Zen Mama Out

(This post was originally written in July, 2011 but not posted until now.)

There comes a time when everything has run its course. Streams spill into lakes, snakes shed their skin and bloggers grow weary of the excitement that once enticed them to share their inner most thoughts with the world. It has been an enlightening experience, knowing people are reading me from all over the world but perhaps the most baffling aspect, to those that know me well, is why would I share my life in such a public way?

This is a difficult question to answer in a way that anyone who is not me could really understand.

What I have noticed of late, in looking at my stats is that I have acquired a dedicated fan base consisting of people, who for whatever reason, just get it.  They get me.  They enjoy reading because I speak the truth that is perhaps still hidden within their own consciousness.  Then there are those who regularly check in to this blog just to keep tabs on me.

I am after all, embroiled in a bitter post, post divorce battle with my ex husband/convicted felon over the proper means in which to raise our children.  I say it is post, post divorce battle because we had five years of happy, blissful divorce, before all hell broke loose. He is in prison for 24 to 30 months; yet in his own precious narcissistic way, he wants to control.

Thus, I write this very last public post for you, members of Mr. Sunshine's family and you, junior level psychologist who is no doubt gathering her field notes for a stunning PhD thesis.  I have told the stories of how Mr. Sunshine and I met, how it evolved, how it ended and now how I am left with a daily conscious practice of forgiveness and patience in order to survive.

I do hope, as I always have, he has a plan for how to survive post prison.  His plan to survive post Zen Mama didn't work out so well for him, thus felony fraud.  I truly want Sheri, the innocent, if not gullible psychologist to wait patiently and get the life she deserves. But I worry for them. He owes me a large sum of money for expenses I have covered. He will serve more time for that. The Waukesha County Child Support division is at the ready and waiting for his release date.

I want his mother to be happy in her own sense of delusion. And more than anything, I want him to emerge as the father my children desperately need.  During their prison visits, he speaks to them of the life they will have when he is free.  He wants to buy a farm, grow organic produce, travel to Italy with them, learn to speak Italian so he doesn't feel as left out as he did when he traveled there on stolen funds with Sheri.

All good dreams.  All very, very good.  But I was once suckered in to the dreams of a narcissist.  Speak to any woman who has fallen prey and they will tell the same tale.  My/your/their belief in him will not produce the desires for which they inspire. They can fool you for a very long time but eventually the colors will show.

A good friend of ours and an unwilling mark for Mr. Sunshine told me just last night the unfortunate experience he had with him resulted in his sister having to cover the church's debt in light of the fraud perpetrated upon them.

He swindled churches in the end.

But in all fairness, I honestly believe (after knowing him for all of his strengths and weaknesses for so long) he most likely had no clue he was leaving people high and dry.  That's the true beauty of a person with Narcissistic Personality Disorder. They know not what they do. He had done it with our siding and window business in Oklahoma, he had done it with me, he had done it before he met me with a long history of trouble burglarizing homes and cars as a teen in Wisconsin and I shutter to think he will do it again, this time at the expense, as ever, of the endless supply of funding, support and forgiveness from his mother and now of his impassioned fiance who has most likely bought into his story of subterfuge beyond her control for it is shrouded under a powerful Christian banner and she can see his is charging forth to save souls from the lessons brought to him.

If I were to run into her, I would want to know from her professional experience if a narcissist can be cured? Can that snake shed his skin? It is compelling indeed.

I will let others ponder it for now. I am too tired.

Happiness is Absurd and Vice Versa

In Greek mythology, the gods condemned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rock to the top of a mountain, whence the stone would fall back of its own weight. They had thought with some reason that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labor.

Sisyphus, what a complicated soul, destined to toil, day in day out, rolling that heavy bolder to the top, only to watch it fall down again, knowing he would open his eyes the next day and face the same fate. Was he a laborer, feeling as if he ended each day no further ahead or did he find a divine enlightenment in his quest to shoulder to boulder on his shoulder, to prove he was able to harness his strength to defeat the expectations of punishment bestowed upon him?  Did he win? Did he prove them wrong by sheer willpower?

If one believes Homer, Sisyphus was the wisest and most prudent of mortals. Homer goes on and on as to the reasons why Sisyphus became the futile laborer of the underworld. There is espionage, kidnappings, bargaining, deceit and so forth. Homer reported that Sisyphus, the conqueror, had managed to put Death in chains. But Pluto intervened, sending the god of war, who liberated Death from the hands of the conqueror.

This did not stop "the Conqueror" from riding high on his reputation.  He proceeded to get himself all caught up in love and jealousy and shit until he created an insidious test for his wife to prove her love for him. Uh yeah, that didn't work out so well;  so hello, he found himself once again in the underworld. Then he got like totally pissed off by the lack of human love so he obtained permission from Pluto (who is not even a planet anymore) to return to earth for the explicit purpose of chastising his wife.

Lesson I am still learning:  Never allow yourself to operate out of anger, bitterness or revenge.

But alas, once on earth, he enjoyed the water and sun, warm stones and the sea and he no longer wanted to go back to the infernal darkness. He lived for many years facing the curve of the gulf, the unpredictable sea and the predictable cycles of the earth. The god's became angry and a decree was in order.  Mercury would seize the imprudent man, literally by the collar, leading him back to his station at the bottom of the mountain with a heavy rock awaiting him.

It is well believed Sisyphus was a hero as much through his passions as through his torture. His scorn of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life won him that unspeakable penalty in which the whole being is exerted toward accomplishing nothing. Or is it? Myths are made for the imagination to breathe life into them. As for this myth, it is said one sees merely the whole effort of a body straining to raise the huge stone, to roll it and push it up a slope a hundred times over; one sees the face screwed up, the cheek tight against the stone, the shoulder bracing the clay-covered mass, the foot wedging it, the fresh start with arms outstretched, the wholly human security of two earth-clotted hands.

At the very end of his long effort measured by depth without time, the purpose is achieved. Much like the feeling I have when I am rushing to get my kids out the door in the morning; the toil, the sameness and the insanity of it all.  At the end of the evening when the fucking enormous rock rolls back down, I have to ask myself, do we really need to discuss why we put our pajamas on every single night? I have to get up tomorrow because I need to push an enormous boulder back up a mountain. Have a little respect for that and just do what I say..........okay?

One must be careful though for a face that toils so close to stones could become stone itself (which obviously makes me think of Botox, even though it is not relative to this posting whatsoever.)  One must be superior, or at the very least, equal to his fate and stronger than his rock. For fate, stones, boulders, daily mindless tasks are meant to make us overcome our obstacles and live our truth.

In The Myth of Sisyphus, Albert Camus writes. "When the images of earth cling too tightly to memory, when the call of happiness becomes too insistent, it happens that melancholy rises in man's heart: this is the rock's victory, this is the rock itself. The boundless grief is too heavy to bear. These are our nights of Gethsemane. But crushing truths perish from being acknowledged. Ancient wisdom confirms modern heroism. One does not discover the absurd without attempting to write a manual of happiness. Happiness and the absurd are two sons of the same earth. They are inseparable. It would be a mistake to say that happiness necessarily springs from the absurd discovery. It happens as well that the feeling of the absurd springs from happiness."

It resonates with me, these images of earth, these imagined ideas of what I am  supposed to be doing today, just today, just roll that rock and keep on rolling but then I realize the very idea of that is truly insane.  My third eye, the one that can truly see, cannot see past the daily toil to realize why I have been given, nay blessed, with these particular toils.

My kids were recently told by their dad that the bible says God only punishes "those he loves the most". To which his mom, their Grandma nudged him, and laughingly replied, "then God must REALLY, REALLY love your daddy".  Needless to say, I have had some difficulty processing that philosophy.  Where is the accountability for the crime he committed? 

Going a step further, dad tells them of a grand life they will live when he gets out of prison.  He will buy land and begin farming, organic farming nonetheless.  He will purchase a house up north for hunting and fishing.  How will he do this with no money, a felon, convicted of stealing from an employer?  Is it just more of the same, his endless stream of unrealistic consciousness,or will someone step in to help him.  Probably the same people who have refused to offer any help or assistance to his kids while he is away.

The only time he provided was when he succumbed to  a desk job. That was his great burden.

As you can see, I am still working on the bitterness and resentment part but unlike the past, when I have these thoughts, they are quickly dismissed.  I no longer allow myself to wallow in the stress or struggle against the tide for the great boulder has been placed upon my shoulders, and mine alone.  I will carry it, push it, attempt to beat the hell out of it, or find another way around it to survive.   

Caymus goes on to write, ".. there is no sun without shadow, and it is essential to know the night. The absurd man says yes and his effort will henceforth be unceasing. If there is a personal fate, there is no higher destiny, or at least there is, but one which he concludes is inevitable and despicable. For the rest, he knows himself to be the master of his days. At that subtle moment when man glances backward over his life, Sisyphus returning toward his rock, in that silent pivoting he contemplates that series of unrelated actions which becomes his fate, created by him, combined under his memory's eye and soon sealed by his death."

"I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain! One always finds one's burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night-filled mountain, in itself forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy."

Honestly, as I write this, I understand why Sisyphus was happy.  He took the long road.  He wasn't afraid to work hard each and every day.  He didn't desire a shortcut to luxury or wealth the way my children's father did in his pattern of shirking the burden of responsibility, relying on his mom to bail him out and basking in that cross generational bondage that held him to his mother when she desperately clung to the one child she believed would make good.

But in a hairpin turn, with no nod to proper segue whatsoever, I praise my time with him for we bore three beautiful souls, the very ones I am privileged enough to struggle with each and every day and I know, beyond time and depth or depth and time that MY fate was created by me.  

How appropriate I should sit in front of Oklahoma City's sculpture of Sisyphus with my children, feeling futile, knowing hopeless is or could be but a day or perhaps an hour away, if I let it. But these are my greatest gifts, missing my eldest, but with us in spirit. It is an absurd happiness in the midst of the happiest absurdity I could possibly imagine. Can you see it?

The four of us in Oklahoma City, missing #1 Son, in front of Sisyphus.

What a sight it is.

Who Will Watch Over My Hostas?

A lovely man, attorney, good tenant of mine, hung himself on a Monday, March 7, 2011.  He had intended to do it a week earlier as evidenced by the letter he wrote telling me he was dead.  Four years ago, I had negotiated what was to be his last five year renewal in my building.  He had been battling cancer and at the time, he wasn't yet certain he would win the battle. He asked me to incorporate a "death" provision into his lease.  This was not uncommon, especially given his circumstances being a sole practitioner. Should something happen to him, he did not want the long term obligations of a lease to encumber his estate. Understandable.  Done. But did he negotiate that provision with something else in mind?

First, I received a letter from him telling me he was dead - his office had been instructed to mail said letter in the event of his death.  Within minutes of receiving the letter I was surprised to find an email from him apologizing for the mistaken mailing and assuring me he was alive and well.  My response went something along the lines of this....." so happy to know you are alive but don't you ever do that to me again......"

A few days later, he asked me to mail him a full copy of his lease and within a week of that, he went to his basement and hung himself, but not before hand writing a letter to me with date and initial just before he did it.

I have since been able to piece together just a few fragments.  He reportedly was in financial trouble; yet he paid his rent right up the the very end. He left behind two long term sub-tenants who had no more of an inkling of his plans than I. He carefully and thoughtfully placed notes in his house to warn his live-in girlfriend to 1) remember him as he was and 2) to not go down to the basement but instead to call 911.

Walking through his office the next day, it looked as if he had left for the night, nothing unusual, nothing out of place, newspaper on the cafe table, something he might finish reading when he returned.  Law books carefully organized and two bewildered sub-tenants who had leased from him for ten years. They told me how they had been receiving phone calls from vendors who seemed to know of his death before it occurred, just as I had been notified.  Placing the fragmented pieces of the last desperate puzzle together, it became clear - he attempted it once then changed his mind just long enough to unravel the unrest he had sent out to the universe, only to attempt it again, this time with success (so very hard to use that word in this context).

When I held his second letter in my hand, knowing it was real, knowing he dated and signed it hours or perhaps minutes before he hung himself, I wondered.  Had the very act of mailing the letters a second time provided him the impetus to not turn back? He couldn't call me a second time and tell me he was alive. He couldn't explain two such letters mailed in error for an attorney is much too pragmatic for that.  He mailed the letter and knew, this time, he would end it.  The Wisconsin Bar Association notified me before I got the second letter. I had time to question my actions.  Had I been cordial to him after the first letter or had I been a hard ass landlord interested in collecting rent?

And why didn't I take the time to connect with him on a level of which I am most familiar? Hurt, loss, financial trouble, depression, regret?  You've just got to keep fucking fighting the best fucking way you know how.  This life can be hard beyond our ability to cope but I also know when you are done, you are done. His kids were grown, he had faced death once......maybe he came to a place of acceptance that no living soul will ever understand.  Not one of life, but of death.

I will miss you and I will think of you each time I view this property and see the Hostas along "your" front walkway struggling to survive amidst the salt and plow damage from the winter.  But rest assured my friend, this year, I will plant nothing less than a soliloquy of seasonal, breathtaking, foliage in your name.  For I know you were the one who always took the time to notice and care for your surroundings.

Your lessons will not be forgotten.

Even in the midst of the greatest pain, the final reckoning, the encore that brought you back from the dead, you were always surrounded by the bountiful offerings of the earth. Why was that not enough to save you? Why couldn't you hold on for one more spring? I suppose the thought of the rose that would bloom was mired by your own belief that death had come to the vine.

And whether it's a twisted, thorny vine or a Hosta that held on as long as it could but eventually gave way to the bitter elements of a cold, hard winter, I believe life will come again for with the The Charge of the Light Brigade, "....Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die: into the valley of Death, rode the six hundred. 

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.

The Charge of The Light Brigade
Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

Appreciation Revelation

The Commando reduced me to a pile of tears and goose bumps earlier this evening. He sat me down and gave me a five minute speech on how much he appreciates all I do for him, how he thinks I am the best mom ever and how he just loves, loves, loves me.  He thanked me for getting him a dog, keeping the house tidy, paying the bills, the cooking, the laundry - pretty much everything I do day in and day out.  Then he insisted on carrying a load of laundry for me, up two flights of stairs to his sister's room.

Once there, he remained joyful, playing with his sisters (unprecedented), telling them they should appreciate me too.  "Girls, you need to tell mom how much you love her", as he came up behind me and wrapped me up in a big bear hug. 

I was suspicious at first.  Am I being prepped for some bad news or an expensive request?  Nope.  It was real. Complete and total appreciation of me.  After what we've been through, the contrast is stark.  He has not only dealt with his anger, he has surpassed all of my wildest dreams and begun to feel empathy, something I had never seen him do.  The inability to empathize is a trademark characteristic of the narcissistic personality of his father.  Yeah me!  I'm on my way to raising a boy who will be kind, caring and most of all, happy.  To say I feel like I have a new son doesn't even come close to describing the changes he has undergone.

It is remarkable, simply stunning.

Later, as the girls were getting ready for bed, I asked them to write a thank you note to their school counselor, who had bought them each a little bag of goodies for Christmas.  I know I can spin and embellish, edit and clean-up words but this is word for word what came out of their 8 year old souls:

Twin #1 - Dear Mrs. -----, Thank you so much! I loved the gingerbread pal. I wish I had one billion more left! One more thank you for always being there for me and my sister.  I use the crayons and activity book all the time. I hope u have a very fun 2011.  With love.  (Then she drew a picture of the counselor giving the gift bag to her).

Twin #2 - Dear Mrs.------, Thank you so, so, so much.  I love all the gifts. I think it was really nice of you to think of me when I was sick (she was out that day with a stomach flu). If there is anything I can do in return, just call.  Merry Christmas and happy new year!

And believe me when I say, if the school counselor ever needed something from either of these girls, all she would need to do is call.

My heart if filled with love and appreciation for these children and for the opportunity I have been given to change the course of their lives; to allow the true-self of an angry little boy to emerge and shine. Contrast the happy tears from earlier tonight with the tears from just over a month ago as I watched him cave into his rage and I worried I might have lost him forever. He once was lost, but now he is found.  I'm dying to get to know him as he excitedly prepares for his first band concert, slowly opens up to his sisters and becomes all that he was meant to be.

Those things, you know the ones, that just keep happening for a reason, which seem really, really bad, like you're not sure you're going to survive them but then you do and you realize they were sent to you as a gift are truly amazing, aren't they? I know I am appreciating the hell out of them right about now. I am visualizing a shower of appreciation blanketing our little yellow cape cod with a light dusting of snow falling ever so softly just outside my window.

How to Save a Life - Part One

Many have speculated.  There has been much conjecture among the ranks. What happened to The Commando? Why did he miss school for a full week? Only a handful of people know the truth. I have sought to protect him; yet I realize what happened to him was a normal reaction to the circumstances of his life.

He was targeted, even as a toddler by his dad who was intensely jealous and insecure about the allegiance his son might possibly form with me. God forbid, a child should bond with his mother. It drove him insane when the wee child was sick and called for his mommy.  I remember him pulling my precious baby off my chest in an effort to dissuade him from needing me.  It went back to his own perverse childhood where he and his siblings were placed in the care of an unstable grandmother while his mom pursued her life goals. His older half-sister was selected by the drunken grandmother and repeatedly told her mother didn't love her.  Later, he and his sister were forced to choose sides in a bitter custody battle between his dad and mom. No coincidence, his older half-sister ended up in prison as well.

I knew what was behind his sickness, but he didn't.  When our son was a baby, Dad was busy cavorting about, having multiple affairs, impregnating an underage drug addict and running our business into the ground.  There came a point when I  discovered these affairs, I cut him lose, changed the locks, set his things in the front yard and told him to enjoy the fruits of his labor.

The separation seemed to force him to one of those crucibles in life. He wanted us, he wanted our family, he wanted to come back and make things right. The crack whore had an abortion and the yellow pages sales woman with the enormous fake breasts was summarily dismissed and he turned his life over to God.  But, we needed a change.  Let's break all these ties and move to Wisconsin.

Once we settled in, we became active in a local church, he enrolled in college full time (in spite of the fact I had just given birth to our twins and was trying to hold down my full time job) and he began to work his way into the ultra conservative, in your face, anti-everything-I-stood-for-political arena.  At the age of three, he had our son wearing Bush tee shirts and telling all of his preschool friends how his dad was going to go out into the world to defeat all those bad people who wanted to hurt daddy, i.e., the Democrats.

He surreptitiously spun tales of these criminals who wanted to take daddy's money away.  He twice ran for office, sending our son off to school on election days to tell everyone how his daddy was going to win; 100% certain his dad would win against those vile, monstrous Democrats. Can you imagine what his teachers must have been thinking? Then the little guy would come home to find out the world was not going to be saved because daddy lost. Does this mean the bad guys are going to take our money, daddy? Seriously, who does this to a child?

I didn't truly understand the depths with which he would go until I found out he convinced our son to switch his loyalties from the Packers to the Vikings soon after Brett Favre began wearing a purple jersey.  How can you be a life long Packer fan, then switch over to the sworn enemy then have the moral ineptitude to express that to your son as if it were the law?  Everything with Troy (Mr. Sunshine) was the law, in the eyes of his impressionable son.  The son he fought so hard to win over, he was even willing to tell him horrible tales of how his mom left him/them, didn't love him and how daddy would be the only person he could ever count upon subsequent to our split.

The manipulation had no end and the devastation on this impressionable, trusting young man had no end when the hero he knew as his father was convicted of felony fraud and sent to prison for two and a half years. Who are the bad guys again, daddy?

The little guy's counselor and I knew he was repressing his feelings, staying tough, being a strong guy, acting as if this had no real effect on him.  Yet on the Tuesday night before the Thanksgiving holiday, after a counseling session where he was asked to focus on his feelings and deal with his grief, he exploded.  I had made spaghetti and meatballs for dinner with garlic bread and broccoli.  All things he loved.  He walked into the kitchen and told me if I didn't make something else for him, something more along the lines of REAL food, something he could actually eat, he would tear our house apart and hurt both me and his sisters.

I immediately phoned the counselor to see what they had talked about that day.  As I was speaking to her, he was running through the house, demanding I go get him some food, knocking everything over he could find, breaking doors, pounding fists into the wall.  He wouldn't let me hold him, he wouldn't let me reach him.  I knew what was happening, the lid had finally blown off the pressure cooker and the anger had surfaced.  The counselor told me to take him to a behavioral unit for the treatment of children but I refused. 

We continued through Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday with virtually the same behavior the entire time.  Even inviting his best friend's family over to celebrate Thanksgiving with us resulted in a refusal to wait for the prayer, a demand for rolls before anyone had been served and later, a fight with his buddy that ended with a precious painting by my dead brother being destroyed as he unleashed his anger on his best friend. By Sunday night, I had had enough.  I told him he needed help beyond what I could give him, he needed a higher level of care.  He responded with the same abject tone and vicious stare he had used on me for days....."you don't have the guts to take me there. I'll put my shoes on right now, let's go, let's see if you will really do it because I don't think you will.  I don't think you have it in you to do that.  C'mon, I dare you. I'm ready to go.  I will go anywhere to get away from you."

Summoning all my strength, I made up my mind.  If I call him on this.  If we get in that car, there is no turning back.  He is hurting and he won't let me help him; in fact, he is blaming his hurt on me.  I found that fortitude that comes from being a mom, the one where you are willing to put them through something painful to bring them back to you.  Just like the hernia operation when he was a baby, or fighting against their dad to have the girls get tubes in their ears to stop chronic infections.  A mother knows when it is time to take evasive measures. A mother knows when it is time to call in the Calvary and save their child.

But a mother could have never imagined the depths of pain she would experience in watching three men: An orderly, a nurse and a security guard, carry her baby boy away while hearing him wail for her to stop them and just take him home.  "I will be good now I promise, I will be okay, I didn't mean all those things I said, just take me home mommy, please don't leave me here."

Another nurse pulled me aside and watched as I fell to my knees, begging her to let me take him home.  She reminded me of the anger he had built inside of him as she grabbed my face, pulled it up, wiped my eyes and said, "you're doing the right thing.  If you don't intervene now, you will never be able to reach him when puberty hits.  This IS THE TIME to save him and you are strong enough to do it."

This was the same nurse who had interviewed us previously, a woman who had shocked me with her ability to write, as she didn't have any hands.  It was those very gentle, yet highly effective hand-less stubs,  placed upon my cheeks that allowed me to stand back up and face my own reality. I don't think I would have listened to any other person at that moment.  Only someone I knew had faced and overcome great challenges of her own had the power to lift me up.

But the next day, I stormed in there will my full will and might and demanded my son be released, after I discovered what they had done to him.

(To be continued)

Dear Linda, Part Deux

I just checked my stat page and realized you are reading me, or spying on me, at least twice a day lately. Since we don't speak otherwise, I will address you here.

I had a wonderful session with my therapist today.  This is the therapist I found to help me deal with all that is happening to me right now, including my decision to not drink anymore.  I asked her to help me figure out why I have so much anger toward you and your son.  I don't like anger, I don't function well with hate.  I believe both will eat away at your soul and prevent you from achieving God's plan for you life.  Kind of like poisoning yourself and waiting for the other person to die.

She told me I have every reason to be angry. I'm sure your son tells you he has always taken care of his responsibilities to his children but I have a very large document and a court ordered judgment that proves otherwise. He owes me a lot of money for the things I have covered over the years.  I would love to show it to you as I'm sure you experienced much of the same with your exes. You must be able to relate and yet, your love for your son has you sitting idly by with blinders on.

I will be struggling to make ends meet while your son is in prison. I have to tell the kids we cannot have the things, do the things, we used to do.  I have to tell the girls, they will not get their orthodontics.  By the way, very mature of you to tell them their mom should just take out a loan.  The loan payment for three sets of orthodontics is $650 per month.  Exactly where do you think I will get that money? Again, I know you have seen their teeth.  This is not purely cosmetic.  They do not have room for their adult teeth to come in.

Yet, here you are, living your life, planning your vacations and expecting things to go on as normal for you. I will not stand in the way of you taking the kids to see their dad, I will give it my best to act like I have some modicum of respect for you, but I am putting you on notice - when these kids grow up and see the sacrifices I had to make, while their dad didn't pay for their medical bills, counseling and school expenses; and when they see that Grandma didn't help because she was too busy traveling, paying legal fees for their dad or saving for her retirement in Panama, then I will no longer stand up for you.

I went to my therapist today with anger and she told me it was okay to be angry.  I deserve the anger.  Yet, the anger is a mask, my mask. It's nearly Halloween after all so it seems appropriate. I can't begin to accept the fear of living in Wisconsin, with no family, trying to raise these kids to be healthy and happy and understand the most important values in life while their dad is in prison, we are struggling and there is nobody to help us.  God knows Jennifer can't stand on her own so she has to be supported by his dad - but what about us?  Where do we fit in?  Do you people think so highly of me that you know I will find a way to make ends meet or do you understand how dire this situation is, or like Troy, do you just not give a damn what happens to us?

I will have transportation arranged for Troy on the day of his release.  He will be taken to the Waukesha County jail.  My therapist gave me the courage when I told her I didn't like being a hard ass.  She said I have to do this for my kids.  I will keep him in jail as long as it takes so I suggest you get together with your family and figure out a way to help us out.  I'm not asking for full payment, just enough to help us survive while he is away.  If you don't, it will be much longer than 30 months before you see him again.  Not a threat, just reality as the court has ordered. He will pay for this crime just as sure and swiftly as he will pay for the other.

And THAT is fear, masquerading as anger. Happy Halloween.

Sorry readers, but the Zen in Zen Mama is taking a break. I am a work in progress.  

And Justice Was Served

We arrived in court Monday morning, expecting it to be a short hearing in front of the judge to report on the status of our mediation. It was scheduled just prior to lunch; thus, my attorney shot down my expectation of a ruling. She said we should expect around 15 minutes.

For over an hour, the Honorable Judge Linda Van de Water sat and listened while simultaneously pouring over the fifty plus pages of copiously detailed documentation. She questioned Mr. Sunshine as to each specific area of expense and why he thought he didn't need to pay for it.  She listened to his excuses, his outright lies and his impenetrable fortress known as Troyland, the world in which he lives.

This particular judge has recently transferred to family court after a career spent in the criminal court system. She has a very low tolerance for people who do not accept responsibilities for their actions, people who refuse to see how their decisions affect others and people who are, well let's just say it like it is, criminals.

She finally broke when she noticed on his notes, he had written that he refused to pay for our son's broken retainer because it was not specifically broken at his home, but rather at school.  She interrupted his per se arguments to let him know exactly what she thought of  him. She told him she had heard enough of his excuses as it was abundantly clear he had an excuse for everything. The only excuse she bought was that he is a sorry excuse for a man who had "obviously caused nothing but heartache for me and for his children over the past five years" and she ruled in a way that said to the world, "your actions, your choices, do not diminish the responsibilities you have for your children".  Here sir, may I present to you your ass, on a silver platter.

She not only awarded me every cent of his share of past medical bills, counseling bills, hospital bills, orthodontic treatment and school fees but she went on to require him to pay 100% of the legal fees I had to incur in pursuing him. As if that wasn't enough, she asked my attorney how much she would be billing me for her services that very morning so she could add that in. She noted that he had never paid me the $5,000 he owed me from the sale of our home. I'm certain she took into account the fact that he had stolen $1.3 million dollars and still didn't pay me when he was out buying Cadillacs and taking three week cruises with his fiance around the Mediterranean.

Yes, Judge Van de Water did not like Mr. Sunshine. He now owes me approximately $16,000, which must be paid in thirty days or he goes to jail.  But wait, he will already be in jail.  Hmmmm.  How does THAT work? If he doesn't pay it by the time he gets out of jail, he goes right back in, except this time it won't be a federal prison "camp". It will be Waukesha County jail.  I hope he hones his prison skills before he faces county lock-up.

He further embarrassed himself in court by mentioning the handwritten counter-suit he had filed that very morning, asking me to appear in court to have our arrangement amended for me to be responsible for 100% of the kids expenses while he is up the river for the next 30 months. The judge would not hear his argument as this filing was not before her court; however, I'm certain she used that as one more weapon in her arsenal when she rendered her judgment.

I have a friend who graduated from MIT with a masters in mathematics. He is a veritable math savant, making him a high income earner. Yet, when he went through a divorce here in the state of Wisconsin, he had temporarily lost his job (through no fault of his own). He proposed to the court his intent on becoming a high school math teacher. He had always dreamed of using his talents to teach others. He spent hours volunteering at his son's school to facilitate this passion. He envisioned a life where he could teach during the school year and spend all summer with his two boys, being with them full time during their days with him. Noble right?

The court ruled that he was not allowed to pursue this most benevolent of ventures because he had proven his earning potential in the corporate world and his ex wife was accustomed to that level of living.  Therefore, he would be required to jump back on the corporate treadmill, denying countless high school children his gift, denying his children the precious time he could have given them, and denying himself of the dream he had carried throughout his lifetime. He ended up being a guest on the Dr. Phil show in an episode about men losing their rights in a divorce.

Contrast that to a man who lost his job during our divorce but chose not to look for another job, starting what was the second or third of many failed business ventures. He needed to do that in order to allow him the freedom to run for the state Assembly position he was pursuing. He lost that race of course, and stayed true to his pattern of ending up broke and without resources yet again.  That's when he went to work for the employer he would eventually steal from and well, the rest of the story you know.

The court system denied a man wanting to downgrade his earning potential for the benefit of thousands. What do you think they (the former criminal court judge) thought of Mr. Sunshine and his excuse that he would no longer be able to earn at the rate commensurate with his history due to the fact that he chose to commit a felony crime? She ruled that he would be responsible to pay child support to me based on his full earning potential for each and every month he is away, I am to receive $1,500.

What? You mean I won't have to deny the kids their orthodontic treatment or rip them out of their schools because I can't afford to hire someone to pick them up everyday?  You mean I will be able to pay for full time child care during the summers and perhaps even take them on a family vacation? You mean I won't have to explain away Christmas presents and birthday parties and dinners out and new video games because I won't be struggling to pay the bills and keep a roof over our heads for the next two and a half years?

What a relief that is. What a blessing that is. Yes, it appears justice was served.

Those of you who have read the annuls of Mr. Sunshine know he will find a way to avoid paying me this money.  He acknowledges most of what he owes, yet he came to mediation with a settlement offer of $300 for half of our son's orthodontic down payment and another $300 to pay for his school lunches for the remainder of the year. It was a gesture of yes, I know I didn't pay you for half of our daughter's hospital bills but oh well, guess I just don't have the money, sorry. It's $600, take it or leave it.

Bite me.  Try $16,000 on for size.

His is in the process of selling his cars and his furniture, he will receive a security deposit back on his rental, he will continue to have meetings to keep his business generating revenue, he will drain his mother for legal fees and cell phones and probably even channel money to his church but will he, they (he and his mother who travels the world on extravagant summer vacations) give one thought to providing for his children? Well, you be the judge.

I'm done Mr. Sunshine. Your new home away from home, Waukesha County jail, awaits.






(To see all posts related to Mr. Sunshine, click on the "Mr. Sunshine with a Chance of Pain", link below.)

Dear Linda

I'm writing this blog for you, to you.  I know you check this site everyday - sometimes two to three times. I think you may be unfairly altering my stats with your predictable daily checks of the happenings around here.  I remember when I was married to your son.  I called you and asked you to meet me for lunch to discuss how he was running up debt on credit cards you provided him.  I told you how hard it was for us to make ends meet; yet you allowed him to charge home improvement supplies we couldn't afford when Danny was in town.  This was after I told you of the dire circumstances. You have always done everything and anything he asks of you.

I know you carry your son's burdens - far beyond that which would be expected of a mom.  He's 34 and his cell phone is still in your name.  I mean come on.  He stole $1.1 million dollars from his employer, he's going to jail for two and a half years. I can't imagine what your pain must be. It must be somewhat analogous to mine as I endeavor to raise these children to be healthy and happy in spite of his actions.We are two moms in a sobering amount of turmoil right now. You, having the second of four children go to jail, and me, having the misfortune of having been married to the second of those children.  

In case you haven't already picked up on the subtle nuances, I am angry. This is what I do. I have to process the rage first.  Then, eventually the exasperation will inspire me to step up and take whatever actions are necessary to secure the well being of my family.  I left your son for that very reason.  He ushered me into bankruptcy, ruining my credit with the business venture in OKC, then brought me to Wisconsin with the promise of working "a real job" provided him by Vic, at your beckoning. He lost that job due to his political ambitions and nearly bankrupted us again in the effort.  The details of his numerous affairs with young political staffers is irrelevant to this plea.  I let him keep the house after our divorce, knowing he would default on the loan in my name and he did.

At some point, I realized I had to take my steady paycheck and run. Ironically, you did the same, leaving your first and second husbands to educate yourself and rise above the northern Wisconsin stereotype.  If I had stayed, he would have taken everything again.  And by golly what do you know, it actually happened with his choice to steal, start another company, then oops, get caught.  But hear me when I say, the time has come to realize you are not serving his needs.  Does he really need a cell phone, or would those dollars be better served paying for Lauren's hospital bills?

I'm certain he is feeding you yet another line, in a long, long line of bullshit.  Just as he did when he was out charging up debt we couldn't afford.  He owes me $10,915 in expenses I have covered over the last five years.  I have been able to cover them because we've shared joint custody.  Now that he is going to federal prison (summer camp), we cannot survive without being reimbursed.  The kids have an appointment next Tuesday to install their orthodontics.  His share is $3,650 (with reasonable financing options). He says he's not in a position to handle it right now.  I suppose that means straight teeth are a luxury, not a necessity. You've seen their teeth, right? Should a 6th grade boy really have to go through middle school with a pointy bird-like took stuck up above the rest of his teeth? I can't pay for this on my own.

We are going to court next Friday.  He sees this as me kicking him when he is down.  I see it as a woman fighting to survive and provide for her children, your grandchildren, for the next two and a half years.  I cannot continue to allow him to pretend to be a father without any financial responsibilities. 

I truly want to have a relationship with you and the rest of the family, especially while he is away. But, if you allow him to continue to deny his responsibilities for his children when you so willingly purchased new wood floors and pedestal sinks we didn't need, then I need to inform you of one thing.  I am in survival mode, and I will do whatever I need to do to protect and serve these children. I want you to step up, cut him off and channel those funds to us. I thought he had received his wake up call with his sentencing, but apparently he did not pick up the phone.

I hope you will. It is my sincerest desire and fondest wish to write a post about two strong women who came together in a time of adversity and made sense out of the senseless.

If You Lie to Them, I Will Cut Your Balls Off and Feed them to the Bunnies in my Yard….Then, I Will Tell Them the Truth

The Commando was telling me an interesting story the other night. He is worried about his dad. He doesn’t understand why his dad won't give up on this whole cell phone recycling venture and get a real job with a paycheck.

He knows his mom has a career where they actually pay her money to do work. He wants that for his dad. He can see him struggling financially and he wants him to be secure.

When the little guy brings these concerns to his dad, he is told daddy likes what he does. He feels it is important and he has invested too much time and money in it to give it up now.  He is told daddy plans to save the world one cell phone at a time, even if it means he might one day get into trouble for it.

My 11 year old, freckle-faced child proceeded to tell me it is possible for his dad to receive stolen phones and not know they are stolen. Sometimes, when you’re a "middle man", he says, you can get into trouble when you actually did nothing wrong. “Mom, I don’t understand why dad won’t give this up if there’s a chance he could go to jail.”

The bastard is making up a bed of lies and asking all of my kids to nestle up all safe and cozy underneath the covers of darkness and deceit.

I  have spoken to the US Attorney who is prosecuting Mr. Sunshine's Case. Next week, he will be entering a guilty plea. A sentencing hearing will then be set for later this summer.The US Attorney tells me to prepare the children for their dad to go to jail.

Their dad tells me the company he stole from actually made money from the phones he took as they have been activated by thousands of people, creating new revenue for them. They should be thanking him.  They should give him a commission and a pat on the back for a job well done.  They should not send him to jail. See case study – Narcissist 101.

Meanwhile, as the days pass by in a twisted, anxious blur, I attempt to think the unthinkable. How do I keep these kids whole and healthy when their super strict, church going, Jesus loving, ultra conservative, saint of a father goes to jail?

And now, I have to figure out how to tell them the truth when/if he leads them to believe daddy was an innocent pawn in a twisted scheme to defraud. I will tell them the truth. I will get them help. I will not have them find out from somebody else and have their world collapse unexpectedly.

But first, I will give him a chance to man up, tell them the truth and keep his balls because I hear he’s going to need them where he’s going.

Pain is Inevitable, Suffering is Optional

I went to work today after dropping the kids off with their dad. He seemed perfectly ordinary; nothing unusual struck me about him. Same ol' Mr. Sunshine, with a chance of pain.

Later in the day, I was met at the copy machine and given a loving hug from one of my best friends. She is prone to spontaneous hugs so I didn't think much of it but then she looked at me so sympathetically,  like my puppy had just died. With her head tilted and her face very close to mine she asked if I was okay? Sure, I said. I’m fine, why do you ask?

“Mr. Sunshine was on the local news this morning; he has plead guilty to the charges pending against him. He’s going to jail for four years”.

And I thought last week was bad.

I had one of those moments this past Friday night when all the emotional stress I had been carrying all week came flooding out in an utterly defeated, ready to give up kind of way. It was a span of darkness. There had been a car accident, a girlfriend’s life shattered by a revelation, more layoffs at work, announcements of financial trouble for one of our sister companies and I had PMS.

Mind you, PMS in the late forties is accompanied by more than just heightened emotion. It is like you die each month. Depression, suffering, death, heavy, darkness.

I remember thinking the night after my car accident how much I could have used a good cry. I could feel my guts, all twisted up inside and I knew something was going to have to give to get me back to a calm center.

Then Friday night rolled around and all hell broke lose. I had tried so hard to repair my little Commando, to restore his faith in me after I was made to be the “fault” of our divorce, to build him back up, to keep him from following in the footsteps of his father’s narcissistic tendencies. I have him in counseling. His father refuses to help with the cost; yet, he spends most of his time in counseling talking about his issues with his dad.

I can honestly say, he is perhaps the most complicated child in the history of the world to raise but all of his difficult personality traits will serve him well in his adult life. That is of course, if I choose to let him live. In the five plus years since our divorce, he has come a long way. I have made great strides with him. He hugs me and loves me and listens to me (sometimes) and he stopped having the house-wrecking fits of rage some time ago.

Friday night, the rage resurfaced and my spirit was too weak to handle it. In the middle of his meltdown of epic proportion, I watched him cry, I felt his suffering and I heard him talk about how much he wished his dad didn’t have 50% of him. In my compromised state, I began to feel it would be impossible for me to help this child as long as I share custody with his father. For it seems we make 50% progress only to be 50% defeated.

My son does not know real happiness, he never has.

I have stood strong and fought hard but maybe it was time for me to call it quits. Maybe he would be better off with his dad full time. After the incident with our other child suffering a ruptured appendix while in his care, I had toyed with the idea of fighting Mr. Sunshine for full custody of the kids but I knew I couldn’t prove he was unfit and no judge would remove joint custody otherwise.

But luckily I was prepared for the shocking news today thanks to a blog which contains scores of wisdom for not only facing your dark times but accepting them and embracing the growth that will undoubtedly surface each time we shed our skin. She has endured her rough times by remembering the Buddhist principle, “Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional”.

She quotes Pema Chodron from her book “When Things Fall Apart” as follows:

"The essence of life is that it's challenging. Sometimes it's sweet, and sometimes it's bitter. Sometimes your body tenses, and sometimes it relaxes or opens. Sometimes you have a headache, and sometimes you feel 100 percent healthy. From an awakened perspective, trying to tie up all the loose ends and finally get it together is death, because it involves rejecting a lot of your basic experience. There is something aggressive about this approach to life, trying to flatten out all the rough spots and imperfections into a nice smooth ride.... To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest. .... To live is to be willing to die over and over again."

I can’t begin to tell you how much this quote centered me. I immediately found my balance, knowing I don’t need to worry about all these loose ends. I accept my life for where it is and if I stay open to it, the universe will provide for me. I certainly don’t want my kids to have to suffer through the embarrassment and shame of having a father in jail; yet, if I can have four years of their lives without his influence, I stand a better chance of reaching my son’s heart and helping him to finally, for once, feel accepted and know true happiness.

Another wonderful post by Robin over at Pre-Meditated contained a passage from the Holy Bible (New Testament). Can I just say how much I love that a Jewish woman from New York and a Southern Baptist from Oklahoma can connect through the teachings of Buddha and Jesus.

…....I may associate darkness with fear or sadness. Yet darkness may also mark a new beginning, a time of transformation. Out of what was, something new emerges. The chick emerges from the egg; the butterfly emerges from the cocoon. Time in the darkness is an important and essential part of the process of life….. In faith I move through times of challenge, even of sorrow, expecting good to be revealed through the activity of Spirit. In the midst of what may appear to be darkness, I open myself to new wisdom. With each experience, I emerge a new creation of Spirit….John 16:20

And so I emerge, a new creation of spirit who awaits the return of Spring. Perhaps I will have the opportunity to see it tomorrow.

Update: In speaking with Mr. Sunshine, he said his attorney feels certain they can resolve this with probation and/or a home confinement type of sentence. It will be several months before we know.

From Worthless to Wonderful - Warrior Princess - Part Four

Throughout our hospital odyssey I was often startled by the vivid illustrations contrasting wonderful and worthless. It seemed to be the lesson I was supposed to take away from the experience.  Well, that and to make sure I visit the kids at their dad's house if I ever hear of them being sick again.

The appendix itself is worthless, it's true what they say, we really don't need it. Being able to walk away from this with a healthy happy girl is wonderful. She was tested in a way most grown women won't confront until they are in active labor. At one point, I worked with her on the same breathing I used during childbirth. Check that off her list, we know she can handle pain. Maybe it's because she's still a bit fragile but she seems to have come out of this with a slightly more gentle spirit and of course, our bond has been sealed forever.

People in the medical profession can be wonderful or worthless, just depends upon the luck of the draw when you are hospitalized.  We were fortunate to have one of the best surgeon's on call that night. He came without a personality but who gives a shit when he cut open my baby and fixed her. He could mutate into Mr. Hyde and I wouldn't give a flying fuck.

The juxtaposition between the nursing staff was often times difficult to comprehend. How can you have one dear, precious soul who volunteers to work extra shifts just to be able to stay longer with her and others who callously rip off band aids and threaten to remove and re-install the IV just because she didn't like the way it looked. We both bonded with the caring nurse in a way that she will remain a part of our lives. She loves being a nurse and I thank God she found her calling.  Wonderful

Then there's the narcissist, Mr. Sunshine, who gave new meaning to the term worthless during the ordeal. As I mentioned earlier, he would pop in and out, never calling to see if we needed anything from home. During the worst of times, we were out of clean panties and socks, the back of her head had become knotted with five or six large nests of matted hair. I had asked him to bring clean clothes, a hairbrush, some detangler, and a toothbrush for her but the next time he arrived, he had forgotten to bring it. Worthless.

I suppose he forgot because he only came to the hospital that day to conduct a business meeting down in the cafeteria.  Just when I thought nothing could shock me anymore, he had apparently been telling everyone how his daughter was in the hospital and he was spending every moment there. When a client suggested they meet there out of convenience for him, he had to scramble to get to the hospital. I wondered sometimes if he really thought he was living the experience. I was keeping him up to date after all. Worthless.

There was one occasion when I was busy with our patient in the restroom while friends had come to visit and he happened to be there.  I could hear through the door as he told stories of the horrendous night we had, the throwing up, the pain, the lack of sleep. He told it as if he had been there. Worthless.

The next night he showed up again unannounced and did his usual routine, checking on the Princess, daddy loves you, blah, blah, blah - then planting himself in a chair to read a book, magazine or newspaper. I hadn't expected him that night and I knew ZenBoyfriend was on the way to bring me some supplies I had requested from the drug store. I felt obligated to let him know as the two of them had not yet met face to face. He reacted with little to no expression, not even looking up from his book.  Five minutes later, I saw him walk up to the mirror, fix his hair, tuck in his shirt and adjust his pants just right.  Then he pulled up a chair and sat at our daughter's bedside without one single piece of reading material.  Priceless.

Contrast the narcissist to the outpouring of love from our friends. He's Mr. Church Every Sunday yet not one visit from a church member was to be had. Not one gift, card or call from any of his friends or his fiance. His mom helped out with the other kids as much as she could but one day she called me to ask me about a fitness program she was thinking of buying and oh, by the way, how is my granddaughter doing. On the other hand, we were literally inundated with special attention from our friends. Wonderful.

How do you know when you are truly loved? You know when your boyfriend gently kisses you on the top of your head fully aware you haven't showered in two days.  You know when your daughter finds strength in your eyes without a single word and you know when you wake up each day comforted by selfless acts of kindness like the one received in that plain, brown manila envelope.

I had been sending daily email updates to a large group of friends, teachers, girl scout leaders and people in my office. I had spoken of the difficulty with getting my "Warrior Princess" to endure those painful walks.  That day, I opened the anonymous gift and found a note which said, "I know this is a little makeshift but hopefully it well help a little during your walks".  She hadn't had time to finish it off with perfectly creased seams and the edges were still rough cut but it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Her very own shiny, glittery, purple and green Warrior Princess cape.

That's when I lost it.  My baby was sleeping so I let it come. All the emotion I was holding inside came to the surface and exploded into a deluge of tears.  It was an outpouring of the worthless pain, fear and bitterness, the shock of almost losing my daughter mixed with goosebumps and an almost dizzying elation knowing the worst was behind us and I (we), myself and my little family, were truly loved.

With her cape on, she held her head a little higher, wanted her hair brushed out nicely and walked further than she had ever walked. She passed through the doors that had always stopped us before because she wanted everyone to see her. No other word comes to mind except....wonderful.

First day with Cape:

To Here, Going Home:

Moving Mountains Moving Bowels - Warrior Princess - Part Three

I stood in horror as I watched her wrench her guts into that plastic bin. I knew it must have been incredibly painful to heave while her tummy was still tender and vulnerable from the operation. But what the hell is she is throwing up?  The nurses came immediately. They helped clean her up and put her back in bed, insisting it wasn't blood I had seen.  Then why is it red?  She has had nothing but rice and toast and apple juice today.  How could it be red?

They pressed further, I must be missing something.  Oh my God, it was the watermelon.  I had begged the nurses to give her watermelon in spite of the fact it wasn't on the approved list of clear, bland foods. It's a fruit, I had implored, it practically dissolves in your mouth for Christ's sake AND she loves it, she will eat it.  Please nurse Ratchet please, let her have some watermelon I had begged earlier that afternoon. Oh shit, fuck, damn.  Did the watermelon cause this?

This was the preamble to the worst that was yet to come. I had showered.  I was innocuous to the idea of complications.  I felt clean and invigorated. We got through the pee - we had this thing well in hand and I was planning to sleep the sleep of angels that night.  But clearly I fell victim to one of the world's classic blunders: never get involved a land war in Asia, never go against a Sicilian when death is on the line and never believe you are going to be okay based upon one good day post-op.

We spent that night with her shrieking in pain beyond the forbearance of a ruptured appendix, beyond the inconvenience and uncertainty of surgery and beyond the agony of that first walk or that first pee. It was a guttural, visceral cry for help, immediately followed by heaving a vile, brownish-black-unnatural looking substance, wiping her own mouth because I couldn't do it just right, then falling back to sleep for approximately 53 minutes, then repeat.

It was a wretched reiteration - pain, vomit, wipe, sleep.  At some point in the middle of the night, her body decided to reject at both ends, causing the nurses to perform the infamous act of cleaning up a patient and changing their sheets without moving them out of the bed. It was astonishing. I watched but I'm still not exactly clear as to how they did it.

At approximately 3:00am, I asked the night shift nurse if they could give her something to ease the nausea.  She said they did have options available but they required the surgeon's approval and they were tentative about waking him in the middle of the night unless it was an emergency.  Excuse me?  Exactly what the fuck do we have to do here to constitute an emergency?  I told her I was prepared to go all Shirley MacLaine on her ass, running up and down the corridors, screaming for someone to give my daughter something to ease her pain.  With that, she made the call, I know she did because I stood and watched her. Still, somehow we didn't receive any relief until the next morning.

We were visited by His Royal Highness, the surgeon, and his faithful minion a/k/a Physician's Assistant, Beth. The Warrior Princess was kind enough to provide them with a live demonstration of our evening's activities. They suspected an ileus was afoot, which loosely translated meant her bowels had stopped moving. I have always wondered why they call poo a bowel movement. Your intestinal track is sorta like a giant conveyor belt, it should be constantly moving in a squishing sort of motion. You can hear the movement through the stethoscope.  If it stops moving, gas gets trapped up there, which loosely translated means farts ARE good. My mama was wrong.

We were told it could take anywhere from one to three days for things to start moving again. This was not uncommon due to the amount of infection she had in her belly. It was her body's way of fighting back by simply shutting down the systems and saying, "I've had enough of this shit......literally". Thankfully, she was back on track late the next day. You thought I was happy when she finally peed, imagine how elated I was to hear her rip off that first big fart.

Speaking of big farts, her dad had been maintaining a low profile, popping in and out when convenient.  This was okay because I preferred him gone. He felt like wasted space to me, space that could have been filled with our friends who were bringing in anything and everything we needed. Everyday we received balloons, flowers, cards, visits, cookie baskets and stuffed animals. The nurses all commented on how amazing it was. It was these expressions of love that kept me going, kept me strong, allowed me to forge ahead without showing my emotional cards, which were stacked with fear, bitterness, shock and an overwhelming, despondent, grief-stricken sadness.

The next day, as healing progress was finally availing itself to us, I received an unmarked brown manila envelope, the contents of which brought my emotional house of cards tumbling down around me. I ran to the restroom down the hall and collapsed into a heap on the floor, crying, screaming and shaking for the next thirty minutes.

(To be continued.....) 

The Warrior Princess Takes a Pee - Part Two

The surgery was finished. We arrived in her hospital room around 2am on Tuesday. For the rest of the day, she was made comfortable with various forms of narcotics. The surgeon had said her belly was a mess. He had operated laparoscopically, using three small instruments through tiny incisions. He admitted he did the best he could but was not able to guarantee she was out of the woods. There was simply too much infection for him to be sure he took care of it all.

We were told we could be there up to a week to keep her on an antibiotic drip. This would be the only way to ensure her recovery. Even with those words, I don’t think it had really resonated with me just how sick this little girl really was.

On Wednesday morning, she was allowed to come off the clear liquids and have a bite to eat. The nurses were required to get her up and moving so we faced our first walk together. She got to the door of her room and said okay that’s it, then promptly turned around and headed back to bed. She was as drugged up as anyone could be, enjoying a veritable cocktail of heavy pain killers; yet, the agony of those first few walks were clearly registering on her face.

She didn’t want any of it. She didn’t want to walk, she didn’t want an IV needle sticking out of her arm, she didn’t want to get poked every day to draw her blood nor did she want to be told she had to use the restroom or face having a catheter reinserted. It hurt to go, it burned like hell. The walk didn’t hurt as much as the simple act of going pee-pee did. She didn't want to do anything but in her own words, "run from this awful place screaming". Yet she always managed to find a way to do everything asked of her. Making up and letting me know her rules as we went along.

She would delicately get out of bed, using my hand to pull herself up while insisting I not pull with my arm. As difficult as it was, as much as I wanted to not only pull her but to give her every bit of strength I had, I perfected the ability to extend my arm to her without pulling. Once up, she would slowly walk to the restroom, sit down, then immediately clench up so tight, it was impossible for her to go. The urge was there, her bladder was full but her natural defenses and instincts were not letting her go through that much pain. We would sit there together, me squatting on the side of the shower, facing her. Our eyes locked on each other as if we were having a staring contest. Sometimes she would let me encourage her but mostly she shushed me when I tried to speak. She was drawing from her inner strength; my words were nothing but useless distractions.

After 15 to 20 minutes, she would ask to go back to bed. The moment she laid down, the urge would come and up we would go again. This went on for a few hours. Up, sit, stare, down. Up, sit, stare, down. As the night drew to a close, the nurses brought in a machine which was able to give us an accurate measurement of the contents of her bladder and they issued the ultimatum. She goes or we go in and get it.

With courage true to her Warrior Princess spirit, she was able to override her protective instincts and endure the painful burning, emptying her bladder with a little moan and a tight squeeze of my hand but not a single tear. She maintained her stoic little frowny-face, cleaned herself up and walked back to the bed as if nothing big had really happened.

Meanwhile I am internally dancing, twirling, jumping up and down and shouting for joy all inside my head. It was our victory. We did it! Nothing was going to stop us now. This little girl is amazingly strong. This child of mine was revealing her character to me and I knew she was going to be okay.

With that, I was relieved enough to think of other things, such as the fact that I hadn't showered or brushed my teeth since Monday morning. I was comfortable sneaking away for a quick shower while Mr. Sunshine sat with her. I returned in an hour and found her standing just inside the door of her room, throwing up in one of those plastic buckets…..something that looked very much like blood.

(To be continued…..)

Mama Bear, The Warrior Princess and the Narcissist - Part One

I come to you today from a place far, far away from the comfort of zen. Fuck zen.  I am steeped in anger, seething with a fury that can only be likened to that of a mother bear, charging at that which threatens her cubs. I am in full stride, mouth dripping, teeth bared - my enemy identified. 

My muscles are tense as they lunge toward this predator. I cannot be stopped. I can climb faster and jump higher with my claws curled and sharpened to afflict torture and dispense suffering upon this vile menace.

I instinctively desire nothing more than to wrap my jowls around the neck of this beast of prey, picking up his helpless body and shaking it until it is limp and lifeless. I am growing dizzy from the taste of the kill. But I stop short of taking his life. For I want him to eventually perish from that which ultimately brings the demise of all who linger in their own reflection. He will be his own undoing. As with the 16th century painting of Narcissus from Greek mythology, attributed to Caravaggio, shown above. He will face his own nemesis and he will perish; not in a physical sense but in the worst way possible for a narcissistic man. He will fail.

The son of a bitch almost killed our youngest daughter.

As is typical of his patterns of behavior, he was either too busy investing all of his time and energy into his new business venture or two unaware and imbecilic to notice the youngest of our seven-year old twins was suffering from more than your average stomach flu. I suspect it was a combination of both. Narcissistic people tend to believe nothing bad, really bad shit like a ruptured appendix, will ever happen to them. She had been throwing up for three days, then became listless, refusing to get out of bed for the next three days. She had pain and she told him about it.

He dropped her off to me Monday afternoon of last week. He said nothing about her pain.  He simply said she is still weak from being sick. She went straight for my couch. I could tell she had to gingerly position herself to lie down and I noticed her flinching from the pain. By this time, her appendix had ruptured. The deadly toxins were already spilling into her abdominal cavity.

I sat down at her feet and rubbed her legs prompting her to scream at me for touching her.  This is the same child who has some sort of built in magnetic feature where the moment I stop moving, the very second I sit down, she is immediately on top of me. She has always required more loving, cuddling, tender touching than any of my other children. All of my mommy senses were now in full alert. I asked her to show me where she was hurting. When she pointed to the lower part of her right side, almost at the crease where her stomach reaches the top of her thigh, I knew this was not the fallout from a bout with a bug.

I called Mr. Sunshine to ask about the leg pain. He said he hadn't really noticed anything but he did think perhaps she might have a bladder infection because it had been hurting her when she went to the bathroom. This would have been a nice piece of information to share with me earlier when he dropped her off.

A quick call to the doctor advised me to take her to the emergency room. Mr. Sunshine was busy, letting me know he could come pick us up in an hour. By this time, my baby girl, whom I now and forever shall refer to as The Warrior Princess, could not sit up, stand or walk. When he arrived, he insisted we go to the after-hours clinic instead of the hospital. He stood firm on his belief this could be nothing more than a really bad bladder infection. The clinic was on the way to the hospital so I agreed to let them take a look at her.

Ten minutes later, we were on our way to the hospital.

When we received the diagnosis and were told she would need immediate surgery, she had already endured nine examinations. Each one beginning with the same incessant, redundant questions and ending with pressing on her belly forcing her to scream from the intensity of the discomfort. She had been poked by the urgent care nurse, the hospital triage tech, the hospital triage nurse, the ER nurse, the ER doctor, a new ER nurse that just had to see for herself, the surgeon, the surgeon's PA and finally, the surgery nurse.

Just before being wheeled off for a CAT scan, a young medical student walked in and asked to take the medical information and give her an exam.  He had a look of fear on his face indicative of this being his very first time to do so.  He began by asking the same questions we had already answered during the previous nine interviews.  He frequently checked his handy pocket notebook to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything. I was holding it together, maintaining my trademark calm in the midst of a storm persona, when he informed her he was about to poke on her belly again.

At that moment the calm broke, the dam burst open and mama bear looked him straight in the eye and said, "you touch her belly and you will lose that finger Doogie". I then explained that nine times was enough and there would be no more pressing, prodding or poking on her because ten pokes is gonna get you a prize; namely, you will be the lucky recipient of everything I am currently holding inside and it won't be pretty.

He very quietly said he would make a note to the record that parent refused the exam and he left the room as quickly as he could.

They took her away and operated on her mess of a belly for well over an hour. The surgeon said she would not have made it much longer with all the internal draining. When she was in recovery, we came to see her. She had taken one of her favorite stuffed animals into surgery with her. He came out wearing his own surgical cap,which the Anesthesiologist had taken the time to cut holes for his floppy ears. This is what we saw.

I took the first deep breath of the night, feeling as if we had made it. We could rest easy now. She would be going home tomorrow and would be back to herself in short order. I did not realize, the worst was yet to come.

There were serious complications in store. The narcissist would virtually abandon us while he went about his life and I was to spend the next full week at her side teaching her how to be strong but instead learning the strength of a woman was already there. She would be the one teaching me.

(To be continued.....)

Also, look for the continuation of the #1Son series soon!