i'll be there for you

so. i know i haven't written in a long time. i've wanted to write, but haven't know what or how.

i've been caught up with a boyfriend. and not in that- what a bitch, gets a boyfriend and disappears on us kinda way. in an...i don't know what i can legally (or safely) write about him and our issues so i haven't written at all kind of way.

DON'T WORRY, i'm out of it now. but yes, it was one that i honestly didn't feel ok to write about. there's your first clue it wasn't good for me.

BUT.

some very, VERY good things did come out of it in the end.

most important: i have some of the most amazing friends and support any girl could EVER ask for.

things with the boy were...interesting...from the beginning. since day one my friends have listened, supported, and been there while i worked through and gave it a really damn hard try. most (ok, all) of them didn't particularly like the decisions i was making and didn't necessarily like the boy or some of the things that came with him, but the still loved me and stuck by me.

i can't even begin to say how much that meant.

i'm from a family that literally said: "you know, we'll only be here for you so many times before you're on your own."

family isn't blood and blood isn't family. i've been reminded of that one more time.

my people, my dear friends listened, helped me talk things out, pointed out things that i was missing, reminded me that they were worried about me, kept an eye on me but still let me take my journey and were there for me at the end of the day and at the end of this particular path.

i LOVE them for that. and it reminds me of the friend i need to be back for them. no judgement, love, support, acceptance even if it's not what you'd wish for them. listening even when it's the same thing over and again. being there and being able to (nicely) say YOU'RE BEING AN IDIOT but i still support you and will be here for you.

i LOVE my friends. i am so happy that i have each and every one of them. they all have a different perspective, a different way of pointing things out to me, a different way of supporting me, making me laugh, helping me get through some of the rough times. from helping me drink a $5 bottle of wine or a 6 pack of beer or a cup of coffee. friends that can babysit me while i sit at home crying, friends that i can go out with on a wednesday night, friends that i can chill and have a beer on a back deck and a real discussion with (yes, alcohol was mentioned several times. it helped. shut it.). they all together make this beautiful web of support that i am so lucky and blessed to have.

SECOND lesson: i tried. i really tried. lord knows there were plenty of issues and i didn't just cut and run. ok. YES it only lasted two months, so it's not like i did a giant marathon, but TWO MONTHS IS A LONG TIME FOR ME! OK?! honestly, longer than anything in the last 10 years. I mean- there were a few lovers that lasted longer, but no "relationships" where i was actually "with" someone. so.  this was big. i also haven't cared this much about someone in that long too. i was ALL IN on this one. and yes, sill that fast, but there was something about it. i know. i can't care about someone after a ton of time but then BAM, all in after just a few days. i can't explain it but it happened. and i tried. and i talked about things. and i tried to see things from multiple standpoints. and i tried to be patient and wait things out. but at the end of the day, you can't stay where you're not wanted. and it was painfully obvious that i wasn't wanted, so i had to leave. i wanted to stay. i wanted to make it work. i wanted to be in for the long haul. but you can't make decisions for people, and as much as i wanted to, i couldn't make him choose me or make him decide i was important to him.

but i did try. i did learn. i did grow. i did realize that i am capable of opening up and really caring about someone. i did learn that i can fight for things but still know when it's a loosing battle. i learned to stay true to me. i started to let myself slip, my friends could see me starting to change, i could feel me starting to change and so i got out. i didn't let myself get lost.

THIRD lesson: IT WASN'T ME. there isn't some fatal flaw. there isn't something horribly wrong with me. i didn't ruin this, i am not broken.

that's a BIG sentence for me to write. i am still as beautiful and desirable and smart as the first day he asked me out, and other people see that. i couldn't choose for him. and it was HIS choice. it isn't me that's wrong. it isn't him that's wrong. it just not the right time/place/fitting for us. not being right doesn't mean it's wrong.

i'm sad. i'm depressed. i'm heart broken. i'm all the things you are when something that has completely captured you falls apart. BUT i don't dislike me. i'm not blaming. i'm not hating.

i recognize that i am still fucking amazing. that's what drew him to me in the first place. it's what draws others. I AM STILL OK. i have my issues. i'm WELL aware of that. but i'm not "should-ing" myself or comparing myself or tearing myself apart trying to figure out questions that i will never have answers to because they're not my questions. i don't know why i wasn't right for him. i never will. but that's not MY issue to figure out. that's HIS issue to figure out and i won't tear myself apart or waste my time and energy trying to fix it. i don't know why SO MANY THINGS but it's ok. and i'm ok. and i'm choosing not to go down that road of destruction and hurt. there's already enough hurt as it is, i don't need to intentionally add more to myself.

so. i'm getting back to me. i'm SO THANKFUL for my friends. i'm thankful for the people that stood by me and gently reminded me to get my ass back behind the keyboard and be me again. i'm thankful for all the listening ears and compassionate hearts and cold beers.

i'm thankful for the lessons, no matter how much they hurt. i'm thankful for the experience. i'm still sad. i'm still camping out on my couch and laying low. but i'll be ok. and i know i'll have friends there helping me be ok.

so. i'm working on writing more. actual short stories and things as well as the blogs. yes, i still want to write "lessons learned the not so hard way" about all my horrible (and some ok) sexcapades. yes, i still want to write about all the things i've been through that got me to be the person i am now (but with a few names and details slightly changed). i want to WRITE. so i am. this is a start. back to the goal of at least once a week. i promise. and yell at me if i don't.

thanks to anyone that happens to be reading this for being patient with me.

raising the warning flag

 

if you don’t let people know there’s a problem, they can’t help you find the solution.

there isn’t a problem.

yet.

i’m filling the sandbags and preparing the emergency packs just in case.

i’m being honest, i’m being truthful, i’m trying like hell to head the stampede off at the ravine.

i’m terrified of the month of august. hell. i’m terrified of july thru october. there’s so much that just- i can’t really prepare for it, i just have to be aware and recognize and say when i need help.

it’s been three years since we lost tyra and baby roman. if you’re not familiar, tyra was my oldest sons step mother. she was a BEAUTIFUL young lady. the best thing to happen to my sons father. she was a pure, sweet soul that impacted everyone she knew in only the best and most positive ways. she passed away due to complications during childbirth and baby roman was only here long enough to be baptized before he went to be with his sweet mother.

as that was happening my brother steve was in a severe accident that left him in a medical coma for several days and started the path to his life ending a few months later in october 2009. august was the month we watched him struggle in the hospital. september we watched him go through rehab and thought he was getting better. that year was the first time he had ever called me on my birthday (ours were just a few days (and years) apart). october we lost him to suicide.

two years ago this august i lost my dad.

my kids will be leaving this sunday for a MUCH NEEDED mommy vacation. i love my children. i can’t imagine ever not being with them. but i need a break. there is no tag team parenting here. there is no wednesdays/every other weekend off. this will be the longest time EVER that i will be without my kids. EVER. in the last 14 years. i’ve had a week off here and there. i’ve even had two weeks off-ish (with a day in between transfers). this will be three full weeks without kids. it’s great. i need time to refresh and rebuild.

BUT.

that’s also a LOT of alone time. during the hard months. i know i haven’t deal with 80% of the grief. i’ve been busy, distracted, head in the sand over the last two years. i’ve avoided and held it together because i’ve HAD to hold it together. i’m more than a little worried that there will be too much “thinky thoughts” time during the next three weeks. i’m worried that known triggers will get to me. the autism cruise scares me because it was the next day i woke up to the news about my dad. the cruise didn’t cause it, it’s an illogical association, but it’s associated.  when i got the news about tyra, steves accident, my dad- my kids were gone staying with someone for the week. now they’re going to be gone staying with someone and i’m already on edge worried about what news will come this time. my kids being gone didn’t cause anything to happen. same as the boat cruise didn’t start my dad’s fire. but it’s there. it’s a reminder, a trigger.

so. here i am. asking for help. i’m getting pretty good at watching myself and recognizing things for what they are. doesn’t mean I won’t slip or that someone else won’t catch it faster than  I will. We all know how it’s easier to see things in others than ourselves.

my healing process

so. in the middle of everything there’s one thing that keeps coming up, one thing everyone keeps saying, one recurring theme: it will get better, i’ll heal and get back to normal. i’ll move on.

i get it. you know? i know it will happen. i know it’s inevitable. it will get better. i will begin to heal. i will eventually move on. but normal? there is no normal any more. normal is long gone. there will be a NEW normal eventually but there is no normal to go back to. nothing will ever be the same again.

NORMAL was talking to my dad every week. it was him checking about my car, asking how money was, what the boys were up to, when i was going to come see him again. it was listening to him talk about football games or golf or fifty cent taco night at the bar. normal was my dad being upset every time i moved that my house wasn’t good enough. it was grandpa showing up at every birthday or holiday with WAY too many presents- there was no such thing as getting a few things on the wish list- it was EVERYTHING on the wish list. normal was great big grizzly bear hugs and snoring that put old school cartoons to shame. normal was having a dad i could call any time for help or love or laughs. there will never be a normal again.

so what do i go back to? i guess the answer is that you don’t go back to anything- you have to move forward. but it’s fucking hard people. it’s hard to move forward. it’s hard to move. it’s hard to breathe. it’s hard to know that all the things that were so special, the things i took for granted are just gone. they’re memories now. and i’m TERRIFIED that memories will fade with time.

i don’t want to move forward. i don’t want to have a new normal. i don’t want to forget.

i know that eventually i’ll have to. i know that time and life will force me to. but for now i need to hurt. i HAVE to hurt before i can heal. i have to ask my questions. i have to be angry. i have to cry. i have to rage against the universe and curse the unfairness of it all. i have to find time to let myself feel all the different things.

i’ve been told over and over “this is the life” but i say BULLSHIT. BULL. FUCKING. SHIT. this is NOT the life. it is NOT normal to lose your brother and your grandmother and your father and your step mother all in less than a year. YES, loss happens. but holy fuck universe- give me some fucking room to breathe and deal with things. can we space these out a little more? you know...like...NEVER? and yes, i understand how unreasonable that is. i understand life and death and eventually we will lose people. but FUCK. not all at once, you know?

so. the questions really are: HOW DO I HURT? and HOW DO I HEAL? i know that i have to do both. and here’s what i’m attempting (poorly, but attempting):

talking about it: friends and sounding boards and therapy and hell, even perfect strangers are all hearing little bits and pieces of what i’m going through right now. there’s several reasons for this: #1- it validates my feelings. wait...validates isn’t the right word- it makes them real. when you’re forced to put words to things you have to know what you’re saying. you have to be able to call it by name and once you’re able to do that it doesn’t seem so big and scary. it makes me really think about what i’m feeling so i CAN say it. #2- every person you come into contact with is there for a reason and at a specific time. i believe that with every part of my being. every person is there for you to share something with or to share something with you. you never know what you will take away from an interaction, or what you may be able to give them. whose to say that the checker at the store didn’t also recently experience a loss and by my talking about mine it lets them know that they’re not alone in the shit-pile the universe is shoveling out? maybe they can tell me how they’re getting through it or i can tell them how i am. maybe it’s something as simple as making another human connection. maybe it’s an opportunity to learn something new or laugh for a minute or be reminded and one of a million things. TALKING IS GOOD.

writing about it: if talking is good, writing is fan-fucking-tastic. as much as you can talk about something there’s a sense of finality to see it in front of you. writing has always been my core self. it’s what i ALWAYS go back to when shit hits the fan. i have journals from every hard part of my life. it’s my chance to talk to myself and talk to other people without being interrupted or thrown off track or forgetting what i was trying to say. i can organize it, tweak it, work it through until i really know it’s exactly what i want to express. it also gets it out of my head- there’s something about writing for me- i can think about it forever, i can talk about it, but until i put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) it won’t be OUT of my head. once it’s written i can finally put it to rest. i can know i’ve said my peace. i can know that it’s there. it’s a tangible thought. it’s no longer just my own voice in my head, it’s out there- if this makes sense to you, you’re probably also a writer. if it doesn’t make sense- trust, it really helps me.

and i'm finding new ways to write. ways to force myself through it. i'm making myself write on my lunch breaks at work- it makes me get through things and feel it all without being allowed to fall apart. i tried to write at home one evening and just found myself staring at the wall and getting lost in emotions and getting NO writing done. when i write at work i have to focus, i have a time limit, i have to get it out and still be able to function for the rest of the day. i make myself write about the hard things that i know i wouldn't be able to face otherwise. it's been very helpful.

ink: i waited until i was 27 to get my first tattoo. every single one of my designs is something i picked, something that represents a part of me, something that helped me deal with a different part of my life. a tattoo on my foot for my kids. “destiny” on my wrist to remind me every day that there’s a time and a purpose for everying. the flowers growing up my calf to remind me of all the battles i’ve made it through. the vw for my brother. and now my dad’s badge on my shoulder to never forget who he was and what he meant to so many people.

i went in a week or so ago and had this new one done. and it’s my dad. it’s his badge, his badge number, hell, my artist even mixed some of my dad’s ashes into the ink for me. it’s as much of my dad as i can get and keep forever. and there’s something about the pain of getting ink- it puts a REAL pain to the pain in my heart. as i was on the table for this last one i started crying- something NOT ALLOWED on tattoo tables. you know how there’s no crying in baseball? there’s no crying in tattoos too. so there i am on the table, all of 5 minutes into the ink, and i start to cry. IT DIDN’T HURT (which was surprising given the placement). that is to say the INK didn’t hurt. but it hurt to the very core to think of why i was getting the tattoo, what it meant. it made me really face it again- you can’t deny your father is gone when his ashes are being put into your skin. you can’t say he’ll come back one day when you’re holding his burned badge in your hand for the artist to get the design from. you can’t pretend it didn’t happen any longer.

and you know that thing about talking that i mentioned? how each person is there at a certain time for a certain reason? turns out my tattoo artist was law enforcement. he worked as an EMT for years, had been recruited for the WSP, had tested for Kootenai county- all places my family of cops has been. my dad studied to be an emt back in the beginning and was a WSP. my brother started his career in Kootenai county. my artist UNDERSTOOD. he knew what it meant to put this badge on me. he had read the news and followed the story. it meant as much to him to be able to do the ink for me as it did for me to receive the ink. it wasn’t just some random person all...whatever...with the gun. we were able to talk about it through the process. he understood the tears and made an exception to the rule for me on his table crying.

and it really did help me start to heal. going through the pain, working through the meaning, making sure the ink healed right- it’s helping me heal a little more every day. i still tear up when i look at it. i still hurt when i remember why it’s there. i have a hard time explaining it to people without turning into a slobbering crying mess. but each time gets a little easier. i can’t say each day is getting easier yet. just when i think that something comes along to submarine me. but you know...eventually...right? that whole being forced to move forward and find a new normal? it will happen whether i want it to or not, right? so. welcome to my healing.

the remainder

here's a math problem for you:

mom + dad = brother & me - dad + second wife = step-brother & little brother - second wife & step-brother = mom brother me dad little brother - mom - brother - dad - little brother = ??

so. if you haven’t heard, the last few years have been one giant suck-fest in the family category. my mum and i had a slightly major falling out a few years ago causing problems between my brother and i (who already didn’t get along so great), october claimed my little half brother and now august has claimed my dad and his wife.

so. what does that leave behind? what remains of my family? a giant, resounding, ME (and my kids, but you get the gist).

people keep saying: maybe some day you’ll work things out with your mom. don’t hold your breath. what is there to work out with someone who chose to stay with the person who abused not only her daughter but her grandson as well? no thanks. not my crowd.

and what about my brother? slightly hard to have a relationship with someone who views my whole life as one giant train wreck and everything i do a disappointment of some sort.

and i know i don’t have THE most stable life- i’m a far cry from his little all american dream- how many people really can pull off the cop married to the nurse with one boy, one girl, a dog, a cat, a house (with fence!) on 5 acres, the perfect truck, perfect camper, and unicorns prancing in the yard daily? (ok...so as far as i know he doesn’t *ACTUALLY* have unicorns prancing in his yard...but the rest is true).

YES i move quite a bit. totally not by choice- moving SUCKS. 11 times in 11 years is NOT something someone just decides to do- well, at least not something _I_ just up and decided to do. there was college, a marriage, marriage problems, divorce, changing jobs, landlord getting foreclosed, and a landlord being a slum lord all thrown in there. WHEN I CHOOSE, i stay put as long as possible. after my divorce i stayed in that apartment for almost 4 years. when i moved to spokane i stayed put for 2 years. i’ve been in my house now for over a year and don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon.

and YES, there have been guys in and out over the last SIX years since my divorce. ask my kids how many they can name and i bet you’ll hear 3 names. THREE. in SIX years. and they know that only ONE has ever been called a boyfriend. but, damn it, i think i’m allowed to date and see what’s out there. i battle enough with myself about whether or not i should let someone in my life. it’s FUCKING HARD for me to allow anyone to help me emotionally or otherwise. this last year is the ONLY time i’ve let anyone get close to me. the first guy burned me BADLY, and this time i’m still not sure which direction i’m going and if it’s good or not. so. you know. TWO times letting anyone even remotely close in the last SIX years. and honestly, besides the ex (who never really did get close), there has only been those two guys in TWELVE years. don’t think i’m exactly ruining my kids lives here. and two times with all the shit that’s hit the fan. i’m SO FUCKING SORRY i needed someone there to help a bit when my brother died. and i’m SO FUCKING SORRY i need someone there now to help me get through losing my dad. does it make me weak? fuck yes it does. the more you learn to depend on someone else, the more you’ll have to re-learn to depend on yourself when they’re gone, so i know it sucks. i know i’m making it harder for myself in the long run. but damn it, i need someone. that’s hard enough to admit, even harder to allow, and fuck it all, i don’t need my nose rubbed in my weakness.

if you were wondering, these are all things my brother chewed my ass for in our last phone conversation.

-sigh-

it’s just- i’m realizing through all this that the old saying about blood not being family and family not being blood- it’s fucking true. to me, sure i have blood family left, but they’re not family by a long shot. i mean sure there’s still fragments out there, but i choose not to have anything to do with people hell bent on destroying me. call me silly, but i choose to live a HEALTHY life. so what does that leave? it leaves people i choose. people i WANT to surround myself with. but even that is proving to be difficult. you think there are people, you hope there are people, then the cards are called in and you realize what you had in your hand isnt what holds up on the table. it’s good and it’s bad- you are able to get rid of the ones that have no place, and you’re able to bring in new ones.

but it’s hard though, you know? and you always WISH that the blood could be the ones you choose. you keep hoping that one of these times blood family will be the ones to pull through. they’ll be the ones stepping up and helping you through. or at least _i_ keep hoping. i don’t know why. they haven’t yet in 30 years. in times of crisis i’ve heard: “well, you know, family will only be there so many times for you,” and “well, we couldn’t get involved because people might talk,” and “well, you just need to learn to depend on yourself.”

does ANY of that sound like family? what ever happened to “no matter what, we’ll be there,” or “who gives a fuck what people say? you need us, we’re there,” or “you can ALWAYS depend on us. hell or high water, we’re all stronger when we support each other.”

THAT. THAT is the family i want. i want the people who love me anyway. the people who say FUCK the rest, you have us. the people who support you and let you support them.

not sure where this came from all of a sudden. just feeling a little lost and confused lately.

the one with a sense of humor

i was planning on making today’s blog post about anger- i seem to have PLENTY of that right about now. anger at everything- “friends”, family, kids, life, money, the universe. PLENTY of anger to go around. trust.

instead today’s blog is going to be about humor- cause that’s how i roll. i just tweeted (if you don’t know what that is, i can’t love you any more) the following: “trust: there’s nothing in this world that can’t be overcome with a smile and a slightly off color joke. trick is knowing how to do both.”

it’s true. humor has gotten me through this far. being able to find SOMETHING to laugh at, being able to find a smile, being able to do both. but it’s hard. it’s REALLY fucking hard. i don’t want to smile some days. i don’t want to make a joke. i don’t want to be happy even for a moment. and there’s been plenty of days that i haven’t been. there have been days of nothing but fear or anger or hurt or a million other things. but the days with the smiles and the jokes- THOSE are the good days. and what good is a smile if you can’t share it? right? or some other cheesy lame ass expression like that…

so. here’s a few of the smiles that have gotten me through the last few weeks, please understand some may end up being not so funny now but they were fucking pee your pants funny in the moment:

moment #1: introducing my mom to my boyfriend the morning she came to tell me about the fire. i answered the door in a wife beater (a-shirt for those against domestic violence) and underwear (incase you missed that in yesterday’s post). THAT’S IT. and i had to wake up boyfriend while crying and snuffling and being a MESS and introduce him to my mom for the first time IN MY UNDERWEARS. the uuber religious crazy person from whence i sprang meeting the boy sharing my bed outside of marriage. good moment. warm, fuzzy, family memory for the scrap books.

moment #2: after getting back from my seeing my dad’s house for the first time, boyfriend’s roommates girlfriend (did you follow that trail?) and i were making dinner and drinking. we may or may not have split a WHOLE bottle of wine betwixt the two of us in under 15 minutes. so, the two of us, slightly *cough* intoxicated, trying to cut vegetables for a roast, start talking- and she drops this bomb: “well, if he wasn’t on the international watch list before, he sure is now.” _I_ABOUT_DIED_LAUGHING. understand: boyfriend is here as a political refugee. from iraq. and speaks very good english, but even better arabic. and he went with me to the scene of the worst loss in WSP history…i’m suffering a failure to communicate the humor here…but trust: it was freaking hilarious. maybe it was the wine. everyone go drink a half a bottle of wine then come back and read this again…i’ll wait.

moment #3: finding the ONE, SINGLE, ONLY remaining piece of my dad that is completely and 100% in tact at the scene of the fire: his BRAND NEW golf clubs that were safe and secure in the back of his expedition parked in the driveway. why is this funny? my dad was TERRIBLE at golf. my brother (who took the clubs) is even worse. i’m not even allowed to play- i’m restricted to driving the cart. so, of COURSE, the one thing that survives- it couldn’t be a photo album or a treasured keepsake or a family heirloom- it has to be his golf clubs, the one thing we’re all TERRIBLE at. i mean…REALLY DAD? your final dying wish? as your life flashed before your eyes and you were granted one last request on this earth? it couldn’t be for a window to open? or a sudden torrential downpour? or, you know, not to die? your FINAL REQUEST was to save the new golf clubs? i love you dad.

moment #4: in the cars on the way to the procession, riding with a good family friend and her parents who were all best friends of my dad (he called her my other sister and spent all his time with her parents). we’re riding along and we start talking about bi-mart (turn at the bi-mart to get to where the procession is starting). and i crack up…it’s not turn at the church, or a left at the patrol office- it’s turn left at bi-mart. very fitting for my dad. and they start joking about how much they all love the bi-mart coupons. in fact- just the day before, they had been able to get four bags of doritos FREE using bi-mart coupons- and the mom suddenly says: YOU KNOW- we should have brought one of the bags- we could have had some road trip snacks! OH.MY.GOD. about peed myself. road trip snacks? in a funeral procession? of 182 police cars? of course. we should have brought road trip snacks. and what better road trip snack than doritos? because nothing says klassy like showing up for a funeral in a full black suit with orange dorito cheese all over (it always happens) and nice dorito breath for when you have to greet and talk to the governor. oh.my.god. i cracked up. road trip snacks.

moment #5: getting to the staging lot for the procession was hard. seeing all the police, the cars, the emergency response vehicles, all the people that worked with my dad, the people that hadn’t worked with him but still knew the impact of the whole event. it was moving. but i held it together. until we went to actually pull out and leave- they just HAD to release doves for us to drive under. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? there’s only so much waterproof mascara can do people! and i can’t help but think of my dad, and i can’t help but wish, if there’s any justice or sense of balance in the world- i just HOPE upon HOPE that somewhere, in one of the cages, of all the birds they released, PLEASE, PLEASE say there was one retarded dove that either flew into a windshield, “blessed” one of the motorcycle police, wandered around and couldn’t figure out how to fly…SOMETHING. please say there was one retard bird in the batch. i only got to see the first few…but i couldn’t help but laugh in my head just hoping…it wasn’t a moment i got to see, but it’s a moment i got to hope for…

moment #6: my body guard. it wasn’t so much of a moment as a WHOLE DAY with an outstanding officer that knew exactly how to make me laugh and keep me moving forward and got me through the whole ceremony. BLESS HIM for never once calling my by name. i was never trooper miller’s daughter, sherry, ms. miller- the WHOLE DAY i was: “where’s the girl with the blue hair?” ADORE. and i adore him for telling me about his son, the 6’7” 280-some-odd pound college linebacker that played all four years of college ball, graduated, then decided to go to a beauty academy. if i ever decided to cheat on my darling kati with another hair dresser it would be with that guy. because: AWESOME. and i adore him for scolding me when i wasn’t where i was supposed to be. and for reminding us that no matter how much brass or how many fancy titles, or who else showed up, WE, the family, were the dignitaries for the day. and for going against the grain and proudly wearing a flamingo on his uniform pocket for everyone to see for anne. and for keeping track of me the whole day until the moment i walked out the door heading back to the motel. and for just being everything an officer should be. and for being even more than that.

moment #7: talking to the funeral home on the phone to verify the forms granting permission for cremation: me: “ummm…is there really anything left for you guys to do? is this paperwork even really necessary?”

moment #8: speaking of ashes: getting ready to do my tattoo, asking my artist: “ready to meet my dad?” as i pulled the ashes out of my purse.

moment #9: being able, every single day, to still hear my dad’s voice in my head about EVERYTHING.

about the service: really? you couldn’t just dig a hole and kick me in it? what’s all this mess for?”

about the estate: “make sure you take care of yourself. remember, you can’t feed the world.”

about buying a house: “i wish i had a million dollars to buy you a house so you would never have to worry again.” this isn’t the way i want it dad, but you’re doing that.

i know there’s so many more- it’s been three weeks and i’m still standing, so there had to have been WAY more moments- i’ll add more as i remember them. but these are the slightly inappropriate moments that made me smile and have helped me get through to here. so. there you have it. as long as you can smile and tell (or think) something slightly off color you’ll be fine. well, not fine, but a little less of a train wreck. oh hell, you’ll still be a train wreck but at least a mildly entertaining one.

just the facts ma'am

ok kids. so. i’ve been MIA for a while now. if you happen to follow twitter or facebook you may have caught a bit of what’s been going on. if not, prepare yourselves for a few heavy blogs. it’s going to be dark, it’s going to be emotional, it’s how i roll. it’s been three weeks since i’ve even attempted writing, so prepare for a TON of blogs all smashed together- at least i’m breaking them up for you and not making one gigando blog to slog through. you’re welcome. it’s the little things.

so. i’m going to start easy for BOTH of our sakes. there’s so much to say and so much to think about- we’ll start with just the facts. plain and simple, as few emotions as possible. please forgive me if this comes off cold and detached- i HAVE to do it this way to make it through.

here it goes.

*deep breath*

on august 15th life was good. my kids and i had made it through almost the whole summer without any of the crazy from last year. we made it past the first anniversary of the loss of my sons’s step mother and baby brother. we made it past the anniversary of my brother’s accident (the head injury, not his death). we’ve stayed put for a whole year, no moving or drama. the weather was beautiful, we’d spent the summer doing things, going to river front park, hanging out, being summer time lazy. new, fabulous friends were finding their way into my life. for the first time in six years i had an actual boyfriend. things were stable, happy, normal. i felt like i could finally relax, q uit waiting for the other shoe to drop, breathe and enjoy life again. on the 15th i went on my first cruise with friends, enjoyed the lake on a beautiful summer evening, had a few drinks, danced, laughed, loved the hell out of an amazing summer night.

that was august 15th.

at 5 in the morning on august 16th i heard my phone chirp that i had missed a phone call. i didn’t hear the call, but heard the chirp that i had missed a call- so i checked my phone. my mom was calling. at 5 in the morning. so wrong on so many levels. instantly wide awake. so i called back- she answered “i’m at your front door, can you come let me in?”

oh shit.

you know that moment when you can feel the world shifting?

i answered the door and she came inside. and she told me there had been a fire. and they weren’t 100% sure yet, but it looked like no one had made it out. it was a total loss.

my dad, my step mom, and a brand new trooper that had been staying with them were killed in a house fire around 2 in the morning on august 16th.

so much for keeping emotion out…give me just a second-

my dad. his wife. another trooper- all gone. the house- gone. completely gone. all of it. gone. completely and totally gone.

i called my dad’s phone and it went straight to voice mail. but i left a message. because i had to. because it wasn’t real. it was the wrong house. his phone was just turned off. they had the information wrong. they hadn’t looked hard enough. everyone made it out, they just hadn’t found them yet. my dad would call me back. he would call me and let me know he was ok and it just took them a while to find him and get him help. it would be ok. the world wasn’t changing this much this fast. THIS COULDN’T BE HAPPENING.

but it was happening. in the early morning hours, in the darkness of my living room, my world was changing. my core was gone. my dad. my rock. gone. just that quick.

JUST THE FACTS.

ok. so. pulling it back together.

so. i went and woke up my boyfriend- which, can i just say. great time for your super religious mother to meet your boyfriend who happens to be sleeping over at your house- 5 in the morning when i’m in my pj’s (wife beater and underroos) and we’re both slightly hung over from the cruise, i’m BAWLING, everything’s a mess, and he’s polite enough to introduce himself like it’s a completely typical morning. *HEART*

i don’t even really know what happened. i know i tried to call my dad a few times. i tried to call my brother to find out what was going on. i called a family friend that lived down there near my dad and finally got a bit of information- basically that it was true- the house was gone, they couldn’t find anyone. that’s about all they knew. i remember feeling sick. i remember trying to think of all the ways they were just missing something or had the information wrong. somehow i made it into the shower and packed and headed out on the road. boyfriend packed and came along without question.

somehow we made it to zillah. he drove for the first part then i took over for a while- it gave me something to focus on and keep it together for. we made it to zillah and pulled into the gas station when the first tweet hit my phone. there’s moments when things shift. they go from real to surreal- in that moment, seeing the tweet on my phone- it was like an alice in wonderland moment- that tweet: “kxly4news: 3 WSP personnel dead in Zillah house fire. RT @kappkvew: the victims in the Zillah fire are two state troopers and a dispatcher” – that was me. that’s my story. that’s what was happening to me right now. so strange seeing it on a news feed. knowing that people are watching your life, you’re the breaking story. it took my breath away. sucker punch straight to the gut. that was me. that was my story.

we drove up to my dad’s house and my heart stopped. before we even got to his driveway i could see- cars. so many cars, trucks, vans…i had to stop and identify myself at the bottom of the hill to be allowed up. and the cars. every emblem, acronym, lights, everything you can imagine. and it hit me. to me, my dad and his wife died in a fire. to the world, three police officers had died in a fire of unknown causes.

we made it past the cars, trucks, people, and i saw it. or what was left. where the house used to be. where the porch used to be. the lawn was still there. the bricks lining the driveway, the mailbox for the newspaper. but the house was gone. not a stick, wall, burned piece of furniture, NOTHING was left. a two story house GONE. completely gone. just a smoking hole in the ground. the trees still lined the property. the garage, burned, but standing six feet from where the house was. my dads car, badly damaged, parked in the driveway. his patrol car off to the side. but the house- the house was GONE. and my heart just stopped. i couldn’t say it wasn’t real. i couldn’t pretend it was the wrong house. i couldn’t hope that anyone made it out. i knew it was gone. i knew my dad was gone. i knew everything i had been hoping was wrong for the last six hours was right. all of it. every horrifying detail was right.

ok. pulling it back together. again.

so. house. gone. big fire. all three officers gone. there were firefighters on scene, police officers, ATF investigators, accelerant dogs, red cross disaster relief, helicopters, media, attorney’s, neighbors- so many people. in the middle of my mess it became clear how big this was.

the rest of the day is a blur. i remember being told that there wasn’t much to stick around for, so i left. i wasn’t sure where to go or what to do, but i wasn’t supposed to be there- they didn’t need me in the way. boyfriend stayed by my side every minute. there would have been no functioning otherwise. we found a number to call my dad’s second wife- the step mum that i grew up with and we stopped by her house for a bit. we stopped at the café where my dad had coffee every morning to eat some lunch. we stopped at the dealership where i bought my car to check in with one of my dad’s best friends. we drove around a bit. what do you do? where do you go? finally boyfriend and i decided to just head home. there was nothing for me to do or see there. i would just be in the way and in the middle of everything.

we somehow made it home. i remember reading all the news stories online. telling myself not to, but unable to keep from looking. trying to sort it all out, trying to piece it together, to make some sense of it.

at some point during the week they were able to recover all three bodies. just recover. not rescue. not save. just recover. you learn not to ask questions. you learn there’s some things you don’t want to know.

i wanted to ask *where* they found the bodies (as much of a *where* as you can get from a situation like that). i wanted to know if they almost made it out, if they were stuck somewhere, were they still asleep? questions like that don’t solve anything though. would it have been better if they had ALMOST gotten out? no. they still DIDN’T get out, and that’s all that matters in the end. we DID find out that they all died from smoke before the flames were able to get to them. that was my biggest fear. they didn’t feel any pain. one small piece of relief in the middle of it all. as far back as i can remember i’ve been TERRIFIED of fire. i remember laying awake as a little kid watching the smoke detectors all night to make SURE that little red light blinked every minute and it was working. i can’t even imagine dying in a fire and having to feel the flames. it terrifies me. always has. so to know that they didn’t have to suffer through that- one small piece of solace to hold onto.

this isn’t the end of all this by any means, but i think this is enough for now. just the facts ma’am. just the facts. so. that’s the start of it. the initial shock. on august 16th i lost my dad. my life shifted. it’s still shifting. it will never be the same again and i’m trying to learn what that means and where to go from here. but that’s the start of it.

so. you know. that’s all for now. more to come later.

is it fight LIKE the devil? or fight the devil?

this won’t be funny. i’m sorry, if you were looking for funny, come back in a while. maybe a long while. it may take quite some time to get back to funny.

this year is shit. I’m just going to throw that out there. don’t know too many people who will disagree at this point. it’s been shit for everyone, I’m not some random odd sad exclusive case. it’s been a fucked up shitty munchkin ass sucking year. I’ve yelled at the universe a few times and told it to back the fuck off. it did for a moment. little did I know that moment was just the back swing to a bigger hit. I said before that this year sucked but it hadn’t hit home yet. just around and close by. this one hit home. this one hit the motherfucking core. this one hit dead fucking center in the middle of it all. this one hurt.

on october 23, sometime between 130 and 415 in the afternoon, my little brother ended his life. he was 27. had actually just turned 27 in september. he just…you know…it was too much for him. there was so much going on. and it’s sad to learn, but the demons I’ve been battling forever are the same ones that plagued him. oh how I wish I had known. I don’t know if there’s comfort or more misery in knowing someone shares the same battles you do. you hurt for them because you know the pain, but at the same time you hurt less because you can share the pain. I don’t know what being a survivor of suicide is supposed to be like- i was given a few handouts that I read over, and it sounds like I’m not doing it right. but I don’t know if there is a right in this situation. I’m not angry. I don’t have any unanswered question. I don’t think it was selfish. I don’t think it was stupid. I don’t think it was some fucking mental illness or problem. he was just hurting. a broken spirit. I get it. from beginning to end, I get it. does it make it any easier? fuck no. do I wish he had found another path? hell yes. but do I get it? damn straight I do. I understand. I can see the path he walked. I can think the thoughts I’m sure he thought. because I’ve been there. I’ve been in that dark corner staring down that same fucking demon. I’ll never know for sure, but I think I can see. and it hurts. because I’ve felt the same things. I’ve written the same things he wrote in his goodbye letter. and that scares me. if we’ve had the same thoughts and walked the same path. and he lost the battle…what does that mean for me? I don’t want to lose this battle. but I can see how easily it can be lost. he wrote in his letter that he was broken and didn’t want to be fixed. I know that feeling. holy fucking pain and darkness do I know that feeling. and your soul hurts. and you feel so broken. and you don’t want to bother people trying to fix you because you don’t feel you can be fixed. and you feel like you’re wasting their time and your time. and you feel like such a burden. and you don’t want everyone worrying about you or stressing about you. but they do, mostly because they don’t understand and just want to make it go away. but those feelings can’t just go away. and there’s those people telling you to just get over it- like it’s a choice you’re making to feel that way and if you would just snap out of it- like it’s your own fault and your own decision to be stuck in that dark endless cave. yes, it’s so enjoyable, I chose to be there. fuck off. obviously spoken from someone who has never been there and desperately clawed to fight their way out only to end up deeper than they started. and then you feel like even more of a failure because you’re letting them down…and the spiral continues. it’s evil. it’s dark. and it gets a hold of you in ways that can’t be explained. and I think he was like me…you put on this face and people may know you’re having a bad day but they have no idea how fucking bad it really is. I’m not good at playing my cards close. I have a feeling and you can see it on my face. steve was a better card player than me. he held it close. obviously no one knew how deep this went for him.
but even though I get it, even though I understand the choice, it doesn’t make it any easier. and the strangest things are so hard for me right now. I’m so jealous and angry at his friends. growing up steve and I had basically no relationship. I would go to our dad’s house for two weeks during the summer, the occasional spring break, very few holidays or any other event (if any…can’t actually remember any other times I went there). into our adult lives I wasn’t there…he lived with my oldest brother for a while and I went to see them once. I wasn’t there when he joined the army. I got to welcome him home from the war later though. I wasn’t there when he graduated dive school. I wasn’t there for holidays. for the first time I was able to see where he lived over in seattle, the beach that he loved, his home, but it was only after his death to clean out his things. I see his friends, his family, they have all these memories and steve stories. and I don’t. and I’m jealous. I’m angry for the stolen years when we were kids. I’m angry at myself for not making it over to see him. I’m angry at my older brother for living closer and being able to go to all the football games and baseball games and lunches and events. I’m angry at his friends that got to see him and know him and love him. I’m jealous of all their memories. all their remembrances. all their pictures and stories and things to look back on. I see theses scraps and remnants and I connect to them in a way I can’t explain. but I wasn’t there for any of them. I don’t know what made him laugh in those pictures. I don’t know what was behind the rooster head or hugging the giant gumball machine or the skydiving adventure. and I’ll never know.
but now there’s this gigantic battle in my head. I see how much he loved life when he loved it. I see how happy he was when he was happy. and I want to be that way. he was a drifter, a wandering spirit, and I envy that. I’ve been so locked down with responsibility for so long. I envy being able to change jobs and move and spend days on the beach or out with friends or creating art work. I wish I could be that way. I wish I could leave this job and do something that I love, not just something that pays the bills. I wish I had the courage to just be myself all the time and do what I loved and not try to be what I’m expected to be or what my family is comfortable with me being. was he some kind of saint? no. was he perfect? no. I’m not trying to make him into some glowing being. he was in trouble, he was drifting, he had to be bailed out now and again. he rarely finished what he started. he didn’t always make the best decisions. but isn’t that what life is about? trying things out and finding what fits you? I envy that he was able to do that. I crave being able to do that.
and while I’m calling out demons…you have to call them all out. you have to face them all, or you can’t deal with them. so I’m going there. I’m going to say it, and I know before I say it how fucked up it is. I get it. but I have to say it because it’s rolling around in my head and I have to face it: I’m jealous that he got out. I’m jealous that he doesn’t have to fight any more. I’m jealous that he could go and not feel stuck here for someone or something. and YES…I know how fucked up that thought is. a big part of that is that I know the not being able to be fixed feeling. and that’s a lot to carry around. and he doesn’t have to worry about being fixed any more. he doesn’t have to be the broken one walking around letting his family down.
wow. that was hard to say. it’s hard to express how long that last paragraph took to type…just know this…two hours. yes. that small paragraph took two hours to write. but I said it. once you say it, it isn’t so scary. and it’s not as threatening. you can read it and see how fucked up it is and it makes everything less…whatever…
so. that’s where I’m at right now kids. I’m sorry if it’s sketchy and jumpy and doesn’t make sense. it doesn’t make sense to me either. I just had to get it out.