please, don't make me apologize for being a bad blogger. i'm a bag blogger - deal.
things have been busy. i'm working full time monday through friday, but i work later - noon to 8:30ish most days. i have just finished up with school - i have an independent study in human services and the liberal arts that i'm finishing up and january 2015 will be my official graduation date. i'll walk in may. i'm very excited.
my best friend from high school had her first baby in mid-november. i was at the hospital with her and her parents, along with another best friend from high school. we were both planning to be in the room with her, but she ended up having a c-section and the other friend went in with her. better choice, since she's much more level headed and calm than i am. plus she's had a child as well, so she understands some things i don't get. awesome husband @_antgas and i have been spending quite a bit of time with her and the new baby, helping around the house and the like. i just want to squish the baby all the time. he's so handsome.
so it's like, work and school and baby things and rheumatoid arthritis - yes, that's still there - were making my life pretty busy. now that i'm just about done with school (i don't have any more classes) i have a bit more free time. i'm hoping to get back into cross stitching and sewing, and researching my options for graduate school. it seems that is my next logical step, but it's expensive and hard and i'm just not 100% sure yet.
i get nostalgic around the holidays. the time between thanksgiving and new years is always rough for me. i've been craving more female contact; i wonder if it's because my mom died this time of year. i've cherished the time i spend with my best friend and her tiny baby - it's wonderful to be able to talk with her and have someone how knows me and my past. but it makes me miss people who aren't in my life any longer. particularly one woman who i may have wrote about a bit here. we had a short friendship but it was intense.
it's normal for me to reach out to people at certain times of the year. the holidays after 9/11 i remember sending a card to an old friend and his family who i hadn't seen in years. i send holiday cards and think about the people i used to spend so much time with that i don't get to see often - or at all. we're all 'adults' now (for all intents and purposes). so many of us have families and work and just life to get through, and that can leave little time for 'hanging out', unless it's a quick dinner or coffee date.
i found myself wanting to send her a card, ask about how she's doing, let her know that we're okay, and see if she wanted to catch up at all. i'm at a different place in my life. yes, i still crave contact, friendship, support, but i think i'm much more self-sufficient. perhaps it's the changes in my life over the last year - getting a job in the field, getting ready to graduate, and oh - being in therapy weekly. never underestimate the value of talk therapy if you can afford it (even when i couldn't afford it, the doctor and i figured something out).
i have bad days. i still freak out, i still get anxious, and i still cry sometimes. i am constantly learning how to deal with it, how to reach out and ask for help, how to identify, address, and process some feelings. i've struggled with my mother's death around the birth of my friend's baby; i remember crying at the hospital because i wanted my mother there to see her (we've been good friends since i was, like, 11). when i work on the quilt i'm making for her baby, i think about the quilts and bibs and things my mom would make when other people had babies. i think about the fact that i don't have my mom to help me assemble the quilt - i've never done that before, i've only pieced together the tops of quilts. now i have to make the quilt sandwich and actually quilt it. i'll think about my mom while i do it, and about my beautiful girlfriend and her perfect baby boy, and it will reflect generations of love and support and commitment.
so i still cry sometimes, but i cry for myself. i cry for my losses, i cry for my friend's losses, and i cry for the things we will all lose one day. i cry for my joys and accomplishments, for my friend's joys, and for all the wonderful things i know are to come in the future. but i don't cry because that one amazing woman left my life - as much as i miss her and the time we spent, i'm thankful for the time we spent and the lessons she taught me (that i may not have been ready to learn at the time). and i think about sending her a card letting her know that.
happy new year, everyone.
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Saturday, January 3, 2015
Monday, May 26, 2014
memorial day memories
i ran to the store to buy chicken so i can make more cat food for my furry family. there was a bit of a jam at the light, by the end of our parking lot. there's a decorative fountain there, as well as a flag pole and apparently an oft-overlooked memorial stone. the commotion was a group of vets in uniform, laying a wreath at the memorial stone, saluting, and firing off a few rounds into the air.
i haven't thought about my grandfather in years. he died august of 2001, weeks before the 9/11 attacks. i remember sitting on our front stoop after 9/11, smoking a cigarette, and talking about how glad i was my grandfather died before 9/11 because it would have broken his heart. grandpa didn't sit around talking about the action he'd seen fighting overseas in world war II; he didn't often bring out uniforms or medals and talk to me about them. but he was an active member of his local VFW group, butehorn brothers post 4987, and was a commander for some years. he was honored by the nassau county american legion as legionnaire of the year 1992-1993. grandpa was active in his veterans groups and active in his home after the war, bethpage. he regularly wrote for the local bethpage tribune; i often would page through the paper and find something written by him, or photos he took.
as a young girl, there were many times i'd see myself in that paper. i didn't realize the importance of memorial day back then. i remember sitting in my grandparent's den, where grandpa's computer was, and cutting up ribbons to be tied around telephone poles and trees to mark the route of the memorial day parades. i was active in the local girl scouts, as a brownie and a junior girl scout, and loved marching in the parades. i would volunteer to hold the american flag, not the girl scout flag or another flag, but the american flag. i took pride in ensuring that i held it higher than the other flags carried by other girls, because i knew it was important that the american flag always be above other flags. i would often meet my grandparents at the community park in bethpage where the parades always ended, and would stand with my grandfather, in his VFW hat with pins i didn't understand, as he and his fellow veterans laid wreaths on memorial plaques. i remember seeing tears in my grandfather's eyes and knowing how important this was, but i didn't understand why.
after i moved away from bethpage, away from the girl scouts and the parades, i grew up. i became an asshole teenager, was swallowed by my depression, engulfed in drug use, and the subject of an abusive relationship with a parental figure. my stepfather was a vietnam vet. he never spoke of his time in vietnam, only once when he got really drunk - he brought out photos of him and his fellow soldiers in vietnam. he did tell me he lost his teeth over there, he was shot at least twice and had a piece of shrapnel he once invited me to feel under his skin - i think it was in his shoulder; memories of that time of my life are not sharp. i remember how important it was in the house we rented for him to put up an american flag. i remember when he added a POW/MIA flag. i remember how during the summer, for weeks at a time, he would light candles under the flags in our yard. i once asked him about it, when we were high and getting along. he said he promised friends that didn't come home from vietnam that he'd remember them.
i remember being so angry at my stepfather; he was often mean to me, verbally and physically abusive. he'd give me all the pot i wanted but i always ended up paying for it. we had a tumultuous relationship - unlike the relationships he had with my mom and brother. as i got older, i realized that he was probably doing the best he could with what he had been through. does it excuse it? no, of course not. but it helps explain it. my stepfather was a deeply wounded man, a product of his own dysfunctional upbringing and whatever horrors and hell he experienced during his years in vietnam. and then, to know what he came home to, how the support for the war - and the returning troops - just wasn't there.
who knows what my grandfather and stepfather saw on their respective tours that affected them so deeply. how many men they may have lost or left behind. how many times they may have thought they were not going to make it home. my grandfather came home after world war II a hero; my stepfather returned from vietnam a villain. they both had their faults - my grandfather may have seemed like a larger-than-life hero when i was a small girl, but age brings wisdom (and family stories), and people's fault lines begin to show. my stepfather may have seemed like a hurtful, spiteful dick who would turn on a dime and be a caring, supportive parent, but again - age brings wisdom, when people's fault lines become understood.
on memorial day, we often wander from barbecue to barbecue. we may hang out by a pool or at the beach for the first time of the season. we have a day off from work, we go to the malls to shop the sales or use the excuse to hit home depot and get some work done in the yard. we use it as an excuse to have fun, drink too much, and see friends and family we haven't connected with since we all holed up for the long new york winter. i was planning on laundry, cooking cat food, and some cross stitching.
instead, i decided to write. i haven't thought about my grandfather in so long, and i haven't thought about my stepfather in positive terms in a long time. but both of them served their countries: when asked to leave their homes for combat overseas, they did not hesitate to do what they were being asked, even knowing that they may not come home. this is what memorial day is about. neither my grandfather nor my stepfather died in combat, but they both served their countries. we have thousands of soldiers who have returned from service and suffer at the hands of a ridiculous veterans administration; suffering from PTSD and undiagnosed illnesses. we have veterans who are still trying to determine the effects that agent orange may have had on them, and veterans who are still trying to figure out how to return to 'normal life' and reintegrate in society while seeing visions of the horrors they may have witnessed. and we have veterans who come home less than whole, missing limbs or parts of themselves, parts of their souls. or veterans who come home draped with an american flag. veterans who are lost and never come home at all.
remember that. i'm a big hippy pacifist, most of us know that. i don't like violence, i don't like guns. but i don't run this country and i don't run the world. our armed forces protect us every day, whether it's the coast guard protecting our waterways and boaters, the national guard responding to devastating disasters within our borders, or the branches of the forces that are sent to protect our interests and people overseas. they do what most of us can't - or won't - and the deserve at least a thought today, a thank you.
thank a serviceman or servicewoman. check out charity navigator's listing of charities to support our troops. or click on one of the links below to give back to the veterans who have given us so much.
***please leave a comment if you donate to support our troops and/or veterans - for every reader that donates, i will add $1 to my planned donation to the USO, up to $50***
happy memorial day.
wounded warrior project
USO
homes for our troops
disabled american veterans
veterans of foreign wars foundation
operation gratitude - write letters of thanks to servicemen/servicewomen
i haven't thought about my grandfather in years. he died august of 2001, weeks before the 9/11 attacks. i remember sitting on our front stoop after 9/11, smoking a cigarette, and talking about how glad i was my grandfather died before 9/11 because it would have broken his heart. grandpa didn't sit around talking about the action he'd seen fighting overseas in world war II; he didn't often bring out uniforms or medals and talk to me about them. but he was an active member of his local VFW group, butehorn brothers post 4987, and was a commander for some years. he was honored by the nassau county american legion as legionnaire of the year 1992-1993. grandpa was active in his veterans groups and active in his home after the war, bethpage. he regularly wrote for the local bethpage tribune; i often would page through the paper and find something written by him, or photos he took.
as a young girl, there were many times i'd see myself in that paper. i didn't realize the importance of memorial day back then. i remember sitting in my grandparent's den, where grandpa's computer was, and cutting up ribbons to be tied around telephone poles and trees to mark the route of the memorial day parades. i was active in the local girl scouts, as a brownie and a junior girl scout, and loved marching in the parades. i would volunteer to hold the american flag, not the girl scout flag or another flag, but the american flag. i took pride in ensuring that i held it higher than the other flags carried by other girls, because i knew it was important that the american flag always be above other flags. i would often meet my grandparents at the community park in bethpage where the parades always ended, and would stand with my grandfather, in his VFW hat with pins i didn't understand, as he and his fellow veterans laid wreaths on memorial plaques. i remember seeing tears in my grandfather's eyes and knowing how important this was, but i didn't understand why.
after i moved away from bethpage, away from the girl scouts and the parades, i grew up. i became an asshole teenager, was swallowed by my depression, engulfed in drug use, and the subject of an abusive relationship with a parental figure. my stepfather was a vietnam vet. he never spoke of his time in vietnam, only once when he got really drunk - he brought out photos of him and his fellow soldiers in vietnam. he did tell me he lost his teeth over there, he was shot at least twice and had a piece of shrapnel he once invited me to feel under his skin - i think it was in his shoulder; memories of that time of my life are not sharp. i remember how important it was in the house we rented for him to put up an american flag. i remember when he added a POW/MIA flag. i remember how during the summer, for weeks at a time, he would light candles under the flags in our yard. i once asked him about it, when we were high and getting along. he said he promised friends that didn't come home from vietnam that he'd remember them.
i remember being so angry at my stepfather; he was often mean to me, verbally and physically abusive. he'd give me all the pot i wanted but i always ended up paying for it. we had a tumultuous relationship - unlike the relationships he had with my mom and brother. as i got older, i realized that he was probably doing the best he could with what he had been through. does it excuse it? no, of course not. but it helps explain it. my stepfather was a deeply wounded man, a product of his own dysfunctional upbringing and whatever horrors and hell he experienced during his years in vietnam. and then, to know what he came home to, how the support for the war - and the returning troops - just wasn't there.
who knows what my grandfather and stepfather saw on their respective tours that affected them so deeply. how many men they may have lost or left behind. how many times they may have thought they were not going to make it home. my grandfather came home after world war II a hero; my stepfather returned from vietnam a villain. they both had their faults - my grandfather may have seemed like a larger-than-life hero when i was a small girl, but age brings wisdom (and family stories), and people's fault lines begin to show. my stepfather may have seemed like a hurtful, spiteful dick who would turn on a dime and be a caring, supportive parent, but again - age brings wisdom, when people's fault lines become understood.
on memorial day, we often wander from barbecue to barbecue. we may hang out by a pool or at the beach for the first time of the season. we have a day off from work, we go to the malls to shop the sales or use the excuse to hit home depot and get some work done in the yard. we use it as an excuse to have fun, drink too much, and see friends and family we haven't connected with since we all holed up for the long new york winter. i was planning on laundry, cooking cat food, and some cross stitching.
instead, i decided to write. i haven't thought about my grandfather in so long, and i haven't thought about my stepfather in positive terms in a long time. but both of them served their countries: when asked to leave their homes for combat overseas, they did not hesitate to do what they were being asked, even knowing that they may not come home. this is what memorial day is about. neither my grandfather nor my stepfather died in combat, but they both served their countries. we have thousands of soldiers who have returned from service and suffer at the hands of a ridiculous veterans administration; suffering from PTSD and undiagnosed illnesses. we have veterans who are still trying to determine the effects that agent orange may have had on them, and veterans who are still trying to figure out how to return to 'normal life' and reintegrate in society while seeing visions of the horrors they may have witnessed. and we have veterans who come home less than whole, missing limbs or parts of themselves, parts of their souls. or veterans who come home draped with an american flag. veterans who are lost and never come home at all.
remember that. i'm a big hippy pacifist, most of us know that. i don't like violence, i don't like guns. but i don't run this country and i don't run the world. our armed forces protect us every day, whether it's the coast guard protecting our waterways and boaters, the national guard responding to devastating disasters within our borders, or the branches of the forces that are sent to protect our interests and people overseas. they do what most of us can't - or won't - and the deserve at least a thought today, a thank you.
thank a serviceman or servicewoman. check out charity navigator's listing of charities to support our troops. or click on one of the links below to give back to the veterans who have given us so much.
***please leave a comment if you donate to support our troops and/or veterans - for every reader that donates, i will add $1 to my planned donation to the USO, up to $50***
happy memorial day.
wounded warrior project
USO
homes for our troops
disabled american veterans
veterans of foreign wars foundation
operation gratitude - write letters of thanks to servicemen/servicewomen
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)