So much has been going on lately, but not much of it is physical - nope, most of it is mental. In fact, at times, I've got so much mental noise going on, that I feel as if my brain is surely going to ooze out of my nose, ears and mouth.
I can't even count the number of posts where I've said I was either going to let loose out here, or had this, that or another subject I really wanted to write about, or that I wanted to post photos from some adventure we went on and...well, it never materializes. I can't get anything out of my head and onto paper - so to speak because there's so much stuff cramped up in there and it's all jockeying for a spot at the front...to be let out that it causes a huge snarl-up of brainy traffic, if that makes any sense.
Often times it's quite literally as if my brain itself is pregnant...11 months along and labor is no where in sight. Hence the title of this post.
What? You thought I was actually PREGNANT? Nope, sorry about that.
The Move to New York
Everyone keeps asking me how I like it here. I don't know. It's white, and gray, naked and frozen. The people move fast but seem nice enough. I am numb to everything around me right now. I'm still unpacking and worrying about the house back in Maine. Maybe when the spring thaw hits I'll be able to feel a bit more of the "soul" of this place we now call home. Until then I'm just kind of treading water I guess.
Oh, but there is this little tidbit...the lake that sits directly in front of the house, in all it's frozen mass, is actually pretty damned creepy late at night. It makes these God-awful sounds and half time time, if I find myself outside after darkfall and I hear this huge almost space-like groaning and heaving sound, I haul ass back into the house. I don't know what the hell the sound is, or where exactly it's coming from but it genuinely creeps me out. Gareth thinks it might be the noise of the ice moving around...or something like that. Whatever it is, it's very chilling.
Gaby
My little ray of sunshine in the form of a curly headed, bedimpled imp, has not adjusted well to the move. She has had such a difficult time getting settled and liking this place. I have tried earnestly to not vocalize or even show how homesick I am for Maine, and I think I've done a pretty good job...but my darling girl says her "heart hurts and wants to go home to the old house, to Maine."
I know we've not even been here six weeks yet and in that short frame of time so much has happened. Immediately before that she had a fairly stable routine and then her daddy lost his job, there was a lot of stress about our home, Meg left for the USAF, her daddy got a new job, he moved, then we moved, Matt went back to Seattle (I wish I could elaborate on that, but I can't...just know that what led to it was extremely traumatic for all of us, but most especially Gaby), then we went on a quick trip to Texas to see Meg, and then back to the house to the continued monotony of days spent inside, unpacking, reading, playing games with mommy and generally being bored out of her little mind.
Gaby misses her big sister in the worst way and sometimes it breaks my heart to hear her talk about her. When she got off the phone after talking to her last night and wishing her big sister a happy 20th birthday, she collapsed into a heap of tears on my bed and the sounds that came out of that tiny body were almost mournful and brought me to my knees with sympathy for her.
Added to all this is Gaby's desire to go back to school again. It was out of necessity that we even had her in the Montessori in Maine. I was still in outpatient treatment and in other therapy twice a week. Truth be told, I should be there again, but that's a story for another day...She misses the routine, the friends, and the fun. I've tried building a routine similar to what she had back in Maine, but she's tiring of it and I can't say I blame her. We just don't know if school, even another part time Montessori is in our budget right now.
Unfortunately because her birthday falls so late in the year, she won't begin kindergarten until the fall of 2011. I'm trying to decide how important a pre-k program really is. All of my other children were in preschool for 3 days out of the week by the time they were 4. But that wasn't my choice...my former in-laws impressed upon me the importance of it. Right now, I don't know if I'm smart enough to try and replicate that in my own home...plus, the big thing that's lacking...friends. Plus...and I'm not bragging (although show me a parent who never says that when speaking about their children and I'll show you a parent who is lying!) or being vain, but she's smart. I mean, really quite bright and loves challenges and LOVES to learn. She loved the structure to her days back at the Montessori in Maine and fell in love with learning French and she had just started tumbling classes within the school itself. Her mommy doesn't "tumble" unless it's going down the stairs outside after a good snowfall.
What's a mom to do? All of this makes me feel quite inept at being a good parent to her. I've been thinking about putting her either into dance or gymnastics but as our budget is still quite tight and New York is not the cheapest state to live in, that might have to wait.
I'm hoping with the spring thaw will come my own thawing towards this place and a renewed sense of wanting to explore and see what's around here. And then with the blooming summer and warmer weather, we'll have the lake literally at our door step and a chance to swim and float our days away...of course, I say that now but the thought of anyone looking at me in a swim suit or even shorts and the ridicule that often accompanies it, makes me fearful that people will pity Gaby for being stuck with a mom like me. It's not all about me, yet at times, it still is. So um yeah, I'm still pretty fucked up. Sadly, it's my kid that's paying for it.
Not all is lost though...
I am working through my issues and battling my demons. Sometimes they win the occasional battle and sometimes I manage to pull out a victory. The war is not lost though and I'll keep fighting because really, what other choice is there?
Along those lines and dealing with demons, a lot changed inside my head after I published this post, about forgiving the man who hit and killed my son, all those many years ago. It was cathartic and opened up so many other possibilities of things I might be capable of. One of those is reaching out to the girl (and she was merely that, a girl), who was watching Josh the night he was killed. I have never spoken to her. We talked to her before we left that evening...we kissed Josh goodbye and told her to call us immediately if she needed us. The phone did ring but...well, you all can surmise what happened from there.
I want to talk to her. I've ached and longed to talk to her for almost 20 years. Immediately after Josh's death her parents refused to let us talk to her. Their fear was that it might traumatize her, or that we'd be angry and she'd slip back into the catatonic state she was in immediately after his death. You see...she saw the small pickup truck hit him. When she realized what direction he had run and looked that way, that's when the impact occurred. I can't even begin to imagine how awful that must have been for someone so young. She was 18 when it happened. I was only 20. Both of us children still.
I need to talk to her. I've needed to all these years. She was the last person to be with my son before he died. My last memory of Josh is of him standing at her front door, screaming for his mommy. She has other memories of him I will never have. I'd love to hear her account of what happened...we really never even got the full story.
Please know I don't want to point the finger in blame. I no longer hold any acrimony towards her. I want to talk to her and hear her voice and have her hear mine...I want my words to be loving and thoughtful and careful. Most of all I want to release her from the burden of blaming herself for his death. I know that burden has been heavy these long years and I think that Joshua's mother is one of the only people that can help her unencumber herself of that heavy weight.
I never wanted to write about this openly because I didn't want my former husband, Josh's father, or my former in-laws, who I bear a great deal of anger towards, to read this and judge me. I also, very selfishly wanted to reach out to this woman on my own...without any competition from my former husband. I know that's incredibly selfish.
This weighs on my mind greatly. So much so that I've begun to search for her. No easy task, that. I only know where her parents were located as of 2001. So far, based on that, my search has netted me nothing useful. But I'm going to keep trying. It's important to me.
Not Quite Darwin Award-Worthy, but Close Enough!
I continue to live up to my nick-name, "Trauma Magnet."
Last month in an attempt to repair the wings on one of Gaby's mini Tinker Bell dolls, I super-glued myself to Disney's beloved muse.
Considering that I have a fairly volatile history with superglue, upon learning of my latest dumbass stunt, Gareth has hidden the superglue and written to the company (as well as many of my other well meaning friends and family members) and asked them to put a small picture of me on all superglue containers alerting sales people to the fact that I should NOT be sold the product.
Another case in point...lately I've taken to eating flax seed right out of the bag. I love the stuff! Too much is a bad thing though, I can unfortunately tell you. Also, chasing several handfuls of flax seed with low carb beer right before bed is a REALLY REALLY INCREDIBLY BAD THING! Take my word for it. Just don't do it. Otherwise you'll be up all night with hallucinatory dreams so real you'll think there's a damned Nazi in your bedroom about to eat your cat.
So there you have it...just a few of the things currently plaguing me.
