After a weekend overflowing with sunshine and warm temps, I woke up this morning to bleary, grey and cooler temps. Mother Nature is so fickle.
"Yo Yo" seemed to be the theme of the weekend. Ryan decided after I rolled out of bed Saturday morning at the butt crack of dawn that he wasn't going to class and I couldn't fall back to sleep so I bumbled around doing this and that. This resulted in a late afternoon nap that left me smudgy-minded but functional at least, since I had a birthday party to go to for one of my driver's wives. It was nice to get out for a bit, but I'm such a homebody anymore, I literally have to talk myself into going to functions like that. I recognize it's not exactly healthy to have social anxiety of sorts but I figure as long as I'm aware and working on it, that's progress.
The boys had asked friends over for a marathon game of Cards Against Humanity but it was arranged for after everyone got off work and people were tired so it got cancelled. Overall a quiet weekend at home.
Sunday was spent sluggishly, a few errands run. Ry set up his appointment to get his tattoo done. I'm counting my blessings that it's NOT his gf's name or something he might have trouble living down when he's 80. I don't really understand the symbol he's having done but it doesn't really matter if I DO, it's his body and needs to mean something to him. If he's going to get a tat, at least it's something semi-sensible-ish. (Yes, a Nixism.)
I returned a few things to Dee over the weekend and promptly got chewed out for it. I'm so done with her thought process that it's okay to be an ass to me. I'm no longer hers and therefore she's lost the right to snap at me. I'm just... done.
Today...today is the anniversary of my stepfather's death. In my head he's still this flawed, larger than life giant of a man, all bare chest (he hated wearing shirts) and long dark hair and limpy walk due to his prosthetic leg. The Daddy who called me his Munchkin, who smiled at me from behind tinted glasses and would run his huge hand over my white blonde hair like I mattered. The Daddy who was in and out of prison all through the time I had with him, from choices and demons he just couldn't make better. The Daddy who's heart I ripped out at 11, because I refused to allow him to adopt me, instead letting my fairy tale soul believe that some day the man who donated his biology to me might come back on his white horse and claim me. The Daddy who could make me giggle, who indulged my love of reading, who would twirl his handlebar mustache and laugh at me when I was being a goof. The Daddy who beat the hell out of my mother in a drunken rage every weekend, yet was so wise and book-smart through the week that I could have long conversations about novels and stories and Life with him. The Daddy who picked me up out of a pool of blood off the floor when I had a miscarriage at 16 and nearly died from hemorrhaging, who sat at my bedside and cried because he almost lost me. The Daddy that was a biker at heart and at play and yet so gently helped my 1 yr old son stand and learn to crawl and walk because I didn't have any other babysitter.
The Daddy who came to see me the day he died because I'd had another miscarriage at 20 and he wanted to make sure I was okay. The Daddy who was stopped by a deputy after leaving my house because I wasn't home. The Daddy who had been drinking a beer and knew that he faced going back to prison because he was on probation. The Daddy who gave the deputy his library card and his expired license then took off, starting a high speed chase through back roads. The Daddy who took a corner too fast, rolled the car he was driving and hit a tree, breaking every bone in his neck and dying.
I don't remember a lot of the day my mom called to tell me he was gone. I was at work in the greenhouse, called into my boss's office where he very somberly handed me the phone. I remember hearing my mom's voice and wondering why she was calling. I remember her words..."Bob's been in an accident and he's not okay". I remember asking Bob WHO? and when she clarified, telling her I didn't think this was a funny joke. I remember sitting down on the floor suddenly, when it hit me what she was saying. I do not remember the rest of the convo. I do not remember my boss taking the phone. I do not remember much about the drive home, other than the music playing: The Crow Soundtrack. It has always been one of my favorites and oddly, still is. I remember walking in the front door and down the stairs, trying to wake my husband who had worked 3rd shift and was sleeping. I remember crying until I couldn't breathe. I don't remember the next few days at all.
I remember meeting at my mom's to tell my little brother. I remember his rage. I remember tears from all of us. If you ask him today, he hasn't cried about it since. I don't know if he can.
I remember speaking at his memorial. Closed casket, a picture that was so very HIM: all dark hair and eyes and warrior-like bearing. I remember tears flowing while I tried to tell these people who didn't know him like I did what a mish-mash of contradictions he was and how much he mattered to me. I remember thinking no words could ever fully describe the hole I had in my heart.
I will forever wonder if he would have continued to mellow with age, if he might have conquered those demons he fought. I watched how he was with my oldest son, before I ever even thought of the younger two and will be forever grateful I was given the glimpse of the grandfather he was going to be to my boys. I will never forget the lessons he taught me, good and bad. They've formed a lot of who I am now. I miss him. I miss his humor. I miss his intellect. I miss feeling safe, because ironically in light of the abuse that was rampant in my childhood household, he was the only man I've ever felt safe with. I think as an adult our relationship would have been a different chapter than my childhood and I mourn that lost possibility.
I hope he's found peace. And I hope he's proud of me and knows how much he was loved.
"Yo Yo" seemed to be the theme of the weekend. Ryan decided after I rolled out of bed Saturday morning at the butt crack of dawn that he wasn't going to class and I couldn't fall back to sleep so I bumbled around doing this and that. This resulted in a late afternoon nap that left me smudgy-minded but functional at least, since I had a birthday party to go to for one of my driver's wives. It was nice to get out for a bit, but I'm such a homebody anymore, I literally have to talk myself into going to functions like that. I recognize it's not exactly healthy to have social anxiety of sorts but I figure as long as I'm aware and working on it, that's progress.
The boys had asked friends over for a marathon game of Cards Against Humanity but it was arranged for after everyone got off work and people were tired so it got cancelled. Overall a quiet weekend at home.
Sunday was spent sluggishly, a few errands run. Ry set up his appointment to get his tattoo done. I'm counting my blessings that it's NOT his gf's name or something he might have trouble living down when he's 80. I don't really understand the symbol he's having done but it doesn't really matter if I DO, it's his body and needs to mean something to him. If he's going to get a tat, at least it's something semi-sensible-ish. (Yes, a Nixism.)
I returned a few things to Dee over the weekend and promptly got chewed out for it. I'm so done with her thought process that it's okay to be an ass to me. I'm no longer hers and therefore she's lost the right to snap at me. I'm just... done.
Today...today is the anniversary of my stepfather's death. In my head he's still this flawed, larger than life giant of a man, all bare chest (he hated wearing shirts) and long dark hair and limpy walk due to his prosthetic leg. The Daddy who called me his Munchkin, who smiled at me from behind tinted glasses and would run his huge hand over my white blonde hair like I mattered. The Daddy who was in and out of prison all through the time I had with him, from choices and demons he just couldn't make better. The Daddy who's heart I ripped out at 11, because I refused to allow him to adopt me, instead letting my fairy tale soul believe that some day the man who donated his biology to me might come back on his white horse and claim me. The Daddy who could make me giggle, who indulged my love of reading, who would twirl his handlebar mustache and laugh at me when I was being a goof. The Daddy who beat the hell out of my mother in a drunken rage every weekend, yet was so wise and book-smart through the week that I could have long conversations about novels and stories and Life with him. The Daddy who picked me up out of a pool of blood off the floor when I had a miscarriage at 16 and nearly died from hemorrhaging, who sat at my bedside and cried because he almost lost me. The Daddy that was a biker at heart and at play and yet so gently helped my 1 yr old son stand and learn to crawl and walk because I didn't have any other babysitter.
The Daddy who came to see me the day he died because I'd had another miscarriage at 20 and he wanted to make sure I was okay. The Daddy who was stopped by a deputy after leaving my house because I wasn't home. The Daddy who had been drinking a beer and knew that he faced going back to prison because he was on probation. The Daddy who gave the deputy his library card and his expired license then took off, starting a high speed chase through back roads. The Daddy who took a corner too fast, rolled the car he was driving and hit a tree, breaking every bone in his neck and dying.
I don't remember a lot of the day my mom called to tell me he was gone. I was at work in the greenhouse, called into my boss's office where he very somberly handed me the phone. I remember hearing my mom's voice and wondering why she was calling. I remember her words..."Bob's been in an accident and he's not okay". I remember asking Bob WHO? and when she clarified, telling her I didn't think this was a funny joke. I remember sitting down on the floor suddenly, when it hit me what she was saying. I do not remember the rest of the convo. I do not remember my boss taking the phone. I do not remember much about the drive home, other than the music playing: The Crow Soundtrack. It has always been one of my favorites and oddly, still is. I remember walking in the front door and down the stairs, trying to wake my husband who had worked 3rd shift and was sleeping. I remember crying until I couldn't breathe. I don't remember the next few days at all.
I remember meeting at my mom's to tell my little brother. I remember his rage. I remember tears from all of us. If you ask him today, he hasn't cried about it since. I don't know if he can.
I remember speaking at his memorial. Closed casket, a picture that was so very HIM: all dark hair and eyes and warrior-like bearing. I remember tears flowing while I tried to tell these people who didn't know him like I did what a mish-mash of contradictions he was and how much he mattered to me. I remember thinking no words could ever fully describe the hole I had in my heart.
I will forever wonder if he would have continued to mellow with age, if he might have conquered those demons he fought. I watched how he was with my oldest son, before I ever even thought of the younger two and will be forever grateful I was given the glimpse of the grandfather he was going to be to my boys. I will never forget the lessons he taught me, good and bad. They've formed a lot of who I am now. I miss him. I miss his humor. I miss his intellect. I miss feeling safe, because ironically in light of the abuse that was rampant in my childhood household, he was the only man I've ever felt safe with. I think as an adult our relationship would have been a different chapter than my childhood and I mourn that lost possibility.
I hope he's found peace. And I hope he's proud of me and knows how much he was loved.
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