Of fathers and daughters.

I am sitting on my sister’s sofa in the home I grew up in. My father is struggling to exist in the recliner beside me. I have visually and conversationally observed him to see what it is I’m up against. I have had to use my mom voice on him already once in the last 30 minutes. “I’m not leaving until you’re in my car or the back of an ambulance, and I’ve got all the time in the world.”

I can feel my cheeks and ears flush as I look away from him. He hasn’t whipped me in over 25 years, but I still get sick to my stomach confronting him. He says he hasn’t bathed in over a week and he’s embarrassed, I tell him to go clean himself up if he must but that we’re going regardless. 

A month or more ago he walked into a clinic and they refused to assess him as they felt he needed emergency care. Afterwords he told my sister that if he wasn’t better by Easter he’d take himself in. He doesn’t want to go on the weekends because he feels the care he’ll receive is less than what he’d get on a Monday. A handful of Mondays have come and gone… and so she messages me. Says something has to happen. I’ve briefed my children on the situation and put on my loudest trap music and rapped my way here. 

My sister is gentle, she is kind even when she shouldn’t be. I am envisioning her allowing him to die because he didn’t want to go. Bodily autonomy and whatnot. Meanwhile I’m envisioning my nephew walking in on Papa in front of his westerns succumbing to the death rattle. I look at him and tell him that I would not be able to forgive myself if I allowed him to traumatize my nephew by letting him decay in his line of sight.

This is happening. The last time this happened I left his ass in the emergency room after he decided to leave against doctors orders. I’ll do it again too.

You can lead a horse to water.

He wants to talk to me about how dialysis is the only way to remove the fluids he’s got built up, but last I checked he didn’t have an MD behind his name. To my knowledge, no one with our last name has an MD behind it.

He struggled his way out the door far enough to fall into a rocking chair to smoke a cigarette. Took a minute to catch his breath and has been groaning for a solid 10 minutes. I told him it sounds like he’s in pain and he says it’s all he can do to walk from one side of the room to another.

He’s wanting to bargain. He wants to tell me horror stories of reviews he’s read of the hospital closest to us. He wants to tell me about the lady he bumped into at the local diner who was on a stretcher for 10. and. a. half. hours. Can you believe it? I counter with one of ten people satisfied with their care bother to review, but ten of ten dissatisfied people will review. 

And then he turned his westerns back on and leans back into his recliner.

He’s been asleep now for an hour and a half struggling to breathe in his sleep. He moans and gasps and I think that it’s happening. It’s going to happen. I’ve reached an agreement with my sister that I’m just going to call 911 once my nephew is asleep and when the paramedics arrive tell him we weren’t able to wake him. It’s mostly true. When we’re able to wake him he’s alert for less than a minute.

I want to care but I’m so mad that it’s reached this point. My children are home alone, I have my own appointments in the morning, my children have school… I’m exhausted just thinking about it and so so angry at him for not taking care of himself; if not for himself, for his children and grandchildren.

He never went to the hospital. Instead I stayed up till midnight to take him after he declined an ambulance ride and legend has it he is still getting ready to go, but never actually going.

Where is my heart?

My heart is a Pandora's box of names, places and comforting trinkets and talismans. My heart swells and radiates all the love it's ever received and all the love it has yet to give. It is passionate, unconditional and empathetic... and because it is truly human, it aches for all the love it has left behind or been denied.

My love is in Orange County California with a teenage fever dream of a surfer boy.

My love is on Hunter's Glen falling from my lips to the lips of my first true love in an old beat up pickup truck.

My love is the sweat on my skin as I learned the burn of passion with the boy who'd traveled the whole world before he laid eyes on me.

My love travels space and time, bouncing around from Great Falls Montana, Naples Florida to Canon City Colorado and beyond the confines of the nation.

My love is in the inches between my heart and the heart of the man who would father our children; bodies pressed together daring the world to pry us apart.

My love is the sweet babies breath and intoxicating scent of new life in each of my children.

My love is the butterflies in my belly when my brain leaves the room, silly and drunk on flatteries.

My love is on the sidelines watching it all unfold, yelling at my heart to slow down and protect itself but my heart never listens.

A world of wonder.

 The morning was rough. I had two appointments for two separate kids and I had convinced myself the first appointment started 30 minutes later than it actually did. We were lucky in that the orthodontist was able to still fit us in. Only 2-3 appointments left for this kid, and then the fun begins for kid #2.

The second appointment was a county over and involved a new doctor’s office we’d never been to before. We somehow arrived to that area earlier than anticipated and we were able to get breakfast at one of my favorite bagel spots. We fought traffic back to the cardiologist and the appointment was wildly uneventful. Which was GOOD.

I had half convinced myself that I earned a well deserved nap once we got home, but after setting a timer for nap time ended up somehow clearing the patio of broken pots, weeds and trash from last season’s fall prep. I rehung solar lanterns, discovered a petunia that had found the perfect conditions to come back to life, and nested my now empty pots and planters inside themselves ready for Spring planting.

A few of my larger heavier planters still had good dirt in them but also had a thick layer of little sprouts from a nearby tree. I hand tilled tops of them and removed the top third from the pots; dense earthy soil scented the patio and sparkled against my forearms. 

I think about how I’m going to need a Benadryl after sweeping clouds of pollen off the space. I think about my grandfather working his own arms into the cold frame where we grew strawberries and how I’m planning on growing my own berries this year. I think about my Mammaw rinsing beans in a big pot from her recliner, snapping the ends and preparing them for canning or the night’s dinner. I wonder if I will also grow beans some day or if I’ll be a small scale patio gardener forever. 

I am excited for the potential all this sweet dirt has to bring forth, for the life that awaits on the other side of Spring.

Make a wish...

My birthday is in 25 days. If you know me, I've ALWAYS been excited about my birthday and this birthday is no exception. 41 trips around the sun. 41 sunkissed summers. 41 birthdays. Cinco de Mayo (my fantastically chosen birth date) has always been THE kickoff to summer. 

As a child, it meant summer vacation was right around the corner meaning I could curl up in sunny spots of the carpet in my family's living room and read as long as I wanted, I could hop on my bike and ride the trails the neighborhood kids and I so diligently built between neighbors yards and the other neighborhood that backed up to ours, I could play HORSE with my best friend and her brother's older hotter friends in her driveway with her brother teaching me to aim within the square and how to shoot with follow through to make that "swoosh NOTHIN BUT NET baaaaaby" every. single. time. I would kick off my sneakers and tiptoe from stone to stone pretending the small creek that separated neighborhoods was a river that if we followed it long enough would lead us to the beach. Summer also meant "beach week" and as I got older, it also meant my sister would have to go to my granny and father's home in Alexander City, Alabama.

As a teen/young adult I spent summer's in friends pools soaking up the sun by day and skinny dipping at night; slipping shots of whatever was in their parent's liquor cabinet as liquid courage. Before my county enacted a strict curfew for teenagers, the teens of my generation (along with myself) would cruise the backroads, windows down, hands surfing the velvety warm Georgia breeze while cicadas threatened to deafen us from the woods lining the roads. There were bonfires, sleepovers, basement parties... my birthday was the gate opening wide to surrender me to the wild of summer.

Now as an adult with a 9-5, the transition from my birthday to summer means I no longer need to wake up at 5 am if I want to attempt getting ready for work before getting all 3 kids to the bus stop. I can sleep in till 6:30 or whenever the cats or Lou wake me for breakfast. I can work through my lunch to earn that much needed overtime whereas I have to come in early and take extra long lunches to get the 1st kid off the bus and then wait for the 2nd kid to drag their feet through the door. I can run on a much more consistent schedule after work because the structure of our evening schedules are much more relaxed. The kids can swim while I'm at work since I'm only a few dozen feet from the poolside and they can walk themselves to/from our apartment where they'll inevitably eat through all the snacks I purchased to last 2 weeks in a matter of a few days. We *might* get a beach trip in this year, but with everyone being so financially strapped (thanks inflation!) it's getting harder and harder to envision my toes being sucked under the sand as the waves roll over my feet. I want to promise my kids a beach trip, but I know better than to make promises. Especially promises that require relying on other adults. My children know I don't make promises unless I am solely responsible for the outcome. That's a trauma response for another day and we ain't got time for that today.

I don't normally make wishes on my birthday candles, but if I did...

I'd wish that this summer included a beach trip.

I'd wish that the beach trip would be back on the Georgia Coast again.

I'd wish that there was no drama amongst adults over children being allowed to enjoy the trip however they want as it's their vacation as well.

I'd wish that other parental units would step up and show up for their kids, and not just their partner's kids because they're physically in front of him at the time.

I'd wish for my kids to know just how much they are loved and cherished and how in awe I am of their imagination, talents and determination to become something greater.

I'd wish cats lived forever and that the cats I've been lucky enough to have in my life would live with me forever and ever.

I'd wish for a stable and more reasonable housing market so nobody could go without a roof over their head or stress that their roof may be taken from them.

I'd wish for contentment and peace for everyone, not just myself and those I love.

I'd wish to have the instant ability to be the best friend possible forever and always as well as the ability to make and keep friends.

I'd wish for grandparents to hang around in our hearts forever, whispering secrets and guidance when we need it most.

I'd wish for a million, thousand both practical and impractical magic wishes that always came true no matter the insanity of the wish itself.

Wild worry.

I used to joke that I was born to worry, and while I've learned to focus PAST the worry so I can plow straight ahead with my blinders on sometimes I am still caught off guard. Amy's "journal prompts" from this past week is having me stare deep into my fear center and bring them all to light like river pebbles held clenched in my fist.

"Write a list of everything that is causing you worry right now. List it all out. Now put on a favorite song and burn that shit over your kitchen sink. Say some words that sound like white hot spells. Imagine you will be free from worry while you write this month. Say that out loud too."

If you need a soundtrack playing in the background as you read, please feel free to blast "What the water gave me" by Florence and the Machine.

Money.

Money.

Money (ain't it funny... but not really)

Braces for thing 1 and thing 2.

Brakes or tires? What's more important? What can I push off till my next pay period?

Whether I should take their father back to court to hold him accountable for his portion of all past and upcoming medical costs or if it's not even worth my time.

Lo's heart valve and what it looks like, where is the counter at? How much time is left on his existing valve? 

Lillie's mind. Is the new therapist going to work out or am I going to have to deep dive and find a new one again before the year is over?

Lou's sudden mental awareness that has him saying (and regretting) that he hates himself, his family, the cats and being overcome with sadness/frustration.

Money.

Working in a field that it is uncommon to remain at a property for a few months/years, let alone the almost 12 years I've been in this same location for the same property management group. Will I be able to see thing 1 and thing 2 graduate while still employed here in this community? I don't want to move again until after Lillie graduates.

Losing my mother. At over 40 years old, I don't want to lose her but I've also come to the realization that my idea of her is not who she is. I've had a lot of moments in the past 2 years that have proven that there's a lot I've overlooked and allowed BECAUSE she's my mother, but as I have recently told my children (and maybe that's why it's become so close to the forefront of my mind) is that I'm aware they did not choose to be here, they are individuals and I don't EXPECT them to be reflections of "the work" I've put into them I would hope that they take my guidance to heart and build upon it in the world they will inherit as they age.

Losing my grandfather. My grandfather is my last remaining grandparent and at almost 93, I know it's coming and I'm not ever nor will I ever be ready to live in a world without him in it. The thought of receiving that call sucks all the air out of my room and makes my ears ring. He is the sun and I've been orbiting around him for almost half his life now.

Money.

Thing 1 and 2's grades. It's been a rough year academically. I've apologized to Lillie and to Lou's teachers because I feel infinite grief that there are not enough hours in the day to council all 3 of them and follow up on their efforts every day between work, cooking, bathing myself or Lou, cleaning... I didn't sign up to do this alone and I feel this has been their biggest loss since they lost their father's presence in the home. I can only do so much, but this ONE THING makes me feel like the worst parent.

My health is getting better, but I constantly worry that one wrong move will send me spiraling back to the devastation that was the holidays. Just writing that has made my stomach upset because I now realize that this past November/December was so hard mentally and physically due to losing Ollie, my RLS, diabetes and terrible insomnia. The year before? I had strep and covid. What is it about the beginning of winter that humbles me like this??

I worry something will happen to me and I don't know what that "tomorrow" would look like for them. Where would they wake up the next day? What will they eat? Who will make sure they make it to school in time? Who will take it the hardest? Need the most help? How can I prepare them for that? I've lost 3+ people in the past few months and it feels like none of my "best efforts" will really assist them when that time comes.

So that's it for today's current worries. I hope we never have to speak of them again, although I'm here if you need clarification or have answers to all of my existential crisis concerns.

I stopped believing.

I no longer believe in “the one.” I can’t. I’ve handed my heart on a silver platter to two men who felt like home, and both burned down the love that consumed me and laughed as I came apart.

Both times felt like magic, like the universe laid out a path from them to me and nothing could disrupt its plans.

I don’t believe in soulmates, twin flames, lovers from past lives… I don’t believe that any one person belongs to another.

I don’t know if love even exists or if it’s camouflaged in cheap passion, lust and rose colored hope. Every time I made out with my then partner or made love, my heart grew 10 sizes and my insides vibrated up through the top of my head and honestly it sounds more debilitating than romantic. I poured every ounce of love and admiration into them, built them up and cultivated their egos… for what? Why?

I miss the “me” that existed during those times. She was hopeful, oozed love in everything she did. I don’t miss the men attached to these time periods.

Do’s and Don’t’s.

Top 5 turn Ons/ Top 5 turn Offs

On:

1.) Eye contact, like I’m the most important person in the room.

2.) Follow through.

3.) Empathy and the desire to learn more about others experiences.

4.) Can be terribly filthy minded when it’s appropriate and knows when it’s not.

5.) Can kiss so good I forget my own name.

Off:

1.) Dishonesty, especially when their little white lies pile up.

2.) Generally not concerned with taking care of themselves both in the moment and proactively.

3.) Expects to be taken care of or for others to double down on responsibilities so they can continue to be careless.

4.) Unruly, untamed facial hair.

5.) Unable to read the room.

Touch.

Top ten ways you like to be touched

1.) fingers through my hair, thoroughly raking my scalp with gentle tugs and moderate pressure.

2.) palms cruising down the length of my spine and curving out at my waist.

3.) kisses behind my ear while hearing them breathe me in.

4.) thumbs untangling the mess of muscles in my calves.

5.) gentle tug/grabs at the nape of my neck while in a full contact hug.

6.) warm hands on cold cheeks on brisk fall nights.

7.) my hair being swept off my face and tucked behind my ears.

8.) heart to heart, ribs pressed against each other.

9.) hip/thigh rubs when I’m the little spoon.

10.) thumb rubs against the outer edge of my seashell ears.

Ins and Outs

 Ins and outs of it.

In:

• Passion
• Magic
• Rose colored glasses 
• Savoring each moment 
• Reading
• Art
• Loving everyone and letting them know it
• Blessing others 
• Going out
• Making friends
• Falling in love with myself
• Allowing others to love me 
• Writing more

Out:

• Monotony 
• Judgement 
• Fear
• Anxiety 
• Isolating
• Disregarding my boundaries and allowing others to disrespect them
• Submission 

I was going to.

I was going to run. I was going to do yoga. I was going to vacuum, clean the other bathroom, sweep and mop. I was going to clean out the car. I was going to get everything together to make that tiktok. I was going to put clothes away and change the sheets on our beds. I was going to go for a walk. I was going to have coffee with that girl. I was going to repot and feed my plants. I was going to tell them what I want and what I would no longer settle for. I was going to finally file all the things and clear out at least one bin. I was going to organize the craft stuff and downsize my library to only books I could quote from memory. I was going to put my earbuds in and soak my bones in a hot bath. I was going to meal plan for the week. I was going to donate the basket of clothes the kids and I have outgrown or will never wear again. I was going to clean out my bedside table. I was going to hang the new artwork and rearrange the existing framed art and pictures. I was going to relocate the new litter box.

I was going to, but I didn’t.

The countdown.

Today you forgot who I was. You assumed I was my daughter and proceeded to argue with me on who my father was. In a moment of clarity you recounted the adventure that was driving your old Volkswagen while on crutches after exploratory knee surgery to meet me, your first granddaughter at the hospital. You only knew that I was sick and between the knee pain and worry missed the exit to NorthSide Hospital all the while your car was backfiring the whole way. You spoke about how purple my heels were from all the blood draws and told me I was the prettiest baby he’d seen in 24 years. I don’t know what I’ll ever do without you when the world loses the greatest man I’ve ever known. You hung the moon and were the sun and nobody can tell me differently.

So close.

I could feel you against me. We were so close. Your lips were damp and I wanted to lick me off of them.

I don’t know what you want from me. Am I being respectful? Am I only allowing myself to let you show me how far we can go? Are there cues I’m missing?

It’s 12 hours later and I’m still feeling the heat across my cheeks and the feeling of you radiating inside of me like the sun.

I have had to catch my breath so many times this week; jolting myself back to reality or waking myself up from the feeling of your body against mine, my lower lip between your teeth, hands around my neck.

I don’t know what you want from me.