This is the article I featured in my blog today. It is worth reading!
That is such a difficult concept to digest for me: letting go of the live we have planned.
Certainly, it was not in my life plan to suddenly have to relocate out-of-state, away from every single person I know, because my husband’s job called for it. But I did, because I had to. But the concept of “letting go” is a difficult one to accept. My husband has dealt with the change fantastically, and even my son (who has Aspergers Syndrome, which is synonymous with having difficulty with changes) is accepting the change and growing from it. Me, not so much.
We just visited home last week, and we saw family and friends and celebrated my parents-in-law 50th Anniversary. It was a wonderful four days of visits, laughter and celebration, however, inside I felt sad for it all to end. I was where I was most familiar, family drama and all. I was not at a point in my life where I could just enjoy the moments that were before me; instead I was waiting for the moments to pass and the dread of having it end.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my new hometown. My new job is fulfilling, my son is thriving, and my husband’s career is more successful than ever. We have our health, a brand new home and pets that love us unconditionally. We seemingly have it all! Why do I constantly look back?
During my visit, I felt like the outsider. Of course, the world keeps turning and life goes on despite our relocation, but it is agonizing to me to feel like I am outside of a circle that I was so much a part of just a year and a half ago. Family and life events, milestone events, are happening and we cannot be a part of it. Such is life, right? Then why does it hurt so bad?
So this is where I find myself these days: trying to move on, and being all right inside with that. I think I am torturing myself more than I need to, but letting go and moving on is so difficult. I read this post from a fellow blogger, and it resonated with me, maybe it will with you too. This is about letting go:
So, I breathe the bad feelings away and try to move forward. The road is long, but I will get there.
Have you had to relocate? How did you cope?
It has been a bit since I posted, or participated in any Writing 101 assignments because my family and I have traveled to our hometown to celebrate my parents-in-law’s 50th wedding anniversary!
We have been in town since Wednesday, and it has been one visit after another. If there is one thing I dislike about traveling home to visit, it is that we seem to only have small amounts of time to visit and catch up with family and friends before it is on to the next one. It makes it tough for me; I start to feel reacquainted, and then I am back to leaving again. This moving away from home stuff is difficult. Though it has been only a year and a half, it feels like we have been gone forever.
Tonight, I get to see all of my friends at a party my best friend is throwing, and that always makes for a good time. More memories, more small amounts of time and opportunities to bottle up some love and laughter to take back to VA with me.
I am grateful for my family and friends and miss them every single day. My advice for this Saturday is to go out and make memories with family and/or friends!
I am sure that there are a lot of “ode to my father” posts going on today, but this one is different.
See, I never had a constant father figure in my life from birth until now. I have had shitty experiences with father figures. Let me explain:
Oh yes. A dad IS a daughter’s first love, at least that is the case with me. I loved my biological father, with all my heart and soul. I still do. Growing up, he was tenderness, strength and laughter to me. This was in my first four years of life, prior to my parents divorcing. Even after the divorce, I still had a place in my heart for him. A place in my heart even when he didn’t come to visit, when he showed up at birthday parties and only stayed for ten minutes because of the tension in the room when he arrived, when he only called (drunk) to talk to my mom because he seemed to miss her more than me. Even after he said I couldn’t visit anymore because of his new wife and her attitude problem. I loved him, cried for him, let the ghost of him ruin a piece of me, but I loved him. Even when he looked me in my eyes, drunk and near death in a hospital bed after I saved him, and said “You should have let me die”, I still loved him. Just in a different way. From a distance. Long distance. Letter after letter, call after call, I would tell him off, hoping that it would shake him awake and say, “What am I doing to my daughter?!” But it never did. So I lived with that.
About five years ago I got a phone call on my birthday from my father, whom I have not heard from for years prior to that. He was sober, apologetic and wanting to bury the hatchet and connect. Thank God I did because I finally have a relationship with my father. Granted, it is over the phone and texting; he seems apprehensive about seeing me, and that is all right. I know that is his own issue, not mine. All I know is that I hear from him than I do my own mother. Funny how times have changed.
My stepfather entered my life at five years old. He was a man my mother dated, who ended up moving in with us, and suddenly there was a male presence to answer to. My mother made it clear that we here HER kids, but that never seemed to stop her from going to him when she thought we needed discipline. I was struggling with the connection with my own father and never awarded my step father that title; I always called him by his first name. After years went by, I began to love him like a father. He was a quiet force in my life, always sitting in the background but knew everything that was happening. We had fun, and I did learn a lot from him. We fought a lot too within the past five years. When I moved away from my hometown a year and a half ago, I never thought that six weeks later I would be flying home to bury him. I was sad for the time we missed and the lack of connection we should have had when I was younger. But, no matter how much I denied it, my biological father had my heart, and it was difficult to take away. Though my step father walked me down the aisle and greeted my son when he was born, there seemed to be something missing. But I always knew he loved me, even though he was quiet about it. And I loved him.
I see other fathers in my life, from my father-in-law, to my brothers-in-law, to my friends husbands, to my own husband, and I watch how they are with their children. They all have a different way of handling, disciplining and loving their children. I wish in my lifetime I could say I had a constant of any of that.
But I get to see my husband father my son. I watch him and how he explains things to him, how they are connected and how hard they love one another, and I am so proud of him. My son is the luckiest child on earth for having my husband as his father, and I am the luckiest woman in the world having him as my husband. God has blessed me with that, and I am truly grateful for it.
So yeah, I may not have had the solid “father figure” in my life, but I certainly learned lessons from all the men in my life. I miss my step father and it is sad that I don’t have to buy cards or call him anymore. And every time my phone dings with the notice of a text from my father, I smile. I am loved, and always was.
Happy Fathers Day to all the fathers out there, step, grand, biological, adoptive, foster, single mom or otherwise. Love hard. Your kids will thank you for it.
Writing 101, Day Ten: Happy (Insert Special Occasion Here)!
Today, be inspired by a favorite childhood meal. For the twist, focus on infusing the post with your unique voice — even if that makes you a little nervous. Today’s twist: Tell the story in your own distinct voice.
*** I haven’t written in a while, and I am about three assignments behind, so I decided to start with the latest assignment and work backward.
You know what kind of cake I would always ask for when it was my birthday? Chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting. My mom was not exactly Betty Crocker when it came to baking, but I remember her getting a peanut butter frosting recipe from a girl at work and decided to use it.
I can recall the countless tries she gave this recipe. Over and over, year after year, the frosting would come out different. I remember peeking around a corner once, wincing at the sight of my cake. The thing looked like a crocheted blanket with the frosting patched together, not spread, across the cake because it was so thick and she didn’t know how to fix it. One year, there wasn’t enough peanut butter in it, the other, there was not enough powdered sugar. Finally, she ended up adding peanut butter to vanilla frosting, and it spread better than the rest. She never told me she didn’t do it from scratch, and I never asked. It was delicious!
Birthday’s meant that we got to choose our dinners too. Most of the time we would go to the restaurant, The Beach House. We never went anywhere as a family, ever, except on birthdays if asked. In fact, this was the only restaurant we ever had a meal at outside of my home as a child (aside from the McDonalds and pizza runs). Going there was a special occasion. It meant little quips and brief conversation, but it meant we were all sitting at the table having dinner together. That is something we only seemed to do at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Even when I was young I ate in the kitchen and my parents ate in the living room. Going out to dinner was a big deal. It meant a Happy Birthday, even if everyone wasn’t in a good mood.
Now that I put that out there, it seems kind of sad doesn’t it? Wow. I never thought of it that way until I saw it in black and white.
I have been out of commission for a lot of this week, simply because life has been crazy. I am still here, but behind on some assignments in Writing 101 as well. Between 8th grade graduation celebrations for my son and living without a fridge since last week (oh yeah, its been fun!), it just seems like my brain is on other things. But I am here, and will write about some of those things I mentioned, promise!
I will do some catching up this weekend! 🙂