I’m so Tiired.

I put it off for as long as I could, but eventually at 1.30 am this morning I had to give in and admit that I would need to pack. I think this is the first time I’m actually dreading crossing the border into Scotland. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to do this…any of it.  The funeral is 2.30 pm on Friday, there will be a rosewood coffin, a prayer, one single hymn, some music, my eulogy… I’m going through the list with my mum on the phone like this is just another day, another family event to be negotiated. So numb and detached as there seems to be question after question after question. It’s only when there is finally silence that it hits me all over again… this is my dad!

I hate silence. I’ll fill it with anything, stupid things… sometimes things that make no sense. I have lost count of the number of times Gadget Guy has heard the phrase “I’m TIIIRED”, but I know it’s a lot because even he is getting a little frustrated. But hay as long as his frustration is expressed as some form of noise; it still fills the awful silence.

I am TIRED. So tired I’m starting to irritate myself. I slept for 8 hours last night – a full 8 hours. That’s the first time I’ve done that since this bomb shell was dropped. Still, today I was only in town for a couple of hours and I was practically begging KM to forgo the movie we had planned to see and just bring me home.  Weary so weary. The world is so noisy, it’s exhausting.  Can’t you people STFU … I’m TIRED.

Can’t cope with noise. Hate silence. What’s a girl to do…

All I want to do is buy a CD. I’m trying to buy this CD. I need this song… I can’t find it oh God I can’t find it… where is it… WHERE THE HELL IS IT… I need that song… NEEED it for my DAD.  Great, now I’m crying in the middle of HMV… bloody great.  I HATE crying.

Apparently this is part of those life experiences that make grown ups so much wiser than me. You know, I’m not too fussed on being wise.  How about you keep wise and make this go away?  Nope? Damn.

This is THE hardest thing I’ve done in my life …… and I’ve been through a lot of stuff.

Leaving tomorrow … I will be strong …I will be… I…

Febuary 19th 2010

This date will be forever engraved in my heart. I should be sat here recounting to you the tales of my interview and the minor panic attack that I was sure would keep me from ever gaining a place to study, laughing of the experience and letting you know that it will be OK as I have been invited to two other interviews in early March. I should be talking about the week I spent at my mum’s…

The 19th of February could have been a day of celebration, rejoicing and a confirmation of the fact that I am putting my life back together. I should have been bouncing off the walls with excitement as soon as I opened the envelope. I don’t know if the interviewers saw some spark of passion in my eyes, despite the panic. I have no clue, but that morning the postman dropped a letter onto the floor of our hall way.  “We are pleased to make you a conditional offer”… I’m going to be a student midwife. I DID IT… but there will be no celebration.

In fact I haven’t even finished reading the contents of that letter. It’s been shoved in a drawer some place and ignored. Instead of writing my joyful post, I’ve spent the afternoon crying my eyes out as I try to figure out how best to express the jumble of emotions I feel about my father; how to sum up the life of a complicated man in less than 4 minutes. I’ve never written a eulogy, truth be told. When I took up the task, I had to consult Google before I knew what one really was. Heck I’ve never been to a funeral before…

My dad passed away at around 8.30 am on the morning of the 19th from Pneumonia. He had been frail and not really himself for several years after suffering a series of strokes, but I’d only found out he was in hospital the night before and was planning to visit this weekend.  I guess he couldn’t wait for me.

We hadn’t seen each other for several years and the relationship had not been good for a long time. I was filled with anger and resentment perhaps even hatred and not without my reasons, but now I just feel numb… and so weary. Today, for the first time in what seems like forever, I miss my dad. Not the man he became, but the one he was before he lost his way: the image of him that’s been in my head for the last three days… where he’s smiling…  his blue green eyes sparkling… no longer clouded  by grief, anger and the drunken haze.. I have no idea where this picture came from, but he’s happy and thinking clearly… it seems so real like I could almost touch him… I’d give anything to talk to the man in that picture. I’d have him critique my speech.

Yes, whatever has passed between us, I feel little regret. If he truly is free from his afflictions now, I know he understands why I was absent. I also know he would want to take it all away from me the burden of what happened… the fear, the hurt and the tears. He would want to make me whole again because deep deep down under it all, I feel … he always loved me.

My head has been in a mess since Thursday. The phone has been ringing off the hook and I don’t know if I’m coming or going. I’m getting so sick of the phrase “are you ok?”

All I can tell you is that I’m tired… oh so tired. My body is aching all over and I have a splitting headache that does not seem to want to leave. Sleeping is hard and even when I get some it doesn’t make the blind bit of difference. I’m stuck in the eye of a storm and I have no idea when it’s going to end. I’m running on empty. I haven’t really thought about whether I’m OK despite the fact that I keep telling everyone I’m alright.

All I can focus on is what I have to do: how I can find the strength… how I can compose myself and ignore all those who question my actions or judge me or seem to know how I should feel even thought they haven’t spoken to me in ages. I’m holding on tight to the fact that at the end of the day what everyone else thinks does not matter at all. This is between me and my dad. Call it “stepping up to the plate”… being the bigger person… taking the moral high ground. Whatever, forgiveness is the final gift I can try to give him.

I’m determined to make sure the final words said about him do him justice  and I will  lead by example and not get caught up in petty fighting or casting blame because it does not make one  bit of difference now, does  it ?

I’m still his daughter… and I will be with him as he makes this final journey. I’m hoping that from somewhere he will send me some of his determination and strength as I try to give him every reason to be proud of the person I have become.

I’ll worry about if I’m OK afterwards.

Ali xX

So much to do .. so far to go…

Quote: ” So I keep going keep learning… keep trying.”

Annnd it was going so well lol. Do you see posts almost every day for the first three weeks of January and then… nothing.  No talk of the devastating tragedy that is the earth quake in Haiti. No ranting and raving about the new body scanners being installed at airports… and I didn’t even get to the post I promised about George Clooney’s new movie “Up in the Air”.

It all started when I got a letter about a week or so ago inviting me to an interview at one of my chosen university Aaaah I’m so so nervous and I feel like I have so much reading and preparation to do. One week from today my fate will be decided at the very same time I’m getting hammered with college assignments.  We’ve just started an extra class which means another evening in college each week and currently I have three biology assignments on the go and a case study to write for health studies… don’t you hate when that happens? We’ve had vey little to do for a while and them BAM it all comes along  just at the most inconvenient time. I’m getting through it… but blogging kinda got knocked off the radar.

I’m having a bit of a wobble again this week. Well really after I was volunteering at the hospital yesterday during a very sad shift on the delivery suite… will I be strong enough? Will I be skilled enough? 

I just want to support and help I want to be able to do something. Heck sometimes I feel like I would like to take it all away and give birth for someone else. Very strange feeling.

Sometimes the whole thing makes me nervous and that’s worrying the hell out of me. I’m hoping praying that it’s just because right now there is NOTHING I can do.  I’m not trained; I don’t have any actual experiences of being at a birth. So when the odd occasion arises that I see a woman in distress I feel powerless and completely out of my depth.  Hoping this is somewhat normal and that with knowledge and experience it will go away. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll be up to it. I would so hate for even a single woman to suffer a lack of support when she needs it just because I choke.  Or because I think I’m up to the task when I’m just… not.  I found myself last night saying “I just wish I knew I was doing the right thing”…. to which a friend wisely responded “you’ll never be sure”.  It made me laugh but I think he could be right; never going to know for sure if I’m doing the right thing. Sucks, BUT I still feel like I’m meant to do this. I want to. So I keep going keep learning… keep trying.

And I’ll even be back to blogging about it soon…

Ali xX

Getting back to normal.

The good news is I am feeling better. Thank you for the love on that meltdown post. Truthfully, though, I enjoyed and would recommend Craig Ferguson’s book. A lot of the issues just hit far to close to home and my dad has been stalking me for the last week or so in my dreams (when I actually have slept) and a recollection of him awake… his touch… uuugh with him and the memories came. So many emotions tangle together in one huge mess that overwhelms, hurts and infuriates me… and the fear. I’m frightened that I really am worthless as he seemed to think. I worry that other people see in me whatever caused him to hate… disrespect… destroy. I know the reality is his actions are a reflection of him and the screwed up mess he got himself into and never came back from. In my weak moments I still feel the need to shoulder the blame. There must have been something I did, something wrong with me. Maybe I could have done something. These questions hang around and eat me alive for a time till I can get his ghost to piss off again and leave me alone.

I’m winning the battle, but this one thing remains: the urge to drink.  I’m having a little trouble walking past bars at the moment. I can’t escape his genes; my father and I are cut from the same cloth. I can totally understand what lead him to be over reliant on the poor mans pain killer. I know that urge and the mindset that makes you want to drink till you pass out, just to make everything go away for a while. Been there, done that more than once. When I get in this mood its not him I’m scared off. I’m terrified of myself…

Most of the time I’m in control  I can have one or two cocktails get happy giggly fun drunk like a normal person, have a good time and stop. But when those memories are hanging around they get in my head and screw me up. I lose it. I’ve learned in these times I have to fight as hard as I can NOT to touch even a drop… because I won’t stop.

Now some more good news… YES let’s lighten the mood I hear you cry… 

I’ve had letters from all but one of the university choices to say they have received my application and its being considered… things are moving along.

I saw “Up in the Air” this week and loved it so much despite not really being a George Clooney fan. I’ll get ‘round to writing about that eventually. 

I start volunteering with the infant feeding team at their beast feeding drop in clinic tomorrow. Excited about that – hopefully I’ll learn a lot.

Oh oh AND … pitchers and catchers report in less than a month!! (Feb 19th) BASEBALL IS COMING

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m of to bed because I have to be up early in the morning. I’m not a morning person and I spent tonight babysitting a four year old who is an expert in running rings around me and his uncle KM.

 Tired… oh so tired!

Ali xX

Ghosts.

“…speak no more:
Thou turn’st mine eyes into my very soul;
And there I see such black and grained spots
As will not leave their tinct.”
Hamlet
Queen Gertrude
Act 3 Scene 4.

My goal of 2010 with no panic attacks crashed and burned today. I’m terrified. I don’t want to leave the house. I’m so close to throwing everything away. Why? Because I’m full of back emotional holes that are eating me alive. I’d give anything for it to stop. I wish I could just stop. No, I’m not saying I’m about to take a dive off a railroad bridge or anything… but sometimes I wish I could just… pause… feel peace… stop fighting the bad guys… the demons inside my own head. Do I know why this is happening to me? Sure, but I don’t know how to beat it, and some days I don’t think I’m worth a fight.

I wish I could just block it out… a bar… and a few bottles of vodka are starting to look really frikking good. The rational part of me knows I only crave vodi when my head is spinning and I’m screwed up about something. I can’t start down that road not even one step. I’m scared of myself.

I spent the day trying to push this urge away, drown it out. Hell I almost begged Gadget Guy to stay at his machine and call me, frightened to even let him leave to grab some breakfast for goodness sake. I shook, my heart racing, my head just hurting, fighting the urge to throw up… fighting the urge to stop talking, stop telling someone about the things inside my head and just leave. Finally, I feel asleep. Thank you God. I woke up three or so hours later feeling physically well, turned to my usual chick flick Bewitched style TV; something cheerful and fun that I don’t have to think about to much. Don’t need to focus to understand. I watched a few episodes of Glee. Now I can’t tell you if I love this show or hate it. I can’t make my mind up, but I do know as a distraction it worked well. I might have to add the DVD’s to the Bewitched shelf of shame reserved for just these occasions.

I want to hold on so badly: to the future I’m trying to build, to the belief I’m a better than this. I’m worth more but it would be so easy to just let go. Dear God… somebody… hold me and don’t let me go…

I know I sound like a melodramatic basket case with a bad case of the emo. I’ll explain… I’ll try. I want to talk. Tonight I just don’t have the time or mental faculties for a long and complicated story that I don’t really understand….

I’m sorry.

Ali

One of the guys

I’ve spent a lot of today eating rubbish, drinking Coke and watching the game. How about them Vikings huh? Oh and did you see Brett Favre’s version of “Pants on the Ground” which was, I’ll admit was a lot cooler once I understood the reference.  Hay, I live in the UK – I’m allowed to be out of the American Idol loop, even though I have to admit a bit of a crush on Simon Cowell that calls my sanity into question. I went straight onto the Jets/Chargers match up without even a timeout.  After that, I was suffering from a massive testosterone overdose and I had to turn to a couple of hours of  Dress Heels Jewelry and “who are you wearing?” in the form of the Golden Globes Red Carpet show just to remind myself that I am, in fact, a chick. Previous years I’ve been all over the fashion and the glamour, even the gossip. Did you see Mariah Carrey’s dress not quite covering her tits enough to stop me mistaking her for someone who has sex for a living? Do you, like me, prefer Drew Barrymore with dark hair, love that Sandra Bullock came dressed in purple (actually I just love Sandra Bullock… yay for her win).  I’m totally made up that Helen Mirren and Meryl Streep were giving lessons in classy as I think I’ll add them to my role models list. And as for Heidi Klum…well that girl just owns sexy in a way that makes her destined to be envied but never equaled by us mere mortal women (God like powers is the only reasonable explanation, clearly!)…  but this year i have a confession…*whispers* I had more fun with the football. Crap… what happened to me!? 

While  I am not your pink fluffy kind of girly princess  (make it purple and sparkly and I’m so there) its true my reasons for choosing which side to root for this NFL filled Sunday were totally based on female logic. I don’t like Tony Romo and the Vikings wear purple. I liked the Jets when I was in NJ because my brother/dad loved the Giants and I’m contrary like that.   And yet, recently I’m becoming more and more disconcerted by the realization that, in a disturbing number of ways, stereotypically at least, I’m so the guy in this relationship.  You know, the one who refuses to cook, doesn’t know how to work a washing machine, almost kicks KM out of the room when its “baseball time”, can’t hear a thing when the football’s on TV and NEVER “has a headache”. I’m seriously in danger of letting out a belch or two without gagging. if I suddenly start scratching my groin in public SHOOT ME ! 

Before you start thinking… saying KM is my bitch out loud… he is in no way shape or form feminine. Seriously, he could be mistaken for a cave man. Dude speaks fluent grunt, laughs at his own farts and won’t wear pants if he thinks he can get away with it. Far be it from me to insult his manhood and I’d advise you not to do so either, but that’s enough about him.

When did I lose this sense of myself as a woman?  When I think about It, I laugh at the ridiculous notion that anyone could find me attractive and not see me as defunct, broken, useless, carrying too much weight with awful tits.

My body failed to develop any form of breasts. My mum took me to buy a bra more out of pity (everyone else had them) than actual need. She kept telling me reassuring stories about how all the women in my family got theirs after they had kids (fat lot of use that is to me now. Nature is withholding motherhood and apparently breasts too!?) Yeah it sucked, but most people get over it right? Not me. I can’t stand mine; I can’t cope with anyone drawing attention to them in any way. I get thrown off… shudder… and have to look the other way if God forbid KM should touch them even though I enjoy the sensation. It’s nuts and that’s why I will personally bitch slap anyone who says I’m planning a boob job for anyone other than me. Let’s face it I’m fighting a losing battle really, when the pair of us could be the reincarnation of Shrek and Fiona shaving side by side in the bathroom mirror each morning… no, I haven’t quite been reduced to that yet.

I seriously need to… what is the opposite of man up??

Ali xX

Drowning.

I’ve been in a funk the last two days. I could tell you its PMS hormones or blame college or visiting my mum for New Year, but the real story is the holidays make me broody or more accurately more broody than usual. It’s a time for families and so magical when there are children around. Each year around this time I have a moment like this pre-2006 a sigh and a moment of sadness that I don’t have a child to pull close to me. It used to be followed by a hopeful wish that my time would come at some point and that the waiting would be worth it. The whole thing would last a few minutes and I’d go back to some festive preparation, shopping, cooking, or contemplating the standard of decor at the local pub. It wasn’t really a big deal and I never felt the need to tell anyone.

I’ve some wonderful memories of Christmas as a couple: the first time we had to buy and decorate our own tree. That year our oven was broken and the turkey didn’t finish cooking till 11pm, hours after everything else. Once we decided to have a duck instead of the traditional turkey. We named him Larry. I spent the whole day in my PJ’s. We’ve been apart for the holiday; to exchanging gifts in a bar quick snatched moment before we went our separate ways and the memory arriving back at College that first year to see this man in his leather biker jacket waiting for me outside my front door looking a tad frozen. I love Christmas with him and after the last couple of years I’m grateful we’re back together for 2009.

Since 2006 I can’t deny that the feelings of regret have grown. I suppose we always realize how much we wanted something just after it is taken away. But, this year it’s different and so hard. I was always sad for what could have been in the future. Now I’m missing something I want NOW. Let me frame this by saying it’s a completely irrational want. We are not in a position where we should bring a child into this world even if we could. It would be stupid and irresponsible and man everyone around us would be mad as hell… but still… I feel like a kid with the blinkered unrealistic Christmas List… you know the one that reads: A baby. Period. Ridiculous.

I know it will pass. Why is it when you think you’re getting over this thing moving on it shows up again packing an extra punch?  I am at a loss. It hurts. It overwhelms. Paralyzes. Drowning in sadness and longing.

I want to just retreat quietly and take some time to regroup and get my emotions in order, but at this time of year when everyone is high on festive spirit, I feel so much pressure to be happy and not just happy but EXTRA joyful because after all its CHRITMAS.  Sigh… the more you draw attention to the gap between how I feel and how you THINK I should feel, I just end up feeling worse. I don’t want to let anyone down…. but you can’t fix this for me. I need to be allowed to feel it. I need space to wrap my head around it.

I will survive …

Ali xX

Dumb.

“I’m sorry. I can’t translate it into dumb.”  KM told me as I complained that the redraft he had written of my supporting statement sounded too much like him and not enough like me.  It hurt me to hear him say that even though I know he was only joking. I’m over sensitive to these things particularly at the moment given how much STRESS I feel to get this statement perfect. After trying to explain why I was so upset he compounded the problem by telling me I aught to grow a sense of humor. I have a sense of humor – I just didn’t find it funny.

Is this just me?  Possibly. I know now that as a consequence of my past I have real trouble with people poking at me. I can laugh at myself, sure. The problem comes when you attack my intellect, my ability to understand something or my sense of self worth.  The simple way of explaining it is I don’t have to much confidence or self esteem left,  so I don’t appreciate anyone trying to take some of  what I have  from me even if they are joking.  But the real explanation is I can’t register sarcasm when you’re insulting me. I simply can’t tell if you’re joking and my default setting is to assume you mean what you say.  The nasty stuff is easier to believe – especially when those a young person trusts are reinforcing their judgment by yelling it in your face, driving it home with their fists or worse. If I’m not sure what you think of me, I’ll assume you think the worst.  It’s just the way I’ve been wired.

I’m not dumb. Just because I want MY statement to sound different than how you would write it does not mean I’m stupid.

It’s not that he doesn’t support me. He’s not some evil guy. He’d helped me redraft this darn thing three times already. Overall he’s nothing but encouraging of me at college. Potentially, he’s agreed to move anywhere in the country that will let me in to study midwifery next year. That’s a big deal.

Practically he’s doing everything I could ask and more.

It still doesn’t change that this one throw away remark really bothered me….

Ali xX

Little lies and angel eyes.

I’ve not told anyone before, but I believe in angels. While many of you may not agree it is this belief that keeps me somewhat sane.  I am just a mother waiting for her time.  It may be that I am not destined to meet my babies in this life but I feel them as part of me. There would not be such a hole inside if nothing was meant to fill it. My heart would not ache so. I am incomplete, and yet now the dust has settled for a time and I am not presently languishing in despair at the bottom of a crater left by the meteor infertile, but rather standing above looking down as a tourist who surveys the Grand Canon in awe.   I wonder if the pieces are out there somewhere to fill this gap. I can’t see or grasp them.  I have no idea when, if, or how they will appear, but I have this feeling… and perhaps a little faith.

If you believe that those who have touched our lives and gone to a better place can be watching over us, guard us, guide us in the whispers of your conscience or the pull of your intuition.  That one day we can be together again somewhere that neither pain, nor illness, disability nor injustice can touch us. Then is it not also possible that the souls of those yet to arrive surround us in the same way? My children are with the angels not sleeping but rather yet to awake in this world. I would say they are angels but no child of mine would be angelic… and I’m quite ok with that.

Whatever the reason this burden has been placed on me… who knows. I must learn to be patient and live my life in a way that would make my special spectators proud. Somewhere in heaven mischievous sprits are giggling and giving their angel nanny a rough ride… and in their quiet time when they are behaving and watching the goings on down here with that unique curiosity and sparkle of children’s eyes. I shall give them reason to point at me with a big smile as they whisper… that’s my mommy!

I read this poem written for a child lost and I hope you will not hate me for reposting as a woman who may never see hers arrive:

Ask my mum how she is

My mum, she tells a lot of lies
She never did before
But from now, until she dies
She’ll tell a whole lot more

Ask my mum how she is
And because she can’t explain
She will tell a little lie
Because she can’t describe the pain

Ask my mum how she is
She’ll say that ‘I’m alright’
If that’s the truth, then tell me
Why does she cry each night

Ask my mum how she is
She seems to cope so well
She didn’t have the choice you see
Nor the strength to yell

Ask my mum how she is
‘Im fine, I’m well, I’m coping’
For Gods sake mum, just tell the truth
Just say your heart is broken

She’ll love me all of her life
I love her all of mine
But if you ask her how she is
She’ll lie and say she’s fine

I am here in heaven
I can not hug from here
If she lies to you, don’t listen
Hug her and hold her near

On the day we meet..
We’ll smile and I’ll be bold

I’ll say ‘you’re lucky to get in here mum,
with all the lies you told’

Ali xX

Adopted one.

I traveled back to Scotland for a very specific reason. You see,  on Saturday, J turns 60 and I have to tell you his commiserating/sulking at now officially being classed as elderly is at least matched by the exciting prospect of his bus pass which is due to arrive in the post any day (free bus travel for the over 60′s FTW). Now J is not one for parties and a big fuss. In fact, I have it on good authority that he turned down the invitation of a big joint do with his twin sister on favor of a quiet family meal… well family plus me that is. You see, I’ve been J’s “adopted one” pretty much since we met after I became very close friends with his daughter 14 years ago now (wow those years creep up on you don’t they).  Truthfully I’m not sure who adopted who, but I know I’ve learned a lot about what happy families can look like from this family. I’d do anything for him and I know this guy has my back. (We’ll call him Adopted Dad,AD from now on ok ? )

Its amazing some of the quiet most unassuming people you meet have the most interesting lives.  AD’s career goes from Royal Air Force through light house keeper to groundsman at the local hospital and now an occupational therapist working with vulnerable adults with learning difficulties. It takes a special person to do that job and an more dedicated person to give it everything the way he does. Just watching him with this group of lads who all jokingly call him Dad is inspirational. He takes everyone as he finds them and never holds a grudge if one of the guys is acting out or having a bad day. I notice him thinking about them even in his off time, making sure to wear the obscene number plate sized birthday badge (complete with flashing red lights)  to work as it was a gift from his boys also ensuring that a second birthday cake was made specifically so he could share with them. I’d say I’m amazed by his willingness to stand up for those in his care and stick his head above the parapet so to speak when its required but really I’m not amazed because that’s just the way he always has been since I’ve known him.   I am determined to learn lessons from this man:  to absorb some of his attitudes;  to give each woman I care for 100 %  effort;  to be non judgmental and do my best for every family even if their circumstances are not what I would expect or they make choices that I may not personally agree with. I want to be open and approachable in the same way that Jim is to listen and try to remember that everyone has something to teach you.  If I achieve it half as well and this man does I’ll be one hell of a midwife that’s for sure.

Now that’s not to say I’m in awe.  Oh no, adopted is just as opinionated as the man she wished she was related to. We butt heads all the time over…well to be honest almost anything.  I still remember the look on his face as we engaged in our first dinner table debate on Scottish independence (kind of  who the hell does this 13 year old think she is anyway !!??). It’s a wonder he didn’t throw me out and we’ve never stopped bickering since lol. It only makes me respect him all the more. A fantastic sparing partner who challenges the way I think, the things I do… I hope he knows just how much I respect him, that I love him deeply and at the end of the day if I live my life the way he has… if I grow old disgracefully following his example caring for people over things at every turn..  I’ll have rocked at life.

AD (and his wonderful wife , who would be my “Adopted” Mum )  now also have adpoted 2, 3 and 4… having become respite Foster Carers in their fifties. Those are three lucky boys I can tell you!

I have to share one last thing: always making me laugh, AD confessed this weekend that he’s printed out his resignation letter just to have in his briefcase just in case. Looking forward to retirement is an understatement. Of course his boss has warned him she will not be accepting any letters from him in the near future. When he does finally get there I know he will be missed.

The 5 year count down starts now DAD … Happy frikkin’ Birthday !

Ali xX