Lingering Times


I read a post this morning that got me all teary-eyed and walking down memory lane. toddling down contemplation corridor.  It was about the times in my life when I’ve lingered. There are many such times.

The times, recently, that I’ve lingered the most are just before bed. I walk through the house, locking doors, putting dirty dishes in the sink and taking the dogs out one last time before I lay down.  I open my sons door and just linger there a moment, seeing them sleeping. More often than not, I reminisce about the day, thinking of the events and how I could have done them differently.

My eldest son sleeps in the attached garage and, more often than not, I ponder as I’m watching him sleep. I wonder how I can help him get the tools he needs to deal with the anguish that has been thrown his way these past few years. Sometimes I cry, silently, for him. Most times I just feel saddened because the grief he’s feeling now I had hoped never to see in a child of mine. Doesn’t matter that he’s 30…. He’s still my child.

My fifteen year old I watch sleeping, wondering how I can get through to him. He’s growing so fast and has plans to move out when he’s sixteen. My heart breaks when I think about this. He wants to grow up so fast and I just want him home, safe, with me forever. He’s not ready.

Neither am I….

At twelve, my youngest lays asleep on the couch, video controller in hand. I turn off the television, put the controller on the charger and tuck the blanket around his shoulders. He’s so tall now that his feet hang over the end of the couch if he stretches out. I slip back in time, remembering him sleeping as a baby and looking so small. I struggle to hold back the tears as I think of his bravery in dealing with his diabetes. How he’s grown into such a responsible young man in just the past year. I think about his deciding to volunteer at the food bank and wonder how I can nurture that altruistic part of him.

I go to bed, thinking about my children, how different they are from one another and how I can help them become the men they need to be in this horrible world that they have seen way too much of yet not enough of at the same time. I worry… and I pray…… and I let go. A little at a time. Every night, I linger just a moment longer.

An Experiment in Hijab


OK, I’ve come across something that irritates me so much that I can’t contain myself. Please bear with me on this rant.

A few months ago, I had occasion to speak with a woman wearing a Hijab. It was a wonderful conversation about the reasons she wore it. Not all were because of her religion and the main thing she said that stuck in my head was “try it and see how you feel”

Last month I bought one and that night I put it on, trying to figure out how to drape it so it looked right. My husband came into the room and frowned at me. “Why are you wearing THAT?” Was his question. The tone of his voice screamed that he didn’t approve so I told him I was just trying out a different way to wear my scarves. He shrugged and left the room and I put it away with tears in my eyes.

Then I got angry.

Who was he to tell me what I could and couldn’t wear?

For the next few days, I worked on practicing in the bathroom, with the door locked, when he wasn’t home. I loved the way it looked on me and devil be damned, I was bound and determined to wear it!

A few weeks later, I had to take my youngest son to the hospital for an overnight stay and took it with me. I put it on at the hospital and wore it in public for the first time. It was surreal, honestly. My 12 year old son smiled when he saw me wearing it and said “mama, you look so pretty in the Hijab.” I didn’t even know he knew what they were!

We sat in the cafeteria of the hospital and ate dinner and the looks I received from people around me were a mix of admiration, confusion and disgust. A couple of women came in wearing hijab and sat next to my son and I. One commented on my scarf and we chatted till it was time to take my son to the clinic. They were super supportive when I said it was my first time wearing it in public and gave me tips and encouragement.

This past Saturday I went out with the hijab on, in the company of my daughter and her Godfather. We had a wonderful night and no one even commented on it. I guess they assumed that it was to cover my hair because of the weather.

As an American woman, who has always been very adventurous with dressing, I have found that wearing the hijab does something to me, mentally. I feel more…. I don’t honestly know how to describe it but I guess I feel more feminine. I feel less like I have to prove something… Something as simple as covering your head and understanding WHY you’re doing it does something to you. I find myself WANTING to wear less revealing clothing, WANTING to be more modest in not only my dress but my actions and my words.  It’s…. strange, honestly. But I like it.

My husband will read this tonight or tomorrow and probably frown but I hope he is openminded enough to understand that not all women who wear the head coverings are Muslim and that what I want to wear not only makes ME feel good but honors him as well. Think about it, the more modestly I dress, the less temptation another man has toward me 🙂

The Obama Healthcare Debacle


A family in Denver got some surprising news this morning. The health care, which they have had for twelve years has changed. Before, they were able to take their children to the doctor for a very little fee and no monthly charges. Now, thanks to the change in the government laws, they will have to pay thirty-five dollars a month for their children’s health insurance.

Now, to the average American, this wouldn’t seem like a big deal but this family is hovering on the edge of homelessness. The parents are both disabled and dependant on Social Security to pay the bills. They don’t qualify for food assistance (SNAP) or any services from the state besides the CHP+ program. They are among the millions hurt by the changes the government has forced upon them.

With the medical bills skyrocketing, the father of this family has decided to forgo the much-needed surgery he needs because they can’t afford the copays. If he doesn’t get the surgery, he will lose the use of his left arm completely The mother doesn’t see the doctor as she should because the copays rose from twenty to forty dollars a visit. The youngest child is a type one diabetic and needs multiple shots of insulin every day just to survive. He’s twelve years old. Without the medicine, he will die. Without the insurance, he will not get his medication…. with the monthly insurance payments, he will go without food a few times a week.

This is not an isolated incident. For MANY American people, this insurance issue has gotten way out of hand. We aren’t punishing anyone for being poor… are we? With the struggles of the poorer American people getting harder, I have to wonder if the government isn’t just trying to kill off those who are “less than desirable” in subtle ways. We have families becoming homeless every day because of any number of things and this is just one more family who will become homeless because of a government that doesn’t really care about its people. Just one more family being shoved into the gutters of America.The only thing different about this family is it’s mine.

Now it’s personal.

My eldest child


Monday, the 6th of September, my eldest son (29) was due to fly into town. He was to join me in being interviewed for a television series. Let me tell you about the arrival and subsequent week we’ve had.

Monday morning he calls, telling me what time his flight is leaving. Then he calls me a few hours later and tells me he’s at the airport. He calls me before they load the plane (while I’m at the Drs with my hubby) Then he calls again when he lands.

During all these calls, he’s telling me about everything. The check in gestapo took his hormone creams and trashed them. His father just dropped him at the airport and left instead of waiting for the boarding announcement.

Not surprising. His father’s a dumb ass.

He calls me to tell me he’s on the way from the airport via taxi. Then he calls again to tell me he’s at the office, unsure of what apartment building I’m in. I tell him we’d meet him outside. I head outside in bare feet so I won’t miss him (So very excited to see my baby after 5 years!)

The cab pulls up and a young woman steps from the cab. There’s no one else in the cab so I look at the woman again…

It was my son.

If I hadn’t already known he was gay, I would have been shocked but, because I have spoken to him, I knew.

Still, it would have been nice to be forewarned! I could have alerted his younger brothers to the idea that bubba likes wearing dresses. Good thing I’ve raised them to be open minded!

Fast forward to Wednesday. David, the producer shows up and is a bit surprised by the difference in my son. Or should I say my daughter? Anyway, they set up and spent the next four hours interviewing us both. They were very nice and the children behaved like true gentlemen.

Saturday, my eldest got up and went to Walmart to cash a check. While there, he lost his wallet. ID and all….

Guess who’s not catching his flight home on Monday??

Well, it’s done…


My daughter in law was found guilty after less than a week on trial. I was not able to be there for my son due to finances but I talked to him every night over the phone.

 

Now she faces life in prison.

 

My son told me that she is refusing to sign divorce papers even though she was the one who asked for a divorce a year ago. He can’t understand why she’d do this to him after all he did for her while she was going through the wait for trial. Honestly, I don’t either. It almost feels like she’s holding on to him as some sort of lifeline or something. I suppose I’ll have to write her and ask.

 

I’m still coming to grips with this whole thing. I’m sad for my son yet so glad that this is over. I don’t know what to think of the trial and conviction except that it took too long to get her in to trial and that should have been handled differently. They didn’t ask all who knew her any questions about her. Personally, I think she was railroaded but, that’s just me. If she IS truly guilty, she’s where she should be and society is safe. At least from her.

A Poor Mothers Christmas Eve


Sa I lay here thinking about the lack of presents under our tree this year, I’m inspired to write a poem. My heart is breaking as I dread the sadness and disappointment in their faces tomorrow morning.

 

A Poor Mothers Christmas Eve

Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the place
Stomachs were empty
A tear crawled down my face.

My children all snuggled
in one little bed
A moth eaten blanket
pulled over their heads

Outside the glass
on the sidewalk did glisten
As I stood watch by the stove
For gun shots I did listen.

The tree in the living room
glimmers and glows
Bare underneath
No ribbons or bows.

Sweaters and shoes
were all that they asked for
But nothing was gotten
Because we are poor.

Tomorrow is Christmas
That’s what they say
How do I tell them
It’s just another day?

 

Life goes on, fearfully


No matter how badly we wish things were different, they are what they are.

Mike went through another MRI Friday to see if there are any changes in the size of his brain. The doctor thinks he may have dementia. For months I’ve been praying for this to not be true but the longer it goes the more sure I am that it is. With the personality changes he’s had, it’s hard NOT to think it is.

Two weeks ago he was acting bad, slurring his words and being argumentative. He wanted to take the motorcycle and I took the key so he couldn’t then got in the shower. While I was bathing, he got into my pocket and took the key. I got a call from the police while rinsing my hair. He’d had an accident.

The officer came and got me so I could get the bike from the side of the road. They said they would have taken him to jail but he passed the breath test and I told them about his health issues. Luckily he had an appointment with the dr a couple hours later. The dr is concerned to say the least.

That night he slapped my 14 year old because they were having words. Then he took a pair of scissors to his two foot long ponytail, butchering it and cutting his ear. He took a butcher knife to the lid of the trash can, stabbing it through with one thrust. I called his doctor the next morning and he suggested that if he got worse, to call the police and have them take him to the hospital for evaluation.

I’m afraid of my husband for the first time in our eleven years of marriage. I don’t know what he’s going to do next. I know it’s not his fault but I’m afraid. I’m terrified to the point that I’m getting a scant couple hours of sleep each night because I’m afraid he’s going to do something stupid and not know what he’s doing. I’m afraid that if he gets much worse, I’m going to have to admit him or put him in a home for the safety of the kids.  They won’t stay with him alone for more than a few minutes because they are scared as well.

God help me, I don’t want to leave him when he needs me the most but my babies deserve better. So do I.