Category: Uncategorized

It all started when I recently took my firearms training.

The oddness of it. After all these years.

On my mind everyday….several times a day. There when I open my eyes. Still there when I close them at night.

Keeping me awake. Worrying. Wondering. Did she know? Did she sense something? Was it painful? Was it over before she felt anything? Did she see him?

I have thought of her often over the years. Twenty three this coming autumn.

Never like this, never so many times each day, for days on end. I almost wrote…”what triggered it?”…then did…those words sending chills down my back.

Maybe I never grieved for her. My loss. Maybe it was getting my restricted license. Maybe it was just time. To grieve.

So long I have remembered her laugh. She had a ‘heart smile’…she smiled with her eyes. They actually twinkled. That one crooked tooth made her especially beautiful. I used to tease her about her love of pastels. “Pretty in pink” I’d tell her, and she’d laugh. Every time.

We shared a love of board games. And were competitive. Hated to lose. Laughed when we did. Laughed harder when we won.

God, I miss her and that laugh. And those twinkling eyes. And those pastels.

I don’t even remember when, or how, we met. I just remembered how much I liked her from the start. And then I loved her.

She was my maid of honour at our wedding…he, her love, our best man. Our sons best buds.

Then she was gone. We got the call. One shot. Point blank range. Back of her head. One she had given life to. Taken hers. Then his. While she cooked his supper.

That laugh silenced. Forever. Gone.

The. Pain. Hurts. My. Heart.

Stings my eyes.

Rips my throat.

Murdered.

Just sayin’….or just making excuses?

There was a time where I was more than a bit neurotic when it came to housework. Part of it was my upbringing. I don’t often remember being allowed to have friends over…unless we played outside. My mother was a clean freak who stood over us while we did our chores…dusting, vacuuming, the application and polishing off of that gawd awful paste wax on old battleship linoleum. I can remember dusting the same shelf five times because I wasn’t doing it right. A tyrant in a house dress and apron, my mother ran a tight ship.

Some of that rubbed off on me….unfortunately. I remember standing over my teenagers making them wipe the counter over and over again because they hadn’t done it right. A tyrant in a business suit and earrings. I am so very sorry for those times….I remember one evening my husband wanted to go visiting right after dinner and I burst into tears because I hadn’t yet done the dishes. Ridiculous? Absolutely! Difficult to stop? Unquestionably.

It took me years to get to a place where my house didn’t have to be spotless, perfect. I still have to work on it.

But there is a flip side to this desire for perfection which is just as bad.

Everyday I see posts on social media or hear people, women especially, justify living in a cluttered, dirty house. “You’re not a good mom if your house is clean and organized”. That’s as delusional as the search for perfection. It’s an excuse and a cop-out …no matter how busy you are your home can be tidy and clean.

There is a happy medium between where I was and being a slob.

Making your bed everyday does not make you less of a woman or a man. Picking up after yourself and expecting the same from anyone that lives in your home doesn’t mean you are less fun, less caring, or that your priorities are screwed up.

What it means is that you like an uncluttered, calm place to call home. A refuge where the chaos of the world stops at your door. It means you are organized; a good time manager.

There are lots of other things that are vague or thinly disguised excuses that annoy me.

Where does it say in the rule book of life that in order to be a kind, decent person you must be poor? There are kind and generous people in all walks of life, just are there are users and abusers. Because I have worked hard my whole life and done well, I am not a thoughtful and caring person? Just because I won’t bail you out of your own laziness and spend thrift ways makes ME the one to be loathed? Nonsense.

Why do we look at the fit, healthy Mom and try to belittle her?From Facebook to Moms and Tots groups across the country, we post her image and ridicule her efforts and toned, fit body. She works hard at staying fit and healthy AND is as engaged and loving with her children as we are…the difference is she stopped making excuses. She knows that to be the best she can be for her children means that she must be healthy to live a long, active life. Caring for yourself doesn’t make you an unfit parent….it makes you a shining example for your children. Go get off the couch, turn off social media and the gossip club and join her. The reason we feel so inclined to discredit others is our own unhappiness.

So go ahead. Put your sweat pants back on, hike up your shirt to show your tummy that has stretch marks from carrying your three children…and by all means be proud of yourself…but for God’s sake….stop criticizing the Moms that work at being fit and healthy. It doesn’t help make you a better Mom, it makes you a jealous, mean-spirited crank that I find annoying.

A while back, I had a private message on Facebook from someone who had read my blog posts and wanted to know why I was “airing my dirty laundry’ in public. This wasn’t someone on my “friends” list …just someone who took issue with some of my posts….. or perhaps all of them…they weren’t clear.

At first I was stunned…and angry, but then, slowly, I started to understand why that person…and probably others…feel that way.

It was a difficult decision…and still is…deciding whether or not I should write about specific things. I struggled with the ‘what will people think’ aspect of some of my posts. I also struggled with how much detail to write.

The conclusion that I have come is is this: There will always be people who will disagree with how you live your life, what you say, what you do, what you write. They will try and make it about you…but it isn’t about you…it is about them. To reveal some things about my life will serve no purpose and so I choose carefully what I write. It is a fine balance to determine what will be enough to heal me without being so much that it harms others.

It is only when you have secrets that you can be blindsided…and hurt. Life is what it is: the good; the bad; and the ugly. We must embrace all of it to become whole. To deny or cover up the ugly parts is to try and deem ourselves less than human, which is ridiculous. Remember the old adage “To err is human. To forgive divine.” ‘Tis true. No point lying about it Having ugly bits to our personality doesn’t make us unworthy. It makes us human.

I think it takes courage to face your whole self….warts and all. Most of us like to put all that isn’t perfect in a closet, turn off the light, close the door, lock it and hide the key. I don’t know about you, but there isn’t much of me that’s perfect, so there’d be a whole big chunk of ugly awesome in that closet!!

Burying, covering up, hiding and lying about who we are and what we came from is fodder for all the head doctors out there! You can’t bury ugly things and expect them not to take root and eventually rear their nasty selves. You have to bring that stuff into the light….face it, smack it down if need be…but deal with it. Only then will it lose it’s power over you.

Most times, our ugliness doesn’t come from within ourselves…it comes from without. It comes from what other people have done to us, then we bury it and let it take root….an unwitting participant in their plan to sabotage our lives and damage our souls. That is stuff of broken spirits, which results in broken people.

I was badly broken…I just didn’t realize it. I am working to heal, to forgive, to improve and to laugh again. One foot ahead of the other; one word after another; one story at a time. Slowly, I am reclaiming my power.

So if you are worried about what you might read in these posts…concerned that you might show up in the ugliness that I am still dealing with, all I can say is this: Maybe you should have treated me better.