Tuesday, December 3, 2013

An update on the FUBAR situation...

Lately I've been thinking a lot about my last post.  And before I get into that, I need to thank you all so much for continuing to comment and send your love, thoughts and prayers.  I'm amazed by your constant support, even when I write so infrequently.

My last post was honest and sincere and truly reflected where I was at that time, but it's so damn negative!  I hate being negative - even in this crazy life I live.  I know that in many ways I've been dealt a shitty hand, but I also know that I have so much to be grateful for and I've got no business moping around feeling sorry for myself.

Losing my kids was and is a horrible, terrible, unimaginable (even to me - still!) experience that I will never "get over".  It will forever be part of who I am.  But I don't want it to define me.  I want to make the most of the life I have left,  even though I can't be with them.

What I didn't realize before is how difficult it would be.  And not in the ways I imagined.  I miss them every minute of every day.  If I let myself think about them too long, I can become a sappy mess of blubbering sadness at any given moment.  But I don't.  It's not helpful.  When I'm home alone, I do allow myself to be sad, but when I'm at work or with my friends I hold it together pretty well.  My coworker jokingly calls me a "cold-hearted bitch" because he cries more often than I do when we talk about my kids.

Missing them is awful, and at certain moments and in specific situations it can be overwhelming.  But at this stage the hardest part for me to deal with is my utter loss of identity.  When my kids died, I was a stay-at-home mom.  Being Kate and Peter's mom was my full-time job and, really, my life.  Sure I did other things, spent time with friends, worked a part-time job, etc, etc. but if you asked me who I was I would have told you I was a mom.  Being instantly stripped of that identity and function as a human is what still has me dazed and confused.

At this moment, I'm not exactly sure where I fit in to this life.  I'm not like anyone else I know.  And I guess what's becoming most challenging is that I don't know who I want to be.  When I married Ken I thought we'd sort of start over and that I could re-create myself as I'd always wanted to be - a wife and mother.  Unfortunately, that didn't turn out the way I had hoped but I'm gradually learning to accept that.

So here I am.  My life is basically a blank slate.  I can do whatever I want (within reason) and be whoever I want to be.  But I haven't a clue of what or who that is.  And that is the hardest part.  It's scary and lonely, yet hopeful all at the same time.  And also scary.  Did I mention it's scary??  I'm scared.  Fo realz!

The good news is this:  I'm in a much better place today than I was a year ago or even six months ago.  Things have improved.  I have amazing friends who are always supportive, I have a great family and I have a job that I truly enjoy.  I have no idea where my life is going, but I'm hopeful that good things will happen or, instead,  that I will be able to create a life of purpose, fulfillment and joy.  I don't know what any of this will look like, but everyday I get out of bed and give it my best shot.  It's s sort of shot in the dark, but at least I'm trying.

Years ago, when Kate was two and Peter was 10 months old, I realized that my marriage to Steve was headed toward an inevitable end.  I was completely terrified.  I never thought I would be divorced, and the idea of being a single mother in a city where I knew almost no one was beyond frightening.  Someone gave me a little metal figure with an inscription on the back.   It reads, "When nothing is certain, everything is possible."  I'm holding onto that one.  I'm not certain about a damn thing, which means there must be a whole lot of possibilities!

Monday, August 19, 2013


In my last post I believe I mentioned that I wasn't planning to blog regularly until I had something good to write about.  I haven't written in over a year.  So... as you might imagine, I don't have anything good to report.

Believe it or not, things are worse.  I'm not sure how to begin, or what to say so I'll just put it out there. I'm single again.  I have not had any more kids.  I'm starting to lose hope of ever having a family.

I've been wanting to write for a long time, but for some reason I've been afraid to.  I somehow feel that by typing these words and letting all of you know what's really going on, I'm admitting defeat.  I also feel like writing about my life makes it more real.  I wake up and live this life every day, but I still try to pretend that somehow, someday it's gonna get better.  Maybe it's time to face the truth.  I don't know.

I don't want to give up, I really don't.  But I'm tired.  Not "I need a vacation and a script for Ambien" tired.  More like "I'm tired to the depths of my soul, I don't think I can continue swimming upstream anymore" tired.  

I'm almost 40, my kids are dead, I'm single and I need to find a real job.  I need to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.  Except I'm already grown up, and all I've ever wanted to be is a mom. That hasn't worked out so well.  My life is truly fucked up beyond all recognition (FUBAR).  What do I do now?  Any suggestions would be appreciated.  For real.

When I started this blog and wrote regularly, writing helped me get through the dark and scary times. After a couple of years, I thought things should have started getting better so it became harder and harder to admit that they weren't.  That's why I stopped writing.  Well, that and the fact that every time I updated my blog, my parents called me because they were afraid I was planning to off myself. (Listen, Mom and Dad -  I'm not gonna off myself.  Settle down now.  I love you.) 

I don't know why I thought things should get better.  Maybe because that's how it works in the movies.  Things get rough, the main character hits rock bottom, there's a music montage and everything starts to get better.  I can't tell you how many times I've wished for a real-life music montage.  As soon as I find the right song, a film crew and a good make-up artist who can make me look 10 years younger and 20 lbs. thinner I'm gonna get on that.  Maybe that's the key to turning everything around.  

I suppose there is some kind of lesson here.  Unfortunately, life isn't a movie.  There's no script (I wish there was so I'd always have something witty to say) and, sadly, there's no guarantee of a happy ending.  I love a movie with a happy ending.

I also love books with happy endings.  And I love memoirs.  I love reading about people's lives and their struggles and how they overcome them.  I especially love when I know things will work out in the end, so I can read the bad parts knowing that everything is going to be ok.  This will sound strange, but I've often wished I could read my own memoir and find out how it ends. Maybe then I could relax for a change.  Maybe I wouldn't lose hope.  

The truth is, I can't give up.  I still hope and pray and sorta believe that someday things will get better. Maybe someday I'll find some kind of happiness?  Am I being stupid and naive?  Sometimes I think so, but if I lose hope, then what do I have?  Why the fuck would I get out of bed every day?  There has to be some reason.

Maybe I can write my way through this and who knows... maybe someday I'll have something good to report.  There's no telling.  But don't feel like you have to keep reading.  If and when things get good, I'll make a big announcement  and you can go back and read the dark and scary parts knowing it's gonna get better.  ;-)  I really hope it gets better.