What kind of God does that?

“Oh my god what have you done! This is all your fault! You are such a fucking idiot! You’re such a dumb fuck! You fucking bitch, how could you do this?” His anger was strong, his face was red from screaming. His eyes bulging, as he paced back and forth flaying his hands in the air. 

I sat sobbing, my face in my hands, heart broken for my daughter. 

I had no idea the puppy would jump off the porch. I tied her there so I could clean the laundry room, where we kept her. I didn’t know she’d jump, didn’t know it was a life threatening action.
He continued screaming.”you fucking bitch! I hate you! Everyone hates you! Ahhhh! All of this is your fault! This is a sign from God that you’re living in sin, your not right with God! You better listen! You better wake up!” 

Now he is within inches of my face. I could feel the heat from his words and smell the morning coffee on his breath. Flicks of spit were hitting my face with each word he muttered.

I had ceased to hear what he was saying. I had gone into my catatonic self preservation state. Staring through him, at nothing. My own thoughts screaming in my head, “Why God, WHY would you let this happen??”

It all started with my daughter wanting  a yellow lab puppy so bad. 

We couldn’t afford one. Every time she would ask we would tell her to pray for one because she was determined to have a yellow lab. 

Finally she decided to do just that, she began praying. I instructed her on how to pray and how to ask God for a promise. She had her bible verse promise and she prayed daily for that puppy. I told her “sometimes God might give us something a little different then what we pray for”. So not to expect it to be a lab.

One day one of our church members heard she had been praying for a puppy and said their daughters dog had a litter of pups and asked if we were interested in the last one. When we asked what kind they were Mrs Kennedy said that Lynettes dog had a litter of full blood yellow labs.

My heart fluttered and a small tear entered my eye. God was answering my daughters prayer exactly how she wanted! But there was still the issue of money, Pure Bred dogs are expensive. We didn’t say anything to Lydia, we just told her to keep praying that God would “give” her a puppy. 

Later that evening Mrs. Kennedy called Phil and told him that she and Ed wanted to give it to Lydia as a gift. 

I could not contain my happiness! 

The next day Ed  and Bonita brought the puppy to our house. We kept it a secret. When they handed the pup to Lydia she burst into tears. Dottie was absolutely everything she had been praying for. 

I felt such accomplishment. We had taught our daughter to pray for the things she wanted and also taught her that God answers prayers.
He has turned his anger up and out yelling and screaming at God, “where are you? You don’t exist!” Then he’d turn and scream into the air in front of him, “Satan I hate you! Get out of my house!” As spit fell down his chin. He gripped his grilling spatula and started beating his brand new grill. A fathers day gift from all the children. He beat it over and over repeatedly until it was nothing more than a curled up jumbled mess.

I’m thinking past all the screaming words and violence. I do not care what he’s saying about or to me or to God, Satan or that grill.

Where is my daughter? Is she ok? Her gift snatched from her in just a few short days – what kind of God does that? What kind of God answers a prayer exactly the way you prayed it and then suddenly takes it away? Who does that? Why? 

I never received an answer that day. My daughter has pushed the incident to the back of her memories calling her the “dog who committed suicide”.

I wanted to die that day. It wasn’t the first time nor would it be the last.

It finally happened 

It finally happened 

I’ve been bottled up for quite some time. I was beginning to wonder if I had lost my tears

Or if I’d forgotten how to cry
My daughter said today, “You used to be so happy.”

But I couldn’t tell her half the reasons why I lost my smile

She’d feel guilty and regret her confessions.
So I pawned it off on her two brothers, who can’t seem to stay off of drugs or out of trouble … Yeah, them… They’re the reason I stay exhausted and emotionless
But the truth is due to a combination of things…
This week, I sifted through my son’s belongings… The one in prison… I wasn’t prepared for that walk down memory lane.

This evening I called the sheriff on my 2  sons for smoking pot out back….
I have so many goals … So many dreams… This is not how my family was supposed to turn out…

I still have more goals and dreams, but I am finding it harder and harder to see how they can or will be accomplished.
So tonight … It happened…
I cried
Everything bottled up started to ooze out… Just enough to tighten the seal back up.

So
Here I sit.

Emotionless again.

Agelast

Sitting in a 10×10 room. There are 7 of us. 4 chairs and a table with 2 magazines.
Everyone around me is giggling and laughing tying to make light of a very heavy situation.
I’m sitting on the floor. I feel as though I’m just a fly on the wall. Their antics are not funny to me. Their mirth just irritates me.
I have tunnel vision. It’s as if they are just a fog surrounding me.
My son has just confessed to every crime he has been accused of.
I am numb. I can barely breathe much less smile. The defense attorneys summon me outside the 10×10 box.
They ask me, “would you like an opportunity to talk to your son? You do understand he will be going away for a very long time”.
Emotionless I gaze into their eyes and answer, “yes. Please.”
They lead me into a room where I see my son sobbing on the other side of the glass. His head in his arms.
I place my hand on the glass hoping he would reach out. I sit and watch him cry, tears streaming down my face. He looks up and repeatedly says, “I’m sorry Mom, I’m sorry Mom, I’m sorry mom…” And puts his head back down. I said, “son. Look at me.”
My hand still on the glass. He looks up.
I said, “son, I forgive you.”
He shakes his head as more tears stream down his face.
Then his hand rests on the glass against where mine is.
We keep our hands there in an attempt to feel a hug. This is our goodbye.
I reminded him that I love him, as I walk out of the room sobbing through my tunnel that I can barely see a few feet in front of me. Back into the room of mirth where I sit quietly, agelast.
Agelast – Forget your faith

I hope

I hope

As I sit upon the witness chair
At the judge I’m supposed to stare
Give my story, my heart I’ll bare
Beg for a sentence long and fair

Explain how hard it’s been to cope
May confess how I’ve turned to dope
Through words of emotion I will grope
Hold myself together, is my hope

I’ll tell of memories I hold dear
Then tell of what I now most fear
All his charges I dread to hear
When it’s over I’ll seek a beer.

I walk in numbness, dread and pain
The thought of seeing him again
Is nothing more than a mental strain
My love for him I need to explain

I just want to hold him one last time
Regardless of the type of his crime
My soul and heart aches and pines
knowing he may be away for a lifetime

Will they let me see him?
I hope
Will they let me hug him?
I hope.
Will he want to see me?
I hope.
I hope.
I hope.

Are you ok?

“No, quite honestly, I’m not.”

No, I’m not ‘ok’, I feel like I’m packing for a funeral. Each day draws me closer to the sobering reality of the crushing heart wrenching soul agony I’ve been living in for the past 6 months. Saturday I will drive 10 hours. 10 hours to see my oldest child who I haven’t seen in over 6 months. Who I haven’t spoken to in over 6 months. On Monday I get the awesome joy (sarcasm intended) of witnessing the Court Martial of my first born child. On another day next week I have the grueling opportunity to listen to my daughter as she tells prosecutors and the judge everything he did to her. I never wanted to hear the details. She’s growing into a beautiful young lady. It kills me to know he took her innocence.  She knows what’s it’s like to be with a man. She already knows how to where a tampon for Gawds sake! She shouldn’t even be comfortable with wearing one!!!! 

Oh my gawd! I hold my chest, it aches. It pounds. It hurts. Tears (as usual) stream down my face.

I’m packing for a funeral. The veiwing of the body, then the burial of my own soul, as I listen to the details then the sentencing.

No. I’m not ok at all.

A living hell

“Youre making my life a living hell!” He said as he turned to walk up the stairs.Two weeks ago, I petitioned for a court-ordered family intervention, in an attempt for him to get clean and go back to therapy. He now has to succumb to random drug testing and pass before he can get his driver’s license.

Yesterday, I sold his brother’s Camry, which has sat in our driveway for 2 years. TWO YEARS! Flat tires, a dead battery, and in desperate need of brake work. So he was also angry about that. Mad that it wasn’t given to him. He said a few other things, then told me I was obligated to buy him alcohol, and if I didn’t, he would drink mine.

“I make YOUR life a living hell??” “You call THIS hell? I provide you with food, a nice bed and bedroom to sleep in, I take you wherever you want to go whenever you want to go there. You call this hell?”

I tell you what a “living hell” is! Living hell is having a different son who is a child molester. Living hell is being subpoenaed to watch his trial and sentencing. Living hell is wondering what will be the next thing to set you, YOU, child of complaints, off. Will you try to kill yourself again to escape “YOUR living hell”? “Living hell” is wondering whether you will have the initiative to graduate from high school. Do you want me to continue? I can.

I have other complaints, other hells. Living hell is remembering the day my ex-husband held my 22-year-old son up against the wall by the throat and screamed in His face, “I hate you!! NEVER call me dad again!!” Because he wasn’t his biological father, even though he raised him from 6mths old. “Living hell” is remembering the time he threw my 3rd born son against the house, grabbing and twisting his shirt so tight a button flew off. “Living hell” was that day he threw the 5th born up against the fridge, suspending him in the air, holding him by the neck. “Living hell” is my life every time I have one of those memories…. It’s like reliving them all over again.

So, son, go ahead and explain to me HOW your life is a living hell.

May 14, 2015

Negative-vs-Positive 

It has occurred to me that 98% of my blog posts have been all about my woes and negative things happening in my life right now. It would almost appear that I never have anything positive to say. I’m an advocate of “positive thinking”, so I’d like to just say that I have a lot to be thankful for. There are positive things going on in my life. 

I blog my negatives to get them out so my family may get the positives. I am needing to be “strong” for my kids right now. So, you, wordpress family, you get to see my weak side so I can remain strong for my family. Thanks for your patience and understanding. ;) 

 

May 10, 2015

I have found myself saying, “the hardest thing I’ve had to do”, over and over again. But here goes another time: the hardest thing I’ve had to do is let go of trying to keep my son alive.

He has attempted suicide twice, talked about it numerous times. 
His 13yr old sister looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, “Mom, you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”
She is so right.
He is in a “treatment center” and they’re putting him in antidepressants… I told them he would just try to take the whole damn bottle. They told me that since he is a minor I am responsible to administer them to him. 
Oh great! Now I have to buy a safe? A lock? Wtf? Where am I supposed to hide these? The last bottle of pills he took … He took them right out of my purse! 
He is almost 17, I’ve not treated him as a child, but now they want me to administer medicine to him as if he’s a baby.  
I told the therapist who is supposed to be “helping” him, “I do not want to just treat his symptoms. Suicide and Major Depressive Disorder are only symptoms of something else going on inside of him. Can we please try to deal with the cause?” 
Oh… ((Insert big sigh here))… This is another one of those “hardest things I’ve had to do” this past year.  

 

April 24, 2015

CONFIDENCE

 

Suppressing my feelings is nothing new to me. It’s a learned trait. I’ve been doing it for 20 years or more … I hold in my feelings because I don’t want to hurt anyone, yet I am breaking and bleeding inside, hurting myself instead.

I want to say all that’s on my mind, but I fear the outcome. Fear that whatever I’ve been worrying about is really the truth and reality. Maybe I do live in a fantasy world. Maybe I do wish for things that are unattainable.
Is it too much to ask for stability? Too much to ask for something that my kids can put confidence in?  At this point i feel like I should teach my kids to only put confidence in themselves because everyone else will
disappoint them.   

April 23, 2015

SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL SINGLE MOM

Too often advice is given that would never be taken.

We often tell people “I would ……. If I were you …..you know what you should do…..”
Realistically speaking we would never actually do those things. 
Since I’ve become a single mother working hard to support my family I receive advice often. But when I stop to really think about what they are saying, and look at their situation, I realize that it is NOT what they would do. 
We, the hard working, single moms of this world, welcome your emotional support. Please do not suggest we do something that you, yourself would not or are not willing to do. You will come across as arrogant. Thank you for your support, when you encourage us and tell us it will get better. We appreciate you dearly.