I really can;t remember years past, how I felt when the anniversary of his death comes closer and closer. This year I feel nostalgic.
The memories have been creeping up on me.
From the first time skiing together and that first cigar in the hot tub, to our first drive to Vegas.  Vegas was our town.  We had Vegas by the balls.  We would go several times a year and only once we came home a loser.    
I remember the first trip to Buffalo for Thanksgiving, while living in San Diego, and from then on Thanksgiving was celebrated with Mom.
Moving to Virginia was a feat in itself.
First weekend we moved here we got a dog 
That was Ms. Daisy.  I taught her to sit and shake, within 15 minutes of her being home with me.  Since then, she was my dog.  She would suck up to the other family members, but she loved me the most.  Or rather, she knew I needed her the most.  She was always there for me.  After Brian died, she was the trooper and stuck next to me as long as she could before she too had to go to sleep and become my angel.
Other memories, some good, some bad always come to the surface.  I will wake up crying or wake myself up laughing.  I sleep for few hours now a days.  I tend to dream too much.  

I miss who I was when I was with him.  That is one thing I cannot get back.  I have tried, and failed.  When I am happy, I am a different person.  It doesn't matter who I am with, it doesn't matter what I am doing.  I still feel that I am missing something.  Will this feeling that I am trying to capture be the death of me?

I wrote 5 people who have the same birth name as I.  I found them on FaceBook and they are living in the Southern California area, so I went for it.  I am sure that a few of them will think that I am one of those long lost relatives that found out that one of them won the lottery.  Wouldn't that be funny if true?  It took me almost 3 years to write a small introduction, explain to them what my intentions were and what I wanted to achieve.  With Messenger you can tell if the recipient read the message, and so far no one has.  It has been 4 days.  What I want is easy, I want to know who I look like, what are my roots?  Who does my son look like?  Did my brothers and sisters have a better life than I did?  Do I have something that I can share with them, something that would make them happy?  Something that could provide purpose to my life.  I am sure that is what everyone wants at the beginning.  Then once the simple questions are answered then you want to know all of the family gossip and what you missed out on, growing up with an abusive alcoholic.  I doubt that I would share my trails and tribulations of growing up with her with them.  The devil on my shoulder would like to blurt out, what happened in my life and how awful it was, but then again, maybe their life was even worse. I am documenting everything, so I can finish the book that I am writing.  I needed something close to me, in order for the book to be finished.  Something that has a type of closer.  Closer can be meant in so mnay ways here. I mean closure could just be me sending the messages and then the lights grow dim.  It depends on how I feel after I sent them.  When I finished sending the messages to all, I didn't feel a sense of closure or finishing.  I felt like I was opening up a new chapter of my life.  

As the hours go by, I kept a listen out of the distinctive ringtone for message alerts.  I tend to jump when I hear it, but come to find out it is someone else wanting information or wanting to talk.  When that happens, I feel a sense of sadness.  I don't want to keep my hopes up too long.  If the messages do not work, then on to the next thing.  I will figure something out, maybe I need to friend them on FaceBook.

Stay Tuned...  


A Mother That Was My Mother

Since I was laid off from work and most people related to me were dead I went crazy. 
Let me explain real quick about "Most people related to me"

I was an only child.
My mother was an only child.
My son was an only child.

So when I got married to my husband I grew very attached to his mother.  She was a great person with spunk and a drinking problem.  It wasn't the drinking that was the problem, it was the pills she would take that would make her drunk after one beer problem.  Some days she was fine and could hang with the best of us.  She was a great party person.  I looked forward to her coming out to San Diego, because then I had someone to drink and smoke with.  I only smoked when his mother was in town. Hah, it was like I took one for the team, and if I was going to be stuck with Brian's mom, babysitter her, I am going to smoke.  That was the only time that Brian did not give me a hard time about smoking.

She was also my good luck charm.  When we would take her to Las Vegas, we would go off, just her and I. She would say let's go to the bathroom, and she would tell me which slot machine to play, and I would always win, and she went to the bathroom a lot.  It started off as a joke, because I would follow her to the bathroom so I could sneak a cigarette while Brian was busy at the tables.  He didn't really care for the slot machines but loved it when I would win.  His favorite game was roulette and after he taught me to play, the game was also my favorite as well.  When I would go with mom to the bathroom it was my time to smoke.  Since she would take so long to use the restroom, I finally started playing a slot machine while she was gone.  The first few times, we thought it was just a fluke, but then we started paying attention to what we were doing and the type of slot machine, hence why mom would tell me which on to play.  Brian thought that we were crazy, but he liked the fact that her and I got along.  

She was like a mother to me, at times she got on my nerves, as most mothers do, but she was always there. 
Sometimes that was a good thing, and sometimes not.  She has a keen ear, and some sort of trick where she would magically appear out of no where.  I depended on her.  When Brian died, we stayed close, but I tended to pull away at times, just because I was tired of taking care of everyone, and I needed someone to just put their foot down and take care of me. She lived in Buffalo NY, and when we moved to Virginia we would always drive up for the weekend to either hang out, go to a football game or help her put something together.  Before we moved to Virginia, we lived in San Diego, California and when she would come out and visit she would come out for 6 weeks.  IN a two bedroom apartment it was quiet cramped and I was just very happy that I got to get out of the house for work and for school.  Some semesters I was just taking classes so I could get out of the house.  My husband golfed and I went to school.  To each their own, right?

When we would go to Buffalo, mom would always have snacks for us.  She treated Bryant like her own grandson and me, like her daughter.  She did have a daughter as well as another son, but I think she was closest to Brian.  He really went out of his way to make her life better and I tried to support that as much as I could.  Once we moved to Virginia, it was a solid unannounced rule that Thanksgiving was at her house. Brian and I would go up for the entire week.  Brian and moms friend, John, would take Bryant and go hunting. Mom and I would drink coffee, watch Lifetime movies and smoke all day.  Even though mom talked a lot and would repeat stories many many times, I loved her.  Each night, when Brian and I would take her to go out drinking we would basically pick straws to see who was babysitting her that night.  We had a whole group of people that would take care of mom though.  She loved it best when she would come to Virginia for a few days and just hang out. Brian would give her money for gas, and spending money and it was fun.  I remember one week, that weekend was her birthday and Brian acted like it was no big deal. I sat down with him and told him that he needs to tell mom to come down for the weekend.  She loved knowing that she was needed or wanted.  She would then say that she couldn't afford it, or she had all of these to-do things to get done and that she didn't want to bother us, but I knew as she was telling this stuff to Brian on the phone, with one hand she was holding the phone, with the other, she was throwing stuff in a suitcase. 

When she would come down for the weekend or a long weekend, she came prepared.  it was funny helping her unpack.  First off, she took the entire basement when she would come down. She had the outside, so she could smoke, a refrigerator in the basement so she could drink her beer, and her own bathroom.  So she would bring like two suitcases,  Then a cooler as well, for food that we don't have in Virginia. Kimelwick rolls was number one on the list.  John would have her bring deer meat or jerky to us, and whatever fruit or stuff was on sale that she thought that we needed.  

She would always, always bring me something small for my kitchen. That was her thing.  She bought me some of the neatest stuff.  A recipe card holder, a cow figurine, she got me this nut grinder as well as a real teaspoon that was grams.  She gave me all sorts of stuff that ever kitchen needed but never got used. Every time I go in a kitchen drawer, my mind flashes back to seeing my kitchen drawers with the stuff she got me.

She loved her Seltzer water.  Would bring gallons of it.  Because of course, we don't sell it here.  She would also bring pounds and pounds of pecans.  She would give them to all of our/her friends.  I think if we had the room, she would have moved in with us.  I think it would have been fun at times, as long as I could walk back into my house from hers.  

We talked on the phone a lot.  I mean for hours.  Even if you talked with her every day, she would find something to talk about.  I started only talking to her once a week, but the conversations would last for hours, so then I started calling her every other day, those also lasted for hours. It was a no win scenario.  Usually when I saw her name on my caller ID I got my smokes, made a pot of coffee and made sure that the phone was charged.  She would always tell me what was going on with the neighbors as well as the other son and daughter.  She was good at getting gossip.  Slick like, she was always listening to everyone and just ask a question once in awhile and would come back with reams and reams of gossip.    

She was adopted and an only child as well, so we had a lot in common.  I even made her come to my work, when I worked at a school and help out on field trips to the zoo.  She never said no.  One moose thanksgiving dinner she had to make stuffing for 200 people.  The stuffing that she made was the best ever.  I do not like stuffing, but hers I would gobble up.  She only made it once a year for Thanksgiving, and it was amazing.  

After a few years, we had an armoir in the laundry room part of the basement and we finally cleaned that out so she would have a place to keep some of her stuff. After the first summer, it looked like she was moving in, and I swear to God, if Brian hadn't died, she would have taken full control over the storage area int he basement.  I could tell she had plans.  Her mind was simmering, and the wheels were turning on what she could get away with doing.  Those small, harmless fixer uppers, that not too many would notice.  She would screw something in one time.  Then on the next visit she would figure out what she could leave behind because of the extreme weather changes compared to Virginia and Buffalo NY.  I'm sure they were minor.  If we had given her a few more years, all of her stuff would have been moved into that basement. 

She loved being a Moose member as well.  This was the one person that you could count on to help with anything that was going on. Oh and especially after Brian was governor. She would carry his title around like she was the first mom of the moose.   She would brag about it with everyone. She would be in NY or NC, later on after she moved there, going into that moose and telling every one that her son was a governor.  She was proud, I get it, but kind of cheesy in the same instance.  Cute.  I would always walk away in embarrassment.  She always talked about Jewish people squeezing water out of a turnip, but she had some classic moves.  


It's Been a Moment

I don't really know why I am starting to post again. I think my overall goal is to finish writing my book so I can start on my second book. Part fiction, part truths, it will look at my life as an adopted child. One who wanted questions answered her entire life, and rebelled when the answers weren't there. It is a hard road, I questioned why my mother adopted me, if all along she was going to use me as a punching bag to humiliate and torture for years. I questioned why she adopted me if she wasn't going to give me the best life, since she wasn't going to come to a single sporting event I was a part of. I was honestly surprised that she showed to up my graduation and actually had a get together for me afterwards. I did put her through the ringer growing up. I challenged each word she said and I really tested her strength and conviction. I purposely did not talk to her for years because I wanted to hurt her.
Now, it all doesn't matter.
Now, I will live with the guilt of having treated her so badly,
Now, I will feel the guilt of her dying alone, without an I love you, a hug, a touch. She must have felt so alone at that moment. I try to justify it by telling myself of all the years I felt alone and unwanted. The years I spent questioning myself of why I was really here. Why I was treated so badly growing up. I finally had the key to unlocking the answers I was looking for my entire life, when she died. But that key has remained hidden. I think now it is time to start unlocking doors, and finding the answers I have spent my whole life in turmoil for. I want to document it, with tears as well as laughter I hope to finally find a person who looks like me, who has my eyes, who has a sarcastic personality as I do. I know I didn't get that personality from my adoptive mother. I am going to avoid any confusing by labeling my mother as my adoptive mother and Jane an my biological mother.

The Beginning -
 The contents of her briefcase came on a rainy day. I remember the weather being cold to the bone, with rain. It was as gloomy as my feelings. I signed for the box and took it inside the house. I sat down looking at this box for almost 30 minutes before opening it. I remembered my mother telling me all of her important papers and jewelry would be in a briefcase behind her door if anything ever happened to her. It was like the grand prize. My mother died a month after her birthday due to some complications from surgery. I was planning on flying out and spending time with her. I didn't realize how bad things had gotten and once she was in ICU, dying, I couldn't get myself to go and see her. It wasn't a selfish move, it was more that I didn't want to see her weak and connected to machines. I had to pull the plug with her doctor over the phone. They called me at 7:00 pm on a Thursday. They told me that time was limited and what I wanted to do. I told them to go ahead and make her as comfortable as possible and to allow her to die peacefully.

When I hung up the phone, I didn't cry. I just took a pill and went to sleep. I didn't know what else to do. I was in shock. We just said goodbye to my mother in law, and it was just too much. I couldn't handle it anymore. I was scared and I just couldn't anymore. I reached my breaking point. I went to sleep. I don't remember how much sleep I got, I just remember the phone ringing around 5:00 am waking me up. I answered the phone, the 619 area code telling me who it was and what the phone call was about. She was gone. My mother was dead. I hung up the phone and just sat there on the bed. I eventually got dressed for work, and went to work. I didn't tell anyone, they wouldn't believe me. I had my mother in law just a week prior have a stroke, so I had to take off of work to go and see her, came back to work for 1 day, got my son, we drove back up to see my mother in law and say good bye.
While driving home from New York, my son and I both were getting calls from 619 area code in regards to my mother. Back to back deaths. NO one would believe me after everything else I had been though. I just kept my mouth shut and went to work. At noon, my boss called me into his office and told me I Was being laid off. What a way to end the week. I was numb, showed no emotion, gathered my stuff and walked out to my car. I went home and that was the first time I took a pain pill to ease my mental pain and it felt really good.


A path few take

I saw someone today that I knew. We had met a few times, in passing and he was not someone I would choose to hang-out with, and he knew this. He used drugs, I didn't trust him, and he just had an air about him. I was in the CVS parking lot downtown and he walked pasted my car and we both looked at each other, and he smiled so I nodded and smiled back.. He took this as an invitation to come over to the car and chat for a few minutes. He looked a bit defeated and tired, I figured he was going to ask for a ride home, and since it was on my way, I wasn't going to say no. Turns out there was more to his story than just the simple, "Hello". He just got out of Detox a few hours ago. He admitted himself on Saturday which was 4 days ago. He had gone through the physical withdrawals from Heroin and he said the process was ok. They gave him drugs to settle his nerves and calm the bowels. He didn't sleep much while there, but when you are coming off of a drug, sleep is something that doesn't come easily. He went himself, after Christmas. He was sitting there Christmas morning and it hit him, what he was and how messed up he was and he wanted to get help, to get clean. To become his old self once more. He told me of the noises that he heard, while laying in his bed at night. People getting sick in their bed, in the bathroom. You could hear everything. The Detox place was free and he admitted it was the best thing that he could have done. I sat there while he talked and smoked one cigarette after another. This is where his story became sad. His mother came to visit him, during visitation. He was very happy to just see someone familiar and who loved him. He smiled when she came in and they both sat down. She told him that she couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't sit there and support him while in detox, nor support him when he got out. She laid down the law basically and then she stood up and left him. He sat there after she left, dumbfounded. He started crying, knowing his own mother, who already lost one son, just said goodbye to another son. He was done then. He packed up his clothing into his backpack and walked out of detox. As soon as he got his phone back, he called Bubba and arranged a meet up so he could get a bag and get high. That's all he wanted at that moment was to get high. After being clean for 4 days and the drugs almost out of his system, he used. He was so close. One person, his mother, killed any chance of him being sober for the new year. He kept talking to me, kept smoking and kept crying. He talked about his options and I really do hope that he gets to where he has a friend, out of state, and gets the heck out of this town. Most addicts detox many times, so it is not surprising for an addict to get high again, most do. It is worst than quitting smoking for some people, and just being free, or having a phone will give you that itch to use. He did not look good, he looked tired and defeated. He made it 4 days clean and gave it all up within a matter of minutes. A mothers goodbye words, was all it took for him to give up completely. Its hard to build yourself up to beat an addiction when no one is rooting for you. He had no where to go, and had a few plans. Well shall see what happens to him. I hope and pray that he makes it. I do not know if I could do the same thing to my son. He is all I have, but up to what point do you say, enough is enough? How many times must a child steal from you and take, take, take until there is nothing left, before you say goodbye? Family is supposed to be the one thing that stays strong and helps you through the hard times. Tough love maybe? I am not sure. This was a sad meeting between two people. I did not like him, nor do I think I ever will, but after today, I feel for him. I hope he does get away and makes it. The look in his eyes, that look you see when you look into their soul... that look, wasn't good. It looked like a time clock, almost ready to expire. After his mother left him, he lost all will. I don't know what else to say...

Bring on 2016

2016 is going to be the year. We all say and write this, with half hearted attempts of, "if we believe it or write it enough it will come true". So let's all just placate one another and assume we never say this same thing, at the beginning of each year, and then within 2 weeks, it all goes to hell.


Sugar Plum Filled Memories of Christmas's past?

I think not.

There were no sugar filled plum memories in my childhood of Christmas.
Most memories are flashes for me, nothing long lasting or a memorable family tradition. Some years other priorities took precedence such as eating for the entire month, clothes or my mothers booze and cigarettes. I am pretty sure a few Christmas's were tucked neatly away in the, "Let's pretend this is another ordinary day in the household" drawer. 
I remember when we were a family of me getting a record player.  It was striped red and yellow for the top of the cover.  A Baby Alive doll as well, that ate food and pooped.  I look back now and wonder what is so memorable about wiping a butt that isn't mine?


A nudge here or there...

Since becoming sober and clean, a lot of memories are charging at me, questioning my reasoning and leaving my sobriety in balance.  I try not to dwell on these thoughts, I stay busy, I exercise, I go to meetings and I stay away from the toxicity that got me where I was.
One thought keeps I guess you can say, “attacking” me.  Each time I am still, even if it is just for a few seconds, this thought will come rushing at me like a quarterback being charged by the opposing line.  The thought is simple, finish my book.  I do not know why this one thought stays with me, or why it continues to poke at me constantly.  I often forget about it the moment I realize what is happening and I will busy myself with something more productive and something that I have a finished goal for.  Right now I do not need something that I cannot even fathom finishing or providing an active outline for.  It would take me years to complete and even though I have scraps of paper of things that I want to write about or how I want the chapters to flow, I can’t seem to sit still long enough to be able to write a small chapter without my nerves going into overdrive, I can’t imagine a book.