April Showers

I skipped Christmas last year. The first one without Enzo. Our cruise allowed me to pretend it wasn't happening. And damn, I did just that.  No presents. No decorations at all. Just plan for a cruise, go on a cruise, enjoy a cruise. When it was over, I thought "that wasn't too bad." I didn't realize I just blew right past it, ignoring it. I skipped Christmas last year, and I'm paying for it in abundance this year. 

I have no poetic resolution. I hate resolutions. I've never done them and never will. I know April better than that, to think I will make a whole year with one new habit just because the sun finished a rotation. Gag. Even deep in my Evangelical days, I never did it. I certaintly would fake it when the youth pastor wanted us to write down our goals or give a list of how we would do better as a Christian "this year." Bullshit. It was all bullshit.  Even as I wrote it down or even worse *told people* I knew it wouldn't stick, so I never felt bad when I didn't succeed. No goal, no disappointment, right?  I ain't gonna stop masterbating or thinking about sex. God and I both know that. I won't read my Bible more. I won't stop rolling my eyes at my mom or cussing her out quietly in the closet after being told how less I am. I won't have a longer prayer time, or hell, a prayer time at all. That's not changing so I will not lie to myself and say it will...

For anyone that may need it:  This post has a trigger warning.I think all my blog entries probably need that, though. 💜 I had no idea what Ketamin is, then I saw yesterday where Matthew Perry died from acute effects of K.  It is referred to as a “dissociative anesthetic hallucinogen” because it makes patients feel detached from their pain and environment. He wasn't ok or sober, he was purposely dissociating. To cope.  I can't imagine the agony he must've felt to do this. I experienced severe dissociation after Enzo died. Weeks of missing conversations. Time after time of "how did I get here?"  I forgot how to get home more times than I can count. I forgot my dogs' names. One time, I was shocked to realize that for about 4 seconds I was looking for Keirsey's pacifier. I heard a very loud, audible voice yell my name one night. I was half way across the room thinking Brad needed me when he asked me from the bed "what are you doing?"  No one yelled...

Big changes are coming our way.  Changes that will mean goals met & a mission accomplished.  It's so exciting!  It's also scary.  Tongues will talk. Let them.  In this house, we don't listen.

I finally cleaned out the garage. There was a specific thing I was looking for as I cleaned and tossed out all the junk we've collected over the last 7 years in this house.  Enzo's spurs.  I knew they were in a box somewhere in the garage. So I opened every dirt covered plastic tub in that garage. There were a lot of them. I finally found the spurs and set them aside. Then, I saw Enzo's handwriting at the bottom of the bin & it startled me. I wasn't expecting anything but the spurs. So I kept digging.  I discovered more inside that tub than I was ready to handle.  His high school diploma A few awards from high school A card I gave him A note I wrote him  And a journal he kept August thru October of 2019 Inside that journal are pictures he drew, his dreams for the future, his hopes and aspirations, several lists of things he was thankful for, and he even wrote out his idea of the perfect morning (it includes an Irish cream latte). I finished the g...

I came across a hide-a-bed Friday for $25 bucks. I had tossed around the idea of putting a bed in the barn for overnight company & this lil couch was ideal! A bed and a practically perfect couch, two for one.  With the help of Keirsey and Ami, we put some new fabric on it and somehow managed to get it in the back gate & inside the barn. Of course, I had to check it out so after K & A went home, I pulled out the bed, put on fresh sheets, came outside with some vodka and a downloaded book & hoped on the bed.... and I suddenly understood the last 18 months and what this barn is. I mean, what it REALLY is.  In the time I've had this lil shed, I've read more books than I have in my entire life, some audible and some an actual book. I've discovered new tastes in music: mainly the banjo, mandolin mix of folk artist Noah Kahan. When Noah sings, I can still hear Enzo. I've wept the deepest tears to "Still" in this shed. There have been conversations ...

I've never liked the fall season. Like, ever. I despised having to color pumpkins and leaves in elementary school. I hate the color brown. In my mind, it just represents dying. The colorless winter. I've always thought of it as so dull. Ugh.  So yeah. I don't like it.  But tonight, I attended a gathering with several people. I didn't really know these people. So there was an "I'm the new kid" awkwardness for me. I need'int worry. I fit right in. Instant laughter. A truly fun night. As I sat there, on that back patio with a propane heater (because the suffocating heat is finally gone), a jean jacket, a chill in the air, burgers on the grill, drinks in hand, laughter, stories, and the sparkling kindness in humanity, I began to see this season differently.  There's a delight that comes with that crisp feel in the atmosphere.  The "are my ears just cold enough for me to go inside or can I sit here a moment longer" taste in the air. Surely peo...

Sinister and sly She waits The slap of the grave Again and again She moves about, My closest friend The visit comes I'm sedate So I wait Again and again Starting over She never ends

I've waited my whole life for the big awful. You know, the thing that happens that is IT, the monumental event of doom. That. I waited my whole life for that. And it happened, proving that I'm not suffering from anxiety, because anxiety is things that COULD happen. My big awful did happen. So here I am, with proof that horrible things happen. And will continue to happen. So I wait for the next big awful.

I once had a friend that believed God told her to write a letter to her ex and give it to him. The letter, words given to her DIRECTLY from God, would show the ex the error of his ways and he would return to her. She spoke of an encounter she had with God during prayer and was convinced this letter would change everything between her and the ex.  While it sounded a little extreme, I believed her and supported her. She asked me to drive her to the town the ex lived in and I said yes. When we got there, I encouraged her to go to the door. She refused. Things got a little weird when I asked her why she couldn't go to the door.  "His fiancé might answer." His WHAT? Oh, Did I not mention he's getting married in two days?" No, no you did not. If so, I never would've supported this. I told this friend I didn't think God would give her direction on how to break up a couple so close to marriage. Hell, I was under the assumption the guy was SINGLE! Not 48 hrs away ...

Last night, my little place was full. The Bitch Barn was packed with my kids and their significant others. Me, Keirsey, Ami, Shauna and Josh.  It was good conversation. It was healthy and relaxing. We had great conversation and just enjoyed each other company. It was a great evening.  I took several moments to think about what this night really represented. My family: my daughter and her same sex fiancé, my oldest and her boyfriend- both healthy relationships. And all of us sitting together, just being a family. I've been through tough times with both my daughters. It's been an incredibly difficult journey, getting to this place. We went months without speaking. My daughters spent months unable to be around each other. We've grown, we've learned, we've compromised, we've worked to overcome our own individual trauma to have solid, healthy, reassuring, family relationships- the very things every human longs for. There is no drama, no "we don't talk about ...

When Enzo died, Keirsey was not speaking to me. I don't remember why. I'm sure at the time, it was huge. Insurmountable. A "we won't recover from this" situation.  That year on Christmas, she came to the house, texted Enzo to come outside so she could say hi, then left without a word. It fucking wrecked me. I cried for two days. That Christmas, we originally planned a trip, but had to cancel last minute because Brad and I got pretty sick. Like, can barely move to the bathroom kind of sick. We were better by Christmas but in no shape to go on a week long trip, which made the whole holiday feel disappointing and bare anyway.  Nothing changed much after that Christmas, Keirsey and were barely speaking in February. Yet that night, when I had to call her, when I told her Enzo was dead, there were no hurt feelings between us. There was no "should she come over?" Instantly, she was driving to us. It's never been the same between us. That phone call changed ...

Noah Kahan's Call Your Mom is the song.  You know what I mean. After you lose someone you love, there's THE song, the one you love to hate. It brings so much pain, so much healing.  It sings to your soul, nourishing you in ways you didn't know you needed, yet it pours an ocean of salt into the deepest of wounds. Enzo used to call me when he was incredibly depressed. We talked for hours. Many times. I lost count how many times he called me in a major depressive episode. It's these phone calls I think about when the shadows whisper "you didn't do enough."  Yes. Yes, I did. It wasn't enough, but I made sure that boy knew he was loved. He always will be.  I'm forever his Momma.  call your mom

So much has changed for me in the 15 months: I hate being around people, I no longer enjoy shopping, going places with friends, or even going out to eat like I once did. It does seem to all revolve around social things, but I don't think it's a bad thing to want to simply be home. I mean, I spend way less money for sure and it's worked in my favor more than once. I had absolutely NO intentions of staying friends with a group of people from my former job. They ended up being upset with me and stopped talking to me.  Nice. Problem solved. I didn't have to ghost them, the friendships simply dissolved.  I tried to join a play two nights ago. The whole thing felt off, weird, not right. I don't know exactly why, but I hated every second I was at rehearsals. After tonight, I realized the "why" doesn't matter, I just needed to quit. So I did.  And it felt amazing.  Therapy is a big reason I can do these things now. Things like not give two shits when people ge...

I rarely see my mom. That's by my choice. I choose that for my peace.  While many people don't understand that, it's ok. You don't have to understand. She's my mother, not yours (unless you're my sister).  I've spent years placing healthy boundaries, limits, and "do not cross" lines with my mom. Most of the time, she ignores, disregards, or completely dodges them, so I learned to only see her on my terms and that's it.  My car.  My time.  I'm in control so I can leave when and if I need.  There is no invitation to my house because I can't physically force her to leave. This is how I avoid being gaslighted and manipulated into uncomfortable topics, forced into discussions on our different beliefs and avoid her constant, NON STOP negative talk about everything and everyone.  A year has gone by. So I decided to see her, to gauge if my hard work of healing is working.  She tested me within 5 minutes.  "Isn't Mother's Day coming...

Perhaps Tomorrow By April Davis A promise of hope beyond the tomb, Brings us comfort with each new bloom Birds sing sweetly day & night, Their symphonies of calm delight The earth arises from long its slumber, Rain mixes tears and cries become thunder With the spring comes morning and its dew, Summer nights from wince withdrew But Oh the sorrow that does cling, Like black among a raven's wing The winter grip begins its fade, With springtime here, a chance to evade The changing season bearing a cost, forced to ignore what is lost Sunset hues of pink and gold, Gives birth to hope, but never told Haunted by words we shift and swallow, We find our way, but perhaps tomorrow.

I stopped counseling. Not on purpose, but still, it happened. I haven't bothered to fix it. I just keep putting it off.  I missed last month's Survivors of Suicide Support group. I can tell a difference when I don't attend, yet I still ask "are you going this month?" I don't want to go. No one WANTS to go to that kind of support group.  I'm struggling to maintain friendships. I simply can't do it. I try to MAKE myself, but not only can I NOT do it, but it's not fair to the people I'm trying to maintain those friendships with.  I cry almost every night in the shower, but I make sure my husband doesn't hear it. He thinks I should be better by now.  TV shows trigger me. I didn't realize how much suicide is portrayed on tv. It's everywhere. It's glamorized. It's gut wrenching. There's truly no words to describe it.  About once a month I think "I would rather die than live with this pain for the rest of my life." It...

I didn't expect it to be like this. I see what I'm doing: withdrawing from social activities, spending more time alone, seeking things that feel peaceful. Quiet. Still.  While my brain keeps telling me it's not good, in my heart, it feels right.  It doesn't feel like depression, it feels like healing.  The worst part of an injury is the healing, right?  The scab. The itch. The discomfort. The ache. That all comes right before the relief, right before it gets better.  That's where I am right now.  It looks like I'm getting worse. I promise I'm not.  Each of us deal with grief in our own way. This is mine.