Okay I am taking my tree down and dwelling. Because that is what I do best. (not ‘taking trees down’ obviously since Xmas was forever ago) I am also folding laundry and helping my daughter try to salvage a cake mix that now has one cup too much oil. I am a queen at multi-tasking.
The current object of my dwell, is the fact that my ex-husband is about to hurt my kids again. I know they are grown, I know they are adults and can make their own decisions, but when it comes to him they are six years old again. Not so much my son, he seems to be completely ignoring this situation, much to the disgust of his sister. And Zowie. Probably (note, the cupcakes seem to be okay, we added some flour, sugar, and coco powder, they are more muffin-like, but salvaged none the less) is the one that will be the most wanting things to go well. She is always under the illusion that her father is suddenly going to be a dad. I have watched her forever get damaged again and again. I swore that was not going to be my kids, but it is - to somewhat less a degree, but painful nonetheless. And now their cousin has died and they will all be together. I have one billion ornaments. My God. I am wrapping each up in a plastic grocery bag, like two or three at time. I pulled some off that Eric had given me over the years. Eric’funeral is Saturday. This young man deserves the rest. His life was chopped up spit out and stomped on by his alcoholic mother, the driver of a car that did not see the boy on the big wheel, a controlling grandmother, and no one else that gave a crap. He never drove, never had a girl friend, nor a chance. And even now, as he is finally in heaven where he can find peace and rest and a day without a violent seizure, he is being over shadowed by the very people that should have cared for him. So the tree is still up, but I have almost all the ornaments off of it. It looks like Christmas still, all the snow and cold. I love all my ornaments all the memories, all the special moments. I even have some from my first marriage, ones that were mine, and meant something to me. More laundry, god, this is painful. Never ends. None of it. Everyone just wants to be loved and respected but the people we want to have love us, sometimes are not capable. That is the most painful part. Almost as painful as watching my Angel hurt ... again.
8 years ago