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Christmas Eve? Oops.

So, it's Christmas Eve. I think I would've figured it out eventually. For the time being I noticed because I logged in here. My nights and days are estranged at the moment. Single moms with no support system, who are too stubborn to pay outrageous childcare costs because of having a special needs child, are the ones staying up all night wrapping Christmas gifts. Mind you, only one of my children is school age and I don't believe in neglecting my toddler just so I can wrap gifts while the preschooler is away. Not happening.

But this knowledge of Christmas Eve has dampened my mood. Here we are. Another meaningful holiday without the family as a whole. I'm feeling too sad to try and put it in words.

If you have your family together for the holidays, you are so lucky.

It's not my fault my family is broken. My husband is dead. My daughter is dead. So if your spouse and all of your children are still with you for the holidays, you are so lucky. If you have loving, caring, supportive family and friends, you are so lucky.

We have no one. My children sure didn't ask for this. I cry for them as much as me because I am aware of all that they lost. In a world of broken homes, they had a daddy who loved them and wanted to be a part of their lives. They had a healthy strong sister who could've supported them in tough times. My poor Lydia is faced with that burden alone. Some day I won't be here to have her back and her two special needs brothers won't be able to help her either. I'd complain our losses aren't fair but the audience reading this entry is as empty as the cold shoulder I've been given.

I'll be up tonight crying for my loved ones. Alone. I'll be alone. Always alone.


I actually dreamed of a date. See above? I watched it flip, as if in a calendar, from 11-22-22.

I dreamed that I was going to be remarried that day, so it's not like an Apocalypse or something. Foretelling doom? I'm not that special. So the dream shifted to a fantasy setting, to where I decided I would refuse consent at the altar, remain the guardian of my people, and stay true to my love for Joe. I guess the match was political, arranged by my dad.

My grandma was even attending. I dreamed of her once since she passed away in 16'.

My wedding gown was pretty, I'll give it that. It was slate grey, buttoned up the front, and ruffled. The collar dipped low to cover the buttons.

I must've been good to my people because they went out of their way to decorate the estate. It was truly amazing, colorful, lots of potted plants, animals, music, sparkly decorations, and fireworks. Maybe it was the kind of wedding girls dream of.

But it would've been loveless. He was blonde, whoever he was, and not my type. He was mean, even when we gathered at the altar. His tongue was slick and he knew how to to sting with it. I was on the brink of menopause then. I realized if he wanted an heir, he'd probably step outside the marriage to do it. I wasn't going to suffer that humiliation either.

In all seriousness, I'm not going to remarry. I think of love/romance/marriage as a phase in life. For me, this phase has passed. I met the love of my life and married him. We would've grown old together, but only in a perfect world. My widowed years are here. I will spend them quietly and peacefully, or about as much as the children allow. ;P

My Old Friend

Actually, she doesn't see me as a friend any more. I can't feel the same way and stay true to myself. She's still a friend in my heart. I check on her every couple years or so. The last time I searched, nothing came up anywhere. Now she has a Facebook presence. 

I thought about messaging her to say I'm sorry, for closure. When the dust settled, when everything was said and done, when I was off the psych meds and had gained back my senses, it used to be that I really needed her to know I was sorry for hurting her (I probably told her but don't remember it because of the meds). 

But that's it! Just knowing she heard it, read it, whatever, would've put my heart and mind at rest several years ago. 

Then the accident happened. I used to have dreams of what our friendship would've been like if not for pushing her away(?). I can't remember it well. I was doped up on meds that I'm not convinced I needed. Paxil was a bad fit. I mean. . . a couple years later it had a class action lawsuit for devastating side effects. My point is, when the accident happened those dreams stopped for well over a year.

I guess losing a child is a force of nature to reckon with, to put a hold on past guilt like that. I might have had a couple dreams of her this year. So a couple dreams in two years as opposed to dozens isn't so bad. 

I probably sound crazy.   

I don't know how I feel about anything, past and present. I feel so numb. No, it feels like I'm living inside a dream.

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Hmph. No listeners.

Should I be surprised? Honestly? I mourned the loss of my husband and daughter alone. Why would things have changed since then?

It is almost two years since then. My journey through grief leaves me with triggers and no memories to go with them. I know that doesn't make sense. How do you think I feel, trying to reason with it? I believe I sense the good times I used to have with my family as a whole. It is like those good times left a print on me even though I can't remember everything.

At least sharing this has gotten my mind off the heartache I've been feeling since yesterday.

I keep asking what I've done to deserve this. It's not self-pity asshole. It's wanting to know what sins I've committed to justify suffering for the rest of my life. What is my pain worth? I am sick and tired of my heart breaking every time there's a trigger. I can't even think about them without tears coming to my eyes.

I want nothing more right now than for all the kids to be in bed after a long fruitful day and to be sitting with my husband on the porch enjoying his company. We'd have the mosquito repellent lit like always, sip some wine, and simply talk.

He was my Jack. I will love him for the rest of my life.

Cruddy February

Well, it's either sit here and record my pain with a forgotten medium, or lay awake in the dark screaming for Cora, and Joe.

It would've been Cora's 3rd birthday this Friday. If my tears weren't so hot, maybe I'd try and talk about it.

I understand what they mean in that the second year can be as hard as the first. The first year your heart is cut open and bleeding. You're consumed by grief. Consumed! No good meds will snap you out of it. The tears are deep inside, beyond the reach of reason. The second year those tears are healing. You don't feel like you're drowning in scalding water anymore. But there is emptiness. Memories flood you because the pain is no longer there to block it.

My senses are awake, taking in my environment, and remembering the times I was happy with my family as a whole. The triggers hit harder than hammers to the belly.

As I sit here crying, the pain isn't letting up. I remember one cold night I wept until the early hours. I sent myself outside in freezing temperatures to see if the cold could shake me from the pain. It didn't.

I've mourned alone and I will continue to mourn alone. There are days I can't be as strong, like tonight, where my mother's heart cries for her daughter- to never be answered again.

Enjoy your nice warm chair and being surrounded by people who love you. Not everyone is as lucky in life as you.

There's a reason I have a life alert system in place because if I fell and got hurt, no one would find me for days. My small children would go days without food or water.

No one gives a shit about us.

Home Alone for Christmas

If you have family and friends to spend time with over the holiday, you're lucky.

It's not so much my loss that keeps me home alone with two small children. It is one of them having special needs.

I remember what Thanksgiving was like. Tristen needs eyes on him at all times. I spent most of Thanksgiving chasing him. Who doesn't get full on Thanksgiving? The single mom with a special needs child.

To gather for Christmas, it would be a three hour long round trip, to which I must play chase again and go hungry. Forget it. Not worth it. When your eyes have to be on your child at all times, you can't hold a conversation anyway. So, you don't get to enjoy your time with relatives. That's not how to spend quality family time.

I think my family days are over. I put too much value in family and it has only led to disappointment.

I wanted family life. I'll never deny that. I know that if Joe and Cora were alive, or even just Cora, yesterday would've been spent baking cookies. Today, gift giving and hot breakfast, followed by relaxing and watching the kids play, then a comfort food for dinner. I had the itch to go nontraditional for Christmas dinner by making lasagna.

All of it is meaningless to me now. The holidays are forever ruined. I will not accept anything less than what I could've had. It's NOT okay to hear "at least you still have Tristen and Lydia". Not good enough. Never will be.
My family is broken. Nothing can change that.

I know I don't have the heart to celebrate anything when I live without hope. Hope seems silly to me in a world where tomorrow isn't promised. Who should bank so much energy on "what if"?

My Legacy

I'm beginning to think my legacy may not be my children. No, I am questioning if my legacy is the stories I plan to tell.

Writing gives me purpose in a world where tomorrow isn't promised. It is my reason for living now.

My children may be my stories. Given the project I've outlined, I can clearly see that. I can't achieve the family I always wanted to have in real life. The only way to do it now is in story.

Having said that, I've accepted the total loss of my dreams in life. I was going to try and have another child through insemination, but what's the point? I can't ever have the family I always dreamed of. We are forever broken. Holidays and birthdays will never be the same, no matter what.

Lydia, my poor girl, is going to have it tough finding her own way in life. I hope she makes good friends, because she will have no family to fall back on. Joe had no brothers or sisters and my childless brother is "off". She has no cousins. Her siblings can't be counted on. They both have developmental issues.

I admit, Lydia was the main reason I was going to try and have another child. For her sake. So she wouldn't have to be alone. I know what it's like to grow up with an "off" sibling. I know what she's going to have to deal with. Only, she won't have any extended family to turn to. No grandparents, no cousins.

It's sad to me.

Given the nature of friendship in this day and age, I am really worried about her.


For a while I tried not to cry in front of Tristen and Lydia. I didn't want them to see me in pain. I don't know when, but I lost the will to do that. I let my tears flow now.

Lydia is at the age Cora died last year. Between the sisterly resemblance and similarities in age, the triggers just about kill me. People wouldn't understand if they cared to ask. I can almost see the horror in their faces. How dare I tell them it makes me feel sad to love my youngest daughter. The narrowest of minds would be appalled and turn their noses away without trying to understand why.

Ignorance is bliss.

How can they judge so harshly something they've never been through? Everyone is so busy with themselves, keeping their lives neat and tidy, they can't be bothered with much more than that. I guess it's easier to draw quick conclusions and move on. I've seen this in my family over the last year. Once in a while someone will think of us. When they inquire, they only want to hear good things. They're almost willful about it, like they can't accept anything less. If I manage to tell them how it truly is, they dismiss it and say things will get better. Those are like magic words. Hardship all goes away the moment you tell someone it'll get better. Never mind the pain and suffering in the meantime.

I give up on people. Humanity failed me. No, really, it has. In this long year since they died, I would've killed for just *one person* to come over and give me company. Are you listening? Do you see what I'm telling you? I mourned alone! It would've been nice to see just one person give two shits. Is that too much to ask for? Do we have such high expectations of others now that we must suck it up and move on no matter the loss? Well, I'll tell you what. I'm sick and tired of getting the cold shoulder.

I cut the fakes from my life. The people who stood by and watched me suffer for months and did nothing. The people who looked the other way twiddling their thumbs hoping someone else would help me so they wouldn't have to. The people who gave broken promises to help. The people who said they'd be there for me. The people who offered for me to call them any time. The people who let me use their voicemail instead. The people who were too busy to talk. The people who said they'd call me back and never did.

Yeah, family, friends, they're all a joke.

You know what life has taught me through one hardship after another? The only things guaranteed are suffering and death. Think about it. Happiness is worked for, or is it not? I can't get back my happiness because those people are dead. Who in their right mind would choose to keep living? To keep suffering?

I found that answer at last. The only thing worse than living is the idea of never seeing my husband and daughter again. I've said I would relive everything I've suffered if it meant I could see them again. I mean everything. And I mean everything AND knowing what would happen to them. I love them that much. Having said that, with tears down my cheeks, I will suffer the rest of this miserable life if it means I get to see them again.
I'm a spiritual woman and don't want to risk never seeing them again because of suicide.

What most people don't realize is the weight of that suffering. It's so much easier to read it in words. I will cry tonight for my daughter and many more nights. I will cry for my beloved Joe. Many nights. I will stay true to my heart. I won't remarry. The idea of it doesn't settle with me. This means loneliness. I will probably die alone. That horrifies some people. Not me. I've always had an independent nature. I've had to develop one because... no one ever gave two shits about me. I learned that the hard way, over this last year, when inaction proved my worst fears.

Now, I feel better. A little better. Having vented this.

Writing Again

First, I didn't think I could get back into writing. It has been well over a year since I worked on anything. My bad? Well, for anyone not paying attention I was knocked off the rails when my beloved husband Joe and precious daughter Cora died in a car accident last year.

I made good choices with the settlement that came from that tragedy. I don't need to work for about fourteen years. I've the kind of time writers dream of to write their junk. Yesh, I say "junk" because (let's face it) that's what it is. Too many dreamers out there. I used to do that too.

I've taken a different approach this time. It's a clever one. I'll give myself credit for that. Instead of developing strategies that might sell, I've decided to turn to what drives me to do this crazy activity in the first place and write about the stories that have been in my head for years. You'd think that would be common sense, but, meh.

The result? Well, I can't tell you how much easier it has been to get these stories out of my head. Maybe writers should focus on what they want to tell. If it sells, it sells. If it doesn't, well, there is a story to be proud of. Not many people can actually write a novel.

The only plan I have in this adventure is to write a couple novels a year for the next twelve, then try to publish them. If they don't fly, I'll self-publish in the interest of *seeing that my stories are told*. I'll have lots of money saved by then to support the effort.

I need to research my state's laws regarding a certain matter, and then pen names. If a pen name can protect me well enough, I may try to publish sooner.

I've noticed that I've been a lot happier since I began and each day I add something substantial to the effort puts me in a great mood. Maybe this is the purpose I need in a world where tomorrow isn't promised.

They were

They were my family. My husband and daughter. This time last year they were still alive. Time is cruel. Time takes all the good in your life away. In an hour I'll no longer be able to say, "this time last year they were still alive". From then on "this time last year" means death. Pain. Loss. Broken dreams. Despair. Emptiness.

Yeah, the best days of my life are over. I appreciate all the good experiences I've had but I don't feel there is much left in my life to live for. I think I may have said- I'm 36, not 20. I don't have any dreams left. I either achieved my dreams or sacrificed them. I can't enjoy life like I used to. I'll never be so happy again. When your quality of life is diminished, what do you live for? People would say I have my kids but as I know too well, kids don't garuntee happiness. I'd be a fool to assume I'll see them grow because nothing in life is guaranteed. They could die any time. Then what? There's nothing left.

Sometimes I can't believe the way I think. I used to be very happy, full of life, and living my life to the fullest. I've lost too much. I'll never be like that again. I don't care about things like I used to. I've let go.

I just want to die.



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