Archive for death

Marital Mondays: Picking Fights


I started watching Scandal, starring Kerry Washington, this weekend. I haven’t watched any TV (other than an occasional Raising Hope or Community) since Alphas went off. Scandal is great. The only problem was watching it on Hulu, where they played a million ProFlowers Mother’s Day ads. I don’t think about my mother often. It’s normally when one of the kids asks me something about her. That doesn’t usually bother me, but these ads got to me for some reason.

I know I’m a mother, and that Mother’s Day is for me, too. Even though, the last couple of Mother’s Day celebrations have been awesome for me, I just don’t really think of me first. I think of my mom. Then I think of how I can barely even remember her voice anymore. I’m reminded that she’s not here to experience my kids, and even worse, that Fuss never met her. She never will. I didn’t push the feelings away. I just sat with them. I didn’t feel like writing, so I didn’t post a blog Monday (That’s why Marital Mondays is posting today). I didn’t want to act like a prospective “millionaire” and phone a friend either. Instead, I did something really stupid. I picked a completely unrelated fight with Hannibal.

The only thing is, he didn’t fight back. Arguing with myself is the most awkward (and not rewarding) thing, so I eventually just fell asleep. I don’t know if he was even sure what was happening. Hell, I wasn’t sure. I addressed him in a tone that was not our normal way of speaking to each other (Think PMS mixed with a little early labor). He just agreed with everything I said and steered clear of the fire.

In the morning, I felt even more awful. It was only Tuesday night that I realized this had all stemmed from leftover grief, because it got worse. I didn’t cry. I just seemed to bark at everything and everybody that got in my way yesterday. I was easily overwhelmed. My martyr complex took over, and it was just an ugly day. I was reminded of all of the horrible things that happened surrounding her death.  For example, Hannibal wasn’t very supportive after she died.  He didn’t know how to handle anything I was going through, and he pawned me off on three of my friends, Felicia, Evan and Brandi — hoping they could reset me to the girl he had met.  He continued with life as usual, while I was stuck in a bubble of pain, confusion, and heartache.

This morning I woke up and meditated in bed. I focused on joy afterward, and the cloud seems to be moving. I wouldn’t say it’s gone, but I can definitely see the sun peeking through.

 

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Marital Mondays: Exasperating

M: Totally not dressing up for Halloween this year.

H: So our family’s dream of finally forming vehicle Voltron won’t happen this year?

M: Huh? I think I’m going to do a Dia de Los Muertos thing.

H: I don’t even know what that means.

M: You know, flowers in the hair, skeleton face … that sort of thing.

H: Sounds like Halloween to me. Face it. You like to dress up.

M: No, I don’t. I don’t even like getting dressed everyday.

H: Honey, you dressed up for our baby shower, your 30th birthday, our wedding … ! Sandy, can we roll that clip?

M: *sigh*

H: I think that’s really the key to our relationship — taking turns exasperating each other.

M: Good. That means it’s my turn next.

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Thematic Thursdays: Moving on for Mother’s Day

Until I read a friend’s status update Wednesday, which suggested that we post a picture of our mothers as our profile picture on Facebook, I didn’t realize Mother’s Day was right around the corner. “But … I haven’t felt my annual gloom or lit the candles for my self-pity party” I thought. I guess I’m so focused on being a mother myself, that the loss just isn’t as heavy anymore.

Sure, I wish my kids had their grandmother — to read to them, hug them, and impart that extra wisdom like grandmas do. Hell, I wish my mom was here on the days when I want to scream, “How the f@%k does anyone raise two kids at the same time? Aggghhhhh!!!!” I’m comfortable, though. I’m also as busy as channel 13 when the cable gets turned off, so this year it snuck up on me.

I think I’m strong enough now to actually do what she tried to do from the moment I was born — cut the cord. I’m going to focus on myself this Mother’s Day. I’ve worked so hard at putting the things she taught me to good use. My kids are benefitting from my mother very much without even really knowing her. So, I don’t think I’m going to be putting a picture of my mother as my Facebook profile picture this year. I’m going to find one of me and my kids and focus on the mother that my mom is helping me become. RIP, Mama.

P.S. Considering that I stabbed myself last Mother’s Day, the years have to get progressively better.  That’s just science.

 

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Marital Mondays: Secret Marriage


We went to Eastside Mario’s in Lakewood Sunday for a friend’s going away party (Well, she was visiting for a week and Sunday was her last day in town). Anyway, the young lady sitting across the table from us was in the throes of planning her wedding, which is taking place next Saturday.

After hitting her with his “taser parenting” bit and watching her chuckle admirably at our witty banter, Hannibal decided to offer her and her well-maintained mother, who was sitting right next to her, some advice. “You see, it’s her day. It’s not about him. It’s not about you. It’s about her.” It’s interesting that he would say that, because that ain’t what he was hollering a month before our wedding. *side eye* He’s, apparently, learned so much under my tutelage. Just kidding. The day is about the couple as a unit — not just the woman.

I agree with part of his statement, though. Her mother was really controlling everything from the style and cut of her dress to the outline of the day. She was choosing hymns, adding communion and insisting that she and her dad “give her away.” I can’t get with the being given away like property thing, but to each her own. In her mother’s defense, she’s “paying for the whole thing.”

I sort of drifted off in thought and wished my mother were alive during my commitment ceremony plans — even if it was just to argue over what color the dress was (it was hot pink, by the way). I thought about how she wouldn’t have allowed us to pay for a thing. I wouldn’t have had to beg strangers and bums for handouts and negotiate with vendors using a shotgun. She would have supported our low budget, progressive ideas, and hip-hop flavor. I’m sure she would have also reminded me that her wedding dress was yellow, and she’d been married for thirty-five years, so white wasn’t necessary. I don’t think my mother and I would have beefed at all. That wasn’t the nature of our relationship.

The daughter we spoke to over Italian fare seemed to want a simple, inexpensive wedding as well, but her momzilla was living vicariously through her. At one point she stated, “These are the things I’m going to do at my wedding if I ever get married, but I’ll probably be in a wheel chair by then.” She asked to see our pics, so I showed her a few on my phone. “See mom, she wore a short dress!” she exclaimed, looking ready to start all over with her plans. I felt sorry for her, because I remember that space — everyone from bridesmaids to the groom telling you how things should be done. If I had it to do over, the two of us would go right back to Kenneth Hahn Park (where I proposed) in pajamas all by ourselves and belt out Sting’s “Secret Marriage” at the top of our lungs at sunset.

No earthly church has ever blessed our union
No state has ever granted us permission
No family bond has ever made us two
No company has ever earned commission

No debt was paid no dowry to be gained
No treaty over border land or power
No semblance of the world outside remained
To stain the beauty of this nuptial hour

The secret marriage vow is never spoken
The secret marriage can never be broken

No flowers on the altar
No white veil in your hair
No maiden dress to alter
No bible oath to swear

The secret marriage vow is never spoken
The secret marriage can never be broken

Sting
“Secret Marriage”

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I Swallowed Glass and Science Fiction Said I Would Die

We interrupt your regular Wednesday programming to bring you an Emergency Marital Mondays.


I was putting away the food Monday night, and it was so good, that I decided to make myself one more plate of … well … everything. When I put the third spoonful of rice into my mouth, it didn’t feel right. There was something crunchy. I pulled it out and looked at it. It wasn’t an onion or a piece of celery. It was glass!!!

I spit out everything into the trash can, rinsed out my mouth and went to put the kids to bed. Hannibal left to go do our laundry, and I was about to start my work when I got a sudden urge to vomit. I went into the restroom and proceeded to do so, and I noticed there was blood in the vomit. Strange. I thought back to the rice, and figured that maybe the two heaping spoonfuls that I’d shoveled into my mouth had contained glass as well.

I flung myself over the bed to get the my cell phone. I called Hannibal to share what had happened and he was at the front door in less than two minutes. If you know my husband, then you know that he reads a lot of fiction and watches a lot of TV in the corner of his computer screen while he’s working. Well, apparently, in some thriller he read, someone died of intestinal bleeding when another person ground up glass in their food. He offered me two options, “Either I’m calling an ambulance or we’re packing up these kids and going to the emergency room ourselves. I can’t lose you. I love you, and more importantly, I can’t raise these crazy kids by myself.”

I tried to talk him down of the ledge by stating that I’d already thrown up, so the worst was probably over. He wasn’t having it. It was so windy Monday night that I couldn’t imagine waking the kids and dragging them to Kaiser’s lobby to sit for hours. I offered that maybe someone could come and sit with them while he took me. Then I realized it was eleven o’ clock at night and most of my friends have children of their own. I don’t have a mother either. I thought of my aunt, so he called her but she didn’t answer. “I’m calling 9-1-1” he said, grabbing my phone.

My mental rolodex was going as fast as it could. “Call my godmother!” I said. She lives close, and her son is in high school. He can stay home alone.” She picked up the phone and said she would pack up her midterm paper and come over. She did.

We went. We waited for hours in the lobby for them to say it would pass in my poop. “Sounds fun.” I replied, heading for the door. The lining of the intestines is constantly renewing itself and it’s pretty tough, so swallowing glass is, apparently, no big deal. Oh, science fiction.

After the hospital

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