Memories Of The Past, Memories In The Making

I'm eight years old, and it is officially the first day of school. I'm off to First Grade in Mrs. Bartley's class. I'm all ready to go in my white, ruffle-neck dress shirt, my purple overalls with the yellow tulip on the front, and my pigtails upon my head.

Being it's no more than a seven-minute walk to school, and back then, my area was pretty darn safe, my parents started out on the journey to my new school along side me, with Sarah, our Corgi. They stopped at the corner of the next street over from us and let me finish the walk on my own. As a big girl.

I remember vaguely, as I turned my head to see my parents still standing there at the corner, after I crossed the street, then crossed to the opposite corner at the end of the block. They waved to me, my dog looking sad and in wonderment of where her "sister" is going off to without her. My mom, I saw wiping tears from her eyes, trying not to fall apart, as most of us mothers do when their babies start trying out their wings.

After waving good-bye and walking out of their sight, I can only imagine how Mom fell apart, and how Dad had to console her on that "lonely" walk back to the house after I made the rest of my way off to school that beautifully warm and sunny morning.

But that would also be the last time she would ever see me take that "big leap" in growing up. Ever. Because the year before I was to start Junior High/Middle School, my mother had passed away after having suffered from a massive stroke and pneumonia.

Yesterday (Thursday, August 18th) my oldest had her Middle School orientation to take a dry run at finding her classes, knowing how to get in to her locker, meet her teachers and to learn the rules.

She has to get on the bus now, about an hour earlier than before, when she attended Elementary School. And she is fine with that. Because she also now gets out about an hour earlier than her siblings.

As my daughter waited outside at the bus stop (which for her, is now across the street) I had the flashbacks. I saw her as a tiny girl again, just starting Preschool. She and I waited for the bus at the top of the hill near our former home. She was SO excited. And I watched as she clomped up each step with her short, stubby little legs, and her huge backpack on her back, as she boarded the bus. It took all that I had to not just lose it right then and there.

Yesterday, it hit me. Not only am I seeing my little girl, my first born, grow up before my very eyes into what will be a stunningly beautiful young woman, but I am witnessing something my mother never was able to have the chance to, and never will. Not with myself, and not with her grandchildren.

I was VERY close to my oldest daughter's age when I lost my mother. And I am only about eight and a half years younger than my mother's age when she died. It pains me to know that my mother has had to miss out on SO much. My marriage. My kids. How I have grown and matured. My overcoming of many medical obstacles.

While I feel blessed and fortunate to be here to see and experience the wonders of my children as they each make their own headway in the world and leave their own marks on the world, it still saddens me that I didn't get the chance to have my mom see all that I can.

So, I guess in a way, I am living life and experiencing these things for the both of us. And I often times wonder what Mom would say, think or do. What would she say about how my life has turned out? What would she say about the man that I married or how I am raising and rearing my children?

Sadly, those are questions that will forever haunt me and be left unanswered. And to this day, it is still hard for me to come to terms with that fact.

I'm not a huge fan of Christian music, but..

There are a few singers that I LOVE to listen to. I'm in to Contemporary Christian music. I like a few hymns that are traditional. But I'm really not a "traditional" kind of gal. With that said, here are my favorites (with a fave song video included).

First of all, gotta give kudos to Nicole C. Mullen. The girl can SING!



As for the guys, I have to give it up to Al Denson. The following song brings me to tears EVERY single time.



I've had the awesome pleasure to see Cece Winans perform one year at an Extraordinary Women's concert here in town. She is even more so beautiful in person and gives a WONDERFUL, praise-filled performance. Music for MY generation, and even my kids'. This was one of the songs she sang..



Another tear jerker for me. I love it though! He is my Comfort and my Strength. Darlene Zschech had done a wonderful job with this song.



Delirious has some good P&W tunes also.



I think that personally, I really needed to hear some of these and just give it all to God. It's honestly been a very emotionally charged (almost) two weeks for me and my family. Between after-school activities, the home invasion and my son's problems escalating due to the break-in, I have been stressed beyond limits. It was refreshing and calming to listen and even sing to these this morning.

True, I'm not a church-going, drop-to-my-knees-every-ten-minutes, constant-Bible-reading Christian, but I know HE loves me, He sacrificed EVERYTHING for me and that He is there even in the midst of every storm to help carry and weather me through.

200 Posts!?.. And A "We Need To Talk" Moment.

Now that the blog series is over, I can move on to other topics. Aren't you just ecstatic?

One thing that has happened since starting the "25 Days Of Christmas" posts is that I have reached (and gone beyond at this point) writing 200 posts!!





Exciting, isn't it? I've so far posted about all kinds of things from my son who has many mental disorders, to my life as a Stay-At-Home Mom and Wife, and all kinds of other things in between.

Today though, I am once again going to touch upon a very sensitive topic. One that never takes a break and is a battle for millions around the world, not just in the United States every single day. It doesn't care if it's Christmas time or Summer time.

Abuse.

Not just one kind, but all forms of abuse. Child abuse. Domestic Violence. Sexual abuse. Verbal, emotional and mental abuse.

If you wish to read about my personal, first hand experience with being in an abusive relationship, then I urge you to READ HERE.

As of today, over on FaceBook, I have "re-started" a page that I had running under a different name. Seeing as the site's new format no longer allows for name changes, I had to start fresh and delete the old page.

It is called Bring REAL Awareness To Abuse.

You can either click on the page's title above, or click on the page's "Like" box above at the top of this blog's page.

There, you will find tips, facts, statistics and information for how to get help. It's still just starting out. And I am also relying on the page's members to be active and participate as well.

Abuse in any form is not a laughing matter. It never rests. So, bringing forth awareness and information in how to watch for signs of abuse and how to find help shouldn't take a back seat, either.

But also please note (within the page)..

*Some pictures that might be posted could very well be GRAPHIC in nature as to "drive home" the realities of what REALLY happens when a child is abused.

*These pictures could either be posted by the page owner or via the page's members.

*VIEWER DISCRETION OF PHOTOS IS ADVISED! And admittance of MINORS below a certain age (13 years) will NOT be allowed.


Dedicated to all of those that "died young" at the hands of an abuser...

Media Reaction Over Compassion Regarding Grieving Children

As many of my "older" readers know, my mother passed away when I was twelve years old. She was forty-three years young, but suffered some health problems. In the end, the side effects of a massive stroke took her life.

I'd gone almost daily to either the hospital or to the Rehab Center/Nursing Home to sit with her, talk (really loud seeing as the hearing loss was great and due to the stroke). All the while, I KNEW deep within two things.

One, she was never going to come home the same way again.

Two, she wanted to die. And she WAS dying. Slowly and for the most part, painfully.

No child even remotely fathoms the thought of their parents' mortality. Not for a single second. Especially in early and middle childhood. To them, his or her parents are immortal. They are of Superhero status.

When a young child, at an age of understanding experiences the realities of life and death, usually it is not with the loss of a parent. It is difficult for them. But not totally agonizing.

But I ask you to sit where you are, as you are reading this right now, IMAGINE yourself being a child of twelve years of age.

Now, FEEL the emotions within from realizing that your mother or your father has passed away. You are shell shocked and in complete denial, because parents DON'T die.

Once shock wears off, look at your face when you come to realize that what you were told is in fact true. Suddenly, you crumble in to a heap of longing, despair, unimaginable heart ache and an insurmountable amount of grief as you cry out in longing for your mother or your father to come back. That you want them and you need them, as you BEG for what is true to not be.

That was me. In 1989 on October 29th. Sitting in the living room of the home that I had grown up in. As my father told me, "Missy, remember when I said to 'expect the unexpected' a few weeks ago?", I got hot and flushed in my face, knowing but not wanting to hear the next few words that FOREVER changed my life. "It happened early this morning. Your mom is gone."

All I could do, as people from my neighborhood stood there as a means of comfort was stare at my father, shaking my head and pleading for it to not be true. Finally it hit that what he said was not a lie, no matter how many times I verbally fought it with him.

In the days and weeks that had followed, amidst all the condolences and the "I'm sorry for your loss" people, I wanted nothing to really do with the outside world. I was grieving. Longing for someone that I will never see, speak to, or touch again.

It was a time of my wanting to isolate from the world and the people within. For me and also for my dad, our pain, sorrow and grief were of a private nature.

We needed the time together, as well as alone to deal with our thoughts, our feelings and the realities of what had happened to us.

This is why I am personally quite angry, and tired of how the Media hounds and preys upon children of big name politicos and celebrities in the midst of their loss.

Take for instance, Michael Jackson's children. For WEEKS, those children were followed around, having pictures taken of them, having news cameras in their faces. Even at their father's funeral! Those poor kids could not once get away and grieve and mourn their dad in private.

Now sadly, the media hounds have turned their attention towards the children of Elizabeth Edwards, who had lost her battle with Breast Cancer on Tuesday, surrounded in the PRIVACY of her home with her children (ages five and twelve), as well as former Presidential hopeful and former husband John Edwards, and other close family and friends.

It SHOULD HAVE stayed that way. Especially for those children. No one, no matter if it was a friend or not, should NOT have brought those children's grieving to the media's spotlight.

Depending on the type of service that is held for the late Mrs. Edwards, those poor kids will be forced to fall victim to the Media, having cameras and reporters, and magazine and news paper journalists shoved in their faces. Not once being able to privately hurt and long for their mother.

It will not be an easy road for these kids. It's going to be long, hard and painful. Especially since they are still so young.

I can safely say that even though twenty-one years have passed and life has gone on since my mother's death, at times, it is STILL hard to deal with. Her birthday. Holidays like Christmas, especially since having my own children. Mother's Day.

No child should suffer a loss as great as these kids have. But a child should still be allowed to be a child. Especially during the grieving process, which could take years. They shouldn't have to be the Media's 'Top Story' of the day.

"If I Die Young"..

Sadly, many women do around the world. Thanks to Domestic Violence and Domestic Abuse. Most times, it is far too late to get the help that they so desperately need to get away from their abuser/attacker. And by the time anything is truly done in regards to the abuser, the woman is already forever gone.

Domestic Violence and Domestic Abuse can take place within anyone's home. And it is NOT always the man that is the abuser. There are women who have been known to abuse their boyfriend/husband or their girlfriend/wife. Men are just better known to be an abuser.

And I am a survivor of Domestic Abuse/Violence. The worst case of it being when I was in my early twenties. I was at the time living with my former BFF and my former (abusive) boyfriend.

At first, it was just little things. Basically, he was just a lazy bastard that suddenly felt that I needed to 'cater' to him and HIS needs. Then, as time went on, in came the isolation and the constant "checking up" on me to see about my whereabouts and who I was with (if he and I weren't together).

One day though, near the very end of the relationship, he finally snapped like the proverbial twig. I made a remark and basically told him that it was time for HIM to move out. Suddenly, rage had filled his eyes. It's as if a demon entered his body and took it over. All in the course of a split second.

Next thing I know, I feel the palm of his hand on my throat, and his fingers wrapped around. I could feel my pulse pulsating his fingers. And I felt the blood trying to pump and supply my brain with needed oxygen.

My airway was cut off completely, and I struggled as his hand lifted my feet off the ground as he was choking me literally to death. There was not an ounce of air entering my body. I could feel myself fighting off passing out.

And as quickly as it happened, it stopped. But not before he squeezed my throat so tight, that I turned red, and then bluish purple in the lips (by my friend's account, who witnessed this), and that I had felt the searing pain of his nails digging in to my neck.

After he let go, he tried to apologize and started crying. "Boo-fucking-hoo" was my thought, and I opened the door and told him to get out, and to not come back. I threw most of his shit out to the curb, but he broke in to MY home and stole things that were mine (and of course claimed it was NOT him, though none of HIS things were missing that were left behind).

In a moment, my life was almost gone. He either could have choked me to death, or could have snapped my neck and then he would have broken it, causing instant death. But he let me go in time.

I'm one of the lucky ones. I am a survivor. I am NOT a victim. Victims sadly are those that had died at the hands of someone that they loved and trusted. Or they are the ones that are too scared to leave their attacker/abuser, in fear of what may happen in the aftermath.

I'm here to say to those of you reading this, and are in an abusive relationship...YOU CAN GET OUT! No, it will not be easy. And yes, he/she will make their threats and scare you in to staying. And you will have to learn once again how to live and to take YOUR life back.

Abusers are all about power and control. They want to have all of it, and for their victims to relinquish it all to them. It's a power trip. So, they will use anything and everything against you to get what THEY feel that is "rightfully" theirs. Hitting, name-calling, isolation tactics, talking down towards the victim. It's all used to get the upper hand.

But I can tell you that you CAN get the upper hand back. It just takes the courage deep within that yes, YOU DO HAVE inside, and the willingness to leave. And their ARE organizations that can and will help you.

The police. The hospital. Social Services. And the National Domestic Violence Hot Line. Family and friends, too can help you. Don't be scared. There is a better life out there for you. Much better than the life you are forced to live now. NO ONE should be a caged bird, with its wings clipped. That is NOT living life. That is living a slow death.

Please, if you are in an abusive relationship, find it within yourself to leave and to live your life again. I promise you, it WILL get better.

Nat. Domestic Violence Hot Line  (1−800−799−SAFE(7233) or TTY 1−800−787−3224)

....I'm as green as the ring on my little, cold finger, I've
Never known the lovin' of a man
But it sure felt nice when he was holding my hand, there's a
Boy here in town says he'll, love my forever
Who would have thought forever could be severed by
The sharp knife of a short life,

...And maybe then you'll hear the words I been singin'
Funny when your dead how people start listenin'

....Uh oh (uh, oh)
The ballad of a dove (uh, oh)
Go with peace and love
Gather up your tears, keep 'em in your pocket
Save them for a time when your really gonna need them, oh

I won't remember for a day,or for the month.This 'rememberance' will be with me until I die.

See the ribbon above? I have chosen personally to not only remember this important day of awareness on just October fifteenth of every year. But, to remember it for the entire month of October.

Nor will I ever be allowed to forget for the rest of my days.

October fifteenth is known nationally (in the USA) as "Pregnancy And Infant Loss Remembrance Day". And for many mothers such as myself, as well as the millions around the world, we will never be able to forget our babies. Some of us were lucky enough to hold them for a few hours, a few days, or a few months. Then again, some of us (such is my case) never got to hold, touch or even see our baby.

On Halloween Day of 2003, I was in the sixteenth week of pregnancy. All was going fine (as so I thought, seeing as I had no complications to that point, and it was my third pregnancy). That day, I was scheduled for a vaginal ultrasound being I was a high-risk pregnancy for health reasons.

I knew, the second I had seen the little peanut on the screen, something was very off. After having so many ultrasounds in the past, I knew what to look for. And the one thing that none of us had seen was the heart fluttering.

After the doctor's tone changed to the ever-so-famous "cautiously optimistic" tone, I knew that it was confirming what I already knew thanks to my "Mommy gut".

To get a better look and to indeed confirm what all of us already knew, I got placed on the big ultrasound. And then and there, I had the worst nightmare for a pregnant mother to go through. My baby was dead.

After getting the shocking news, my mother-in-law called my husband to get to the doctor's office. All he knew was that something was wrong with the baby. After we both got over the shock of all that happened, I called where we both worked at the time and let them know. For some stupid reason I kept on apologizing for not making it back to work from my extended lunch time.

A few days later, seeing as the baby did not miscarry on it's own, I was forced to have a D & C (Dilation and Curettage) to help expel my twelve to fourteen-week-old baby. I was nearing toxic levels in my system from the baby being dead inside for up to approximately four weeks. It was the worst and the most horrific surgerical procedure that I have ever had to endure.

All I knew was this was NOT supposed to be happening. I was not to be having to abort my baby. I was supposed to be having a normal pregnancy and readying for the new addition to our hearts. And instead, I was being forced to let him or her go.

To this day, especially when Halloween Day is upon us, and when November third (the day that my baby was "officially" gone from me), I still grieve. And I often wonder what would have become of our Michael Gregory, if he had survived.

Sure, some will read this and say to themselves that I need to "get over it already". But they cannot EVER know the lasting pain and the hole that is forever etched in to your heart and in to your soul from a loss as deeply profound as losing your baby (or a child in general).

I may not have ever been able to have held and caressed my child in my arms. But he is forever within a special place of my heart, and is deep within my soul, right along with his two sisters and his brother. For they too had lost out on having another brother to love.

"Where Were You On That September Day?"

If you recognize that line that I used for the title of this post, then you know which song it is from and what it symbolizes. September 11, 2001 will remain in many a heart and memory for generations to come.

Not for it's year in music or the Emmy that Television shows had won. Or the hot Summer Flicks that Hollywood spun out that year.

It will be remembered as one of the most prolific tragedies of our time. Of our generation, and of the Twentieth Century. September 11th is forever known as '9-11'.

That was the day that it did indeed seem that the world had stopped turning. Millions in America, and billions around the world had frozen in place as they had witnessed first hand, or had seen the first taped images of the root cause of the first Trade Center Tower being on fire, seeing as the second plane crashed in to the other tower as the first was being filmed on live TV, as it was on fire and had people JUMPING OFF the building, as to escape being burned alive.

Do you remember what you were doing at that moment in time? Be it in pieces, or in minute detail. I certainly do. All the way down to calling my husband at work, and listening to his description of how the customers and his co-workers reacted to the news.

When the news started breaking, they had said in past-tense that a plane hit the WTC Tower. As Diane Sawyer and Charlie Gibson from Good Morning America (back in those days) were trying to get more on the story, thinking a bomb (not a plane) had gone off, right behind them, on the back screen, in a live shot, the other plane came in at what seemed to be an odd angle.

Suddenly, as I sat there, engrossed and waiting for a more defined answer to what happened, the answer became horrifically known to me and millions of others in the nation as to what REALLY happened.

Sitting there, holding Bryce in my arms (he was three months old then, and Hayley was at school for her (then) developmental delays), I watched as the other plane hit and just blew up before my very eyes.

Suddenly, I began to cry and I notably held Bryce a little tighter as he sat upon my lap, oblivious to what was unfolding before him. Then the thought swept in to my mind, and I could hear myself say "What kind of world have I truly brought my children in to? Is this what they have to look forward to in their future? What did we as a nation do, to deserve this kind of terroristic-type act (not knowing yet that it INDEED WAS a terrorist attack upon out nation)?".

I'd sat there, frozen and silent. It wasn't until I came out of the 'trance' that I realized that I just witnessed a plane full of people, and people within that tower being murdered. The shock to see what I had, left me dazed.

After I got myself together, I called my husband at work (then, we didn't have cells, so I had to call the store) and I asked if they had heard. He'd said yes, as did all of the customers and fellow employees, being that they announced it, and then had a moment of silence...Customers left in droves to get home, or were on frantic calls right in the aisles, Scott said, making sure their loved ones in NY and that were to be on flights that morning were okay.

Just think, one week prior, I was flying home from Reno, Nevada, after a week's stay due to my grandmother (Nana, who's ashes I wrote about finally getting) had passed away. Even then, on the flight home, something seemed...'off'. But I could never place what it was. I just felt very uneasy. And I had never felt that way before when it came to flying.

Maybe I was sensing the tragedy that was about to unfold. But I just didn't "get it". The entire trip home felt 'weird'. Who knows.

Maybe there were a couple of those terrorists on board with me, getting "practice flights" or going to their final destination via my route to go home. This I will never, ever know for sure. All I know is that I knew that there was something big coming. I could feel it. But I couldn't pinpoint what it was. That feeling stayed with me...

All the way home on my flight upon American Airlines.

*The following has real footage from news tapes included in to this song's video.*

May we never forget.