loosely.  He wasn’t a spectacular son either. He made decisions that certainly were not In her best interest, and there was nothing we could do. 

So yesterday, I discovered she passed. Last April. Alone. No service to speak of. No family at her bedside. Not knowing how much she meant to any of her family. And that is what I’m struggling with. 

I can’t wrap my mind around why her son would intentionally hide her death from everyone. Not just me.  

So this entry is for my little hot headed Nana. I blame my Hazard, Ky  actions that seep out on occasion on her and I pray she’s resting peacefully because I know her last years were not what she deserved here on Earth. 

I ran away from home when I was 17 years old. Or maybe I was 16. I can’t remember now. It was cold outside. I had $50.00 to my name and a boyfriend more mentally disturbed then I was. We were like the blind leading the blind.

I can’t explain what I was running from. School. Rules. People. Up until recently I suffered with severe anxiety and my cure for everything was to self destruct and run. It wasn’t drugs related or alcohol related. I just needed away. immediately. So one night I was out with my far worse off then me fella and I just drove. And drove. And drove. I wanted to be an adult. I wanted to be in my own place away from all the things, people and places that I thought was my problem. I know now the problem was me and the people I chose to surround myself with. I was drawn to people who needed my help when in reality I was doing a piss poor job of helping myself. 

We slept in my car with no definite plan of where we were going or how we were going to survive. By night two on the run I called home collect and was back home hours later.

I was expecting the wrath of God to come forth from my parents when I walked back through the door but instead Momma just hugged me and cried. She asked me if I was cold, or hungry or tired. At times as a mother myself I have come to understand why she didn’t have it in her her to lecture me and drop punishment immediately. 

The State Police were looking for me. The church was praying for me. My Friends were being questioned. I had my small community in a total panic because I thought life was hard. 

It wasn’t until my late 30’s that I healed mentally and emotionally. It could have came a lot quicker had I just recognized that I needed to stop surrounding myself with people who needed my help and start putting my efforts into people who just wanted my friendship. That is a hard lesson to learn because all the sweet memes on Pinterest will tell you how rewarding it is to help others and build others up. Just remember, it’s necessary that we have people who do that for us as well.

mental illness is an asshole

I am the face of a mother who in that moment was done. Done being an adult. Done being a parent. Done being a wife. Just done.
Being the mother of two special children test my ability every single day. Some days I come out victorious but most days I’m severly defeated. Today was one of those days.
Eli is at an age now that he doesn’t want his name mentioned on any of my social media outlets. So this last year I’ve remained silent. Silence helps no one so today I’m breaking his rule.
Today started much like any other day for him. He woke at 12 pm ready to preach the reasons why he shouldn’t have to do his online school work. You see, he remains home schooled because our county is a dam joke and can’t (won’t) accommodate to his needs.
I have taught myself over the years to be a duct, however, today his insults and threats were not rolling off my back.
At some point I grabbed a hold of him in an attempt to get his attention and my nails scraped his neck. It was pretty much down hill from there because a scraped neck was grounds for him to accuse me of trying to kill him. Yea. It gets a bit dramatic around here when he’s on his Eli Thrown.

Now, let me give you a bit of my own time line events that led to this battle.

My three year old puked pizza and chocolate milk all night long. So yea. Chocolate milk. Pizza. Maybe some fruity pebbles but I can’t be certain. We managed to get some rest from 4-6 this morning. At 6 I get the other two ready for school. They still attend a private school.

So on very few winks of sleep today I was defeated.  Broken. Tired. Frazzled.

He informed me that on the outside he might be smiling but on the inside he was ripping out our throats. It was at the point I had to just retreat to the bathroom and collapse on the floor defeated.

By the time I was finished with my small breakdown he had reset. He was laughing. Ready to do his school work. Mental illness is such an asshole.

Today was a normal day. 

We started our day out earlier than we have most of the Summer so far. Before 10am. Don't laugh. Maddy~Kate has had a strange sleep schedual lately. To sleep at 11. Up from 1-3ish. Back to bed till 1030. The last couple nights I've gotten her to bed at 830 and she's slept most of all night only waking to nurse herself back to sleep. Yes, she's 2 1/2 and still nurses. 

We made a early morning trip to a road side market where I purchased 4 watermelon. All four were terrible and thrown out. 

Laundry, dishes, sweeping, mopping. All the ordinary things that keep this house from smelling like butt. A trip to Edmonton to drop off some pretties to a few of my fabulous customers. Back home to work Lucky Duck a while and then retreated to the living room to watch To Joey, with Love. Beautiful by the way. Sad. Inspiring. Gut wrenching. Watch it. 

Tonight has been a hard night for Eli. I'm not quite sure which button of his was pushed, but it was the wrong one. Explosive crying. It's hard to watch a nearly 14 year old have such massive meltdowns. But they are few and far between so long as he stays on track with his medication and sleeps regular. I don't think people realize how much a healthly mentality revolves around good sleep. I was told by a Dr that everyone needs 5 solid hours of sleep in order to be healthy mentally and physically. 

Tomorrow is the 4th. We don't have huge plans. We decided to take the kids back to the ocean this Fall. It'll be Maddys first trip and the boys 3rd. The boys understand between now and then we have to penny pinch.  Just a few fireworks from a stand will be our limit. 

I hope yalls 4th is happy, healthy and safe. 

Catch Up X 5 = a long post.

Let's do this y'all. Wow, I've missed sitting down with my own thoughts and putting them down on paper so to speak. 

It's going to take me a few post to catch up so let's jump right in feet first. 

Oldest to youngest. 

Peyton turned 18 In January. High school is behind him and has been since last year. Now it's the real world of bills, fiancé and baby on the way. That's right. I'm gonna be a Grammy in October to a bouncing baby boy and we are so ready to spoil him rotten and send him home with his parents. 

Eli.........14 next month. 

New Dr. and receiving disability. This is his life and we have imbraced it fully. He is still home schooled. I still use a technique called "unschooling". Basically, I want him to be able to do his own laundry, balence his own money and care for himself in the event something happens to me. Unschooling uses everyday life and turns it into a learning experience. 

He's on a new med that's right on the bullseye. Saphris. It's been doing a fablous job since January. Insurance won't cover it. $740.00 a month. But that's a blog for another day when I want my blood pressure up. 

Zackary. 11 last March. Autistism is more profound now. He's older and knows he different. It's been a hard year for him. Kids can be such assholes. He's so stinking brilliant it's scary. His mind is beautiful. We just sit back in awe of the information he has hidden away in that brain of his that he can sift through and pull out at any given time like a walking Encyclopedia. 

Evyn is all boy. 7 years old now. Sweet. Conniving. Hard working. Loves to farm. Hunt. Help Daddy on the farm. And Daddy loves to have him around when he's mowing hay, planting corn and beans, working cattle.......Evyn is saving up everything he's learning. No doubt to farm one day too. He says it's a toss up between the Airforce and farmer. 

Miss Maddy is 2. Spoiled so much she stinks. She loves Minnie Mouse, Play Doh and swinging. She's a Daddy's girl except at bedtime.  She will spark many post . Daddy calls her TK (tornado Kate) and she lives up to the name well. 

Thankfully, as for me, I'm pretty much back to 100% now. 

Separated pelvis has healed. It was right at 2 years before I could go all day and not make a weird sudden move and be reminded of it with a sharp pain. 

Postpartum Anxiety is under control now with Celexa and I have no plans of stopping it. Ever. 

I have gone back to work. I'm back in full swing with my own buisness adventure. Lucky Duck Discount.

Danny has gone to day time work so he can be home to help me with the kids. Have a teen that's suffering with an conduct disorder and preteen on the spectrum gets overwhelming. But we are getting through it and the kids are doing very well. 

I am looking very forward to getting back into sharing our moments with y'all.