REMEMBERING MICHAEL - PART I

Each year at this time my thoughts seem to drift towards remembering Michael. Those thoughts were particularly strong this past weekend when I spent the weekend with Michael's oldest sister, Sandra. All around me were reminders of Michael. Even at night, I couldn't escape him because there next to me on the nightstand was a picture of him. I met Michael when I was 18. He was tall and tanned with long dark hair and mesmerizing green eyes. He told me I was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. A lie no doubt, but one coming from him that I always thought he might have meant since he never had an agenda with me. Ours was a relationship that never transcended platonic boundaries except for an occasional stolen kiss here and there. His whole family became close to me for various reasons and on many occasions I was caught up in the weird dynamics that governed their relationships with each other. 

When Michael joined the Marines, we wrote to each other and saw each other whenever he would come home on leave. We always seemed to drift in and out of each other's lives. Whenever I thought of him, I always did so with a smile. He was the sunshine that warmed so many people's lives. In our wild youth, his sister and I used to accompany him sometimes to the gay bars in Pensacola. What stories I could tell about those times, but what I remember most is the love I always carried with me for him. We danced those nights away pretending that I was a drag queen, so I wouldn't ruin his reputation! What a goofy pair of friends we were! As we got older and moved away from each other, like many friends we didn't keep in touch like we should. He remained in my thoughts as I'm sure I did with him. As Michael's health failed and the end was imminent, I finally called Michael to ask him to forgive me for not being a better friend. In his weak, barely audible voice he said he forgave me. Michael died on Mother's Day 2005 and while I watched them bury my friend, I knew another piece of me was gone forever.  

Gratitude statement: Although death is an inevitable, I'm truly thankful for the time all my friends have been a part of my life. 

The Definition of Confusion

When my children were still in school, they used to visit their grandparents on school holidays. I would drive halfway to Pensacola to meet my mother and place my children in her care. The first few days always seemed like bliss and then the house gradually seemed way too quiet. By the time I would pick up my children, I was more than ready to have them come home again. I welcomed that deafening chaos.

My mother was always rather rigid while I was growing up and had a very diplomatic way of handling punishment. If the guilty party didn't confess the first time when we were asked who did it, we all suffered the consequences. As I grew older and eventually became a parent myself, the woman who raised me seemed to change. She got soft in her old age! Had I broken her spirit? Possibly! But each time my children would rave on about the fun-loving person who they perceived their grandmother to be, I knew it wasn't the same person who raised me. My mother was proof that aliens do exist! Ask anyone from my old neighborhood! They knew my mother was a force to be reckoned with. Her voice alone could raise the dead.

Each time my children would go for a visit, it took weeks before I could straighten them out. My mother waited on them hand and foot and made them do nothing but fun things while they visited her. When they came home sassy and quite lazy, I would want to pull my hair out. One time while driving home, my children seemed quite mesmerized by a joke book one of them had gotten while in Pensacola. One of the visiting rituals was to take my three children (her angelic grandchildren) to Hawsey's, a used bookstore and let them each purchase a large paper bag full of books to read.

Since they were quiet on our trip home and this was an oddity, I tried to engage them in conversation only to be told they were reading jokes. That explained the occasional chuckle I heard from the backseat. I asked them to read aloud some of the jokes. My youngest child, Matthew spoke up and said he would read one. Although he was only 7 at the time, his reading skills were quite advanced for someone his age. As Matthew read, I almost drove off the road.

Whats' the definition of "confusion"?
Twenty blind lesbians in a fish market!

What? Now, with glee they started reading more jokes from the book until I asked them where they got the book. In unison...HAWSEY'S! And your grandmother let you buy that? Well, she never screened the books that were bought, so the book titled Truly Tasteless Jokes was easily purchased by my son, Daniel (age 9). When they all went on to recite the dirty little ditties my mother had taught them I knew she had lost her mind or maybe the rules that apply to being a parent were different from those being a grandparent. It definitely was a gotcha moment lovingly given to me by my mother. To this day, my mother just smiles innocently when this story is told.

An example of one of the my mother's ditties:

A flock of birds
Chocked full of tirds
Flew over my father's castle
They stretched their necks
And shit a peck
Then closed up their assholes.

Gratitude statement: I'm thankful I don't live in a castle near a fish market.

CAVE LIFE 101

People with alternative lifestyles or who have a different sexual orientation than the rest of mainstream America may reside in a closet until they decide to emerge, but depressed people dwell in a dark, dingy cave many times filled with items of convenience so they won't have to ever emerge. A few years ago, I purchased a small refrigerator and a microwave to put in my bedroom, so I wouldn't have to leave it. That was around the same time as I bought a 52-inch HDTV. I should have seen the writing on the wall, but like most things, I ignored the warning signs until the damage had been done.

Hey, people I live in Florida and in an area where the beaches don't suck. As described in the following quote: "The gentle breeze is still soothing just as the crystal-clear waves roll in from the emerald sea. The flawless white sand is just as soft as before, and the sea oats still dance for a glowing sun" Pensacola boasts to have the whitest beaches in Florida. So why does a person who once was a sun worshipper no longer even venture out into the light of day? No, I haven't joined the ranks of the undead! Not yet, at least!

I think it has to do with having an addictive personality. I always loved to binge and then I'd grow bored with the object of my addiction. This behavior held true in every aspect of my life. For example, I loved to read, but unlike a normal person who would read a book and then go onto the next or perhaps take a break between books, I would read 10 books in 2 weeks and then be done for 6 months or more. I buy books now and never read them. I sit and look at the cover or maybe read the first page a few hundred times. I guess the same holds true with the beach. I burnt myself out on being sun burned. Actually, that's probably a good thing!

Tomorrow, I have my next yoyo appointment. I know she wants me to start dealing with issues I'd rather just leave in the cave. I'd rather discuss how I've spent the last 2 days cleaning and rearranging my cave and how good that made me feel...physically drained, but mentally better. I'd rather talk about why I feel the need to throw something away if I haven't used it in 6 months and why I have so little in which I assign sentimental value. Material objects have never meant very much to me...easy come, easy go! I'd rather discuss anything other than sexual abuse. I think I may be in a horribly foul mood tomorrow!

Gratitude statement: I'm thankful it's today and not tomorrow.