Today’s trigger didn’t start out because of my Sperm Donor, but something in Facebook set me off, and now that is all that my emotional state of mind can think of. 

I have told you about my dad abandoning us when I was 13, about how I let him back in, and how he abandoned me (and this time my children) again not more than a year ago.  In case you missed that, you can read that here. 

Being a total emotional mess from an earlier incident, I spent about 45 minutes on the Status Shuffle application this evening, and came across one that really took my emotions to a whole new level. 

Never did I think that reading something so “innocent” could affect me the way that this has.  I am angry.  I am hurt.  I am broken.  The wound I have worked so hard to close up in the last year came ripping back open, worse than before. 

HOW DO YOU JUST ABANDON YOUR KIDS?!?!  Your grandkids, too???  What did we do to you that would make you walk out? 

Oh wait, I already know that answer.  Drugs.  Alcohol.  Gambling.  Substance abuse…… 

Mostly it all just makes me angry and like I never want to fucking see him again.  All of which is why I refer to him as my Sperm Donor instead of my father.  He hasn’t been a father in a long time. 

However, tonight I am upset.  Blubbering like a fucking idiot over someone who doesn’t give a damn.  Who chooses not to see me, my siblings, or my children.  Who would rather live out his life (what is left of it) doing drugs over watching his family grow??? 

There are parents out there who are taken from this world before they get to see their families grow, or before they are blessed with grandchildren.  It’s such a waste of space for someone who doesn’t give a shit to be allowed to stay, and the good parents go.  He chooses not to be around while others have no choice. 

Does he remember that I have his nose?  I wonder if he remember that his stubbly toes were passed down to me.  Or how about what game he played with Konnor to gain his trust?  Does he remember what Ariana looks like – it’s been a year.  She has changed so much since then, and he’s missed it all. 

I don’t know where he lives (for sure) or if he ever wonders “Hey, I wonder what my daughter is doing?” or “What grades are my kids getting in school?”  My brother and sister, while younger when said abandonment took place, still feel the effects of his choices today.  My sister has recently started counseling and admitted to me that the anger she feels towards him gets to be too much for her at times.  She doesn’t have a release – just holds it all in. 

Why would anyone want to put their children through that pain and heart ache? 

Now that I have written this all out, I am just back to being fucking pissed off.  My eyes burn from the tears that have fallen today.  The exhaustion one gets from being emotionally distraught has left me with little more than the energy to finish this post. 

I used to be Daddy’s Little Girl…………

Gray Hairs??

What the fack, I’m only 24 years old!!!!

Sure, I have two kids, saggy boobs, and some memory issues, but that’s what comes with growing up.  That’s what happens when you live your life.

But a gray hair?!?! This has gone too far, Mother Nature.  How is this justifiable?!!? Give me 3 good reasons that, at 24, I should be removing gray hairs from my head!

Visual? Okay… After I IMMEDIATELY had the nasty little bugger plucked from my head, I took a picture of it.  Documentation is key, people.  I need to know the day I started to lose the last part of my youth.

There you have it.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I feel the need to vomit and sob uncontrollably.

First grade doesn’t seem like a good time to lose one of your favorite people in the whole wide world.  When you think about when you were seven years old – oh who am I kidding… Can you remember when you were seven years old?  First grade.  On the playground, causing mischief, mayhem, or sitting on the swings alone?  Did you have friends that surrounded you, giggling, pointing at the boy or girl who never fit in?  Were you that boy or girl that never fit in and not so secretly wished you did?

Some people can look back on first grade and remember having the most amazing teacher.  Mrs. Shoff.  She was a true sweetheart.  Since she was my teacher, my mom always hoped my siblings would have her for a teacher.  No such luck.

When I look back on 1^st grade, my friends and teacher are not what stands out in my mind.  The loss of one of my favorite people in the world is what I remember.

Uncle Craig was my favorite uncle.  From top to bottom he was great.  Fun, caring, loving, and he played video games with me.  Most of my memories of him are from pictures.  Stories.  They don’t come from the mind of which I write.  Although, not many of my memories do.

What I do remember is that day.  So many years ago.

“Where’s Mommy?” I asked my father one evening.  His response was a simple “I don’t know” which was a bull-faced lie.  Something was wrong, and I could sense it.  Everything about the day thus far felt weird, wrong, and different.  At the time I didn’t realize that I knew more subconsciously than I actually knew, but I did.

It was May.  School was winding down for the year, and soon we would all be able to enjoy the simple pleasures of summer.  It was a warm evening.  The back door was open and the frogs croaked beneath the clear sky spotted with stars.  A slight breeze floating in to the living room, and the sweet smell of another day passed filled my lungs.

Mom came in after dark.  I was still awake, and her eyes normally filled so full of love told me that something was wrong.  Concerned, I asked her what was wrong.  She could barely speak as the tears filled her eyes.  I sat there on her lap as the tears rolled down her cheeks.  It was obvious she was trying to figure out the best way of going about telling me the news she was keeping in.  There is no doubt in my mind she would have rather kept it to herself.

She told me there was a terrible accident.  Driving home from a bar.  People following my Uncle.  Maybe a fight.  He could have been fleeing from them.  A tree.  They fled the scene.  Left him.  A neighbor called 911.  It was too late.  He was gone.

Just like that I experienced Death.  The cruelest form.  Having someone ripped from your life with no notice – no chance to say good bye.  A horrible accident.  It could have been prevented.

I cried.

He was the middle child.  My Mom’s big brother.  My Gram’s second son.

And in an instant, he was gone.

The emptiness that filled my seven year old heart was a cruel introduction to the world of life and death.  It was also the horrific ending to my First Grade experience.  A memory forever embedded into my memory and one (of the few) that will never be forgotten.

I love you Uncle Craig.  May you forever Rest In Peace.

It has been 13 years since I saw my best friend.   The person that I spent countless days and nights with, laughing, giggling, and doing what typical 10 year old girls do.  That was back when Kitchen Little was cool.  Back when we could play with Barbies.  Back when we tortured our little brothers.  When we were in Girl Scouts together.

13 years and 1 day ago I found out the inevitable was upon us.  Then, 12 years and 364 days ago I lost that best friend. The one person that I really truly trusted and loved. Overcome by a disease that she was born with and had no control over.  Every one of the days in her 10 year life she fought.  Fought for her life, fought against the disease that was consuming her, and fought for her right to have fun.

Cystic Fibrosis took my best friend from me 12 years and 364 days ago.  To this day, the pain is still there.  While most days it is buried in some part of my heart or the other, I am almost unaffected.  There are other days, however, where the pain of losing her hits like it was just yesterday I found out.

My mom told me one day that Becky was extremely sick, in the hospital, and ultimately, wouldn’t be coming home.  As a mother, how do you explain death to a 10 year old child?  How do you, as a 10 year old little girl, grasp the concept of death?  Really, how does anyone grasp the concept of death?  You don’t.  At least I didn’t.  Not at 10.  All that can really be grasped is that soon, that best friend will no longer be able to play with you, laugh with you, or have sleepovers with you.  I cried for a long while on the couch with my mom that night after she told me, because really, that’s all that I could do.

The pain for me as a 10 year old must not be anything compared to that of her mother.  As a mother myself now, I couldn’t imagine what the pain of losing a child is like.  Everything that is associated with death and the arrangements that have to be made is all too much to comprehend.  Plus, this same mourning mother had to explain to her  toddler son why his sister wasn’t coming home.

As of the year 2000, (just 3 years after she passed away) the median predicted age of survival (or life expectancy) for a person with Cystic Fibrosis was 32 years old.  Still very much too young to lose your life.  You see, Cystic Fibrosis has no cure.  It is said that with certain treatments or therapies, and proper nutrition, can lengthen and improve the quality of life for those with CF.  Lung transplants are often an option for CF patients, and while Becky was on the list, she never received her new lungs.

Becky watches over me, my family, and everyone else she ever loved.  She will forever be in my heart, and I find myself sometimes talking to her.  There are times where I wonder what she’d be like today.  In my mind, I imagine she looks the same, though a bit more mature.  Would she have babies of her own?  Would she be married?  Would we still be friends?  She was too good for this world, and was meant to watch over us all from Heaven.

Rest In Peace, my friend.  I love you.

If you want to read another post I wrote for her a few years ago, you may find it here.

Do you ever have those moments when you feel you just aren’t cut out for parent hood?

I mean, I have two kids now.  I have been down the infant road.  This is the second journey, and all of a sudden, doubting myself is kicking in.

All these crazy outlandish things that my daughter has done to hurt herself only happens when I am alone.  With both kids.  After Ariana choked and we had to call 911, I was freaking out thinking that the children’s hospital would call Child Protective Services on me for having objects small enough for her to swallow within her reach.  Thankfully, they didn’t.

Today, everyone is having a nice little nap.  Sleeping peacefully.  Konnor in his bed, Ariana in her crib with me sleeping in my bed next to her.  Two hours worth of golden silence and pleasant dreams only to be ripped apart by a gigantic crash and an infant screaming at the top of her lungs.

I jumped out of bed and picked her up so fast I swear I didn’t know what I was doing until we were both back in my bed.  Examining her for bumps, protruding bones, and blood, I came to the conclusion that there was no need to call 911 just yet.

How she fell out of her crib is almost a mystery, but maybe more so to my “i-can’t-believe-she’s-growing-so-fast” side as opposed to an outsider’s view.  She gets on her hands and knees, she sits up, she crawls, and I suppose this was her showing me that she can, indeed, pull her self up on objects.  From what I can figure, she just pulled herself right up and over she went, which is surely a red flag. 

Time for mommy to lower the crib mattress to the next level.

Back to my original thought, however; this all makes me wonder if I am cut out for this baby thing.  I am seriously questioning my parental skills and instincts in which are used and needed to raise a child.  And, for that matter, there should be absolutely no need to question such skills, since they started maturing at the age of………… Oh when was my sister born?  Tenish. 

Does anyone else have these days where they feel nothing has been or can go right?  I am at a loss with myself, and while I’m sure I’m just having a bad day, this is sort of bothering me. 

Had I been awake, this couldn’t have happened.  If I had lowered the crib when she started crawling, she wouldn’t have fallen out.  What if she broke her neck?? What would I have told Justin and my family?!?!

Time to go lower the crib.  Like, yes, RIGHT NOW!!!