Holding Hands With the Devil

Tonight I am finding myself a little heartbroken. A few minutes ago, I wandered into RJ’s room. She was sleeping peacefully, all snuggled up with her six or seven stuffed animals and her blankie. I couldn’t help but notice that for a moment she looked so much like my new born baby that I brought home from the hospital almost two years ago. Her sweet little mouth curved the same way. Her long dark eyelashes fell on the tops of her cheek bones. Her hair looked as dark as it was the day she was born, and it brushed the beautiful smooth skin of her forehead.

My beautiful, peaceful angel.

And then I tried to remember the times I stood next to her bed when she was an infant and watched her sleep…

There were very few of those tender moments.

I can think of only one time specifically. She wasn’t in her bed though. I was holding her in the middle of the afternoon. We were sitting on the couch. RJ looked just like she did tonight, only smaller. I just couldn’t believe how beautiful she was. So perfect. So sweet. I have a picture of her laying there in my arms from that moment. But it is one of maybe three or four.

That’s not to say that I didn’t take pictures of her or hold her. I have hundreds of pictures.I held her a lot. I snuggled her and smelled the top of her head. I played with her. I sang to her. I rocked her. I did all of those motherly things. But her first year of life was so hard on me that I didn’t enjoy the majority of it. I look back, and it is a foggy, hellish nightmare.

I am and was so blessed. My pregnancy, labor, and delivery were text book and uncomplicated. RJ was healthy at birth and is still healthy to this day. We had a blissful, sleep filled newborn period. But around the 8th week postpartum, something inside me shifted.

No, shifted isn’t correct. It slipped, fell, and busted wide open. I lost myself.

I think it started a few days after Cameron’s great grandmother passed. Unfortunately her passing was unanticipated and she never got to meet RJ. Nana’s death was rather tragic and it took quite a toll on our family. I’m not sure if it was the guilt I felt about RJ not meeting Nana, or residual guilt from my pregnancy. But something started eating away at my insides.

It turned me into a monster.

I became impulsive and obsessive. I stopped sleeping. I started fighting with Cameron constantly. I was so stricken with anxiety that I couldn’t leave the house unless I knew I would be with my mother or my best friend. Then the horrible, intrusive thoughts came.

I was convinced if I had to hold RJ over a hard surface that something would happen and I would lose my grip on her. I would see the scene play out behind my eyes every time. I could see her falling and her head splitting open as it hit the kitchen floor.

So I stopped going into the kitchen if I had RJ in my arms. I started keeping bottles and formula next to my chair so I didn’t have to leave her side or carry her across the hard floor.

Cameron and I had had a plan that I would go back to school after I left work. But I couldn’t bring myself to even think about applying for college.

I just knew in my core that I would put RJ in daycare and some horrible person would abuse her. Eventually I wouldn’t be able to think of leaving her with family members. Not even to step out of the room to use the restroom. I didn’t  want them touching my baby. At all.

Then my grandfather was hospitalized. He was my rock. His illness wasn’t new, but it still shook my foundation. He was in and out of the hospital for months. Seeing the man that I never imagined could fall ill in a bed hooked up to machines was horrific. But I was obsessed with making sure I was with him as much as possible. I wanted him to know how much I cared.

It felt like I was constantly in the car. In reality once, maybe twice a week RJ and I would take off to see him. He was the only person I could be around and not fear but the hospital staff and family coming and going during our visits put me on edge. I was afraid they could see my anxieties written on my face and that they would rip my baby away because I was crazy and an unfit mother.

A little more time passed and I started noticing I had some very obsessive behaviors. I would lay RJ in her bed, but I was certain she had died of SIDS. So I would run in and check on her two or three times an hour every night. I would check and recheck that I had locked the door, the car, and turned all but the laundry room light off.

In the time I wasn’t going through my check list, I was scanning all of the mommy forums online to make sure I was doing everything just right. If I wasn’t parenting perfectly, in my mind, I was failing my daughter.

In the middle of all of my checking and rechecking, Cameron’s father passed away unexpectedly, and I had a sudden moment of clarity.

I needed help right away.

Clarity gave way to fog quickly, however. I became convinced that if I spoke to my doctor she would institutionalize me. Or worse, Cameron would leave me and take RJ because he would think I was just a druggie out to get pills to fuel my addiction. After all, my searching forums and Web MD told me that I was NOT suffering from postpartum depression and anxiety. I was just plain crazy. So it was rational to me that no one would believe me.

The fog turned into a heavy precipitation with little visibility.. We were in a bad car accident. Because of limitations on our insurance, we had to take RJ to the emergency room afterward to be checked out. She was fine thankfully. We all were. But that sparked a horrible fear of driving and accidents.

I remember driving home from Claremore one day. I was just coming in to town. I had to cross a couple of small creeks. In front of me and in my mind I could see myself losing control and hitting the guard rail. I could see my car flipping over the rail, landing on its top and killing us. Of course the only solution was to start exclusively taking back roads to get anywhere I had to go. Driving the highway was just too much of a risk that I was unwilling to take.

A little more time passed. My grandfather’s health further deteriorated, and he eventually passed. I was completely broken. For a few weeks leading up to his death and a few weeks after, I cried myself to sleep during nap times and bedtimes. But I was sleeping again. And strangely I was starting to feel a little better.

RJ was now crawling so I didn’t have to carry her across the kitchen floor. Some of my behaviors started to dwindle. I didn’t dare to think that maybe I was on the mend though.

It took very little time for everything to come crashing back. We were transitioning RJ to solid foods and a sippy cup. She was teething. She was starting to nap less.

I was uncertain of my survival at this point. In fact a couple of times I wondered if she would be better off without a mother who couldn’t handle raising her. But ultimately not being with my daughter was a more terrifying thought and I never considered leaving her side ever again.

We pulled through and one bright summer morning I woke up and the clouds parted. It was like coming up for air after having held my breath underwater for awhile. I don't know what changed. But I imagined some black hole or vortex that sucked all of the negative of the last year up and sent it to God only  knows where.

In about three weeks time, it will have been a year since I regained my footing. I still struggle daily, but not nearly to the extreme that I did. I made it through by the grace of God. But I am now realizing that I was robbed of my only child’s infant hood. What should have been the most joyous time of my life was a walk through hellfire holding hands with the devil, postpartum obsessive compulsive disorder.

And so we’ve come full circle. Back to tonight where I am standing crib side, marveling in the wonder that is my beautiful daughter. I wish to have the time that I missed out on back. But I know that is not how life works. So, I will choose to enjoy the moments I get now. I will do my absolute best to enjoy RJ’s childhood.

Blog Mom, Blog!: Musings of A Wannabe Writer

Blog Mom, Blog!: Musings of A Wannabe Writer: The last few days I’ve been reading the Anne of Green Gables series. It is my most recent old/new obsession. And stupid ol’ Anne, she dreams...

Musings of A Wannabe Writer

The last few days I’ve been reading the Anne of Green Gables series. It is my most recent old/new obsession. And stupid ol’ Anne, she dreams of romance and poetical living. She’s my literary kindred spirit. She inspires me to write sappy poems about love and kittens and sunshine. But if you know me, you know I am a dog person. And that love and sunshine are just not my topics. Forget butterflies and flowers, give me doom and gloom. I can write a depressing and dark story or blog until I’m blue in the face…or fingers. You know, since we don’t write with our faces.

So trying to break out and write a poem, A HAPPY POEM *insert gagging emoji* is quite the challenge.

I just desperately want to write at least one piece that blows everybody’s minds. I mean that in the most disgusting, self centered, and attention seeking way. I want to write at least one piece that gains me an insane amount of notoriety. I want people to read my work and think “Dude, where did this Alex girl come from? Her work, I just can’t even. It’s totes amaze.”. Of course, this will give me the big head, and then I will humble brag to my siblings about how famous I am and remind them that they are butt faces until the end of time.

Is it too much to ask of my brain to formulate words in to sentences that are wondiferous? Is wondiferous even a word? Maybe I should just start making up words. Damn it. According to Urban Dictionary, wondiferous is already a word. I guess I better try harder if I want any recognition for my mediocre at best writing.

Back to this poem business. How do I even begin? Do you actually have to feel emotions like a real human to tackle such writing? That could be the problem. Little known fact, I’m actually a robot cat in a dog loving, human body.

This just got weird. Sorry about that.

I just don’t know how to write without sounding lame…and emo. Everything comes out pathetic and whiny. When I read what I’ve written, I feel like I need to sing it in a nasally voice, while I apply too much black eyeliner and rat up my overly razored scene hair. I just can’t get it right. But this honestly reflects my inner romantic child poet. Could it be that the world needs my angsty dribble about heartache, glitter, and raccoon eyes? Maybe I am at Anne of Green Gables poetical status after all!

RRRAAAAWWWRRRR

Today is a crap day. I started back to school recently. We planned and planned and planned some more so I would be able to go. But, life happens. Daycare fell through. Now I'm having to figure out a way to keep going to school, afford daycare, and go to school...and the hits keep coming. It's been one thing after another for the last couple of months.

I feel so...heavy. Like I am full of disappointment.

I knew going back to school was going to be an adventure. I knew it wouldn't be easy. I figured we would run into road blocks. I just didn't think it would literally come down to, quit school and go back to work, or sell my kidney so I can pay for daycare.

Okay so I don't really have to sell my kidney. That was a little dramatic. But it is how I feel right now.  I have been desperate to go to college for a few years. So I had high hopes for this to work out. And I guess it can. But I'm just not seeing how, unless I transfer to a different school and change my major.

There is an upside to transferring though. I could do business, and go to OSU. Then I could finally tell my OU graduate brother to shove it. That would be hilarious. *side note: My family is divided between OU/OSU. I am a Poke through and through!*

But business? Ugh. I REALLY wanted to do surgical technology. I have dreams at night about finishing this program and going on to medical school. Being a surgeon sounds like heaven. Instant gratification when you save a life, a constantly shifting work environment. I would never get bored. It would be like one giant science experiment for the rest of my life.

But sometimes you can't do what your heart wants you to do. Sometimes you have to buckle down and do what is best for your family.

So. Business in the fall, it is. I guess on the plus side, if I get the opportunity, I can always start over and try to get in to OSU's medical school. And I probably would have a hand full of Gen Eds out of the way. That's a good thing. No repeating comp or algebra!

Hmm. I guess there is a positive in this.

I was thinking of you today.


It's your birthday.
A week before mine.
It's almost spring.
Your favorite season.
The weather has been decent.
For Oklahoma, anyway.
Can you believe how fast time is going?
I know I can't.
I miss you.

It's been almost a year.
So much has changed.

My hair is longer now.
Aren't you surprised?
You know I've always preferred short and sassy.
The baby isn't a baby anymore.
She's almost two!
She's a free spirit.
She gets it from you.

I am doing fine.
And school starts soon.

But I can't seem to get past,
that I miss you.

Two weeks from now,
fills with me dread.

I replay all of our memories.
I listen to your favorite songs.
I remember the last words you spoke to me.
I wish I could hear your voice.
I think of your stories you told all the time.

If you were still here,
I'd come home today.
You'd half shout "HEY! Whatareyadoin'?" just like that, as came through the door.
You'd see RJ and start in "How's my baby? Come see Grandpa!".
You would be so disappointed in the stance of our world.
And you would complain, comically, about something or another of unimportance.
You'd ask for a swig of my Red Bull and make a sour face.
And then get on to me for drinking such disgusting things.
You would rub your face with your hands that were more like paws.
And probably say something like "ooohhhbooyyy" to no one in particular.

I bet if you were here,
We'd be eating chocolate ice cream with chocolate cake today.
Maybe we'd even go to Sonic.
Chili cheese dog with mustard, tots, and a diet coke for you.
When it was time for me to leave,
You'd probably find 5 million things for me to do before I left.
You'd just keeping talking about anything.
I would feel so bad that I couldn't just stay there with you.
You'd say "Be careful going home, and don't take any wooden nickels now.".

Do you remember the last time we ate chocolate ice cream together?
It was obvious you were trying to relive a few old memories.
Do you remember the last words you said to me?
"Don't get old Alex. It isn't worth it."
Mom thought you were rambling.
You weren't.
It was a conversation we had had not long before that.
Do you remember there very last time you held my hand?
I was in labor. You came to see me.
I remember how you turned your head and took a deep breath,
When I told you goodbye for the last time.
You died right after that.
You were waiting for me to say I'd be okay.
So I told you I would be.
I lied.
I'm not okay.
You "didn't want to leave the party".
And I didn't want you to go.
I feel like a broken hearted little girl.
You're the only person who ever loved me.
You're the only person who was ever proud of me.
And I miss you so much.

I'm sorry to ruin your birthday with my tears.
It should be a happy day.
You'd be 82!
You lived such a long life.
I know you were thankful for every day you had.
I'm thankful for those days too.

I guess it's time to go now.
I love you so much.

Sweater Weather and Soul Aches.

Lately the weather has been dark, rainy, and cool. Days like this, at this time of year, bring out the worst in me. But the last couple of weeks have been more challenging than ever. The shift in the light and season means we are nearing the first Thanksgiving and Christmas I will have to spend without my grandfather. It reminds me of a time when I lived in the bedroom next to his, the event that caused me to move in with him, and the many year long spiritual journey I began. I have been reliving so many emotions and memories. It is making my soul ache.

It is a feeling much different from heartache, yet they are one in the same. When your soul cries out, it rattles your entire being. Your very foundation begins to crack. You shake and blow in the wind The rain pelts your skin harder than it ever has before. Eventually the storm settles. But before it does, you to start to question everything you've known to be fact, believed, and thought. Your grief is all consuming. But somehow you find a way to place one foot in front of the other and continue on.

In a word, it is strange.

I feel guilt as well. At a point in time, why didn't I take more control over my life? Why should I be wracked with grief now, when I am so blessed? When I am able to care for my child in our home full time, why should I hurt so? Am I just being selfish? Or do most people go through this period in their lives?

Many times in the day I find my mind wandering back to the day that lead to living with my grandfather. That memory does not hurt anymore. But the feelings and thoughts I had after that day, when I remember them, it is like I am having to shovel through all of that again. I was so alone, confused, and heartbroken. It was a very dark time in my life. I took that time with Grandpa and my self exploration for granted.

That time my was my rock bottom. So I climbed up and worked on myself. I am still diligently climbing and working. This is work that will never be finished, I know.

Those dark days lessened and lead into a warm spring. Four years later that same type of warm spring ended before it even began, and my world grew a little darker. Grandpa died, and now here I am. I am questioning if I had ever truly healed, if I had made any tangible progress, or if time, people walking in and out of my life, and the birth of a beautiful daughter distracted me and masked my struggle. Now, am I building on to my personal hell by drudging up all of these old feelings? How am I supposed to navigate this holiday season without the man who helped me push through before? Am I just hurting myself more by constantly reminding myself that Grandpa is gone? Why am I feeling and remembering so many horrific things, when I should be over that and working towards ending my grieving period over Grandpa's passing?

I have so many questions locked away. I need answers. But this moment in time, this soul aching, it is not that simple. These questions do not have answers. Sometimes we reach an area in our path that "just is". It just exists. It changes what is and what will be and what was. But it is nothing necessarily profound. Not everything happens for one distinct reason. Often times there are many reasons.

I am finding this time in my life is less dark than it is a shade of grey. A transition period, I would assume. But it is difficult, nonetheless. It almost appears that my soul is trying to purge itself of all the baggage I have carried around. As if it is trying to start fresh after suffering such a great loss. And though I struggle, I know I will come out on the other side of this. I have no other option but to go on. Life does not stop here. I have so many things to live for. So many blessings to count. So much of my story is still yet to be written.

So this grey, this in between, maybe it is this way because I know I am moving on. Because I have the answers I am searching for somewhere in my heart. Maybe it is that my grandfather's passing severs all the ties to that period in my life. If any or all of these thoughts are the case, then I know, soon I will be able to start again. To open my eyes to blank pages to fill. To continue on.

9/11

About this time of day 14 years ago, I sat at a desk in Mrs. Holt's 5th grade class. I believe we were working on some reading assignment. It was peaceful in there. Cold, like always, but quiet. A typical day in Mayes County.

But then something happened. One of my classmates came hustling down the hall. We could hear him running. We just assumed he was playing around. When he flung that classroom door open, all color drained from his face despite running across the elementary campus, we knew something wasn't right.

Just a few years early we had a gun threat come across our school. They locked us down in the middle of a lower elementary presentation. A class that held maybe 20 kids on a bad day, was packed wall to wall. Our entire grade was in that class room. The teachers did their very best to pretend like nothing was happening. But we all knew.

And the same was true for this day as well. We all knew what was about to come out of his mouth. My desk was in the front row, closest to the door. So I had a good view of what happened next.

Time stopped. Mrs. Holt stood up from her desk in slow motion. She grabbed her keys. The noise they made in her hand was louder than any deafening silence I have experienced since. She started towards the door. One step. Two. Three. And then the boy shouted "There's been some kind of bombing.".

The room shook with fear. She halted. He just stood there, in the doorway. The teacher staring him blankly in face. It felt like years passed before he explained what he had heard, and where he heard it.

And then, as if nothing happened, the day went back to normal. We continued learning. We ate lunch. We played in the grass during recess. But every adult or older child had worry behind their eyes. When I got home, I am certain my mother explained the day's events as best as she could. But a terrorist attack is not something my young mind could really grasp. Which is strange, for a person living in a state bombed by our own people.

Days and months passed. The radio blasted many amazing patriotic songs. We wore God Bless America shirts more often. The TV showed images of the rubble, of families ripped apart by grief, of workers in rescue and recovery efforts. And my mind still did not understand what 9/11 truly meant to our America.

Flash forward a hand full of years, I stood in an American cemetery, on foreign soil. And it hit me. I looked out over this beautiful resting place for so many who gave their lives to the cause during a World War, and I understood what had happened back home.

Our great nation was threatened. Innocent lives were lost in so many ways. Patriotism burned brightly in the hearts of our citizens. We went to war. We would forgive, maybe, but we would never forget the trespasses against our people.

Today, though it is somber, and the soul of each citizen heavy, it is a beautiful day. We are here in our great nation. We are free. And we will never forget.