I never wanted my life to be this way....some days its so empty that its almost too much to bear. My ex-husband left four years ago. The story behind that is way too long to put here.....he just had an affinity for new vaginae...every so many months it seemed, he would test out a new one. We were together for over ten years and some days I wonder if he was ever faithful. When you've been burned bad enough, the scars are sometimes too much to overcome, so here I sit. Downsized in every aspect of my life. The house we built together, he now shares with his latest girlfriend. The two children we had together are away for the summer at his parents' home. When they are here, I have the joy of raising the most brilliant, happy lil dudes ever birthed---two to five days a week! We share custody and I have gradually let go of the bitter thoughts of another woman raising my children.
I didn't have my children to raise them HALF the time. Maybe I am selfish. I got lucky and raised my only daughter on my own. Her father chose to put all his energy into his second wife and their sons. I had the pleasure of bringing up the beautifully, talented this-is-the-best-part-of-him that is my daughter. But as a woman, we often make the mistake of thinking our families have to be our identities. When my children are away, I feel lost. Pointless. The quiet in this tiny apartment is deafening. At the ripe old age of 41, I feel as though I will never find love again and while I know this is probably not true, its hard to feel otherwise.
Let's examine my options. In the last few years since my separation and divorce, I have met Mr. I'll-give-you-the-world-just-don't-tell-anyone-we-know-each other, Mr. Twelve-years-younger, Mr. Insecure-I-need-to-know-you-love-me-every-second-of-the-day, Two Mr. Marrieds, Mr. Crazy, Mr. Hornball, Mr. Loud-wearing-a-tank-top-and-can't-pick-up-the-check-on-the-first-date, Mr. Physically-violent, and Mr. All-I-want-you-to-really-do-is-come-give-me-a-blowjob-and-leave!!! Ohhh ladies, its so hard to be positive. I know one day, I will look back on this and laugh but its not a bit damned funny right now.
After my husband left, I joined a gym, lost fifty-five lbs and locked my hair. I went to counseling and began to love myself and my girlfriends. In all honesty, I have never felt or looked sexier in my life. Herein lies one of the problems. I already had an undeniable zest for life. I still love roller coasters, travelling and dancing in the streets. Most men my age are either married, bitter or old beyond their years. And personally, I am just not interested in dating a man in his late twenties or early thirties. I have had my children. I don't want anymore. I want to share a life with someone that already has a pretty great one, not build one with someone who isn't sure of what they want to do just yet. I wish to have someone my age that is just as happy with their cards as I am.
Now.....if you want to piss me off, tell me that I am not grateful for what I have, simply because I acknowledge what I do not. I recognize God's blessings in my life, but I also know where I've been. While my former life was a facade, family vacations, going to the movies or having hot breath on your neck at night were just not mere images conjured up from my imagination. When I see couples snuggled together watching fireworks on the Fourth of July, I simply want to vomit in their hair. Is that wrong? Of course it is. It is also human, to hate what someone else has, simply because you don't have it and secretly desire it for yourself.
So, the way I see it, speak into existence those things you want. Here goes...my love must
1. Have never touched a penis other than his own, for pleasure purposes man.
2. Be a great sensual lover that listens to my body, heart and voice as to what I want and can communicate the same.
3. take care of me when I'm sick, old, dying, deaf or blind.
4. possess great sense of humor.
5. love to eat because I love to cook.
6. be interested in politics, world travel, charity and compassion for fellow man.
7. not be bigoted, racist or classist.
8. love children and actively want to participate in creating lovely adults.
9. cherish monogamy...(does anyone, anymore?)
10. have ambition and never be complacent.
11. most importantly, fear God and have a relationship with Him.
I think that's it. I'm sure I will think of more when I log off the computer. I know there is someone out there that is INTERESTED in finding me. Don't give up. If you are reading this and you identify, begin to live....get out of the house. The only person that is going to find you in your home is the cable guy....and I don't know anyone that is interested in that much ass crack. If no one will date you, date yourself. Go to an open mic or a movie....(when the lights go down, no one knows you're flying solo with popcorn in your teeth.) Create friendships or nurture the ones you have. Many think I am a lesbian because my girlfriend and I are so tight. Uh.....I don't think I'll try that....just yet. Above all, take care of yourself. No one wants someone that no one else would want!!! Writing, that helps me. Find what inspires you. Try something new....you may just meet a date at a golf lesson or boat show. (Hey aim high!! Men who own boats and play golf....I'm just sayin!) I wish you a fun and std free search for love. Be open....you never know where love may find you. Now I'm going to call my cable company...;)
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Lotus Flower
I've lived in fear as long as I can remember.....Fear of failure. Fear of love. Fear of sex. Fear of pain. But the biggest fear has always been the fear of death. I was afraid until I sat with my brother, Tim, countless hours, as he lay dying in the hospital of liver cancer. Tim was one of the funniest people I ever met in life....he was loud, tacky and for most of his life, an alcoholic and a drug addict. It was the latter that would ultimately take his life. He had contracted Hep-C during his stint in the Army during the Vietnam War. Soldiers returning from the war were often strung out on drugs and angry about their injuries. Tim was assigned to a medical unit charged with taking care of many of the returning wounded. During the care of one, or some of these soldiers, they flung blood on my brother and infected him with the virus. He carried on his entire adult life after his service, business as usual with a few dips here and there because of the disease.
I won't say it was an idyllic life, (he had four children with three different women), but his children bare little of the scars of their angst ridden father, whom was often absent because of his demons. Nevertheless, he made amends to the two adult ones in later years and did his best with the third. Sadly, due to conflict with the last mother, he did not know his youngest child.
My brother was a master mechanic. He could fix anything but had a passion for foreign cars. And boy, did he know his shit! My sister and I would regularly take our cars home on the five hour trip (seventeen if she was driving) just to get him to fix whatever was broken. Tim had run his own business since at least 1980. Because of this, he rarely took vacations or days off.
In the spring of 2009, Tim came down with my mother to see my daughter off to prom. Don't ask why he came...I'll never know but it was a weird excuse for a trip. Nevertheless, he came. He was a strange, putrid gray-green color. He looked like a leathery farmer that had seen years of sunlight, except he didn't have the leather look. He was just dark. Tim was a light-skinned black man that now carried the hue of an Indian man, dot, not feather. Looking back, he came with mom because he said he was tired and needed a break. In the next three months, he came, once more, to My daughter's high school graduation. We should have all suspected something then, because the Grinch had taken two weekends off in one year!!
Little did we know, Tim's cancer had begun to take it hold on his liver. He had been going to the doctor but over the course of a year, they missed the cancer over four times. The Hep-c and the damage it had caused to his liver, was exacerbated by all the alcohol Tim had enjoyed over the decades. In August of 2010, my mother begged us to come home and see Tim. She sounded worried and fraught with fear. Tim was the only child that lived near her and since my parents' divorce, he had been her constant companion.
We had just had the family reunion a mere month before and Tim and I had a blast! He was back to his old self. Color was great and he looked fantastic and of course, he was the life of the party. However, when I stepped foot in the house, I didn't recognize the person that stood before me. He looked like an alien...bald head, pale skin and he was at least 50lbs lighter than I had seen him the month before. I immediately went to hide and shed tears because he looked like death. I understood my mother's pain. I felt the shake in my soul....what would I do without my brother?
"No...don't talk like that! There is power of life and death in the tongue. He'll be alright.....Oh Jesus....please help me God! You've got to heal him!!"
All Tim could do was lie in the bed.....this six-foot-three loudmouth was but a weakling, unashamed to be snuggled up beside Ma. I have never known such fear. Over the course of the next five weeks, Tim saw doctors and hid from the world. He hadn't wanted his clients to worry about his business. He was given six weeks to live. We were floored. One day melted into another. It was the year of my 40th birthday. A huge party planned. To be honest, I couldn't even tell you anything about September or October of 2010. I was literally walking through life like a zombie. The grief and drama was too much for my mother and SHE ended up hospitalized. My brother had surprised me and came in for my birthday celebration. He laid on my chaise like a lump with the party bustling around him. Everyone was kind. Many looked scared or sad but most stopped to offer words of encouragement and shake his hand. His attitude was amazing and everyone said he had a light about him. By this time, my strapping brother was down to a pitiful 140lbs. He looked like a ghost.
A couple of years before, Tim had given up drinking and given his life to Christ. That was the cruel joke of the whole thing. As soon as he had stopped drinking, the cancer began to ravage his body In the two years he battled, he thought it was withdrawal from the alcohol causing the symptoms of the cancer. The week following my party, Tim contracted pneumonia. My sister and I took him to the hospital. His lungs had filled with fluid because he was so weak, lying around all day, barely moving. When he was admitted to the hospital, none of us thought, he would NEVER be coming out.
Our days began to meld into another. I remember being so confused as to what to do. Mama was hours away in her own hospital bed, but she didn't want us to leave Tim's side. I can barely remember tag teaming with my sister. I would work while she stayed with Tim and vice-versa. Nine exhausting days we did this. We were incredibly selfish. I missed my kids. She missed her boyfriend. We didn't know how to handle this. I was angry about being the baby of the family, having to shoulder such a responsibility.....Imagine that!!! We both wanted our mother. The days were filled with hospital food, doctor visits, prayers and laughing about the same seven stories every family holds dear.
At some point the doctors came to talk about hospice and Tim's ultimate death. Tim said he would not go to hospice because he was leaving that hospital..."one way or the other." The doctors would look to me for help in getting him to understand the severity of his situation. I didn't know what to do or say. I hadn't been here before. Finally, I had to tell the doctors that Tim knew he was dying, but to agree to hospice, meant he was agreeing to die. In his mind, he would be healed. There, or in Heaven. Tim would not allow. We had many deep conversations in that room.
I asked Tim not to come spook me if he died. We had it like that. At some point, our conversations turned into complete and utter abashed honesty. I told him I was not the sister he needed to be visiting in the middle of the night, moaning "ghostily" ...Siiiiiiiis, Iiiiii ammmm OOOOKKKK!!! He could instead send me signs in my dreams. He agreed. He asked me to live each day "out loud " because he couldn't. He told us we had good men in our lives and that he was proud of us. He told me to take vacations, cherish my children, conquer my fears and live without regrets. He had such a peace about him and I was jealous. In my macabre sense of wonder, I often thought about what it must have been like for him to never make love to a woman again.....to never enjoy a margarita.....to never work on another of his beloved car engines.....I simply wanted to pick up his fragile body, put him in my car and drive him home to the mountains.
I had many of my friends come through and pray for and with Tim. Undoubtedly, they would leave and say that he had charged their faith. If he could be so brave in the face of death, what did we have to worry about? He stopped speaking on a Thursday. He would groan or mumble and only I, or my sister could understand what he was saying. We called for his son to be flown home from his Air Force base and his daughter arrived with her mother and Tim's only grandson. Tim's body had swollen until he looked ten months pregnant. His liver and kidneys had completely shut down and his blood pressure was 50's over 20's. Doctors said he shouldn't even be conscience but there he was, bathing EVERY day and walking himself to the bathroom.
Monday doctors gave us "the talk" and we called in my pastor. He asked Tim if he was "ready?" Tim nodded that he was. He prayed for Tim and Tim raised his hands and said his last audible words...."Thank you Jesus." He was worshipping, right there in the room. I felt the presence of my grandfather and uncle and I knew they were there to take Tim home. Just three hours after they moved Tim down to the hospice wing, he was on his way. Tim waited until we all had lunch. We had all walked back from the main hospital across the street and the room was awkwardly filled with random conversations. My sister sat stunned. I sat beside Tim calling Mama in the hospital so she could talk to him on the phone. His daughter just sat staring at her dad. Her mother, Mary, played catch up with my sister and me. At one point, Tim gestured to me for a Twizzler I was eating. I always regret not giving him that damned Twizzler.
He had barely eaten anything in a few days and I told him no. Five minutes later, I called mama to see if Tim's teenage son would be coming to see his dad. She said his mother was trying to figure it out. I said..."It doesn't look like he's going to make it down...." With that, my brother took three short breaths. It was if he had resigned himself to not seeing his son in time and decided to go on a make his journey. I knew what was happening. I motioned my friend to take my nephew to the waiting room. "Get him outta here..." I screamed. She didn't say a word.....just took him out.
Tim looked over my head towards the presence of my grandfather and I said "Tim...its OK. We love you and we're here." A thin brown fluid ran from his nose and mouth like a faucet. His mouth twisted up into a constricted gnash of teeth. I dialed my mother on the phone and said "Its happening Mama!!' She screamed, cried and told him she loved him as if he could hear her. I just kept telling her I was sorry. She just kept moaning "Oh Tim, Tim, Tim. I love you, Tim, Tim, Tim!" His eyes went dim. I swear...it was like I saw the life leave his body. His body convulsed into a tight ball. My sister and Mary had jumped up and grabbed him to turn him. They could barely sit him back up in the bed. His daughter just grabbed at his feet, crying and telling him she loved him. I ran to the hall to get the nurse but she just strolled down the hall. I guess she knew what was happening, but to this day I don't know how I didn't clothes line her ass. I don't remember what happened to the phone....I don't remember hanging up. I can't imagine what my mother felt in that instance...she was all alone in her hospital room and one of her children was dying.....
I'm sure Tim was gone from his body. It was probably like the movies. Him standing in a corner, asking grandaddy if we could see him. But in the midst of everything, Mary was praying him out. Telling him she loved him, that she always loved him. That he was free. Go with God. My boyfriend at the time arrived less than one minute after his passing and I collapsed in his arms. My head felt hot. I have never passed out but I'm sure that's what it must feel like right before it happens. I screamed a primal noise that I wasn't even sure came from me. All the while feeling like Tim was reaching out to me. No sooner than the heat rose in my head, I heard a voice clear as day....."They have enough going on! They don't need to be picking you up off the floor too!" I immediately stopped and walked over to my brother.
We sat with him for four hours. We took pictures of his hands on a bible that had been gifted him for memory's sake. The picture went on his program. The Bible went to his eldest son. In the room, we sat, talked, laughed and stroked Tim's face. The staff was gracious and kind. I ran to Tim's previous floor to tell them he was gone. They were visibly stunned, remarking how it had only been hours since he had been take to hospice. I reminded them that my brother did things his way. They too had fallen in love with his spirit in the nine days they cared for him. Their pain was real. Their loss was palpable. I thanked them for their compassion. I walked away.
In the next few days, I arranged to have my brother sent home to the mountains. I felt empty and inadequate. I called my ex-husband and asked him to send my youngest to me. I needed someone to take care of. I needed someone to focus on. The morning after Tim died, my baby came and said a man in white came to his room in the middle of the night and told him everything would be alright. I hugged my son tight. I believed what he said. I drove the long trip home and laid my brother to rest. I even sang at his funeral without crying. My sister and I had a good laugh about the terrible job the undertakers did on Tim's body. We could hear Tim yelling, asking who the hell we had in the casket? To this day, I cannot conjure any identifying thing about the body in that casket with my brother except his hands. It helped me to let go...to know that Tim was indeed not in that box, but rather fishing with Grandaddy.
What does this long story have to do with me? The night Tim died, as I slept, I had a dream. It was Tim's voice telling me he was a Lotus. The Lotus is a beautiful sports car that would have driven Tim wild!! The Lotus flower is also a symbol for complete healing and spiritual awakening. It grows through mud and muck only to arrive on the surface of the water, pristine and perfect and without blemish. That was Tim....his life was hard. He was far from perfect. However, his death and how he approached it was perfection. He went out, having said everything to everyone. He was at peace with the outcome and left the earth like we would all like to make our exit, surrounded by family. My promise to him pushes me everyday. When I am scared or doubt my purpose, I remember him. I know in my heart of hearts, he will be there first one to greet me on the other side. I SAW him leave. I KNOW he went somewhere. Its as if the universe gave me a glimpse at a secret. That's what pushes me to keep going.......I know I will see my Lotus again....
I won't say it was an idyllic life, (he had four children with three different women), but his children bare little of the scars of their angst ridden father, whom was often absent because of his demons. Nevertheless, he made amends to the two adult ones in later years and did his best with the third. Sadly, due to conflict with the last mother, he did not know his youngest child.
My brother was a master mechanic. He could fix anything but had a passion for foreign cars. And boy, did he know his shit! My sister and I would regularly take our cars home on the five hour trip (seventeen if she was driving) just to get him to fix whatever was broken. Tim had run his own business since at least 1980. Because of this, he rarely took vacations or days off.
In the spring of 2009, Tim came down with my mother to see my daughter off to prom. Don't ask why he came...I'll never know but it was a weird excuse for a trip. Nevertheless, he came. He was a strange, putrid gray-green color. He looked like a leathery farmer that had seen years of sunlight, except he didn't have the leather look. He was just dark. Tim was a light-skinned black man that now carried the hue of an Indian man, dot, not feather. Looking back, he came with mom because he said he was tired and needed a break. In the next three months, he came, once more, to My daughter's high school graduation. We should have all suspected something then, because the Grinch had taken two weekends off in one year!!
Little did we know, Tim's cancer had begun to take it hold on his liver. He had been going to the doctor but over the course of a year, they missed the cancer over four times. The Hep-c and the damage it had caused to his liver, was exacerbated by all the alcohol Tim had enjoyed over the decades. In August of 2010, my mother begged us to come home and see Tim. She sounded worried and fraught with fear. Tim was the only child that lived near her and since my parents' divorce, he had been her constant companion.
We had just had the family reunion a mere month before and Tim and I had a blast! He was back to his old self. Color was great and he looked fantastic and of course, he was the life of the party. However, when I stepped foot in the house, I didn't recognize the person that stood before me. He looked like an alien...bald head, pale skin and he was at least 50lbs lighter than I had seen him the month before. I immediately went to hide and shed tears because he looked like death. I understood my mother's pain. I felt the shake in my soul....what would I do without my brother?
"No...don't talk like that! There is power of life and death in the tongue. He'll be alright.....Oh Jesus....please help me God! You've got to heal him!!"
All Tim could do was lie in the bed.....this six-foot-three loudmouth was but a weakling, unashamed to be snuggled up beside Ma. I have never known such fear. Over the course of the next five weeks, Tim saw doctors and hid from the world. He hadn't wanted his clients to worry about his business. He was given six weeks to live. We were floored. One day melted into another. It was the year of my 40th birthday. A huge party planned. To be honest, I couldn't even tell you anything about September or October of 2010. I was literally walking through life like a zombie. The grief and drama was too much for my mother and SHE ended up hospitalized. My brother had surprised me and came in for my birthday celebration. He laid on my chaise like a lump with the party bustling around him. Everyone was kind. Many looked scared or sad but most stopped to offer words of encouragement and shake his hand. His attitude was amazing and everyone said he had a light about him. By this time, my strapping brother was down to a pitiful 140lbs. He looked like a ghost.
A couple of years before, Tim had given up drinking and given his life to Christ. That was the cruel joke of the whole thing. As soon as he had stopped drinking, the cancer began to ravage his body In the two years he battled, he thought it was withdrawal from the alcohol causing the symptoms of the cancer. The week following my party, Tim contracted pneumonia. My sister and I took him to the hospital. His lungs had filled with fluid because he was so weak, lying around all day, barely moving. When he was admitted to the hospital, none of us thought, he would NEVER be coming out.
Our days began to meld into another. I remember being so confused as to what to do. Mama was hours away in her own hospital bed, but she didn't want us to leave Tim's side. I can barely remember tag teaming with my sister. I would work while she stayed with Tim and vice-versa. Nine exhausting days we did this. We were incredibly selfish. I missed my kids. She missed her boyfriend. We didn't know how to handle this. I was angry about being the baby of the family, having to shoulder such a responsibility.....Imagine that!!! We both wanted our mother. The days were filled with hospital food, doctor visits, prayers and laughing about the same seven stories every family holds dear.
At some point the doctors came to talk about hospice and Tim's ultimate death. Tim said he would not go to hospice because he was leaving that hospital..."one way or the other." The doctors would look to me for help in getting him to understand the severity of his situation. I didn't know what to do or say. I hadn't been here before. Finally, I had to tell the doctors that Tim knew he was dying, but to agree to hospice, meant he was agreeing to die. In his mind, he would be healed. There, or in Heaven. Tim would not allow. We had many deep conversations in that room.
I asked Tim not to come spook me if he died. We had it like that. At some point, our conversations turned into complete and utter abashed honesty. I told him I was not the sister he needed to be visiting in the middle of the night, moaning "ghostily" ...Siiiiiiiis, Iiiiii ammmm OOOOKKKK!!! He could instead send me signs in my dreams. He agreed. He asked me to live each day "out loud " because he couldn't. He told us we had good men in our lives and that he was proud of us. He told me to take vacations, cherish my children, conquer my fears and live without regrets. He had such a peace about him and I was jealous. In my macabre sense of wonder, I often thought about what it must have been like for him to never make love to a woman again.....to never enjoy a margarita.....to never work on another of his beloved car engines.....I simply wanted to pick up his fragile body, put him in my car and drive him home to the mountains.
I had many of my friends come through and pray for and with Tim. Undoubtedly, they would leave and say that he had charged their faith. If he could be so brave in the face of death, what did we have to worry about? He stopped speaking on a Thursday. He would groan or mumble and only I, or my sister could understand what he was saying. We called for his son to be flown home from his Air Force base and his daughter arrived with her mother and Tim's only grandson. Tim's body had swollen until he looked ten months pregnant. His liver and kidneys had completely shut down and his blood pressure was 50's over 20's. Doctors said he shouldn't even be conscience but there he was, bathing EVERY day and walking himself to the bathroom.
Monday doctors gave us "the talk" and we called in my pastor. He asked Tim if he was "ready?" Tim nodded that he was. He prayed for Tim and Tim raised his hands and said his last audible words...."Thank you Jesus." He was worshipping, right there in the room. I felt the presence of my grandfather and uncle and I knew they were there to take Tim home. Just three hours after they moved Tim down to the hospice wing, he was on his way. Tim waited until we all had lunch. We had all walked back from the main hospital across the street and the room was awkwardly filled with random conversations. My sister sat stunned. I sat beside Tim calling Mama in the hospital so she could talk to him on the phone. His daughter just sat staring at her dad. Her mother, Mary, played catch up with my sister and me. At one point, Tim gestured to me for a Twizzler I was eating. I always regret not giving him that damned Twizzler.
He had barely eaten anything in a few days and I told him no. Five minutes later, I called mama to see if Tim's teenage son would be coming to see his dad. She said his mother was trying to figure it out. I said..."It doesn't look like he's going to make it down...." With that, my brother took three short breaths. It was if he had resigned himself to not seeing his son in time and decided to go on a make his journey. I knew what was happening. I motioned my friend to take my nephew to the waiting room. "Get him outta here..." I screamed. She didn't say a word.....just took him out.
Tim looked over my head towards the presence of my grandfather and I said "Tim...its OK. We love you and we're here." A thin brown fluid ran from his nose and mouth like a faucet. His mouth twisted up into a constricted gnash of teeth. I dialed my mother on the phone and said "Its happening Mama!!' She screamed, cried and told him she loved him as if he could hear her. I just kept telling her I was sorry. She just kept moaning "Oh Tim, Tim, Tim. I love you, Tim, Tim, Tim!" His eyes went dim. I swear...it was like I saw the life leave his body. His body convulsed into a tight ball. My sister and Mary had jumped up and grabbed him to turn him. They could barely sit him back up in the bed. His daughter just grabbed at his feet, crying and telling him she loved him. I ran to the hall to get the nurse but she just strolled down the hall. I guess she knew what was happening, but to this day I don't know how I didn't clothes line her ass. I don't remember what happened to the phone....I don't remember hanging up. I can't imagine what my mother felt in that instance...she was all alone in her hospital room and one of her children was dying.....
I'm sure Tim was gone from his body. It was probably like the movies. Him standing in a corner, asking grandaddy if we could see him. But in the midst of everything, Mary was praying him out. Telling him she loved him, that she always loved him. That he was free. Go with God. My boyfriend at the time arrived less than one minute after his passing and I collapsed in his arms. My head felt hot. I have never passed out but I'm sure that's what it must feel like right before it happens. I screamed a primal noise that I wasn't even sure came from me. All the while feeling like Tim was reaching out to me. No sooner than the heat rose in my head, I heard a voice clear as day....."They have enough going on! They don't need to be picking you up off the floor too!" I immediately stopped and walked over to my brother.
We sat with him for four hours. We took pictures of his hands on a bible that had been gifted him for memory's sake. The picture went on his program. The Bible went to his eldest son. In the room, we sat, talked, laughed and stroked Tim's face. The staff was gracious and kind. I ran to Tim's previous floor to tell them he was gone. They were visibly stunned, remarking how it had only been hours since he had been take to hospice. I reminded them that my brother did things his way. They too had fallen in love with his spirit in the nine days they cared for him. Their pain was real. Their loss was palpable. I thanked them for their compassion. I walked away.
In the next few days, I arranged to have my brother sent home to the mountains. I felt empty and inadequate. I called my ex-husband and asked him to send my youngest to me. I needed someone to take care of. I needed someone to focus on. The morning after Tim died, my baby came and said a man in white came to his room in the middle of the night and told him everything would be alright. I hugged my son tight. I believed what he said. I drove the long trip home and laid my brother to rest. I even sang at his funeral without crying. My sister and I had a good laugh about the terrible job the undertakers did on Tim's body. We could hear Tim yelling, asking who the hell we had in the casket? To this day, I cannot conjure any identifying thing about the body in that casket with my brother except his hands. It helped me to let go...to know that Tim was indeed not in that box, but rather fishing with Grandaddy.
What does this long story have to do with me? The night Tim died, as I slept, I had a dream. It was Tim's voice telling me he was a Lotus. The Lotus is a beautiful sports car that would have driven Tim wild!! The Lotus flower is also a symbol for complete healing and spiritual awakening. It grows through mud and muck only to arrive on the surface of the water, pristine and perfect and without blemish. That was Tim....his life was hard. He was far from perfect. However, his death and how he approached it was perfection. He went out, having said everything to everyone. He was at peace with the outcome and left the earth like we would all like to make our exit, surrounded by family. My promise to him pushes me everyday. When I am scared or doubt my purpose, I remember him. I know in my heart of hearts, he will be there first one to greet me on the other side. I SAW him leave. I KNOW he went somewhere. Its as if the universe gave me a glimpse at a secret. That's what pushes me to keep going.......I know I will see my Lotus again....
Rhoid Rage
Ok......this is THE subject that got me to thinking about a blog....Hemorrhoids!! I have 'em......had them as long as I've had my oldest child so that makes my "friends in my end" almost 21 years old. I have a terrible habit of camping out on the toilet. I always have. As the mother of three, the toilet is the only room in my house with a lock, a fan for white noise, and a whole stash of magazines!!! A mother's sanctuary.......Growing up, my dad would stay in the bathroom for HOURS....we only had one. Most folks did in the 70's....it wasn't until the 80's that everyone wanted to add 17 bathrooms to their homes....I'm glad they did. However, if you go to my mom's house today....you'll STILL be waiting for someone in the house to end their battle with the bubble guts.
I can remember being a small child and peeing behind a tree in the backyard because my dad refused to come out of the toilet!! He had a master plan too.....take his pants off and hang them ten feet away on the door, grab a magazine and settle in for a long winter's hibernation. Why is it that your bladder is fine until someone goes to use the bathroom? All of a sudden, you feel like you've had 17 Big Gulps and a whole watermelon!!
At any rate, the joys of natural childbirth, gave me an extra clitoris at the age of 20! Now...before you say eeeyyyyeewww....I WARNED YOU! This is blog is going to tackle the things we don't like to talk about! If you have RHOIDS....then you know that sometimes your rooter looks like your tooter....ugh. I even had one lover have the nerve to call it "his friend." My ahem....situation....likes to hang out all the TIME but if I'm on my feet for long periods....it just wants to drop all the way south. They are painful...sometimes they like to itch! And if you are having "an episode..." forget having sex!! The hardest thing in the world is to figure out how to unclog your thong from the clutches of the beast!!!
My mother, a nurse, who evidently has her own tag along.....likes to tell me to either take my finger or a warm washcloth and "push 'em back up in dere.." Gee...thanks, Ma! Just what I want to do. Don't let me go to work with a thong on....by the end of the night, one thing is tangled in the other. And baby wipes are a MUST...for some reason, not having a normal butt hole, leaves tons of room for turd crumbs. Take my word for it......don't wait to find out for yourself. The worst thing in the world is going to the bathroom, pulling down your thong and seeing what's been hanging out all day in your crack!! (Please don't act like grown men are the only ones that can't wipe their asses.....)
For RHOID sufferers, I find some Vaseline before going to the bathroom helps to ease out things so that some pressure can be taken off your anus......not the planet, your ass. The last thing you want to do when having hemorrhoids is take a dump but it is a must. It relieves pressure on your behind.........Surgery is an option. I have a weightlifter friend that had it done and vaguely remember my brother having it performed. My brother was a mechanic so he lifted heavy engines and parts all day. My weightlifter friend?...well, I THINK he's straight....lol. Just kidding, he got them from squats. As for me, I'm getting too old to continue to suffer so surgery may be on the horizon for me. If it is, you KNOW I would have plenty to write about.
Please don't let me even get started on the intimates that want to try anal sex....(sorry, exit only here), play with my ass or stick their finger in there and explore. Usually, we just screw around the elephant in my ass, er I mean, in the room and act like you don't see the alien lurking at the back door. Deep in the back of my mind, when I'm bent over a bed, chair or car hood (don't judge me) I am usually wondering if they're looking at my ass or my main man back there, hanging out like he's enjoying a day at the beach. It is a deep seeded shame and only my most intimate partners and I have ever discussed it. If a man knows about it, he is more likely to understand when I don't want to be bothered with sex.
The bottom line is, it is not OK to suffer unnecessarily. This has gone on too long and I can have a better life with surgery. I'm sure its simple but the thought of my ass in the air while folks are looking to cut off my lover's "friend" leaves me a lil apprehensive. Will they shave my butt? Will I have to have an enema? How cool will it be to lose the enema weight? How uncool would it be to have hair regrowing around my butt thole? I'm sure the surgery cannot compare to the sufferings I have endured for twenty years. I was so swollen after my second child, I didn't have a bowel movement for .....(are you ready?).....THREE WEEKS after I gave birth! Now that is RIDICULOUS......don't follow in my footsteps. Albeit, my son's head took three days and countless drugs to come out of my virginia, but to hold toxins in my body for that long because of pain.....not OK. Today, my son is a brilliant 10 year old with a large brain..(the big head keeps it safe.) and my asshole is still a thing of contention in my life.
If I say it out loud, then I can erase the shame and no longer suffer in silence!!! I hope you will find the courage to as well. Maybe one day, I can have a beautiful porn star asshole...unitl that day, I am That Brown Girl....and I have hemorrhoids!!
Monday, July 23, 2012
Ok, this is it!! I am finally going to do this! I am tired of having all these thoughts in my head and being too afraid to talk about them with anyone other than my close friend....Let me introduce myself. I am "that brown girl." That's what I've been referred to way too often and because of my chosen professions.......(I have quite a few, but more about those later.) I will use this moniker to detail all the trials and tribulations of This Lady Life I am experiencing. I am in my forties, mother to a few children, divorced and HATING the single life. This blog will be my outlet to talk about hemorrhoids (and the men that love them), waxing, new sex, old sex, children, lactose intolerance and anything else that my warped mind can come up with. There is just too much swimming around in here so I need to get it out......NOW. Hang on to your hats and come along for the ride with me.
That Brown Girl
That Brown Girl
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