Tuesday, April 28, 2009

I am only going to do this once....

And with much shame associated.....

File This Under Clusterfreak

The envelope was quite thin; it indicated a problem.
It wasn't addressed to me, but it came to my house, and it is my electricity now.
I opened it.
My power will be shut off in 48 hours, because the bills he told me he had been paying, he had not. There are over $800 in past due utilities.

I called my friend, sobbing, "I was just feeling like I had it all balanced! (sniff)"

"You'll do it - you will balance it all out - you will figure it out and you will be fine!"

"I meant just for today." (sniff sniff)

UPDATE: Thanks for the comments but no, the electric company considers themselves a little special and they actually CAN demand that HIS bill be paid off BEFORE they will put it in my name. Go figure.


No, I am NOT comparing myself to a Holocaust victim. Context, people.
Former Dh and his sister's mother IS an actual, real, live Holocaust survivor. She is an amazing woman, however her own ghosts have certainly influenced her parenting and survival in this lifetime. I have real, genuine empathy for their family, as second generation survivors of the Holocaust.

Dear You Know Who You Are:

I would just like to be the first to let you know that it will be a long very long time before you see my children again.

You see, I have thought about this for many hours, nocturnal and otherwise, and I have come to the same conclusion each time: You betrayed me in a way which I not only find very difficult to forgive, but also in a way that women should never have to describe against their trusted women friends.
I trusted you so very much; I trusted you with my babies' very lives until you threatened my own.

I could have forgiven the verbal attack.
But you witnessed me being hurt.
You witnessed me being bruised and violated.
You witnessed me being choked.
You refused to call help for me, though I begged you and even reminded you of the number in case you had forgotten; 911.
The phone was next to you - on the table.
I couldn't reach it.
But you could.

You let my child witness a violent act, and you alone decided to let him witness it.
You are a broken and sad woman.

I have tried to recreate a path of empathy for your family; I have begun to educate myself on the second generation Holocaust victims' paths and struggles, and I hope that you can do the same.

I have sadness for you, but I also have fear.

You have made a grave error.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Statistically speaking...this would be a 'touche'

I told my friend that I believe we have stayed together through so much because we had lost Elijah.

She said, "It is usually the other way around. People split up after a child dies."

I said, "I know! I guess we were just dedicated to not becoming another statistic."

She said, "You just became another kind of statistic."

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

I don't even know if I should be publishing this....

I walk my son to his preschool class and sign him in. I have something pink and important in my hand, and I need to show his teacher....outside, privately. Of course she needs to tell the substitute for the day, as the head teacher is gone. The sub turns out to be one of the parents in the school.
They all pat me lovingly, knowingly.

I see a mom - a friend of mine. I try to explain quickly, cryptically, haltingly...
I ask that mom not to hug me so hard on the left side, please.

I tell the teachers what they need to know.
And I walk away feeling utterly humiliated, through no fault of theirs at all.

I walk my daughter's lunch to her room, hunched over. I didn't mean to interrupt the class. The teacher comes out to pat my arm and tell me to take good care of myself. She is 28.

I walk up the hill to the principal's office. She wants to see me. Soon. Am I in trouble? No, I am not. But she wasn't there yesterday - the first day I had to call the school and tell them. I assured them that my daughter was not hurt. She still asked to see me.

I walk into the office and the secretary quickly and carefully interrupts the principal's meeting; she has been waiting for me. The other member of the meeting (and another parent in this small mountain community) swiftly leaves the principal's office, making room for both me and my burden in one subtle nod.

I feel guilt, shame, humiliation.


I don't know.
Because they know. They know what happened. They know it happened.

I don't know why I feel like a victim, but I do.

I share my story with the principal, someone I respect greatly and have come to adore.
She does not make me feel like a victim - the farthest thing from that - but I take note of how I am feeling during this process. While she is grounding me, I still feel stupid and embarrassed.

Everyone around me is supporting me and I feel humiliated.

Clearly this is my problem.

Monday, April 13, 2009

About Which I Can Not Post

Domestic violence.

Wednesday, April 01, 2009

New Post at Hopeful Parents

I wrote this.

Over here.

It's not about dead baby cake, I promise.
Just about dead baby birthdays.