Its the day after Christmas and i'm filled with an overwhelming sense of calm. Our children were all here with us this year, and to see them all grown up, with their own lives I can only be thankful for how they turned out.
To appreciate my overwhelming sense of pride, it's important that you know what they haveovercome to get to where they are now.
How do you measure what damage was done to people as a result of a series of events? How do you know whether or not certain situations would have arisen regardless of previous events? You don’t. But you can assume and surmise.
I am confident that Shayne’s way of looking at life is a complete and direct result of his childhood; his past that I allowed to happen.
These events have followed him around most of his life.
Shayne was a very happy baby, up until his second year I would say. .
Children are very perceptive. I lived for a long time very stressed and tense. Even if I tried to hide it on the outside, I am sure Shayne could sense it. Stress is one thing that you can’t mask for long, especially if you wear your emotions on your sleve like I do. It shows on your face, mannerisms; the tone of your voice, even the way you hold a child.
Children are finely-tuned instruments when it comes to detecting stress.
The famous machete-crib incident was just the first of what would surely make it almost impossible for him to not carry around a great deal of anger and fear.
My past, my mistakes unfortunately fell hardest on Shayne. Being the oldest he is the one that saw and felt the anger and pain that raged in our home.
I am once again ashamed that I let it go on for so long.
He is my most insecure child, to say the least. Secure in his looks but insecure in every other aspect of his life.
All Shayne ever wanted from a young age was to be liked; to have friends that he could count on. That was not always the case, as children can be hurtful and very mean. That’s just the way it is with kids.
But when you are insecure, it hurts even more.
I can vividly remember a group of kids that lived across the street from us when Shayne was about ten years old. One of the boys was Shayne’s age and not the nicest. He would invite Shayne over to play then send him home if other kids came over.
To watch your child, hiding behind a tree in the front yard, watching the other children playing across the street, knowing that he isn’t wanted, is heart wrenching. There isn’t a damn thing that you can do about it either.
You have to sit back, love them and tell them that things turn around for them.
Shayne finally found his audience and some confidence once he was in the Middle School. School was a place for Shayne to meet with his friends, hold court, meet girls and make people laugh; this is when he felt the most comfortable.
The guys loved his sense of humor, the girls loved his face and the teachers were at a loss as to how to corral his mind on things like school work.
As for school work; homework was rarely if never done. Oh, he knew the material well enough – he just chose not to do it. If he was given a test, he would pass it. If he was given homework, he wouldn’t do it. That was that. Nothing that Matt and I did made any difference.
While Shayne was in Middle School, I spent more time in Mr. Billis’s office than I did at my desk at work. Mr. Billis was the Vice Principal, and we became, what I would consider, almost good friends. I saw him more than my husband some weeks.
I will say that he was fair. When Shayne was on the other end of a misdeed, and both mothers were called in, it was handled fairly. I respected that.
Shayne’s first suspension from school was for fighting; it was in his first year at the Middle school.
That particular incident was one of the ones that Matt and I backed him on. He was being physically picked on at school; items taken from him and broken, punched and pushed.
We advised Shayne that if someone hit him he was to defend himself.
The next time he was pushed around, Shayne struck back. Both boys received detention and the bullying stopped. That was one of the only times that child took our advice.
There ya go!
My life as Shayne’s mother while he was in school consisted of being called in for some infraction or another that Shayne was involved in and visiting the Vice Principle. It got old quick, but you love your children and you do what you have to do.
Drink heavily; oh wait, did I say that out loud? Well, not really, but I did my share of elbow bending during those times.
In high school, Shayne and his best friend Mike would skip school and hang at my house. Or, go to school for a few periods, come to my house and then back to school. They made up their own schedules.
As angry as Matt and I would get at him for his antics, it was comical at times. Matt and I had left the house for work one morning; Shayne had already left for school. Half way up the parkway Matt had to turn around for something he had forgotten.
He pulled in the driveway to find Shayne and Mike hiding behind the garbage cans; it seems Matt's arrival had surprised them as they were on their way back into the house, having left school after only one period.
Matt never let on that he saw them; it was just to rediculous; two big guys crouched down between the rubbage. Amazing.
I should have gotten a job at that school for all the times I was in the Vice Principal’s office. The day he graduated was one of the happiest days of my life for many reasons. I knew that I wouldn’t have to go visit with the VP anymore.
Shayne and Mike were best friends throughout highschool, with Mike spending most weekends sleeping on a pile of clothes on Shayne's floor.
Four years had come and gone and surprisingly, we all survived.
High school graduation in our town is held on the football field, weather permitting. The day started out beautiful; but, with the threat of thunder storms looming over the ceremony, it was ominous to say the least.
When the music began and the graduates started their ceremonial procession, the skies got dark and the rumbling of thunder could be heard in the distance.
Lord forgive me but all I could think of was that it was God showing his anger at Shayne for how he had behaved all through school. My husband and I looked at each other with dread, held our breath and waited for the bolt of lightning to strike.
Needless to say, the graduation went off without a hitch and his life was now about to begin.
Shayne had a vision. Shayne wanted to be a Marine. Because of an injury at the end of his senior year, he wasn’t able to enlist when he wanted to in 1996, the year he graduated, but by 1999 he was healed and ready to go. What an exciting and anxious time for all of us.
We all knew how much Shayne wanted this, but we were apprehensive knowing how much Shayne disliked authority, especially when he thought he was right. We didn’t think it would go over well with his Drill Instructors if he was given an order and he decided he didn’t want to do it. But, being as competitive as he is, we were sure that his pride would prevail and he would come to terms with the life of a recruit.
In the Marines you are not called a Marine until the end of boot camp when you earn your Eagle, Globe and Anchor. Only then are you a Marine. All during boot camp you are a recruit, nothing more and nothing less.
It was funny, when he was preparing to go and a friend of Matt’s and mine happened to call about something entirely different, I mentioned that Shayne was leaving in a week for boot camp at Parris Island. This "friend" said to me. “Don’t worry if he doesn’t make it, it isn’t for everyone”. I was so insulted. This man had not been a Marine, he had been in the Army decades before. What the hell did he know about Shayne or the Marines, for that matter? God I was pissed. Once again Shayne was written off before he even started.
I am well aware that people’s actions dictate how people perceive them, but I am also aware that Shayne did many good things during his time in high school. The few people that seemed to underestimate him the most had children who, on the outside, looked perfect. If their parents only knew what they did behind the scenes, when they weren’t around, they might not have had so much to say about other people’s children.
Guess what? He made it; with flying colors. Our son was a Marine, a United States Marine. When our family went to his graduation, I was filled with such pride. To this day I look at him and the time he spent in the Corps., and I am so proud of him.
His journey up to that point had been difficult to say the least.
Not long after Shayne graduated boot camp and was stationed at Camp Lejeune, NC he proposed to his girlfriend of several years. This proved to be disastrous. Shit, maybe it’s genetic?
We knew that it was too soon for him to take such a big step, and we knew that he should wait. We also knew that this girl and her certifiable mother would prove to be more than Shayne could handle. If we could only have known the extent of their deceitfullness, we might have stood a chance.
I'm sorry to say, we could not persuade him to postpone it and wait at least a year before getting married.
With no other option, we embraced our new daughter in law and planned a wedding.
Three months after the wedding, his bride had moved home and Shayne was alone. Matt, Brittany, Anthony and Madison (our granddaughter who has yet been identified) and I drove down with pots, pans and all the food to cook Shayne and his friends a Thanksgiving dinner.
Shayne was devastated and our family was beyond pissed.
No one can say why or what happened behind closed doors, but the way it was handled by her side caused great stress and bitter feelings on our side. Once more Shayne’s perception of life was tilted by the actions of others.
Once that mess was over and done with, (with the help of a lawyer and a letter threatening a lawsuit against her mother) I can honestly say that Shayne’ four years as a Marine were, I believe, his happiest. He saw and went places he might not have had an opportunity to experience otherwise. He climbed Mt. Fuji, was stationed in Okinawa for a year and got to visit Tokyo. He got his deep water scuba diving certificate in Okinawa also.
When Shayne was at Camp Hansen, Okinawa he was in a class and they were given the assignment to write a paper about the person that they felt exemplified the Corp .values the best. Shayne wrote about his father, Matt. When he read the letter to the class, his Commanding Officer gave him a direct order to call his father back in the States and read him the letter. He thought that it was the finest thing he had ever heard.
With Shayne and Matt’s permission I have included a copy of that letter. After reading it, what else can you say about their relationship? The letter says it all.
Honor, Courage and Commitment
By: Lance Corporal Shayne Santa Lucia, 2002
When I think about those words one person comes to my mind. I think of my dad above all others.
When I was three years old, my mother divorced my biological father because he was a drug addict and an alcoholic and I have never seen him since. My mother got remarried when I was about 9 years old to a man who loved her but more important than that, he loved me and my sister like we were his children.
My whole life it has bothered me that I never knew my biological father, and when ever I wanted to try and find him, Matt was the first one to offer me help no matter how much it hurt him. To pay him back for everything he did for us, when I was about 14, me and my sister had our last names changed to his so that he would always know that we were his children. I think that was the first time I ever saw my dad cry.
Because of those examples and too many more to list, I think of my dad when I think of the core values.
My dad shows Honor by taking on the responsibility of raising my sister and I as if he was our biological father.
He shows Courage by always being there for us when we need him. When I tried to find my biological father, he offered to help, and not because he had to but because it was the right think to do no matter what it did to him inside.
When I was 21, I found out where Gary lived and my dad offered to pay for me to fly down and meet him, even thought I had a job and made enough money to do it myself.
When my parents got married, my dad made a Commitment to my mother that he would be there till death. But, he also made a promise to love my sister and me as if we were his own. No matter how many times we fought with him or how many times we said things to each other that hurt the other one, he always remembered the commitment he made and never went against it.
I have looked up to him my entire life and hope that one day I can be half the man he is.
My father was never a Marine, but yet he lives his life by the Corps values. For this reason, among many others, I have a great deal of respect for him and most of all, being able to tell people that he is my father.
My dad is the one person that comes to mind when I hear those words.
If that didn’t bring a tear to your eye, I don’t know what will.
Writing that letter was a turning point for Shayne in his feelings of abandonment from his biological father. A great deal of the rage that Shayne had held towards Gary was gone. Not all of it, but a lot of it. This was the first step in his healing.
Shayne was finally able to see that nothing he did caused Gary to leave and there was nothing he could have done to make him stay. He also realized that biological or not, Matt was his father and would be until the day he died. Nothing could change that.
Iraq was on the list of places he also went. Shayne was with the 10th Marines when the war started. He was stationed in Kuwait until the war officially started, and his division went through the center of Iraq. He was promoted to Corporal in Bagdad.
His time in Iraq was the most fulfilling. He fell in love with the Iraqi people and felt that the United States was doing what was necessary for our safety and the safety of Iraq. He still does.
Shayne left the Corps. after his four years and it hasn’t been an easy transition for him. His dream is to become a police officer in a large city. This was not to be the case. His life would take him on many broken roads before he was to find his true path.
Of the many relationships that Shayne has had; ranging from disastorous to almost perfect to down right dangerous, I believe that they all had to happen for him to come to the place in his life where he is now.
Shayne has found his soulmate, his career and his confidence.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Meet the in laws
To understand Matt and his issues with control, I think that it is very important that you understand his family.
Matt was the oldest of Tony and Joanne’s two children; sister Patty, was seven years younger.
My in-laws had a rocky start to their marriage. Hell, before the wedding it was rocky. Joanne’s parents were not especially fond of Tony, but, not wanting to lose their daughter, (hmmmm, sound familiar) they planned the wedding for friends and family alike to come and wish the couple well.
A Catholic service to be followed by a lavish reception.
This was not to happen as planned. Tony convinced Joanne to run away and elope, two weeks before the wedding. Needless to say, that did not make the family happy, considering that not only had the invitations gone out, the reception was booked and paid for.
Luckily for my in-laws, when they came back from their sudden trip to the altar, they agreed to marry again in the church and the reception was still a go.
Unfortunately, feelings were hurt and lines drawn; the stage was now set for a power play between Tony and Joanne’s father.
Tony won.
This chain of events would ultimately break Matt’s grandfather’s heart. His only daughter, in his opinion, had married a bum.
It took the birth of Matthew to soften Joanne’s father into speaking to his daughter again. Matt was his grandfather’s pride and joy. He called him Mickey and that was all it took to bring the family together again. I am not saying that they liked Tony any better, but at least they were talking again.
The bigger problem came when Joanne and Tony packed up Matt and moved to California for a job offer that Tony had. If the family had decided to make amends with Tony, it wouldn’t last.
When Matt’s parents relocated to the west coast, and Tony acquired his first girlfriend, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that the family back East was not going to be happy once their daughter let them know what was going on.
It was during this time period that Matt’s Uncle Bob, Joanne’s little brother went to visit during the summer for a month.
That was the plan. Bobby would fly out and spend four weeks with his sister, nephew, and brother-in-law.
After three weeks Tony told Joanne to send him home. It seems that Bobby was seeing more than Tony wanted him to see. I guess screaming and verbally bashing your wife is ok in front of your toddler child but not your teenage nephew.
Well, Bobby got home and told his parents what was going on in California, and they immediately called Joanne and begged her to come home with their beloved Mickey.
Her dad vowed to have the marriage annulled, and pleaded with her to leave Tony and move back East.
It seemed to be the smart thing to do. Not only was her husband cheating on her but making her life miserable.
Isn’t hindsight great? I can look at this situation and say to myself, Jesus, why didn’t she leave? When I myself put up with much worse and didn’t leave. I just don’t know why women, and some men for that matter, don’t leave when the trouble first starts. Are we so desperate for the fairy tale ending? Are we afraid that we have failed? What is it that keeps us with these men?
I don’t think there is one answer for this question. It is complex and so personal that it can never really be defined. But wouldn’t it be great if we could see into the future and know if the man we loved was going to change for the better or was really just a big asshole, never to get any better.
Regardless of whom he saw or what Tony did, Joanne would not leave her husband. She loved him and that was that. This is beginning to sound like a pattern with us women. With all our brains, we can be just plain stupid when it comes to men. I hope that evolution can play a part in correcting that in the next million years.
Anyway, after about two years, they moved back east and things settled into as normal a life as can be expected.
It is when Matt got to be in his teens that I think most of the problems started that would carry with Matt until, well, today.
How does a son react when his dad tells him he has a girlfriend on the side? How does a young man in his early teens deal with the fact that his mother knows about this woman, about all the women in her husband’s past and is now dealing with a son who is starting to explore the finer sex for himself?
Because of all of this, and more, my in-laws were not very happy people. Joanne was so bitter, I don’t know if she ever really forgave Tony for the way he had treated her so much of their married life, or for his infidelity. When he finally did realize almost too late what he had done, he tried very hard to make amends.
Can you ever truly be forgiven for spending almost your entire married life unfaithful, harsh and mean? Can people really change when faced with what they have done to the one person they should have loved the most?
I don’t know the answers to those questions, but I do know that my father in law tried up until he died to make things right with the wife that he had for so long taken for granted.
On one of Joanne’s birthdays, Tony made reservations for all of us to have dinner at a very up-scale restaurant in East Orange, NJ. This is about an hour away from our home, so Tony reserved a limo for us, hoping to impress Joanne.
When the stretch pulled up to their home, we were all so excited to see Joanne’s reaction and surprise. Well we could not have foreseen what was to come. She was livid, and the entire ride up to The Manor, she either sat in cold silence, or berated Tony for being so stupid as to think that she would actually enjoy acting like a snob in a limo and going to such a restaurant.
Dinner was no better. This is an absolutely beautiful restaurant with fantastic food and service, but it was the most uncomfortable, tense evening that I have ever attended.
Poor Tony, for all of his wrong-doings during their marriage, he tried so hard to make up for his sins. I wonder why she stayed with him, knowing that she would never forgive him. She did love him though. After she died, Matt found an unfinished letter that she was writing to her children, telling them how lonely she was since Tony had died and letting them know how much she had loved him.
As a result of all that had happened in their past, no one was ever good enough for Matt. And for that matter, Matt was never good enough either.
Now, his sister was another story, although they did a number on her too. Patty never took the blame for anything in her life. If something went wrong, it was someone else’s fault; never hers, ever.
This was a young lady who was the most self-absorbed human being I have ever known. If it didn’t affect her in a positive way, she either didn’t give a shit or she hated it and would do anything she could do to thwart it.
She spent her lifetime doing anything and everything she could to make everyone around her miserable.
She tormented her parents, used everyone that she knew and pushed away any good friend that she ever had, and she did have some very good friends during her lifetime.
Even good friends have to take a step back sometimes and decide when the relationship has become more of a burden than that of true friendship. Every person close to her had to finally, at one point or another sever their ties with her.
Her need for attention was all but encompassed her life.
She was a diabetic who bragged when her sugar was over 400; reviled in the thought of her next hospital stay. She loved that she had so many ailments at such a young age. It was the only thing she ever wanted to talk about.
Pity.
In the end she got what she always wanted, to be sicker than anyone else; she died suddenly at the age of 39.
I realize that I sound harsh. The simple fact is that we are what we are in life, and death does not by definition turn us into Saints. Patty was a hurtful and hateful person who manipulated and intimidated her parents and that in of itself had such an impact on Matt. For that, I don’t think I will ever forgiver her, even after death.
How sad it is that when a young woman dies, and only a handful of people mourned her.
After her death I cried for a young life that was lost prematurely, but not for the person that she was. The only real sadness was for her young daughter and husband.
Matt has never cried over the loss of his sister; to him, she had died years before.
She came in and out of our lives only when she was in trouble or needed something. One of her disappearances lasted almost two years and ended only when her first husband left her for another woman and she needed Matt’s help.
I am not a psychologist by any stretch of the imagination, but I believe with all my heart that for most of Matt’s life he has been a tortured soul whose only wish was to be happy, loved and needed.
It took Matt most of our married life to realize that the demons of his family’s past and his inability to rid his mind of them were taking away any chance he had at being the man I knew he was deep down.
We had that in common at least, it took me just as long to realize that if things didn’t change, I would once again be faced with a decision that I did not want to make.
Don’t’ get me wrong, Matt had some shining moment throughout the years; thus, proving that I was right all along about the man I knew he was. The man buried so deep within himself that he didn’t even know he had a choice and a chance of healing and ridding himself of the baggage that he carried around his whole life.
My declaration that the marriage would end unless we did something about his inner turmoil only worked because I was serious. It was not an idle threat; I meant it.
So now I’m going to give away our ending.
The road to healing has been long and painful at times; but worth it. It’s unfortunate but necessary that you rehash and dredge up things that you never wanted to face again before you can truly find peace.
Purge and move on.
Matt and I are at a place now that we should have been all along. And inasmuch as my heart hurts for all the wasted years, I need to stay focused and look to the future, our future.
It’s never too late to get it right and I am so thankful that I decided to trust my instincts (which have been wrong so many times before) and stay with the one person I believe was put on this earth just for me.
We are soul mates and we won the long-fought war.
His inner wounds are healing and he found his smile.
I’m hoping that it won’t be too much longer before he can even smile when he looks in the mirror.
I hope it’s soon; he has such a sweet smile.
Matt was the oldest of Tony and Joanne’s two children; sister Patty, was seven years younger.
My in-laws had a rocky start to their marriage. Hell, before the wedding it was rocky. Joanne’s parents were not especially fond of Tony, but, not wanting to lose their daughter, (hmmmm, sound familiar) they planned the wedding for friends and family alike to come and wish the couple well.
A Catholic service to be followed by a lavish reception.
This was not to happen as planned. Tony convinced Joanne to run away and elope, two weeks before the wedding. Needless to say, that did not make the family happy, considering that not only had the invitations gone out, the reception was booked and paid for.
Luckily for my in-laws, when they came back from their sudden trip to the altar, they agreed to marry again in the church and the reception was still a go.
Unfortunately, feelings were hurt and lines drawn; the stage was now set for a power play between Tony and Joanne’s father.
Tony won.
This chain of events would ultimately break Matt’s grandfather’s heart. His only daughter, in his opinion, had married a bum.
It took the birth of Matthew to soften Joanne’s father into speaking to his daughter again. Matt was his grandfather’s pride and joy. He called him Mickey and that was all it took to bring the family together again. I am not saying that they liked Tony any better, but at least they were talking again.
The bigger problem came when Joanne and Tony packed up Matt and moved to California for a job offer that Tony had. If the family had decided to make amends with Tony, it wouldn’t last.
When Matt’s parents relocated to the west coast, and Tony acquired his first girlfriend, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that the family back East was not going to be happy once their daughter let them know what was going on.
It was during this time period that Matt’s Uncle Bob, Joanne’s little brother went to visit during the summer for a month.
That was the plan. Bobby would fly out and spend four weeks with his sister, nephew, and brother-in-law.
After three weeks Tony told Joanne to send him home. It seems that Bobby was seeing more than Tony wanted him to see. I guess screaming and verbally bashing your wife is ok in front of your toddler child but not your teenage nephew.
Well, Bobby got home and told his parents what was going on in California, and they immediately called Joanne and begged her to come home with their beloved Mickey.
Her dad vowed to have the marriage annulled, and pleaded with her to leave Tony and move back East.
It seemed to be the smart thing to do. Not only was her husband cheating on her but making her life miserable.
Isn’t hindsight great? I can look at this situation and say to myself, Jesus, why didn’t she leave? When I myself put up with much worse and didn’t leave. I just don’t know why women, and some men for that matter, don’t leave when the trouble first starts. Are we so desperate for the fairy tale ending? Are we afraid that we have failed? What is it that keeps us with these men?
I don’t think there is one answer for this question. It is complex and so personal that it can never really be defined. But wouldn’t it be great if we could see into the future and know if the man we loved was going to change for the better or was really just a big asshole, never to get any better.
Regardless of whom he saw or what Tony did, Joanne would not leave her husband. She loved him and that was that. This is beginning to sound like a pattern with us women. With all our brains, we can be just plain stupid when it comes to men. I hope that evolution can play a part in correcting that in the next million years.
Anyway, after about two years, they moved back east and things settled into as normal a life as can be expected.
It is when Matt got to be in his teens that I think most of the problems started that would carry with Matt until, well, today.
How does a son react when his dad tells him he has a girlfriend on the side? How does a young man in his early teens deal with the fact that his mother knows about this woman, about all the women in her husband’s past and is now dealing with a son who is starting to explore the finer sex for himself?
Because of all of this, and more, my in-laws were not very happy people. Joanne was so bitter, I don’t know if she ever really forgave Tony for the way he had treated her so much of their married life, or for his infidelity. When he finally did realize almost too late what he had done, he tried very hard to make amends.
Can you ever truly be forgiven for spending almost your entire married life unfaithful, harsh and mean? Can people really change when faced with what they have done to the one person they should have loved the most?
I don’t know the answers to those questions, but I do know that my father in law tried up until he died to make things right with the wife that he had for so long taken for granted.
On one of Joanne’s birthdays, Tony made reservations for all of us to have dinner at a very up-scale restaurant in East Orange, NJ. This is about an hour away from our home, so Tony reserved a limo for us, hoping to impress Joanne.
When the stretch pulled up to their home, we were all so excited to see Joanne’s reaction and surprise. Well we could not have foreseen what was to come. She was livid, and the entire ride up to The Manor, she either sat in cold silence, or berated Tony for being so stupid as to think that she would actually enjoy acting like a snob in a limo and going to such a restaurant.
Dinner was no better. This is an absolutely beautiful restaurant with fantastic food and service, but it was the most uncomfortable, tense evening that I have ever attended.
Poor Tony, for all of his wrong-doings during their marriage, he tried so hard to make up for his sins. I wonder why she stayed with him, knowing that she would never forgive him. She did love him though. After she died, Matt found an unfinished letter that she was writing to her children, telling them how lonely she was since Tony had died and letting them know how much she had loved him.
As a result of all that had happened in their past, no one was ever good enough for Matt. And for that matter, Matt was never good enough either.
Now, his sister was another story, although they did a number on her too. Patty never took the blame for anything in her life. If something went wrong, it was someone else’s fault; never hers, ever.
This was a young lady who was the most self-absorbed human being I have ever known. If it didn’t affect her in a positive way, she either didn’t give a shit or she hated it and would do anything she could do to thwart it.
She spent her lifetime doing anything and everything she could to make everyone around her miserable.
She tormented her parents, used everyone that she knew and pushed away any good friend that she ever had, and she did have some very good friends during her lifetime.
Even good friends have to take a step back sometimes and decide when the relationship has become more of a burden than that of true friendship. Every person close to her had to finally, at one point or another sever their ties with her.
Her need for attention was all but encompassed her life.
She was a diabetic who bragged when her sugar was over 400; reviled in the thought of her next hospital stay. She loved that she had so many ailments at such a young age. It was the only thing she ever wanted to talk about.
Pity.
In the end she got what she always wanted, to be sicker than anyone else; she died suddenly at the age of 39.
I realize that I sound harsh. The simple fact is that we are what we are in life, and death does not by definition turn us into Saints. Patty was a hurtful and hateful person who manipulated and intimidated her parents and that in of itself had such an impact on Matt. For that, I don’t think I will ever forgiver her, even after death.
How sad it is that when a young woman dies, and only a handful of people mourned her.
After her death I cried for a young life that was lost prematurely, but not for the person that she was. The only real sadness was for her young daughter and husband.
Matt has never cried over the loss of his sister; to him, she had died years before.
She came in and out of our lives only when she was in trouble or needed something. One of her disappearances lasted almost two years and ended only when her first husband left her for another woman and she needed Matt’s help.
I am not a psychologist by any stretch of the imagination, but I believe with all my heart that for most of Matt’s life he has been a tortured soul whose only wish was to be happy, loved and needed.
It took Matt most of our married life to realize that the demons of his family’s past and his inability to rid his mind of them were taking away any chance he had at being the man I knew he was deep down.
We had that in common at least, it took me just as long to realize that if things didn’t change, I would once again be faced with a decision that I did not want to make.
Don’t’ get me wrong, Matt had some shining moment throughout the years; thus, proving that I was right all along about the man I knew he was. The man buried so deep within himself that he didn’t even know he had a choice and a chance of healing and ridding himself of the baggage that he carried around his whole life.
My declaration that the marriage would end unless we did something about his inner turmoil only worked because I was serious. It was not an idle threat; I meant it.
So now I’m going to give away our ending.
The road to healing has been long and painful at times; but worth it. It’s unfortunate but necessary that you rehash and dredge up things that you never wanted to face again before you can truly find peace.
Purge and move on.
Matt and I are at a place now that we should have been all along. And inasmuch as my heart hurts for all the wasted years, I need to stay focused and look to the future, our future.
It’s never too late to get it right and I am so thankful that I decided to trust my instincts (which have been wrong so many times before) and stay with the one person I believe was put on this earth just for me.
We are soul mates and we won the long-fought war.
His inner wounds are healing and he found his smile.
I’m hoping that it won’t be too much longer before he can even smile when he looks in the mirror.
I hope it’s soon; he has such a sweet smile.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
WITH VISIONS OF SUGAR PLUMS DANCING IN MY HEAD
With the Christmas season upon us, I was hoping to find visions of sugar plums dancing in my head, but, I found the ghost of Gary lurking there instead.
Talk about a downer.
I mean really, was it too much to ask him to vacate my brain during the holiday season? Sure, I had invited him in while I wrote my book and blog, but for him to assume that I wanted him to take up permanent residence in my head was just plain selfish on his part; and too much to take for me.
Thus, I decided that this week, I would take a stroll into my memory and relive my Christmas past.
That ought to kick his ass out for a while, don’t you think?
Let the stroll begin………
I’m not sure if it was the times or my youth, but things seemed so much simpler back then.
There were no malls or cyber Monday; no camping out at the electronic store to get 150% off the one item that you had to purchase, only to find out that 1,000 other people were there for the same item; of which there was only one available.
High tech shopping meant perusing the Sears catalog, placing an order by land-line telephone and picking it up at the store; you remember the hundreds of numbered bins you had to search through to find your purchase? It was great…
Shopping was done in little towns scattered across the nation. Christmas decorations would line the streets and carols would be playing over a loud speaker for all to hear and enjoy.
Mangers and Menorahs shared the spotlight with no one being insulted or outraged, threatened or confused. It was a time for tolerance and acceptance.
Children wrote out their Christmas lists for Santa with no expectations of getting everything they had put on their list.
Christmas was not a time of greed, but a time of family, traditions and togetherness.
I have such fond memories of my dad taking my sisters and me into town to shop for the perfect gift for our mom. I looked forward to this every year, as it was one of the highlights of the season for me.
Being alone with our dad, who worked so many hours each week was a treat; and the simple fact that he let my sisters and I have a say in what his purchase would be made me feel very special, and almost grown up.
An outfit or a piece of jewelry, it didn’t matter what we purchased, mom would love it; she always did.
Back in the day, Thanksgiving was actually an important holiday all unto itself; not just the lead-up to Christmas. So, decorating for the holidays never started until after Thanksgiving in our house; with the most exciting build up to Christmas being the placing of the Manger on the mantle.
Every evening we would move the wise men closer to the stable; having them arrive on Christmas morning.
It was the little things like our Manger, things that didn’t cost any money that meant the most to us. Family traditions, embedded in our lives; always there in our memories and hearts.
About a week before Christmas we would all pile into the car and search for our perfect tree. Our tree was put up on Christmas Eve evening; never before. We would all have dinner in front of the TV watching Amahl and the Night Visitor. Then the decorating of the tree would begin; all the while my sisters and I would giggle and laugh with excitement in anticipation for the following morning.
The hanging of our stockings and the placing of the milk and cookies would come last, and then it was off to bed with us.
Sleep came hard that night; the excitement for the following morning was almost too much to bear. Gifts, relatives, food and more; we couldn’t wait.
At 7:00am we were up and ready to go. Whichever one us my sisters or I got up first, we would wake the others and off into our parent’s room we would go to wake them up, then it was back into our room while the gifts were placed and the lights lit on the tree.
Let the fun begin.
With my sisters along side of me, we would race down the stairs to see the most beautiful sight; our tree all lit up with lights, and a treasure trove of gifts lying around it, just waiting for us to rip them open and revile in the gifts that Santa had brought us.
In our family, we always spent Christmas day with my dad’s side of the family. We would rotate each year between our house and my dad’s brother and sister’s homes. I loved it, we got to see our cousins, exchange more gifts, eat and just laugh.
My mother’s family would come the following weekend, thus making Christmas last even that much longer. Eating, presents, and family; God I love holidays.
Those innocent years are something that I find myself longing for. It is so true that youth is wasted on the young. We struggle to grow up faster than we need to when we should be cherishing the time that we have as young, carefree children.
It was when my family moved to Illinois the summer preceding my going into the eighth grade that some of my favorite traditions started.
I might have become a teenager, but my family and our holiday traditions still meant everything to me. It was the stability of it all I think that made even our move across the country doable. We survived because of our strength as a family and our traditions, new and old.
Moving was a difficult time for us. We had left Barbara, our older sister in New Jersey at college, which added to the stress of moving to a new state so far away. She would be alone without us; although close family friends were near enough to lend a helping hand if needed, but it just wasn't the same without her with us.
Our first Christmas in the great state of Illinois was snowy and cold; and with nothing familiar to us, we forged ahead and proceeded to create new traditions and memories for our little family.
My sister Susan was very smart and popular and was usually out and about with friends or studying. She was the cool sister, and the oldest for me now that Barbara wasn't at home with us.
So, when it came time to go tree shopping my dad and I went alone. Thus, starting a tradition that lasted until I got married; my father and I went alone, every Christmas after that for our tree.
I looked forward to that outing as much as I anticipated with excitement Christmas morning. It was a time that was just for me and my dad, no one else. We picked the tree together; with my mother always loving our choice.
That first year, as I said was difficult for us. The evening we chose to buy our tree was cold with wet snow falling. We were in a state that we were not familiar with, with people we didn’t know and just looking for something that we could hold on to.
So, as the search continued for our perfect tree, we wandered into the town of Aurora and into a jewelry store. It seems that my dad had more than just a tree on his mind.
We were going to buy my mom diamond earrings.
I was so excited to be a part of this; and when the jeweler asked me if I wanted to hold the earrings to get a better look, I thought I would pass out for sure. This man was going to trust me to hold on to these beautiful diamond earrings; and my dad had actually asked for my opinion on which ones to purchase.
For me, that bitter cold snowy evening on that December night so long ago is one of the strongest and fondest memories that I have of any Christmas still to today.
Alone, 1000 miles away from family and close friends, that first Christmas in Illinois was perfect. My sisters and I, along with our parents shared that time alone, just us.
Being alone with the ones you love, when away from home and familiarity, can cement the feelings that you always had; just forgotten; or had unknowingly taken for granted.
It was that Christmas that I realized just how much I needed, loved and cherished my family. I missed our relatives and the hectic hustle of the day, but every once in a while, I think families need to be alone on such significant days, to remember and to see just how important each other is in our lives.
Dinner was magnificent. My dad was the one who came up with new traditions and special things that made difficult times more bearable. He had a way of making even the most difficult times special.
The table was set with our finest china, linen napkins and best glasses. We dined on filet mignon, red leaf lettuce, potatoes and more.
That evening, when I went to bed, I thanked God for giving me such a perfect family.
Life might not be so bad after all in this very strange state of Illinois.
We lived in Illinois for two years. Moving back was bitter sweet for me; but to see family and friends again, especially during the Christmas holidays was great.
Christmas became very hectic for me once I married Gary. Shit, he’s back…. Fast forwarding to my life with Matt; I don’t have the strength to visit Garyland this week.
When Matt and I married, one of the things I had the nerve to insist on was that we always get a real tree for Christmas. I couldn’t comprehend having a fake tree; ever.
Not having that beautiful evergreen aroma spread through the house was not something that I would tolerate; still wont.
Christmas morning for our children was like it was for me; waking up at 7, setting up the gifts and setting the perfect stage for the day.
Shayne would undoubtedly get up at 5am; with Matt and I forcing him back to bed till 7. Once 7am came around and Matt and I had gotten things ready, the ripping would begin.
Shayne would tear through his gifts in about two minutes; Brittany would methodically open each gift with great care, never tearing the paper; and Anthony was the steady-as–you go type.
Life was good.
We have had our tight years, and years when things weren’t going well for the family in general; but it always seemed ok on Christmas.
It didn't matter if the pile of gifts was smaller from one to the next. It mattered that we were healthy, together and with family.
There truly is something magical and special about the Christmas season that tends to bring out the best in everyone; regardless of family situations or problems.
With the loss of our mother last year, Christmas, to say the least, is different.
As the different memories of my mom flood back into my mind, I remember her with laughter and joy, sorry and sadness.
On this second Christmas without her, I have come to believe that Christmas morning has a mystery and mystique to it that tends to calm and sooth; at least for me anyway.
I will cry my way through the preceding weeks leading up to the 25th, and then wake up with a sense of peace, knowing that my mother is still with us and sharing with us as we celebrate together as a family.
She is always in my heart and I know that she burns brighter during this time of year; and for that I am so grateful.
For this holiday season I wish for all my friends, family and blog readers a joyous, healthy and peaceful Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Talk about a downer.
I mean really, was it too much to ask him to vacate my brain during the holiday season? Sure, I had invited him in while I wrote my book and blog, but for him to assume that I wanted him to take up permanent residence in my head was just plain selfish on his part; and too much to take for me.
Thus, I decided that this week, I would take a stroll into my memory and relive my Christmas past.
That ought to kick his ass out for a while, don’t you think?
Let the stroll begin………
I’m not sure if it was the times or my youth, but things seemed so much simpler back then.
There were no malls or cyber Monday; no camping out at the electronic store to get 150% off the one item that you had to purchase, only to find out that 1,000 other people were there for the same item; of which there was only one available.
High tech shopping meant perusing the Sears catalog, placing an order by land-line telephone and picking it up at the store; you remember the hundreds of numbered bins you had to search through to find your purchase? It was great…
Shopping was done in little towns scattered across the nation. Christmas decorations would line the streets and carols would be playing over a loud speaker for all to hear and enjoy.
Mangers and Menorahs shared the spotlight with no one being insulted or outraged, threatened or confused. It was a time for tolerance and acceptance.
Children wrote out their Christmas lists for Santa with no expectations of getting everything they had put on their list.
Christmas was not a time of greed, but a time of family, traditions and togetherness.
I have such fond memories of my dad taking my sisters and me into town to shop for the perfect gift for our mom. I looked forward to this every year, as it was one of the highlights of the season for me.
Being alone with our dad, who worked so many hours each week was a treat; and the simple fact that he let my sisters and I have a say in what his purchase would be made me feel very special, and almost grown up.
An outfit or a piece of jewelry, it didn’t matter what we purchased, mom would love it; she always did.
Back in the day, Thanksgiving was actually an important holiday all unto itself; not just the lead-up to Christmas. So, decorating for the holidays never started until after Thanksgiving in our house; with the most exciting build up to Christmas being the placing of the Manger on the mantle.
Every evening we would move the wise men closer to the stable; having them arrive on Christmas morning.
It was the little things like our Manger, things that didn’t cost any money that meant the most to us. Family traditions, embedded in our lives; always there in our memories and hearts.
About a week before Christmas we would all pile into the car and search for our perfect tree. Our tree was put up on Christmas Eve evening; never before. We would all have dinner in front of the TV watching Amahl and the Night Visitor. Then the decorating of the tree would begin; all the while my sisters and I would giggle and laugh with excitement in anticipation for the following morning.
The hanging of our stockings and the placing of the milk and cookies would come last, and then it was off to bed with us.
Sleep came hard that night; the excitement for the following morning was almost too much to bear. Gifts, relatives, food and more; we couldn’t wait.
At 7:00am we were up and ready to go. Whichever one us my sisters or I got up first, we would wake the others and off into our parent’s room we would go to wake them up, then it was back into our room while the gifts were placed and the lights lit on the tree.
Let the fun begin.
With my sisters along side of me, we would race down the stairs to see the most beautiful sight; our tree all lit up with lights, and a treasure trove of gifts lying around it, just waiting for us to rip them open and revile in the gifts that Santa had brought us.
In our family, we always spent Christmas day with my dad’s side of the family. We would rotate each year between our house and my dad’s brother and sister’s homes. I loved it, we got to see our cousins, exchange more gifts, eat and just laugh.
My mother’s family would come the following weekend, thus making Christmas last even that much longer. Eating, presents, and family; God I love holidays.
Those innocent years are something that I find myself longing for. It is so true that youth is wasted on the young. We struggle to grow up faster than we need to when we should be cherishing the time that we have as young, carefree children.
It was when my family moved to Illinois the summer preceding my going into the eighth grade that some of my favorite traditions started.
I might have become a teenager, but my family and our holiday traditions still meant everything to me. It was the stability of it all I think that made even our move across the country doable. We survived because of our strength as a family and our traditions, new and old.
Moving was a difficult time for us. We had left Barbara, our older sister in New Jersey at college, which added to the stress of moving to a new state so far away. She would be alone without us; although close family friends were near enough to lend a helping hand if needed, but it just wasn't the same without her with us.
Our first Christmas in the great state of Illinois was snowy and cold; and with nothing familiar to us, we forged ahead and proceeded to create new traditions and memories for our little family.
My sister Susan was very smart and popular and was usually out and about with friends or studying. She was the cool sister, and the oldest for me now that Barbara wasn't at home with us.
So, when it came time to go tree shopping my dad and I went alone. Thus, starting a tradition that lasted until I got married; my father and I went alone, every Christmas after that for our tree.
I looked forward to that outing as much as I anticipated with excitement Christmas morning. It was a time that was just for me and my dad, no one else. We picked the tree together; with my mother always loving our choice.
That first year, as I said was difficult for us. The evening we chose to buy our tree was cold with wet snow falling. We were in a state that we were not familiar with, with people we didn’t know and just looking for something that we could hold on to.
So, as the search continued for our perfect tree, we wandered into the town of Aurora and into a jewelry store. It seems that my dad had more than just a tree on his mind.
We were going to buy my mom diamond earrings.
I was so excited to be a part of this; and when the jeweler asked me if I wanted to hold the earrings to get a better look, I thought I would pass out for sure. This man was going to trust me to hold on to these beautiful diamond earrings; and my dad had actually asked for my opinion on which ones to purchase.
For me, that bitter cold snowy evening on that December night so long ago is one of the strongest and fondest memories that I have of any Christmas still to today.
Alone, 1000 miles away from family and close friends, that first Christmas in Illinois was perfect. My sisters and I, along with our parents shared that time alone, just us.
Being alone with the ones you love, when away from home and familiarity, can cement the feelings that you always had; just forgotten; or had unknowingly taken for granted.
It was that Christmas that I realized just how much I needed, loved and cherished my family. I missed our relatives and the hectic hustle of the day, but every once in a while, I think families need to be alone on such significant days, to remember and to see just how important each other is in our lives.
Dinner was magnificent. My dad was the one who came up with new traditions and special things that made difficult times more bearable. He had a way of making even the most difficult times special.
The table was set with our finest china, linen napkins and best glasses. We dined on filet mignon, red leaf lettuce, potatoes and more.
That evening, when I went to bed, I thanked God for giving me such a perfect family.
Life might not be so bad after all in this very strange state of Illinois.
We lived in Illinois for two years. Moving back was bitter sweet for me; but to see family and friends again, especially during the Christmas holidays was great.
Christmas became very hectic for me once I married Gary. Shit, he’s back…. Fast forwarding to my life with Matt; I don’t have the strength to visit Garyland this week.
When Matt and I married, one of the things I had the nerve to insist on was that we always get a real tree for Christmas. I couldn’t comprehend having a fake tree; ever.
Not having that beautiful evergreen aroma spread through the house was not something that I would tolerate; still wont.
Christmas morning for our children was like it was for me; waking up at 7, setting up the gifts and setting the perfect stage for the day.
Shayne would undoubtedly get up at 5am; with Matt and I forcing him back to bed till 7. Once 7am came around and Matt and I had gotten things ready, the ripping would begin.
Shayne would tear through his gifts in about two minutes; Brittany would methodically open each gift with great care, never tearing the paper; and Anthony was the steady-as–you go type.
Life was good.
We have had our tight years, and years when things weren’t going well for the family in general; but it always seemed ok on Christmas.
It didn't matter if the pile of gifts was smaller from one to the next. It mattered that we were healthy, together and with family.
There truly is something magical and special about the Christmas season that tends to bring out the best in everyone; regardless of family situations or problems.
With the loss of our mother last year, Christmas, to say the least, is different.
As the different memories of my mom flood back into my mind, I remember her with laughter and joy, sorry and sadness.
On this second Christmas without her, I have come to believe that Christmas morning has a mystery and mystique to it that tends to calm and sooth; at least for me anyway.
I will cry my way through the preceding weeks leading up to the 25th, and then wake up with a sense of peace, knowing that my mother is still with us and sharing with us as we celebrate together as a family.
She is always in my heart and I know that she burns brighter during this time of year; and for that I am so grateful.
For this holiday season I wish for all my friends, family and blog readers a joyous, healthy and peaceful Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
PHOBIAS AND WHO CAN I BLAME THEM ON
Who can I blame all my weirdo phobias on? It wouldn’t be fair to blame my parents, they have been nothing but wonderful. I mean, I could, but that would just be wrong.
I could blame Gary. Let’s face it; life with him was not serene. As it is, I still have nightmares about those days, only in present tense. But my phobias, I don’t think so, not all of them anyway. Some of them are just so odd and so far from the mainstream that I can’t come up with anything that would link them to my past. Who knows, maybe Dr. Phil could shed some light on them. Oh wait, I think I’m afraid of him too.
Let’s take feet as an example. Feet are harmless; they don’t have teeth, a mind of their own, or an agenda to make your life miserable. So, what is my fear of feet all about? Not other people’s feet, just mine.
I am 50 years old and this summer is the very first year since I was a teenager that I would wear flips; or as my mother called them when we were growing up, go-aheads. I have no idea where that came from and have never heard it from anyone else.
Anyway, the company I am employed with set a goal, we reached it, and our reward was a trip to Mexico with a guest, all expenses paid. How cool is that? Well Mexico is hot and I would not really be able to walk around the beach and pool in my sneakers and socks.
Socks are very important to me also. So, talking with the five women I work with, it was decided that I would buy a pair of flips and wear them to work to get used to them, and used to people looking at my feet.
I have delivered three children with socks on, I go to my OB/GYN, get naked and in the stirrups spread eagle, but I have socks on. My feet are never bared to the public.
So, step one, I purchased three pairs of flips. The first day that I wore them to work, my heart was pounding so fast it was a miracle that I didn’t drop dead right then and there. But, I made it through the day, no one laughed at me and I didn’t die.
Things were progressing.
The next step was for me to get a pedicure. That was going to take some doing. The thought of someone looking and touching my feet was almost too much for me to handle. But, I am a mature woman and this is something that I could overcome.
NOT. All the ladies of Andantex (where I work) and I were going to go together to get our pedicures followed by dinner.
Now mind you, it came out at a later date that we would be walking into the bar/restaurant with flips on, if not the cotton between our toes. It appears that the polish needs time to dry, thus making it necessary not to cover up the toes immediately after the pedicure. I don’t think so. But, I was assured that this was going to be fun. Forget it, it never happened.
The first date that we had was cancelled because a few of the ladies couldn’t make it at the last minute. The next date was decided on and the closer the day came, the more agitated I got. While talking about it to Mary Ann and Deborah at work one afternoon, I actually started to hyperventilate and it took everything I could not to cry. I kid you not; I was starting to tear up.
There are words for people like me. Anyway, I was explaining to them that I had not been sleeping because I could not stop thinking about this fun day that we were all going to have. Mary Ann looked at me and told me that it was crazy to go through with this, so it was decided then that I didn’t have to get one. I was off the hook. I immediately calmed down, got my breathing back to normal and was so fucking relieved that you would have thought that I was spared the electric chair.
I was actually so relieved that it didn’t occur to me to be embarrassed at my reaction and fear for our upcoming jaunt.
That was an honest and true reaction to my getting a pedicure, but looking back on that I ask, how stupid and immature can you be? Feet, we are talking about feet. I just don’t know where this comes from. I know that Gary always laughed at my feet and it was an issue that used to cause me great distress. He would embarrass me all the time about it. That is when I started to wear sneakers and socks all the time. Come to think of it, Donny laughed at my feet too. He told me if I wore sandals to a wedding he wouldn’t take me.
Jesus Christ, what is with these guys, I don’t’ have the most beautiful feet in the world, but they aren’t hooves. But to get so distressed about a lousy pedicure and feet in general is just plain moronic. I need to overcome that one if for no other reason than it is just so ridiculous.
Others include heights, which I have had since I was ten. Bridges, I hate bridges. It goes beyond the height of them though. I am convinced that when I am on a bridge it will collapse or we will crash through the guard rail to our deaths. My poor husband forgot once and drove over the Driscoll Bridge in the far right lane. I leaned over so far so, as to make sure the car did not plunge into the Raritan River, that I almost ended up on his lap.
So, if you are going to go over the side of the bridge, just lean over because the weight distribution will change and your 200 pound body moving over to the other side of the car will stop the two ton vehicle from going over the side, right? Makes sense to me.
Car washes; who the hell is afraid to drive through a car wash? You guessed it, me. If I am not driving, I love it. I just get such a kick out of the colors the soap makes and the suds. But, I have never, ever, gone through one alone. Am I afraid I will die, get attacked, get lost, nope. I can’t explain it, don’t understand it and I probably never will. Actually, I’m not even sure I want to know. That might be too weird for even me.
Flying to Mexico. Once again I am convinced that because I am on the plane, it is going to go down. I didn’t want to sit next to the window because if it blew out I would get sucked out. I didn’t want to sit near the engine because if the window blew out I would get sucked into the engine.
I won’t go to the bathroom on a plane because I am afraid that my ass will get stuck in the toilet in some bizarre, one of a kind accident. I am also afraid to get up and walk on a plane because I don’t want my weight to cause the plane to shift. (Hey – if I can keep a car from careening off a bridge, who knows?) Now, I know that can’t happen. I am not that crazy or stupid, but I can’t get that thought out of my head, that I could actually tip the damn plane.
Comments like that make people look at me like I am either a nut or looking for attention. I wish it were for the attention. These are very real fears for me and I just don’t know how to get over them. Logic tells me that they can’t happen, but my mind won’t let it go. Not good.
I have been on two cruises in my life. I love them. As much as I am afraid of falling overboard and getting eaten by a shark, I love to cruise. My fear of what I am about to share with you makes me worry for days on end before we arrive at the ship. It is so crazy, even I have a hard time comprehending that I am actually losing sleep over it, but I still do, to the point of nightmares.
The ship is approximately eight feet from the dock, right? The gangplank that you need to cross over on in order to get on the ship goes over the water. You can see that water below as you are walking over to the ship.
Are you with me so far? If you were to fall off that gangplank and into the water, oh my God, typing it now, safe in my home on dry land, I am shaking and have goose bumps. I can’t imagine anything worse than falling into that water between the ship and the dock. Awful, just awful. I don’t think that is a common fear and where it came from, I have no idea.
I drive home from work the same way every day. If I think I might want to change routes because of traffic or just for new scenery, I have to convince myself that by changing the way I am going is not going to insure that I get into an accident. By simply changing my route, I am tempting fate.
My mind works in very strange ways.
It wouldn’t be fair to blame all of this on Gary, but I think that those days had to have some bearing on how I am today. Always tense, always fearing the unknown. Maybe that’s it, the unknown.
Now, if you can explain this next phobia and fear of mine to me, you are good. It is real, is scares me to death, even knowing it can’t happen. Well, 95% of me tells me it can’t happen. There is still that 5% that you just don’t know.
I mean really, who the hell really knows what could happen given the right circumstances. No one can.
Picture this. You are working at night in a large, very open office area with a loft that contains about 10 offices, several cubbies and a very large open floor space for the machines downstairs.
There was a time when I worked with Brittany cleaning that office building. Many late nights I would clean alone. It was on those nights that one of my worst fears would grab hold of my mind, and it would take everything I had to get through the night and get the hell out of there.
This office building, warehouse has cameras all over inside and out. This is to protect the employees and the company from abuse and theft. When I am working I am constantly looking the monitors that are placed throughout the office area. I can see the parking lot, the warehouse and the offices. I find myself staring at these screens. Am I looking for an intruder who plans on stealing from this company? Am I looking for the mad rapist who knows that I am there is just waiting for his chance to have his way with me.
Nope, zombies.
Yup I am afraid of the undead. Absolutely cannot shake this fear. The thought of having my flesh ripped off my body, corpses taking bites out of me while I am alive is almost more that I can take. I watch those screens just waiting to see one of them, with that awful walk and gray skin searching for a live victim. I have to force myself away from looking at the monitor. Taking the garbage out to the dumpsters is always fun, waiting to get ambushed by this band of undead.
It doesn’t help when my very comical daughter sends me a text message, knowing that I am there alone and frightened, tell me that an escaped madman is on the loose and consuming human flesh. I just love that child.
It also, is always on my mind when I am there alone that horrible movie, NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD. My honor roll friend, who was supposed to be the smart one, was babysitting with me one night many years ago at the house NEXT FRIGGIN DOOR to my parent’s house. We decided, because we were idiots, to watch NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD. We were so frightened, when the parents came home, we ran, arms entwined around each other lest the zombies would get us, into my parent’s house and up the stairs to my room. We were in the tenth grade, hell, what did we know.
Some of these fears make no sense so it is very hard to explain how in one breath I can tell my family that all is well and we need to keep our faith (and really mean it), and in the next breath tell someone that I am afraid to go in the ocean because it is a certainty that I will get bitten by the one shark in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of New Jersey.
I make my friends laugh, my kids think I am nuts, and as Brittany would say, “Mom, you have serious issues.” I know I do and I think long and hard about them and try to convince myself to change, to stop being so weird. It works for a day or two and then I slip right back to the person I guess I really am.
One day I will have to learn to accept myself for who I am. To embrace my idiosyncrasies and let my mind wrap around all my little oddities, and then strangle the shit out of them.
I could blame Gary. Let’s face it; life with him was not serene. As it is, I still have nightmares about those days, only in present tense. But my phobias, I don’t think so, not all of them anyway. Some of them are just so odd and so far from the mainstream that I can’t come up with anything that would link them to my past. Who knows, maybe Dr. Phil could shed some light on them. Oh wait, I think I’m afraid of him too.
Let’s take feet as an example. Feet are harmless; they don’t have teeth, a mind of their own, or an agenda to make your life miserable. So, what is my fear of feet all about? Not other people’s feet, just mine.
I am 50 years old and this summer is the very first year since I was a teenager that I would wear flips; or as my mother called them when we were growing up, go-aheads. I have no idea where that came from and have never heard it from anyone else.
Anyway, the company I am employed with set a goal, we reached it, and our reward was a trip to Mexico with a guest, all expenses paid. How cool is that? Well Mexico is hot and I would not really be able to walk around the beach and pool in my sneakers and socks.
Socks are very important to me also. So, talking with the five women I work with, it was decided that I would buy a pair of flips and wear them to work to get used to them, and used to people looking at my feet.
I have delivered three children with socks on, I go to my OB/GYN, get naked and in the stirrups spread eagle, but I have socks on. My feet are never bared to the public.
So, step one, I purchased three pairs of flips. The first day that I wore them to work, my heart was pounding so fast it was a miracle that I didn’t drop dead right then and there. But, I made it through the day, no one laughed at me and I didn’t die.
Things were progressing.
The next step was for me to get a pedicure. That was going to take some doing. The thought of someone looking and touching my feet was almost too much for me to handle. But, I am a mature woman and this is something that I could overcome.
NOT. All the ladies of Andantex (where I work) and I were going to go together to get our pedicures followed by dinner.
Now mind you, it came out at a later date that we would be walking into the bar/restaurant with flips on, if not the cotton between our toes. It appears that the polish needs time to dry, thus making it necessary not to cover up the toes immediately after the pedicure. I don’t think so. But, I was assured that this was going to be fun. Forget it, it never happened.
The first date that we had was cancelled because a few of the ladies couldn’t make it at the last minute. The next date was decided on and the closer the day came, the more agitated I got. While talking about it to Mary Ann and Deborah at work one afternoon, I actually started to hyperventilate and it took everything I could not to cry. I kid you not; I was starting to tear up.
There are words for people like me. Anyway, I was explaining to them that I had not been sleeping because I could not stop thinking about this fun day that we were all going to have. Mary Ann looked at me and told me that it was crazy to go through with this, so it was decided then that I didn’t have to get one. I was off the hook. I immediately calmed down, got my breathing back to normal and was so fucking relieved that you would have thought that I was spared the electric chair.
I was actually so relieved that it didn’t occur to me to be embarrassed at my reaction and fear for our upcoming jaunt.
That was an honest and true reaction to my getting a pedicure, but looking back on that I ask, how stupid and immature can you be? Feet, we are talking about feet. I just don’t know where this comes from. I know that Gary always laughed at my feet and it was an issue that used to cause me great distress. He would embarrass me all the time about it. That is when I started to wear sneakers and socks all the time. Come to think of it, Donny laughed at my feet too. He told me if I wore sandals to a wedding he wouldn’t take me.
Jesus Christ, what is with these guys, I don’t’ have the most beautiful feet in the world, but they aren’t hooves. But to get so distressed about a lousy pedicure and feet in general is just plain moronic. I need to overcome that one if for no other reason than it is just so ridiculous.
Others include heights, which I have had since I was ten. Bridges, I hate bridges. It goes beyond the height of them though. I am convinced that when I am on a bridge it will collapse or we will crash through the guard rail to our deaths. My poor husband forgot once and drove over the Driscoll Bridge in the far right lane. I leaned over so far so, as to make sure the car did not plunge into the Raritan River, that I almost ended up on his lap.
So, if you are going to go over the side of the bridge, just lean over because the weight distribution will change and your 200 pound body moving over to the other side of the car will stop the two ton vehicle from going over the side, right? Makes sense to me.
Car washes; who the hell is afraid to drive through a car wash? You guessed it, me. If I am not driving, I love it. I just get such a kick out of the colors the soap makes and the suds. But, I have never, ever, gone through one alone. Am I afraid I will die, get attacked, get lost, nope. I can’t explain it, don’t understand it and I probably never will. Actually, I’m not even sure I want to know. That might be too weird for even me.
Flying to Mexico. Once again I am convinced that because I am on the plane, it is going to go down. I didn’t want to sit next to the window because if it blew out I would get sucked out. I didn’t want to sit near the engine because if the window blew out I would get sucked into the engine.
I won’t go to the bathroom on a plane because I am afraid that my ass will get stuck in the toilet in some bizarre, one of a kind accident. I am also afraid to get up and walk on a plane because I don’t want my weight to cause the plane to shift. (Hey – if I can keep a car from careening off a bridge, who knows?) Now, I know that can’t happen. I am not that crazy or stupid, but I can’t get that thought out of my head, that I could actually tip the damn plane.
Comments like that make people look at me like I am either a nut or looking for attention. I wish it were for the attention. These are very real fears for me and I just don’t know how to get over them. Logic tells me that they can’t happen, but my mind won’t let it go. Not good.
I have been on two cruises in my life. I love them. As much as I am afraid of falling overboard and getting eaten by a shark, I love to cruise. My fear of what I am about to share with you makes me worry for days on end before we arrive at the ship. It is so crazy, even I have a hard time comprehending that I am actually losing sleep over it, but I still do, to the point of nightmares.
The ship is approximately eight feet from the dock, right? The gangplank that you need to cross over on in order to get on the ship goes over the water. You can see that water below as you are walking over to the ship.
Are you with me so far? If you were to fall off that gangplank and into the water, oh my God, typing it now, safe in my home on dry land, I am shaking and have goose bumps. I can’t imagine anything worse than falling into that water between the ship and the dock. Awful, just awful. I don’t think that is a common fear and where it came from, I have no idea.
I drive home from work the same way every day. If I think I might want to change routes because of traffic or just for new scenery, I have to convince myself that by changing the way I am going is not going to insure that I get into an accident. By simply changing my route, I am tempting fate.
My mind works in very strange ways.
It wouldn’t be fair to blame all of this on Gary, but I think that those days had to have some bearing on how I am today. Always tense, always fearing the unknown. Maybe that’s it, the unknown.
Now, if you can explain this next phobia and fear of mine to me, you are good. It is real, is scares me to death, even knowing it can’t happen. Well, 95% of me tells me it can’t happen. There is still that 5% that you just don’t know.
I mean really, who the hell really knows what could happen given the right circumstances. No one can.
Picture this. You are working at night in a large, very open office area with a loft that contains about 10 offices, several cubbies and a very large open floor space for the machines downstairs.
There was a time when I worked with Brittany cleaning that office building. Many late nights I would clean alone. It was on those nights that one of my worst fears would grab hold of my mind, and it would take everything I had to get through the night and get the hell out of there.
This office building, warehouse has cameras all over inside and out. This is to protect the employees and the company from abuse and theft. When I am working I am constantly looking the monitors that are placed throughout the office area. I can see the parking lot, the warehouse and the offices. I find myself staring at these screens. Am I looking for an intruder who plans on stealing from this company? Am I looking for the mad rapist who knows that I am there is just waiting for his chance to have his way with me.
Nope, zombies.
Yup I am afraid of the undead. Absolutely cannot shake this fear. The thought of having my flesh ripped off my body, corpses taking bites out of me while I am alive is almost more that I can take. I watch those screens just waiting to see one of them, with that awful walk and gray skin searching for a live victim. I have to force myself away from looking at the monitor. Taking the garbage out to the dumpsters is always fun, waiting to get ambushed by this band of undead.
It doesn’t help when my very comical daughter sends me a text message, knowing that I am there alone and frightened, tell me that an escaped madman is on the loose and consuming human flesh. I just love that child.
It also, is always on my mind when I am there alone that horrible movie, NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD. My honor roll friend, who was supposed to be the smart one, was babysitting with me one night many years ago at the house NEXT FRIGGIN DOOR to my parent’s house. We decided, because we were idiots, to watch NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD. We were so frightened, when the parents came home, we ran, arms entwined around each other lest the zombies would get us, into my parent’s house and up the stairs to my room. We were in the tenth grade, hell, what did we know.
Some of these fears make no sense so it is very hard to explain how in one breath I can tell my family that all is well and we need to keep our faith (and really mean it), and in the next breath tell someone that I am afraid to go in the ocean because it is a certainty that I will get bitten by the one shark in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of New Jersey.
I make my friends laugh, my kids think I am nuts, and as Brittany would say, “Mom, you have serious issues.” I know I do and I think long and hard about them and try to convince myself to change, to stop being so weird. It works for a day or two and then I slip right back to the person I guess I really am.
One day I will have to learn to accept myself for who I am. To embrace my idiosyncrasies and let my mind wrap around all my little oddities, and then strangle the shit out of them.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Guns, rage and the Fourth of July
I can look back on a lot of events that happened between Gary and me and laugh.
Keeping one's sanity forces that.
Time has a way of easing the pain and the fear and with that time comes a sense of humor.
Some things though are never funny, even after 30 years.
I had been married to Matt for a year at this point, and after a long day, I was trying to relax in the bathtub when Matt came in, newspaper in hand. He had the strangest look on his face. I thought someone had died.
It seems that Gary had made the news.
He then proceeded to tell me that Gary had been arrested for terrorist threats, weapons possession, and more in a very dramatic stand off on the beach Fourth of July weekend.
I knew that Gary had serious issues, but never in my wildest dreams did it occur to me that he could do anything like this. Looking back, we all should have realized it, especially me. With all the guns, knives, and violence that went on in my own home, why on earth would it stop there?
Maybe he never did it outside of the home because he got it out of his system with us. Who knows? I know I don’t, and since I am confident that our paths will never again cross, we will never know what was going through his head that day.
What could have possessed him to decide that that would be the day he would become Rambo?
What could have motivated him to load a .30 Saginaw US Carbine, put a dagger in his pocket and proceed up the block to the beach? Can you possibly imagine what must have gone through the minds of his neighbors when they glanced out their window as he marched down to the beach, armed and ready for war.
Could the backfiring of a car have caused him to turn and shoot, possibly a mother walking her child? What would have happened if a father, with his children playing in their yard, came out and confronted him?
Thank God that didn’t happen and no one was seriously hurt, but the stage was set for what could have been a very deadly day in the history of Point Pleasant Beach.
Things like this just don’t happen in our town. I don’t think there have ever been a murder here, let alone a standoff on the beach.
The scene must have been surreal for the dozen or so people that ran off the beach when they saw him approach that afternoon, gun in hand. I shudder to think of the panic and fear that they must have felt. Would today be the day that I am going to die, just because I wanted to go to the beach? Do you run, walk, freeze where you are standing?
What do you do in that situation?
These people ran, and for whatever reason, they were obviously not the intended target that day.
The police that responded to the scene were faced with a man, quite possibly under the influence of alcohol or drugs with either homicide or suicide on his mind. What other conclusion could you come up with when you are faced with an armed individual who had no intention of robbing anyone?
In his mind, I would assume, he wanted someone dead.
What kind of training is required to handle such a situation? I realize that crime happens in small towns, it is everywhere. But to think that you would be faced with a situation such as this in our little seashore town, might not have really occurred to any of the officers that responded.
When the first officer arrived on the beach and saw Gary sitting very calmly under the lifeguard stand, weapon in hand, I would imagine that a mixture of fear, tension and anxiety must have flowed through him all at the same time.
One policeman already on the beach, more coming from the other side with Gary in the middle, it must have looked like a scene from Hill Street Blues.
He was ordered to lay his weapon down; he refused, stood and faced the officers. Drawing his gun to waist height, he pointed it at the first officer who had arrived at the scene. Told again to drop his weapon, guns drawn by all and he still refused. He told the officers that he couldn’t and wouldn’t drop the gun.
With that he proceeded to walk towards the ocean, all the while walking in a slow circle to insure that he would have a clear shot at at least one of the officers at any given moment.
The tension at that moment must have been incredible.
It took a split second decision by one of the police officers when Gary’s back was turned to him to holster his weapon and charge him, tackle him into the surf in an attempt to disarm him. The gun flew out of Gary’s hands and landed under him as he and the officer wrestled, the other officers rushing to assist.
For the officers, it must have seemed like eternity, but in actuality, it was only a matter of minutes. When it was all over and done with, no one was hurt and Gary was in jail. Still as arrogant as ever, threatening the officers that he should have finished them off when he had the chance, and screaming that they should go into his cell one at a time so he could finish what he started.
That incident still haunts my mind from time to time.
What if he had come to our home instead of the beach? Would we be alive, would he have killed me and Matt and taken Shayne and Brittany? Thoughts like that need to put away and kept away.
That didn't happen so I can't dwell on it; although I did for some time after that.
I sometimes wonder if Gary really knew the magnitude of what he was doing. Not that he was incompetent, but he could take roll playing to the extreme. Was this just another act of role playing gone too far? Was it suicide by cop? Did he want to die in a very dramatic way? Maybe he really did want to harm those police officers. If that was the case, I think he was very lucky to walk off that beach, and not get carried off in a body bag.
It also have to selfishly wonder, if this had turned out with a fatal ending for anyone that was involved, what affect that would have had on my children in the years to come?
Thank God it didn’t.
A short time later, I was at the salon of my friend Lisa when her sister-in-law told me that she had heard that Gary had been screaming while being taken into custody that his wife had stolen his children from him and that’s why he was on a death wish.
I left the beauty parlor in tears, convinced it had been my fault.
That comment bothered me for years.
Was I responsible for this man’s rage against the world? Had I somehow unhinged him even more when I took my children away from him? Was this on my shoulders?
I finally realized that it was not my fault. Gary had made his choices and was responsible for them; all of them.
For his day at the beach that fourth of July, he served two years in our Ocean County Jail.
A rumor that I had heard, but can’t confirm is that he and a female guard fell in love during his time in confinement.
As the story was told to me, when Gary was released from jail, his lady-friend guard left her family and her job to travel to Florida with her new love.
Once there, I was told that she was killed after stepping off the sidewalk and being struck by a truck.
If this is true, it’s horrific for all involved. I find no pleasure in his misfortune or her tragic end.
It is moments like this that force me to ponder the existence of Karma; and if it does and that story is true, was the wrong person killed that day?
Keeping one's sanity forces that.
Time has a way of easing the pain and the fear and with that time comes a sense of humor.
Some things though are never funny, even after 30 years.
I had been married to Matt for a year at this point, and after a long day, I was trying to relax in the bathtub when Matt came in, newspaper in hand. He had the strangest look on his face. I thought someone had died.
It seems that Gary had made the news.
He then proceeded to tell me that Gary had been arrested for terrorist threats, weapons possession, and more in a very dramatic stand off on the beach Fourth of July weekend.
I knew that Gary had serious issues, but never in my wildest dreams did it occur to me that he could do anything like this. Looking back, we all should have realized it, especially me. With all the guns, knives, and violence that went on in my own home, why on earth would it stop there?
Maybe he never did it outside of the home because he got it out of his system with us. Who knows? I know I don’t, and since I am confident that our paths will never again cross, we will never know what was going through his head that day.
What could have possessed him to decide that that would be the day he would become Rambo?
What could have motivated him to load a .30 Saginaw US Carbine, put a dagger in his pocket and proceed up the block to the beach? Can you possibly imagine what must have gone through the minds of his neighbors when they glanced out their window as he marched down to the beach, armed and ready for war.
Could the backfiring of a car have caused him to turn and shoot, possibly a mother walking her child? What would have happened if a father, with his children playing in their yard, came out and confronted him?
Thank God that didn’t happen and no one was seriously hurt, but the stage was set for what could have been a very deadly day in the history of Point Pleasant Beach.
Things like this just don’t happen in our town. I don’t think there have ever been a murder here, let alone a standoff on the beach.
The scene must have been surreal for the dozen or so people that ran off the beach when they saw him approach that afternoon, gun in hand. I shudder to think of the panic and fear that they must have felt. Would today be the day that I am going to die, just because I wanted to go to the beach? Do you run, walk, freeze where you are standing?
What do you do in that situation?
These people ran, and for whatever reason, they were obviously not the intended target that day.
The police that responded to the scene were faced with a man, quite possibly under the influence of alcohol or drugs with either homicide or suicide on his mind. What other conclusion could you come up with when you are faced with an armed individual who had no intention of robbing anyone?
In his mind, I would assume, he wanted someone dead.
What kind of training is required to handle such a situation? I realize that crime happens in small towns, it is everywhere. But to think that you would be faced with a situation such as this in our little seashore town, might not have really occurred to any of the officers that responded.
When the first officer arrived on the beach and saw Gary sitting very calmly under the lifeguard stand, weapon in hand, I would imagine that a mixture of fear, tension and anxiety must have flowed through him all at the same time.
One policeman already on the beach, more coming from the other side with Gary in the middle, it must have looked like a scene from Hill Street Blues.
He was ordered to lay his weapon down; he refused, stood and faced the officers. Drawing his gun to waist height, he pointed it at the first officer who had arrived at the scene. Told again to drop his weapon, guns drawn by all and he still refused. He told the officers that he couldn’t and wouldn’t drop the gun.
With that he proceeded to walk towards the ocean, all the while walking in a slow circle to insure that he would have a clear shot at at least one of the officers at any given moment.
The tension at that moment must have been incredible.
It took a split second decision by one of the police officers when Gary’s back was turned to him to holster his weapon and charge him, tackle him into the surf in an attempt to disarm him. The gun flew out of Gary’s hands and landed under him as he and the officer wrestled, the other officers rushing to assist.
For the officers, it must have seemed like eternity, but in actuality, it was only a matter of minutes. When it was all over and done with, no one was hurt and Gary was in jail. Still as arrogant as ever, threatening the officers that he should have finished them off when he had the chance, and screaming that they should go into his cell one at a time so he could finish what he started.
That incident still haunts my mind from time to time.
What if he had come to our home instead of the beach? Would we be alive, would he have killed me and Matt and taken Shayne and Brittany? Thoughts like that need to put away and kept away.
That didn't happen so I can't dwell on it; although I did for some time after that.
I sometimes wonder if Gary really knew the magnitude of what he was doing. Not that he was incompetent, but he could take roll playing to the extreme. Was this just another act of role playing gone too far? Was it suicide by cop? Did he want to die in a very dramatic way? Maybe he really did want to harm those police officers. If that was the case, I think he was very lucky to walk off that beach, and not get carried off in a body bag.
It also have to selfishly wonder, if this had turned out with a fatal ending for anyone that was involved, what affect that would have had on my children in the years to come?
Thank God it didn’t.
A short time later, I was at the salon of my friend Lisa when her sister-in-law told me that she had heard that Gary had been screaming while being taken into custody that his wife had stolen his children from him and that’s why he was on a death wish.
I left the beauty parlor in tears, convinced it had been my fault.
That comment bothered me for years.
Was I responsible for this man’s rage against the world? Had I somehow unhinged him even more when I took my children away from him? Was this on my shoulders?
I finally realized that it was not my fault. Gary had made his choices and was responsible for them; all of them.
For his day at the beach that fourth of July, he served two years in our Ocean County Jail.
A rumor that I had heard, but can’t confirm is that he and a female guard fell in love during his time in confinement.
As the story was told to me, when Gary was released from jail, his lady-friend guard left her family and her job to travel to Florida with her new love.
Once there, I was told that she was killed after stepping off the sidewalk and being struck by a truck.
If this is true, it’s horrific for all involved. I find no pleasure in his misfortune or her tragic end.
It is moments like this that force me to ponder the existence of Karma; and if it does and that story is true, was the wrong person killed that day?
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Another wedding
Planning for wedding number two was about to commence. Matt proposed to me about three and a half years after we started dating. It made sense. I had to finalize my divorce. I also had two children.
Matt loved my kids, and me, but it was big step for both of us. He had never been married and wanted to make sure if he did marry me, it was for keeps. There were two children involved, not just us. As for me, the thought of getting married again and having it end up in divorce was more than I could stand.
So, one night while Matt and I were at out to dinner at a restaurant that I had grown up going to, Matt proposed. Ring in hand he asked me to marry him just before dessert was served.
My parents were so happy for my children and me. It was a dream that they had had for a long time. That their daughter and her children would find someone who would love them and take care of them; and not be a psycho.
Well, maybe the psycho was the main criteria, but hell, who cares, I was getting married and we were all happy.
So, the decision was made, we would be married after a year and a half engagement.
Can you guess who wanted to walk me down the aisle? And it wasn’t my dad.
Yup, it was Gary. He thought that it would be great to show people how we overcame our differences.
Jesus Christ, can you imagine? If I had agreed to that, I don’t think that anyone from my family would have attended the wedding, let alone me.
Needless to say, Gary did not walk me down the aisle. My very proud father did. I am also happy to announce that when I got to the church with my dad, I did not cry, blubber or sob in any way, shape or form.
I was actually confident that this was the right decision.
When the Reverend came to welcome me into the church and to see how I was doing, I did ask him if Matt had gotten there yet. Deep down I was so afraid that he wasn’t going to show up.
It was a foolish fear; he had gotten to the church with his Best Man over an hour early and had a glass of wine with the Reverend in the waiting area. We were both very nervous, but confident in our decision to get married.
It was a beautiful ceremony, with Shayne and Brittany in the wedding party.
Matt and I were so nervous it was ridiculous. Standing at the altar; our knees were shaking so badly, I was not sure who was going to fall down first, Matt or I.
Leave it to Brittany to break the ice.
There we were, all standing so regal at the altar, solemn and reflecting on our love; you could have heard a pin drop.
Out of the silence you could hear an angelic voice saying, “Mom, what is that you have on the heel of your shoe?” It was Brittany, and on my beautiful new shoes was a piece of fuzz from the carpet protruding from my spiked heel.
It was priceless. You could not have scripted that. Everyone laughed, the ice was broken, and the ceremony continued.
Out of the mouths of babes.
The reception was perfect. Matt paid for the entire affair, as my dad had paid for my first marriage. Come to think of it, we all paid dearly for that first wedding.
With Matt paying and planning the entire wedding without any input from me is something that bothers me now, years later. This is something that I would look back on and realize now, that I was still living without a voice or mind of my own if you will.
It never occurred to me to ask to be part of the wedding planning or preparations. Matt was paying for it so he decided everything. I never once disagreed or thought that I should or could have a say in any part of the planning.
But the reception was perfect and a good time was had by all.
After the reception we stopped off at another function where Matt’s bowling banquet was being held. His team had placed, so we went to collect his winnings to take on our honeymoon with us. We made our appearance at his parent’s house for the after wedding party, and then at my parent’s; and to kiss my children goodbye. They would not be coming with us on our honeymoon.
Then it was off to St. Martin for five days. It was so relaxing, and if it weren’t for the near sun poisoning that I got the second day, it would have been perfect. I didn’t want to believe anyone when they told me the sun was hotter there than it was in New Jersey. I always seem to learn the hard way.
I got so burned that I sent Matt off to the casino the second night there, hopefully to win us our future fortune, because I simply could not walk. My ears literally burned and peeled. That had never happened to me before, and never since. I looked ridiculous, but by the third day I was better; my skin was growing back at an alarming rate and I could actually walk.
We had such a good time, but I missed the kids more than I had anticipated, so much so that the one night when we called to talk to them, I cried so hard that Matt had to take the phone from me, I just couldn’t get my breath long enough to speak.
Our honeymoon was dull though, compared to my first one that is. I didn’t get strip searched or anything on this trip. No horror museums or ice storms for us. Just intimate dinners, days lying on the sun drenched beaches and time alone.
I even had sex with my husband, often, so that’s a step in the right direction; isn’t it?
Now, that’s a novel idea, isn’t it?
Matt loved my kids, and me, but it was big step for both of us. He had never been married and wanted to make sure if he did marry me, it was for keeps. There were two children involved, not just us. As for me, the thought of getting married again and having it end up in divorce was more than I could stand.
So, one night while Matt and I were at out to dinner at a restaurant that I had grown up going to, Matt proposed. Ring in hand he asked me to marry him just before dessert was served.
My parents were so happy for my children and me. It was a dream that they had had for a long time. That their daughter and her children would find someone who would love them and take care of them; and not be a psycho.
Well, maybe the psycho was the main criteria, but hell, who cares, I was getting married and we were all happy.
So, the decision was made, we would be married after a year and a half engagement.
Can you guess who wanted to walk me down the aisle? And it wasn’t my dad.
Yup, it was Gary. He thought that it would be great to show people how we overcame our differences.
Jesus Christ, can you imagine? If I had agreed to that, I don’t think that anyone from my family would have attended the wedding, let alone me.
Needless to say, Gary did not walk me down the aisle. My very proud father did. I am also happy to announce that when I got to the church with my dad, I did not cry, blubber or sob in any way, shape or form.
I was actually confident that this was the right decision.
When the Reverend came to welcome me into the church and to see how I was doing, I did ask him if Matt had gotten there yet. Deep down I was so afraid that he wasn’t going to show up.
It was a foolish fear; he had gotten to the church with his Best Man over an hour early and had a glass of wine with the Reverend in the waiting area. We were both very nervous, but confident in our decision to get married.
It was a beautiful ceremony, with Shayne and Brittany in the wedding party.
Matt and I were so nervous it was ridiculous. Standing at the altar; our knees were shaking so badly, I was not sure who was going to fall down first, Matt or I.
Leave it to Brittany to break the ice.
There we were, all standing so regal at the altar, solemn and reflecting on our love; you could have heard a pin drop.
Out of the silence you could hear an angelic voice saying, “Mom, what is that you have on the heel of your shoe?” It was Brittany, and on my beautiful new shoes was a piece of fuzz from the carpet protruding from my spiked heel.
It was priceless. You could not have scripted that. Everyone laughed, the ice was broken, and the ceremony continued.
Out of the mouths of babes.
The reception was perfect. Matt paid for the entire affair, as my dad had paid for my first marriage. Come to think of it, we all paid dearly for that first wedding.
With Matt paying and planning the entire wedding without any input from me is something that bothers me now, years later. This is something that I would look back on and realize now, that I was still living without a voice or mind of my own if you will.
It never occurred to me to ask to be part of the wedding planning or preparations. Matt was paying for it so he decided everything. I never once disagreed or thought that I should or could have a say in any part of the planning.
But the reception was perfect and a good time was had by all.
After the reception we stopped off at another function where Matt’s bowling banquet was being held. His team had placed, so we went to collect his winnings to take on our honeymoon with us. We made our appearance at his parent’s house for the after wedding party, and then at my parent’s; and to kiss my children goodbye. They would not be coming with us on our honeymoon.
Then it was off to St. Martin for five days. It was so relaxing, and if it weren’t for the near sun poisoning that I got the second day, it would have been perfect. I didn’t want to believe anyone when they told me the sun was hotter there than it was in New Jersey. I always seem to learn the hard way.
I got so burned that I sent Matt off to the casino the second night there, hopefully to win us our future fortune, because I simply could not walk. My ears literally burned and peeled. That had never happened to me before, and never since. I looked ridiculous, but by the third day I was better; my skin was growing back at an alarming rate and I could actually walk.
We had such a good time, but I missed the kids more than I had anticipated, so much so that the one night when we called to talk to them, I cried so hard that Matt had to take the phone from me, I just couldn’t get my breath long enough to speak.
Our honeymoon was dull though, compared to my first one that is. I didn’t get strip searched or anything on this trip. No horror museums or ice storms for us. Just intimate dinners, days lying on the sun drenched beaches and time alone.
I even had sex with my husband, often, so that’s a step in the right direction; isn’t it?
Now, that’s a novel idea, isn’t it?
Sunday, November 14, 2010
The ice has finally melted
As if I didn’t’ have enough on my plate being a single parent and in a new relationship, the thought of being intimate with a man was beyond frightening to me. I was a young woman and figured I’d be celibate the rest of my life.
As you might remember, when I left my first husband I was as frigid as you can get, and my fear radiated from my body like a beacon.
It isn't the easiest thing to talk about with a new propective lover. "Hello, I want to be with you but, well, I'm as frigid as an polar bear's balls on an iceberg."
I don't think so.
Thankfully, Matt was the perfect gentlemen. He knew not to rush me into something that I really wasn’t ready for. The thought of having sex with someone, even Matt scared me to a point where even if I did consent to it, I was sure that he would be so disappointed with my performance that he would just get out of the bed, laugh and leave.
I am not saying that we didn’t get physical; we got pretty hot and heavy in his car. Jesus Lord, I was a grown woman with two children and I was making out in my boyfriend’s car. We were acting like a bunch of high school lovers. Oh wait, lovers go all the way, we did not. If Matt minded or felt unsatisfied in any way, he never let on, which I thought was pretty special.
It didn’t help the fact that I had never really enjoyed sex like I later found out that you should. My introduction to sex had been way too early and the sex after that was more out of fear or just going through the motions, without any of the passion or closeness that I believe I must have needed to have satisfying sex.
One evening after about three months of being together, we were in the car driving around and, for whatever reason, it hit us both at the same time. Call it pent up sexual frustrations if you like, but we looked at each other and decided without speaking that we needed to have sex and we needed it now. It was so comical. Matt pulled up to the beach and we started to get all touchy/feely and as great as it was, we were like animals. We were like sharks in a feeding frenzy. It was hysterical; like we were going to die if we didn’t “get it”.
Matt decided that the car was not the place for us to consummate our relationship so off we go, all sweaty, trying to find a hotel room. Alas, it was not in the cards to happen that night, no one had any rooms available. So we did the next best thing. We planned for the following Saturday night to be the night that we would bring our relationship to the next level.
Our plan was to go to the Barber Shop for some drinks, relax and unwind before our big evening. Although it was something that I really wanted, I was still scared to death that I was going to suck at it. Figuratively that is. .
It was that night that Matt gave me my first shot of Sambuca. The entire time we were there all that was on our minds was that we were going to finally be together. It’s funny, I make it sound like we had been together for years and never had the chance to be intimate. It seemed like forever to me. I had not had sex for quite a while, and before that the sex that I had was more like the House of Horrors.
Matt had been in a serious relationship with a girl after high school, but that didn’t work out, and that had been a very painful time for him. He dated, but Matt was not one to jump into bed with a woman on the first date. It was just not something that he thought was the thing to do. What a gentleman.
Anyway, I had not realized that Matt had already gotten us a room. It was a hotel right down the street from the bar; convenient location don’t you think? We said our good buys and left our friends and off we went to what I was hoping was not a huge mistake on my part.
I had tried to dress sexy for him. I had on my best pair of pants and silky blouse, and under that I had on a camisole. I was so afraid that he would be disappointed that I tried everything I could think of to make myself more attractive for him. I just didn’t think I had what it took to keep him if he saw me as less than what I thought he deserved; a great looking woman who was an animal in bed. God what have I gotten myself into. I had been an animal in bed alright, a dead fish.
A thought crossed my mind for a brief moment. Insist he bring me home right then and there, break it off with him and remain alone a celibate for the rest of my life. That might be easier.
Well, I decided that this is something that I not only wanted to do, but I needed to for my own sanity. I needed to know that I could be desirable to a man. We got to the hotel, Matt came and got me out of the car and together we walked, arms wrapped around each other to our room. There was a bottle of Champagne in the ice bucket and a six pack of beer in the sink filled with ice.
Does my man know me or what?
When you are in a hotel room, knowing that you are there for sex, and you aren’t a hooker, it’s a bit awkward as to what to do first. I wanted him so badly, but didn’t want to appear to over anxious or like a slut, and at the same time I thought I was going to throw up because I was so nervous. That would have been lovely; nice way to set the mood, don’t’ you think.
Matt was perfect. He knew how anxious I was so he was careful not to go too fast or to seem too pushy. Ladies, this is what the first time should be like for everyone. He took control of the evening and with great patience and passion showed me what it was like to be with a man who loved me and who actually cared about what I wanted. It was wonderful.
And guess what, I was not frigid any longer. Our roll in the sheets lasted for over three hours. Oh my God, what have I been missing out on for so many years? Having sex with a man that you wanted to be with was so much more than just having sex with someone that said you should or with a man that you were afraid of. Who knew? Just because it takes me ten times longer to figure things out doesn’t necessarily mean that I don’t have much common sense, does it? Sure it does.
Well, as we were lying in bed, holding each other and both of us amazed at the passion that we just shared together, I had to go to the bathroom. Now, you have to understand, we had just spend three amazing hours romping around the sheets, being very uninhibited. So when I got up to use the facilities, Matt was a bit surprised when I pulled the comforter completely off the bed and wrapped it around myself before I would walk across the room to the bathroom. He propped himself up on the bed and with a look of amazement on his face, asked me what I was doing. I’m like; “I’m going to the bathroom.”
I had no idea what he meant. He said, “Nancy, we have just seen every inch of each other, why the comforter?” Was he kidding me? I was not about to walk across the room with no clothes on. That was just taking it too far. He had seen me naked lying down, but not standing up. That would take another few years before I graduated to that level of intimacy.
Shit, don’t rush me.
After an evening like that, considering what my sex life had been before that, it was hard not to walk around with the goofiest smile on my face. It is amazing what good sex can do for a woman’s self confidence. Matt was the first man who gave a shit about my needs.
Being in a healthy, intimate relationship was something new for me and I was loving every minute of it.
Matt and I would date for three years before he proposed.
As you might remember, when I left my first husband I was as frigid as you can get, and my fear radiated from my body like a beacon.
It isn't the easiest thing to talk about with a new propective lover. "Hello, I want to be with you but, well, I'm as frigid as an polar bear's balls on an iceberg."
I don't think so.
Thankfully, Matt was the perfect gentlemen. He knew not to rush me into something that I really wasn’t ready for. The thought of having sex with someone, even Matt scared me to a point where even if I did consent to it, I was sure that he would be so disappointed with my performance that he would just get out of the bed, laugh and leave.
I am not saying that we didn’t get physical; we got pretty hot and heavy in his car. Jesus Lord, I was a grown woman with two children and I was making out in my boyfriend’s car. We were acting like a bunch of high school lovers. Oh wait, lovers go all the way, we did not. If Matt minded or felt unsatisfied in any way, he never let on, which I thought was pretty special.
It didn’t help the fact that I had never really enjoyed sex like I later found out that you should. My introduction to sex had been way too early and the sex after that was more out of fear or just going through the motions, without any of the passion or closeness that I believe I must have needed to have satisfying sex.
One evening after about three months of being together, we were in the car driving around and, for whatever reason, it hit us both at the same time. Call it pent up sexual frustrations if you like, but we looked at each other and decided without speaking that we needed to have sex and we needed it now. It was so comical. Matt pulled up to the beach and we started to get all touchy/feely and as great as it was, we were like animals. We were like sharks in a feeding frenzy. It was hysterical; like we were going to die if we didn’t “get it”.
Matt decided that the car was not the place for us to consummate our relationship so off we go, all sweaty, trying to find a hotel room. Alas, it was not in the cards to happen that night, no one had any rooms available. So we did the next best thing. We planned for the following Saturday night to be the night that we would bring our relationship to the next level.
Our plan was to go to the Barber Shop for some drinks, relax and unwind before our big evening. Although it was something that I really wanted, I was still scared to death that I was going to suck at it. Figuratively that is. .
It was that night that Matt gave me my first shot of Sambuca. The entire time we were there all that was on our minds was that we were going to finally be together. It’s funny, I make it sound like we had been together for years and never had the chance to be intimate. It seemed like forever to me. I had not had sex for quite a while, and before that the sex that I had was more like the House of Horrors.
Matt had been in a serious relationship with a girl after high school, but that didn’t work out, and that had been a very painful time for him. He dated, but Matt was not one to jump into bed with a woman on the first date. It was just not something that he thought was the thing to do. What a gentleman.
Anyway, I had not realized that Matt had already gotten us a room. It was a hotel right down the street from the bar; convenient location don’t you think? We said our good buys and left our friends and off we went to what I was hoping was not a huge mistake on my part.
I had tried to dress sexy for him. I had on my best pair of pants and silky blouse, and under that I had on a camisole. I was so afraid that he would be disappointed that I tried everything I could think of to make myself more attractive for him. I just didn’t think I had what it took to keep him if he saw me as less than what I thought he deserved; a great looking woman who was an animal in bed. God what have I gotten myself into. I had been an animal in bed alright, a dead fish.
A thought crossed my mind for a brief moment. Insist he bring me home right then and there, break it off with him and remain alone a celibate for the rest of my life. That might be easier.
Well, I decided that this is something that I not only wanted to do, but I needed to for my own sanity. I needed to know that I could be desirable to a man. We got to the hotel, Matt came and got me out of the car and together we walked, arms wrapped around each other to our room. There was a bottle of Champagne in the ice bucket and a six pack of beer in the sink filled with ice.
Does my man know me or what?
When you are in a hotel room, knowing that you are there for sex, and you aren’t a hooker, it’s a bit awkward as to what to do first. I wanted him so badly, but didn’t want to appear to over anxious or like a slut, and at the same time I thought I was going to throw up because I was so nervous. That would have been lovely; nice way to set the mood, don’t’ you think.
Matt was perfect. He knew how anxious I was so he was careful not to go too fast or to seem too pushy. Ladies, this is what the first time should be like for everyone. He took control of the evening and with great patience and passion showed me what it was like to be with a man who loved me and who actually cared about what I wanted. It was wonderful.
And guess what, I was not frigid any longer. Our roll in the sheets lasted for over three hours. Oh my God, what have I been missing out on for so many years? Having sex with a man that you wanted to be with was so much more than just having sex with someone that said you should or with a man that you were afraid of. Who knew? Just because it takes me ten times longer to figure things out doesn’t necessarily mean that I don’t have much common sense, does it? Sure it does.
Well, as we were lying in bed, holding each other and both of us amazed at the passion that we just shared together, I had to go to the bathroom. Now, you have to understand, we had just spend three amazing hours romping around the sheets, being very uninhibited. So when I got up to use the facilities, Matt was a bit surprised when I pulled the comforter completely off the bed and wrapped it around myself before I would walk across the room to the bathroom. He propped himself up on the bed and with a look of amazement on his face, asked me what I was doing. I’m like; “I’m going to the bathroom.”
I had no idea what he meant. He said, “Nancy, we have just seen every inch of each other, why the comforter?” Was he kidding me? I was not about to walk across the room with no clothes on. That was just taking it too far. He had seen me naked lying down, but not standing up. That would take another few years before I graduated to that level of intimacy.
Shit, don’t rush me.
After an evening like that, considering what my sex life had been before that, it was hard not to walk around with the goofiest smile on my face. It is amazing what good sex can do for a woman’s self confidence. Matt was the first man who gave a shit about my needs.
Being in a healthy, intimate relationship was something new for me and I was loving every minute of it.
Matt and I would date for three years before he proposed.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Jealousy at its finest my friends
Living at home safe and sound with my parents, in a healthy relationship and graduating from business school; I was finally on my way.
I'm not saying that living with one's parents and children is without drama, but we managed it and handled it as best we could.
My mom and dad had a way of putting me quietly in my place when it was needed.
Shayne, being the oldest and the one that remembered things, felt as safe as could be expected. He knew that nothing could hurt him in that house. We all slept much sounder knowing that my dad was there to protect us.
Matt and I were doing well; we had issues like all couples do, but we were both so hungry for a partner to love us, we persevered and forged ahead.
Matt’s history with dating wasn’t anything like mine was with Gary, but he had his share of heartache. His high school sweetheart, who I believe he would have proposed to in the years after school, was a cheater.
As she was professing her love for Matt, she was sharing her wares with others.
So, we dealt with our problems as well as we could; both carrying more baggage than we were ready to admit that we had.
Our life down the road would have been so much smoother if we had had the courage or maturity to see it then.
Monday morning quarter backing at its finest.
Having graduated from Taylor Business Institute, I was very busy searching for my dream job that would take me out of my parent’s home and into one of my own. This job search would bring out a side of Matt that I had not seen before. The word to describe this side would be controlling.
You see, in Matt’s family he had little to no say in anything. He worked for his dad’s company which was run by his mother and father. They rode to work together, worked together, at lunch together and then drove home together. Oh, and they lived together.
It’s a funny thing; denial and immaturity have a way of shielding you from what is right in front of you.
In our case, I was beaten down and worn out with no self confidence and Matt was suppressed and strangled and needed an out; he also hid the fact that he had no self confidence either.
What a pair.
But, our relationship did seem to work for us. We were both very happy with each other and for the lack of a better description; starry eyed.
So, as I proceeded to look for a job. Matt suggested that I apply at Amerada Hess in Woodbridge. I was scared but excited all at the same time. This was a big company, and it was over THE BRIDGE.
Over the bridge was, for me, the city. It scared me to death, but Matt was persistent, so I applied for a position there.
Can you believe it; I got a job as a Staff Assistant, and at the salary I was looking for. The low end, but in the range none the less.
This job for me was a blessing a curse all wrapped up into one. I learned a lot there; meet great friends and it gave me the background to move on and upward in the secretarial field.
But, and there is always a but isn’t there; it was a hour away from home, and that was in the winter. Summer was a different story entirely. I had to leave early and I returned home late.
Late for a mother of two young children that is. Looking back, I had no business working so far from home. I could have found a job, equal in pay, closer to home. Hind sight.
Matt thought it was a good idea to work there so that’s what I did.
Unfortunately, because Matt was lacking in the self confidence department also, and I coming from a marriage that fed on draining me of mine, jealousy was sure to creep in somewhere.
Jealousy is never a good thing. When it comes on the heals of a marriage that reeked of infidelity it is almost inevitable that the spouse that didn’t cheat is going to have lasting results in the trust department when it came to dating and future relationships.
It’s funny, I trust the entire world and believe that they are telling the truth when they talk to me, but I didn’t trust Matt at all. Well, I thought I trusted Matt until my brain started to take twists and turns that I just couldn’t control.
It wasn’t that I thought he was a dog or anything, I was just so sure that he would see a woman, any woman really, who looked better than me and he would want her. And according to me, all women looked better than me. It was inevitable; he was going to cheat, sooner or later.
This is also where the confidence angle comes in. I just didn’t have any. So when Matt suggested that we go to Atlantic City for a day of gambling and then dinner, I was so excited. It didn’t take longer after we got there for me to realize, in my mind of course, that we were only there so he could ogle the cocktail waitresses, and possibly get lucky with one of them.
Where this little sex scenario with the voluptuous waitress would take place, I had no idea. All I know is that is what was on Matt’s mind.
It didn’t have anything to do with spending a fun day with me or playing blackjack, which he loved. It was all about the cocktail waitresses in skimpy outfits; nothing more and nothing less. He wanted those women and I was just there until he got one. Nothing that he could say to me would convince me otherwise. I sulked the entire day, with intermittent tears and periods of complete silence.
And it’s funny, when I met Gary, he absolutely worshipped me. I could do no wrong and there was not another woman on the planet that he wanted to be with. Wow, I can really charm, them can’t I? They go from worshipping me to almost killing me. I must be doing something wrong.
Poor Matt had to bear the brunt of this jealousy for many years; although Matt had his moments of jealous temper tantrums as well. When I got the job at Hess, that he wanted me to get, he was sure I would leave him for one of the gasoline salesmen that I worked with; like I said before, what a pair.
We had something that most people just dream of and we came damn close to ruining it many times over.
I still get jealous, but it is very rare, and it is the natural kind. You know, the twinge in your stomach, your face getting flushed, simple things like that. Not a crying jag that lasts for hours, or days for that matter because you are sure that your man wanted the good looking check –out girl at the grocery store who just happened to smile at him, or Natalie Wood. Yup, Matt mentioned to me once that he thought she was attractive and I didn’t let that go for about five years, even after the poor woman had died.
I was so possessed back then. I do not know how Matt put up with it. He was very understanding and he knew the history I had with Gary. That doesn’t change the fact that he had to endure very intense outbursts because of my insecurities.
Perfect example. Matt was the member of a volunteer organization at one time during our early years of marriage.
Every Christmas they would have a party for the all-male members. At this party, because no party is complete without them, were strippers who not only undressed down to nothing, but they would perform different acts on each other, and any member that felt the need to prove his manhood by fornicating with the entertainment.
What a gift to bring back to your wife. Merry Christmas dear, I just gave you the clap.
Now, I realize that Matt never touched these women. He was one of a handful of men who actually respected their wives and their marriage and chose to watch but not touch. While this small band of trusted husbands were being teased for being pussies, my beloved gave it right back by letting them know that there were some men who actually believed in the sanctity of marriage and if they didn’t like it too bad.
Well, the day after the first such Christmas party that Matt went to, he told me there were girls there but did not tell me that they got naked and had lots of sex with anyone that wanted it, in front of the other members no less.
This was to spare the both of us a very unpleasant day. So when our friend came over, a member also, and went on about how gross the girls were and the guys that partook in the orgy, I just lost it.
Matt’s face went from gray to white to blue all in about one minute. Our friend left and I went off. It didn’t matter that these girls were disgusting; I knew even though he didn’t touch them, that he wanted them. I told him that the next time we had sex I was sure he would be fantasizing about one of the dancers, and not thinking about me.
As I sit here writing this I had a thought for the first time. I can guarantee you that if that had been a party that I had been to with all women, and men had preformed for us with the option of us participating in sex with them, he would have been just as upset and outraged as I was.
The bottom line is that it would have been just as wrong for me as I thought it was for him. God it takes me along time to come to certain conclusions.
I could not shake that feeling. And to make matters worse, for me anyway, the party that these men had the following day for the children was in the same room as their party had been. How gross is that.
I guess some people have no conscience.
Then there was the time that Matt took me to see where he did a lot of his work at the Engineering Company. It was your typical warehouse/office building. I was very excited to see where my man worked on some of the large pieces of equipment that his company painted. I just love that he-man stuff.
Upon walking into the office, you are immediately hit with the smell of paint and oil. This was a very manly place. No frills here. The few offices were small, basic and functional. The back, where the actual work was preformed was large and impressive.
Leave it to me though to only notice that on most of the walls were pinups of women in various stages of un-dress. Now, what do you think I did? I cried. I was beyond upset. So, this is why he came here day after day. Surely not to work; nope it was to look at those pictures and fantasize about being with them and not me.
What finally caused me to stop being such an idiot you ask? I’ll tell you.
Matt finally had a sit down with me and asked me point blank, “Do you trust me?” Of course I did, how could he ask me such a foolish question. I kid you not. I thought I did trust him. It was the allure and sex appeal of every other woman on earth that I didn’t trust. It certainly wasn’t him. Or so I thought.
You know what, I did trust him, it was my insecurity in myself that I was not good enough for anyone that I didn’t trust. I had never looked at it that way before. I had been hurting him for so long with these fits of jealousy, and never realized that I was basically telling him he was a no-good womanizer.
I felt horrible. How could I not have seen? This is a question that I have asked myself far too many times during my life, don’t you think? The problem was, I didn’t think, not clearly anyway.
It just didn’t occur to me that I could keep a man happy; intellectually, sexually, or for that matter, any reason. So I put all this bullshit onto Matt’s shoulders, making him defend himself for years for things he hadn’t done just because I was afraid.
I was doing what I swore I would never do. I was taking all my fears that I got from my marriage from Gary and I was putting them on Matt.
I was so ashamed and embarrassed. It took hurting Matt for me to realize that it had to stop. I had to find a way to channel all that fear. It wasn’t easy because I wasn’t just afraid that he would cheat on me physically, I had a horrible fear of him mentally cheating on me as well.
Now, that is just insane. You can’t, and shouldn’t, dictate a person’s thoughts or what they fantasize about. Jesus, talk about Big Brother. It is just insane to assume you could even try. I had to somehow find my inner strength and confidence if this cycle was going to stop. Otherwise, my second marriage would be over and I would have only myself to blame.
It took a long while of biting my tongue and forcing myself not to cry, rant and rage, but eventually I started to have more confidence in myself and trust in Matt’s love for me; or better yet, his respect for me and the meaning of marriage.
I had been such a fool. I wonder sometimes where my brain goes. I think it just vacations for a while and doesn’t tell me it’s gone. Then it comes back and things seem clearer to me.
I'm telling you, damaged brain cells is the only answer.
I'm not saying that living with one's parents and children is without drama, but we managed it and handled it as best we could.
My mom and dad had a way of putting me quietly in my place when it was needed.
Shayne, being the oldest and the one that remembered things, felt as safe as could be expected. He knew that nothing could hurt him in that house. We all slept much sounder knowing that my dad was there to protect us.
Matt and I were doing well; we had issues like all couples do, but we were both so hungry for a partner to love us, we persevered and forged ahead.
Matt’s history with dating wasn’t anything like mine was with Gary, but he had his share of heartache. His high school sweetheart, who I believe he would have proposed to in the years after school, was a cheater.
As she was professing her love for Matt, she was sharing her wares with others.
So, we dealt with our problems as well as we could; both carrying more baggage than we were ready to admit that we had.
Our life down the road would have been so much smoother if we had had the courage or maturity to see it then.
Monday morning quarter backing at its finest.
Having graduated from Taylor Business Institute, I was very busy searching for my dream job that would take me out of my parent’s home and into one of my own. This job search would bring out a side of Matt that I had not seen before. The word to describe this side would be controlling.
You see, in Matt’s family he had little to no say in anything. He worked for his dad’s company which was run by his mother and father. They rode to work together, worked together, at lunch together and then drove home together. Oh, and they lived together.
It’s a funny thing; denial and immaturity have a way of shielding you from what is right in front of you.
In our case, I was beaten down and worn out with no self confidence and Matt was suppressed and strangled and needed an out; he also hid the fact that he had no self confidence either.
What a pair.
But, our relationship did seem to work for us. We were both very happy with each other and for the lack of a better description; starry eyed.
So, as I proceeded to look for a job. Matt suggested that I apply at Amerada Hess in Woodbridge. I was scared but excited all at the same time. This was a big company, and it was over THE BRIDGE.
Over the bridge was, for me, the city. It scared me to death, but Matt was persistent, so I applied for a position there.
Can you believe it; I got a job as a Staff Assistant, and at the salary I was looking for. The low end, but in the range none the less.
This job for me was a blessing a curse all wrapped up into one. I learned a lot there; meet great friends and it gave me the background to move on and upward in the secretarial field.
But, and there is always a but isn’t there; it was a hour away from home, and that was in the winter. Summer was a different story entirely. I had to leave early and I returned home late.
Late for a mother of two young children that is. Looking back, I had no business working so far from home. I could have found a job, equal in pay, closer to home. Hind sight.
Matt thought it was a good idea to work there so that’s what I did.
Unfortunately, because Matt was lacking in the self confidence department also, and I coming from a marriage that fed on draining me of mine, jealousy was sure to creep in somewhere.
Jealousy is never a good thing. When it comes on the heals of a marriage that reeked of infidelity it is almost inevitable that the spouse that didn’t cheat is going to have lasting results in the trust department when it came to dating and future relationships.
It’s funny, I trust the entire world and believe that they are telling the truth when they talk to me, but I didn’t trust Matt at all. Well, I thought I trusted Matt until my brain started to take twists and turns that I just couldn’t control.
It wasn’t that I thought he was a dog or anything, I was just so sure that he would see a woman, any woman really, who looked better than me and he would want her. And according to me, all women looked better than me. It was inevitable; he was going to cheat, sooner or later.
This is also where the confidence angle comes in. I just didn’t have any. So when Matt suggested that we go to Atlantic City for a day of gambling and then dinner, I was so excited. It didn’t take longer after we got there for me to realize, in my mind of course, that we were only there so he could ogle the cocktail waitresses, and possibly get lucky with one of them.
Where this little sex scenario with the voluptuous waitress would take place, I had no idea. All I know is that is what was on Matt’s mind.
It didn’t have anything to do with spending a fun day with me or playing blackjack, which he loved. It was all about the cocktail waitresses in skimpy outfits; nothing more and nothing less. He wanted those women and I was just there until he got one. Nothing that he could say to me would convince me otherwise. I sulked the entire day, with intermittent tears and periods of complete silence.
And it’s funny, when I met Gary, he absolutely worshipped me. I could do no wrong and there was not another woman on the planet that he wanted to be with. Wow, I can really charm, them can’t I? They go from worshipping me to almost killing me. I must be doing something wrong.
Poor Matt had to bear the brunt of this jealousy for many years; although Matt had his moments of jealous temper tantrums as well. When I got the job at Hess, that he wanted me to get, he was sure I would leave him for one of the gasoline salesmen that I worked with; like I said before, what a pair.
We had something that most people just dream of and we came damn close to ruining it many times over.
I still get jealous, but it is very rare, and it is the natural kind. You know, the twinge in your stomach, your face getting flushed, simple things like that. Not a crying jag that lasts for hours, or days for that matter because you are sure that your man wanted the good looking check –out girl at the grocery store who just happened to smile at him, or Natalie Wood. Yup, Matt mentioned to me once that he thought she was attractive and I didn’t let that go for about five years, even after the poor woman had died.
I was so possessed back then. I do not know how Matt put up with it. He was very understanding and he knew the history I had with Gary. That doesn’t change the fact that he had to endure very intense outbursts because of my insecurities.
Perfect example. Matt was the member of a volunteer organization at one time during our early years of marriage.
Every Christmas they would have a party for the all-male members. At this party, because no party is complete without them, were strippers who not only undressed down to nothing, but they would perform different acts on each other, and any member that felt the need to prove his manhood by fornicating with the entertainment.
What a gift to bring back to your wife. Merry Christmas dear, I just gave you the clap.
Now, I realize that Matt never touched these women. He was one of a handful of men who actually respected their wives and their marriage and chose to watch but not touch. While this small band of trusted husbands were being teased for being pussies, my beloved gave it right back by letting them know that there were some men who actually believed in the sanctity of marriage and if they didn’t like it too bad.
Well, the day after the first such Christmas party that Matt went to, he told me there were girls there but did not tell me that they got naked and had lots of sex with anyone that wanted it, in front of the other members no less.
This was to spare the both of us a very unpleasant day. So when our friend came over, a member also, and went on about how gross the girls were and the guys that partook in the orgy, I just lost it.
Matt’s face went from gray to white to blue all in about one minute. Our friend left and I went off. It didn’t matter that these girls were disgusting; I knew even though he didn’t touch them, that he wanted them. I told him that the next time we had sex I was sure he would be fantasizing about one of the dancers, and not thinking about me.
As I sit here writing this I had a thought for the first time. I can guarantee you that if that had been a party that I had been to with all women, and men had preformed for us with the option of us participating in sex with them, he would have been just as upset and outraged as I was.
The bottom line is that it would have been just as wrong for me as I thought it was for him. God it takes me along time to come to certain conclusions.
I could not shake that feeling. And to make matters worse, for me anyway, the party that these men had the following day for the children was in the same room as their party had been. How gross is that.
I guess some people have no conscience.
Then there was the time that Matt took me to see where he did a lot of his work at the Engineering Company. It was your typical warehouse/office building. I was very excited to see where my man worked on some of the large pieces of equipment that his company painted. I just love that he-man stuff.
Upon walking into the office, you are immediately hit with the smell of paint and oil. This was a very manly place. No frills here. The few offices were small, basic and functional. The back, where the actual work was preformed was large and impressive.
Leave it to me though to only notice that on most of the walls were pinups of women in various stages of un-dress. Now, what do you think I did? I cried. I was beyond upset. So, this is why he came here day after day. Surely not to work; nope it was to look at those pictures and fantasize about being with them and not me.
What finally caused me to stop being such an idiot you ask? I’ll tell you.
Matt finally had a sit down with me and asked me point blank, “Do you trust me?” Of course I did, how could he ask me such a foolish question. I kid you not. I thought I did trust him. It was the allure and sex appeal of every other woman on earth that I didn’t trust. It certainly wasn’t him. Or so I thought.
You know what, I did trust him, it was my insecurity in myself that I was not good enough for anyone that I didn’t trust. I had never looked at it that way before. I had been hurting him for so long with these fits of jealousy, and never realized that I was basically telling him he was a no-good womanizer.
I felt horrible. How could I not have seen? This is a question that I have asked myself far too many times during my life, don’t you think? The problem was, I didn’t think, not clearly anyway.
It just didn’t occur to me that I could keep a man happy; intellectually, sexually, or for that matter, any reason. So I put all this bullshit onto Matt’s shoulders, making him defend himself for years for things he hadn’t done just because I was afraid.
I was doing what I swore I would never do. I was taking all my fears that I got from my marriage from Gary and I was putting them on Matt.
I was so ashamed and embarrassed. It took hurting Matt for me to realize that it had to stop. I had to find a way to channel all that fear. It wasn’t easy because I wasn’t just afraid that he would cheat on me physically, I had a horrible fear of him mentally cheating on me as well.
Now, that is just insane. You can’t, and shouldn’t, dictate a person’s thoughts or what they fantasize about. Jesus, talk about Big Brother. It is just insane to assume you could even try. I had to somehow find my inner strength and confidence if this cycle was going to stop. Otherwise, my second marriage would be over and I would have only myself to blame.
It took a long while of biting my tongue and forcing myself not to cry, rant and rage, but eventually I started to have more confidence in myself and trust in Matt’s love for me; or better yet, his respect for me and the meaning of marriage.
I had been such a fool. I wonder sometimes where my brain goes. I think it just vacations for a while and doesn’t tell me it’s gone. Then it comes back and things seem clearer to me.
I'm telling you, damaged brain cells is the only answer.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Starting over
After our date in New York, I received a dozen long-stemmed red roses from Matt telling me what a wonderful time he had. That would be the first of many roses sent to me by my new man. My sister Barbara saw them one day and asked me if I received them for something as serious a sneeze. I was getting at least two dozen roses a month.
I felt loved for the first time in a long time.
Matt and I were a couple; a real couple. It was never stated in words, but it was understood between the two of us that we were exclusive. I was so comfortable with his; and he took an immediate shine to my children. That was the most important factor in our relationship. After everything that I had put my children through by staying with Gary, I could not and would not subject them to someone who didn’t have their best interests at heart.
I had not been looking for a partner; I guess that’s when it happens, when you aren’t looking.
During the week Matt would come over and we would spend the evening watching TV and playing with the kiddies. Saturday night, that was our night to go out. Every Saturday Matt would take me to the Barber Shop. It was a great bar in Point Pleasant Beach, NJ. You could spend time at the bar downstairs; that’s where all the action was, the dance floor, girls wanting to meet their future boyfriends, and guys looking to get lucky.
Upstairs was a much smaller bar, and a circle of tables that sat at the edge of the hole in the floor, so you could look down at the people dancing. It’s upstairs where Matt and I would spend our Saturday evenings. We would drink, smoke cigarettes and just talk. It was so nice to have someone want to listen to what I had to say. We were very friendly with the bartender and Matt knew almost everyone in there.
The time that I spent together there were some of the best times that I ever had; I look back on those days and can’t help but smile.
Life was starting to turn around for my children and me.
It’s true, that life was getting better, but there were times when Gary felt the need to make his presence known.
I was home alone one da, Shayne and Brittany were with my parents for an outing when Gary showed up at the house. He was beyond angry and I can only assume high.
He proceeded to rip the doors off every cabinet in the kitchen. He threw me, all the dishes, spices and sugars onto the kitchen floor and into the living room. He also felt the need to overturn all the furniture; just to prove his point; which was, I was a fool to ask him to leave and I just might want to reconsider.
And then he left……
I wouldn’t let anyone see the damage. Not Matt, not my parents, not anyone; but the kids saw.
My mom pressed me as to what had happened after I had to borrow her vacuum, and she saw the bruising on my arms. It was then that she went to Gary’s mom’s home and told her what he had done, and that if he came near me again, she would call the police even if I wouldn’t.
After that, he didn’t come around much; thank God for little favors.
It wouldn’t be long after that, that I found the nerve to introduce him to my parents. They knew that there was someone in my life; they could see a change in me.
Of course, that had to do with the fact that Gary was gone, but it was more than that. I smiled more often and actually started to laugh again.
Matt and I were going to go out one evening during the week, and we decided to drop the kids off at my mom’s house together.
We were going to dinner. While my mom was talking to Matt and getting feel for this new man in her daughter’s life, my dad came in from work.
As dad walked in the back door and over to the sink where Matt and I were standing, I started to blush and giggle. My dad tweaked my cheek and said, “My aren’t we giddy today.”. I just continued to blush and giggle; but the ice was broken and first impressions went well all the way around.
I was happy.
Meeting Matt’s parents would prove to take more time. I was still legally married, older than Matt and I had two children. Not what you would call a parent’s hope for their child.
Although, I would learn later on that no one was going to be good enough for Matt; according to his mom anyway.
There’s something else, everyone has baggage. You might not see it right away; it takes time sometimes to come out; but no one is immune.
As time has a way of telling all, it would come out that my Matt had his share of baggage hiding just under the surface; even more than me I’m afraid.
By this time I had left my job at 7-11 and started working at a bank. Since I had experience, it was an easy transition. The pay wasn’t good but it was more than I had made at the convenience store and I received benefits for me and the kids.
Gary wasn’t working so there was nothing coming from him; it became all too apparent that I could not afford to stay in our house.
Plans were being made for me and my children to move.
Two of Gary’s friends were to move into our home and pay rent. It wasn’t what I wanted, but I just could not afford the $250.00 a month mortgage, plus utilities. As it was, by this time the electricity, gas, hot water and phone had all been shut off.
Matt brought over space heaters so we would stay warm and a huge cooler to keep milk and food. He would even take me shopping and buy groceries for the kids and me. While on one of our shopping trips at the Foodtown, Matt was pushing the kids in the shopping cart and a woman came up to him and told him how cute his kids were and that they looked just like him. He actually blushed and just said thank you.
My parents didn’t know that we were living that way; I was just too ashamed to tell them. Had they known, they would have packed me up and brought me home then and there then. I just couldn’t let them know. I had married a man that they didn’t like, and I had gone to them for money for food and shoes for the kids too many times, I was just so humiliated that I had let them down. But, situations have a way of changing your mind and forcing you to put your pride aside. It was getting so cold out; I couldn’t bathe the children in warm water and it was getting difficult to prepare them healthy meals with no means of heating anything.
I was too ashamed to tell my parents just how bad it was so I spoke to my friend Hope, and she agreed to let the kids and me move into her home. She had a large house, and since I had taken her in years before when I lived with my girlfriends at the beach, she returned the favor, tenfold. I had two children at the time and no money to pay her for her kindness.
I was there for about two months when it became apparent that it just was not going to work. I couldn’t pay her for anything, we had no money for food, and it was just wrong to continue to stay there, so, I spoke to my parents, told them of the situation and plans were made for the kids and me to move in with them.
My parents wanted to set the rooms up for us and I had told them that there was no hurry. I was still trying to shield them from the entire ugly story, so a date was set for us to move in and the waiting began. I neglected to tell them that I was moving out of Hope’s house several days before we were to move into their house.
So, in my little Volkswagen that my parent’s let me use, Shayne who was about three, and Brittany who was one and a half, and I spend three nights sleeping in my car at the inlet. It wasn’t easy, but at least we had shelter, and at their ages, they thought it was fun. We would go to my parents during the day for visits. This way we could use the bathrooms and wash up a bit. They were too little to announce where we were sleeping, so I knew that wouldn’t come up in conversation.
What makes us so prideful? What is it in our nature that makes it almost impossible at times to just man-up and say you fucked up, you need help, AGAIN? I should have just told my parents that we needed to stay there a few days earlier than expected.
I have very good parents and two wonderful sisters, and it would not have been a problem; or if it had been, it would have paled in comparison to sleeping with my kids at the inlet. My pride once again didn’t permit me to admit that we didn’t have any place to stay; even if it was only for three extra days.
So many people in similar situations are faced with the prospect of sleeping outside, in the open with no protection. For that we were lucky. We were safe from the elements and I could lock us in and keep us relatively safe from harm. Point Pleasant has its crime, but nothing like other towns or cities.
Others are not so lucky, the women on the street with their children and no family to help them, they are the true victims.
When we finally got to my parents, it was such a relief to go to the bathroom without going into a restaurant or convenience store, or trying to think of another reason to drop by their house. To bathe my children and get the stench of failure off of them was nothing less than pure exhilaration.
My mom and dad were so wonderful. At the time, Shayne was about three years old and very hyper. Now, when I say very, I mean he could have been bottled and sold as a stimulant. The child never stopped moving. I can’t imagine why.
Every night my dad would come home from his long commute from work, roll up his sleeves and fill the sink with warm water and bathe Shayne for at least a half an hour. Every single night my dad did this. It seemed to calm Shayne down and relax him enough so he could sleep.
During one period, Shayne was going around locking all the doors, scared to death to go outside. When questioned about this, he told us that Gary had told him that he was going to come and steal him and Brittany away from us. So, the doors were locked and bolted and my children were told that nothing could get them, period.
They were safe in that house and could rest easy that no harm would come to them while there.
It wasn’t easy for my parents. I was so angry at Gary and myself at this point; I had a huge chip on my shoulder, and along with my feelings of failure, I was a bitch; an uptight snotty bitch.
Brittany and Shayne were so little and Shayne was a handful. But, my parents did what they thought they should do, what was best for their grandchildren and daughter.
I was making $150.00 per week and it just didn’t cut it at all. If I had any hope at all of moving out of my parent’s home and setting up house for the kids and I, I had to make a change. Something had to happen. It isn’t easy to make a change into the unknown. I had a job with benefits, albeit not a great one.
Was I strong enough to leave that security and face an uncertain future?
As it happens, I was. After working at a bank for a year or so, I decided to quit my job, go on welfare and go back to school.
Going on Welfare was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make. At the time, I thought that doing so labeled me a failure. That wasn’t the case at all. I finally had to face the fact that I needed to do this to get the lives of myself and my children’s life back on track, well on track for the first time.
My friend Kathy and I had actually gone to sign me up to beautician’s school. I loved to cut hair so I thought that that would be the perfect position for me. But, after speaking to my family about it, it occurred to me that I should go to secretarial school instead. It made sense considering that it was one of the dreams I had as a girl.
So, I signed up for Taylor Business Institute, filled out the necessary forms for possible grants and student loans, took the initial tests to get in and I was on my way. The only step left was to sign up for welfare.
That was not an easy thing to do. Since I was living with my parents, and they were able to feed us, the money was needed for daycare and everyday living expenses. I qualified and off I went to school.
It was one of the best things that I have ever done. Ladies, if you need the help for a short time, do it.
My case worker was a really nice man, Mr. Bridges if I remember correctly, who would meet with me every month, if I am not mistaken. Questions were asked as to what I was doing, when I would finish school, etc. So many of the women that I saw in that office had clearly given up, it was very sad to witness such desperation.
When I was ready to graduate from Taylor I went in for my scheduled visit, informed my case worker that this would be the last check that I would be receiving and that I would not require anymore assistance from the state.
He was shocked; astounded is more like it. He asked me if I had gotten a job, and if so, what was I making? I hadn’t gotten a job, as a matter of fact, I was just about to graduate from school, but I was now able to find a full time job and that, in my opinion made it necessary for me to stop receiving benefits.
The benefits were there for me when I couldn’t work due to school and young children. I was now able to concentrate on getting a job and supporting my family. This sweet man stood up and shook my hand and told me that I was doing exactly what the system was intended for.
That one moment when he took my hand I was so proud of myself. I had achieved what I had set out to do and I was now, in my mind, ready to go out and make a living for me and my children.
As it turned out I did very well. The Dean of Taylor even offered me a job there, which I turned down so I could complete my courses and move on to what I hoped would be a future for my family. My secretarial journey started at Amerada Hess and eventually led me to my present position at Andantex USA Inc. Hey, need a gear rack?
My relationship with Matt was moving along and it became impossible to hid it from his parents any longer. His sister knew about me and threatened to tell. Our hand was forced and a day and time was set.
I don’t recall ever being that nervous to meet someone.
As it turns out, it went very well. Matt’s parents had a gifts for the kids and were very polite to me.
Matt’s dad, Tony was working on their boat on the driveway and was quite impressed with little Shayne’s knowledge of tools and with Brittany as cute as a button, we couldn’t miss…or could we.
They loved my children and decided to tolerate me, for the time being anyway. As for me, they were convinced I was a gold-digging harpy looking to steal their son away from them and everything he had.
It would be some time before I won over his dad; his mother was going to take a lot longer.
I was in love with Matt and he was falling in love with me, and my children.
Looking back, I believe that his parents thought that our relationship would burn out; that Matt would tire of dating a woman with children and a psychotic ex-husband.
That wasn’t to be the case, and when it was apparent to Matt’s dad that he was, indeed, in love with me he gave him this advice. He said “If you continue your relationship with this woman and eventually you fall out of love with her, you will still love the children; can you live with that?”
Food for thought.
His family was never mean to me, but I know that Matt had to hear about it all the time. You see, his dad owned a company and Matt, his mom and dad carpooled every day to the same office and worked side by side all day, lunched together and drove home together. Oh yeah, and they all lived together.
That in of itself would prove to be part of the baggage that I spoke about. It would be sometime before I realized the extent of their suspicion of me.
For Matt and I; we didn’t care, we loved each other and for the first time in a long time, we were both with someone who actually cared about the other.
We weren’t going to let anything or anybody get in the way of our feelings for each other, for the time being anyway.
I felt loved for the first time in a long time.
Matt and I were a couple; a real couple. It was never stated in words, but it was understood between the two of us that we were exclusive. I was so comfortable with his; and he took an immediate shine to my children. That was the most important factor in our relationship. After everything that I had put my children through by staying with Gary, I could not and would not subject them to someone who didn’t have their best interests at heart.
I had not been looking for a partner; I guess that’s when it happens, when you aren’t looking.
During the week Matt would come over and we would spend the evening watching TV and playing with the kiddies. Saturday night, that was our night to go out. Every Saturday Matt would take me to the Barber Shop. It was a great bar in Point Pleasant Beach, NJ. You could spend time at the bar downstairs; that’s where all the action was, the dance floor, girls wanting to meet their future boyfriends, and guys looking to get lucky.
Upstairs was a much smaller bar, and a circle of tables that sat at the edge of the hole in the floor, so you could look down at the people dancing. It’s upstairs where Matt and I would spend our Saturday evenings. We would drink, smoke cigarettes and just talk. It was so nice to have someone want to listen to what I had to say. We were very friendly with the bartender and Matt knew almost everyone in there.
The time that I spent together there were some of the best times that I ever had; I look back on those days and can’t help but smile.
Life was starting to turn around for my children and me.
It’s true, that life was getting better, but there were times when Gary felt the need to make his presence known.
I was home alone one da, Shayne and Brittany were with my parents for an outing when Gary showed up at the house. He was beyond angry and I can only assume high.
He proceeded to rip the doors off every cabinet in the kitchen. He threw me, all the dishes, spices and sugars onto the kitchen floor and into the living room. He also felt the need to overturn all the furniture; just to prove his point; which was, I was a fool to ask him to leave and I just might want to reconsider.
And then he left……
I wouldn’t let anyone see the damage. Not Matt, not my parents, not anyone; but the kids saw.
My mom pressed me as to what had happened after I had to borrow her vacuum, and she saw the bruising on my arms. It was then that she went to Gary’s mom’s home and told her what he had done, and that if he came near me again, she would call the police even if I wouldn’t.
After that, he didn’t come around much; thank God for little favors.
It wouldn’t be long after that, that I found the nerve to introduce him to my parents. They knew that there was someone in my life; they could see a change in me.
Of course, that had to do with the fact that Gary was gone, but it was more than that. I smiled more often and actually started to laugh again.
Matt and I were going to go out one evening during the week, and we decided to drop the kids off at my mom’s house together.
We were going to dinner. While my mom was talking to Matt and getting feel for this new man in her daughter’s life, my dad came in from work.
As dad walked in the back door and over to the sink where Matt and I were standing, I started to blush and giggle. My dad tweaked my cheek and said, “My aren’t we giddy today.”. I just continued to blush and giggle; but the ice was broken and first impressions went well all the way around.
I was happy.
Meeting Matt’s parents would prove to take more time. I was still legally married, older than Matt and I had two children. Not what you would call a parent’s hope for their child.
Although, I would learn later on that no one was going to be good enough for Matt; according to his mom anyway.
There’s something else, everyone has baggage. You might not see it right away; it takes time sometimes to come out; but no one is immune.
As time has a way of telling all, it would come out that my Matt had his share of baggage hiding just under the surface; even more than me I’m afraid.
By this time I had left my job at 7-11 and started working at a bank. Since I had experience, it was an easy transition. The pay wasn’t good but it was more than I had made at the convenience store and I received benefits for me and the kids.
Gary wasn’t working so there was nothing coming from him; it became all too apparent that I could not afford to stay in our house.
Plans were being made for me and my children to move.
Two of Gary’s friends were to move into our home and pay rent. It wasn’t what I wanted, but I just could not afford the $250.00 a month mortgage, plus utilities. As it was, by this time the electricity, gas, hot water and phone had all been shut off.
Matt brought over space heaters so we would stay warm and a huge cooler to keep milk and food. He would even take me shopping and buy groceries for the kids and me. While on one of our shopping trips at the Foodtown, Matt was pushing the kids in the shopping cart and a woman came up to him and told him how cute his kids were and that they looked just like him. He actually blushed and just said thank you.
My parents didn’t know that we were living that way; I was just too ashamed to tell them. Had they known, they would have packed me up and brought me home then and there then. I just couldn’t let them know. I had married a man that they didn’t like, and I had gone to them for money for food and shoes for the kids too many times, I was just so humiliated that I had let them down. But, situations have a way of changing your mind and forcing you to put your pride aside. It was getting so cold out; I couldn’t bathe the children in warm water and it was getting difficult to prepare them healthy meals with no means of heating anything.
I was too ashamed to tell my parents just how bad it was so I spoke to my friend Hope, and she agreed to let the kids and me move into her home. She had a large house, and since I had taken her in years before when I lived with my girlfriends at the beach, she returned the favor, tenfold. I had two children at the time and no money to pay her for her kindness.
I was there for about two months when it became apparent that it just was not going to work. I couldn’t pay her for anything, we had no money for food, and it was just wrong to continue to stay there, so, I spoke to my parents, told them of the situation and plans were made for the kids and me to move in with them.
My parents wanted to set the rooms up for us and I had told them that there was no hurry. I was still trying to shield them from the entire ugly story, so a date was set for us to move in and the waiting began. I neglected to tell them that I was moving out of Hope’s house several days before we were to move into their house.
So, in my little Volkswagen that my parent’s let me use, Shayne who was about three, and Brittany who was one and a half, and I spend three nights sleeping in my car at the inlet. It wasn’t easy, but at least we had shelter, and at their ages, they thought it was fun. We would go to my parents during the day for visits. This way we could use the bathrooms and wash up a bit. They were too little to announce where we were sleeping, so I knew that wouldn’t come up in conversation.
What makes us so prideful? What is it in our nature that makes it almost impossible at times to just man-up and say you fucked up, you need help, AGAIN? I should have just told my parents that we needed to stay there a few days earlier than expected.
I have very good parents and two wonderful sisters, and it would not have been a problem; or if it had been, it would have paled in comparison to sleeping with my kids at the inlet. My pride once again didn’t permit me to admit that we didn’t have any place to stay; even if it was only for three extra days.
So many people in similar situations are faced with the prospect of sleeping outside, in the open with no protection. For that we were lucky. We were safe from the elements and I could lock us in and keep us relatively safe from harm. Point Pleasant has its crime, but nothing like other towns or cities.
Others are not so lucky, the women on the street with their children and no family to help them, they are the true victims.
When we finally got to my parents, it was such a relief to go to the bathroom without going into a restaurant or convenience store, or trying to think of another reason to drop by their house. To bathe my children and get the stench of failure off of them was nothing less than pure exhilaration.
My mom and dad were so wonderful. At the time, Shayne was about three years old and very hyper. Now, when I say very, I mean he could have been bottled and sold as a stimulant. The child never stopped moving. I can’t imagine why.
Every night my dad would come home from his long commute from work, roll up his sleeves and fill the sink with warm water and bathe Shayne for at least a half an hour. Every single night my dad did this. It seemed to calm Shayne down and relax him enough so he could sleep.
During one period, Shayne was going around locking all the doors, scared to death to go outside. When questioned about this, he told us that Gary had told him that he was going to come and steal him and Brittany away from us. So, the doors were locked and bolted and my children were told that nothing could get them, period.
They were safe in that house and could rest easy that no harm would come to them while there.
It wasn’t easy for my parents. I was so angry at Gary and myself at this point; I had a huge chip on my shoulder, and along with my feelings of failure, I was a bitch; an uptight snotty bitch.
Brittany and Shayne were so little and Shayne was a handful. But, my parents did what they thought they should do, what was best for their grandchildren and daughter.
I was making $150.00 per week and it just didn’t cut it at all. If I had any hope at all of moving out of my parent’s home and setting up house for the kids and I, I had to make a change. Something had to happen. It isn’t easy to make a change into the unknown. I had a job with benefits, albeit not a great one.
Was I strong enough to leave that security and face an uncertain future?
As it happens, I was. After working at a bank for a year or so, I decided to quit my job, go on welfare and go back to school.
Going on Welfare was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make. At the time, I thought that doing so labeled me a failure. That wasn’t the case at all. I finally had to face the fact that I needed to do this to get the lives of myself and my children’s life back on track, well on track for the first time.
My friend Kathy and I had actually gone to sign me up to beautician’s school. I loved to cut hair so I thought that that would be the perfect position for me. But, after speaking to my family about it, it occurred to me that I should go to secretarial school instead. It made sense considering that it was one of the dreams I had as a girl.
So, I signed up for Taylor Business Institute, filled out the necessary forms for possible grants and student loans, took the initial tests to get in and I was on my way. The only step left was to sign up for welfare.
That was not an easy thing to do. Since I was living with my parents, and they were able to feed us, the money was needed for daycare and everyday living expenses. I qualified and off I went to school.
It was one of the best things that I have ever done. Ladies, if you need the help for a short time, do it.
My case worker was a really nice man, Mr. Bridges if I remember correctly, who would meet with me every month, if I am not mistaken. Questions were asked as to what I was doing, when I would finish school, etc. So many of the women that I saw in that office had clearly given up, it was very sad to witness such desperation.
When I was ready to graduate from Taylor I went in for my scheduled visit, informed my case worker that this would be the last check that I would be receiving and that I would not require anymore assistance from the state.
He was shocked; astounded is more like it. He asked me if I had gotten a job, and if so, what was I making? I hadn’t gotten a job, as a matter of fact, I was just about to graduate from school, but I was now able to find a full time job and that, in my opinion made it necessary for me to stop receiving benefits.
The benefits were there for me when I couldn’t work due to school and young children. I was now able to concentrate on getting a job and supporting my family. This sweet man stood up and shook my hand and told me that I was doing exactly what the system was intended for.
That one moment when he took my hand I was so proud of myself. I had achieved what I had set out to do and I was now, in my mind, ready to go out and make a living for me and my children.
As it turned out I did very well. The Dean of Taylor even offered me a job there, which I turned down so I could complete my courses and move on to what I hoped would be a future for my family. My secretarial journey started at Amerada Hess and eventually led me to my present position at Andantex USA Inc. Hey, need a gear rack?
My relationship with Matt was moving along and it became impossible to hid it from his parents any longer. His sister knew about me and threatened to tell. Our hand was forced and a day and time was set.
I don’t recall ever being that nervous to meet someone.
As it turns out, it went very well. Matt’s parents had a gifts for the kids and were very polite to me.
Matt’s dad, Tony was working on their boat on the driveway and was quite impressed with little Shayne’s knowledge of tools and with Brittany as cute as a button, we couldn’t miss…or could we.
They loved my children and decided to tolerate me, for the time being anyway. As for me, they were convinced I was a gold-digging harpy looking to steal their son away from them and everything he had.
It would be some time before I won over his dad; his mother was going to take a lot longer.
I was in love with Matt and he was falling in love with me, and my children.
Looking back, I believe that his parents thought that our relationship would burn out; that Matt would tire of dating a woman with children and a psychotic ex-husband.
That wasn’t to be the case, and when it was apparent to Matt’s dad that he was, indeed, in love with me he gave him this advice. He said “If you continue your relationship with this woman and eventually you fall out of love with her, you will still love the children; can you live with that?”
Food for thought.
His family was never mean to me, but I know that Matt had to hear about it all the time. You see, his dad owned a company and Matt, his mom and dad carpooled every day to the same office and worked side by side all day, lunched together and drove home together. Oh yeah, and they all lived together.
That in of itself would prove to be part of the baggage that I spoke about. It would be sometime before I realized the extent of their suspicion of me.
For Matt and I; we didn’t care, we loved each other and for the first time in a long time, we were both with someone who actually cared about the other.
We weren’t going to let anything or anybody get in the way of our feelings for each other, for the time being anyway.
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