Homeward Bound

Where is home?

Is it the house next door where I lived for fifteen years?  My first home of memory in West Orange, on that tree lined street, next door to the mayor?  Or is it where I have lived for the past five years.  I often try to think where I "feel" home may be in the future.

In a few months, when the house is finally sold and the rooms are empty, I will walk through and say goodbye. Then I will always wonder where my "home" will be.

 But since Kate died, I'm not sure where I belong once this place is sold.

At times I long for a  husband who would tell say, "Honey, my job is moving and so are we blah blah blah." Then my choice would be made.  I would know my place in this world, country, state, town...universe?  Or I think, hopefully I will get accepted to certain MFA programs which will dictate  where I end up.

There is no comfort in uncertainty.  But, hell I haven't felt comfortable in a few years at least.  It has been dread, then stress after stress.  Uncertainty.  And I suppose that NOTHING is certain.

IN the folly of my youth, I believe that I would meet a guy, get married, pop out some kids, you know do all those things that I was brainwashed into believing gave my life value.  I thought that I would have my own home by now, that home was defined by a person.  You know that thing, Home=where your heart is.

Well, I'm learning where my true home is and it's not quite what I thought.

 I never remember being told about women who chose to have a career.  Those women who were single and supported themselves seemed to be looked at with a wry sense of pity.  This is a religious thing, no doubt.  How many times did I hear preaching about the "place of women" in the world.  I watched my own mother try to be a good wife, homemaker as suited a good woman of the Lord.  I watched it and swore that would NEVER be my life.

My Mom and I used to have long discussions when I was in high school about women choosing to be SAHM versus using their college degree and working.  I think she thought I didn't value what she had done to raise me, this is the same woman who when I said I wanted to go to college and I wanted to have four kids, told me I was too selfish to ever have more than two children.

But, I always felt that being tied down that way was akin to a prison sentence.  I never could do it.  My Mom went back to work when I was in seventh grade.  She later told me that she wished that she had gone back to work earlier.

Now, here's the thing choosing like my Mom did is perfectly fine.  But so is NOT choosing that.  I told a friend the other day, have men ever wondered if they could be a father AND have a career??  I doubt it.  They just assume that they can do both.

The church I was raised in did not allow women to pray in public.  I never understood that.  I consider my religious upbringing to be akin to those raised in a cultish atmosphere.  Rarely was I allowed to have friends outside of the church circle.  My family didn't have friends outside of the church circle, why would I?  And when I say "My family" I really mean my Mom, brother and sister because my Father checked out of that church by the time I was eleven.

He was considered to be a "non-believer" or "apostate" because he chose not to attend those services.  And because of this, I was an outsider.  Oh, there were several outsiders in my group.  I used to strive for a time to be like everyone else, but eventually I accepted my role as a non-functioning part in that strange organism.

 I was instructed in the way of absolutes.  God is real, powerful, omniscient.  The Bible is His Word, the Roman Catholic church is the whore of Babylon, God  chooses who will go to Heaven, woman should remain silent and wear long skirts, children need to be spanked often, in order to build their character...it was a Neo-Puritan upbringing.

There seemed to be a pervading understanding that the things we believed elevated us religiously, we had the truth unlike some of those other less doctrinally sound apostate churches.  I've been bellowed at, cajoled, manipulated and made to feel terrible from preachers of The Word of God.  The odd thing is I'm like a person with Stockholm Syndrome.  I still feel at home amongst some of the those teachings and I believe that there are good people still attending that church.  But would I ever go back?  No.  I don't want to be like Proverbs dog and return to vomit.  So, I choose to follow my own path.  I choose to go with my heart into the uncertainty of belief, the mystery that is faith.

Now, just as there are many oppressive beliefs in this world, there are many empty beliefs.  Where does this uncertainty thing come into play?  I mean have you ever been 100% positive about anything?

I haven't.  So, I have turned this discomfort into a game of sorts.  I keep holding on like a card shark, I'm playing the person not the hand I'm dealt.  I'm psyching out myself to keep going.  And I may never hit a point of peace, or pure bliss.  And I'm OKAY with that.

I long for happiness, but know that happiness like it's friend sadness is only a feeling and a feeling doesn't last. And someday all my words and thoughts will be gone into the ether of the otherworld.

Hah, I'd planned to write about relationships.

Note to everyone...do not give single people advice such as: Why don't you try online dating?  or If you just enjoy life you will meet someone or It always happens when you least expect it.

No, no and NO.    Here comes that uncertainty again.  I don't know if I will always be "single".  Heck most of those married people won't always be married.  Some will be divorced and then single again, then possibly re-married.   I guess I'm just tired of others beliefs internally dictating my life.

 All my past relationships have ended by my own hand, well except maybe one.

That's right. Men, you think that you choose us women?  Nope, here's a clue: we women make the choice every time.  We choose not to be with you or to be with you.  Some women don't realize that they are the choice makers. Some just self-sabotage things,  I have done this.  I have also consciously chosen to end things.

A friend told me once that he knew that his girlfriend was the one, he was ready to buy a ring...then she broke up with him.
And I said,"You knew, but she knew too and it didn't happen, so you can never REALLY know."  How can you NOT have even a little lingering of doubts?

  Because, damnit I have doubts about the things I throw into my grocery cart!!
  Shouldn't you have just a small bit of uncertainty in a relationship?  If not only to keep it moving and thriving?  People think I am a massive failure at romance, hell, I think it too sometimes.

I just cannot seem to find a balance between being too needy and not wanting anyone around me at all.  Try living with THAT schizo type of personality.  The thing is I've dated a few guys who I know I could have taken things to another level, maybe even married them, but each time I knew in the back of my mind that maybe there was something better.

Okay, better isn't the right word.

I knew I wasn't ready to give up my own desires and ambitions, not that I've accomplished what I want yet.

I know when I'm dating someone if it is going to work out long-term or not.  But how much uncertainty is too much?

 I just haven't met someone who can be there and give me space when I need it.  Those things don't seem to be that difficult right?    And the thing is the last guy in my life just had too many red flags for me to compromise, but I tried.  I really tried.

Which brings me to an interesting point, I've been told that I'm afraid of commitment.  This is not true.  I'm just afraid of what comes after that commitment.

And that is why I'm not married, it is my own choosing. I'm no-less suitable than any other woman.  I know so many other women who like me have questioned their own desirability, attractiveness, etc.  But I'm throwing it out there ladies, if you aren't in a relationship or married or dating, guess what...it isn't because men are bad or terrible.  It is because you've chosen not to be. I'm learning to change the way I think.

I used to beat myself up all the time thinking that I had some type of intrinsic flaw keeping me from happiness(because God-forbid that you can be alone and be happy!)  How many lonely coupled folks have I met?  Far too many.

   I don't believe that there is one "soul mate" out there or perfect person or anything like that.

 I still believe in love. I'm just not sure what that means, yet.



SO I continue in my own uncertainty...

Learn By Learning

            My early years, I was a bit of a Daddy's girl.  When I cut my lip and needed stitches, I remember crying out for my Dad while they were stitchin me up.

But ever since I moved back home in 2009, I spent the majority of my time with my Mom.  Our relationship over the past few years had changed a bit, we'd had ups and downs--usually ups.  In the past two years, I would say that our relationship had in many ways become more symbiotic than any other time since I was very young.  The strange thing, is that I never realized it until recently.

 Her first bout with cancer in 2002, I was the one who drove her to the hospital the day of her surgery.  I stayed with her while they ran various test, put metal markers into her breast, when she passed out.  I waited alone to hear from the surgeon.   No part of me wanted  to be there.  In my heart I wanted to run away, and not know, not think that my Mom had cancer.  She went through chemo and radiation, lost all her hair, but I knew by then it was not her time...yet.

It has almost been three years now since we found out the cancer had come back.  Metastisized from her breasts into her lungs and her spine.  When she had her lung re-section surgery, she asked me to stay with her overnight in the hospital.  She was very stubborn and seldom asked others for help, but she felt comfortable with me, always.

 Each day I would change the drainage bag from her lung.  I tried to be as gentle as possible.  She was miserable.   There were only three cancer nodules then.  I came home one night to find her barely moving after a treatment of zometa.  She was extremely feverish and vomiting. 

She was afraid of going through chemo again.  So she sought alternative cancer treatments.  I cannot say if it was right or wrong, each person has to make their own health decisions.  It was just my Mom and I living in our house for a long time.  While she was my mother, she also was my closest friend.  She knew what I was feeling, before I even knew.  We took care of each other in different ways.  I helped her with her cancer diet, cleaned the house, walked the dogs and kept her company.  She made it possible for me to finish my college education.

We fought sometimes.  

We laughed sometimes.  

We spent time talking about my future as a writer. 

She would say, "You have a gift." or "you need to do what makes you happy."

The year before the cancer came back, just my Mom and I spent almost a week up on Martha's Vineyard.  On the first night, I ate crab by accident and started to have an intense allergic reaction.  My Mom was always involved in my health immediately drove to Cronigs and we bought some Benadryl.  Let's just say that I passed out by 7PM that night.  We had such a wonderful time, hiking, eating Clam Chowder, walking the dog on the beach at Chappaquiddick.

 I've been missing her a lot this past week.  I've been sick.  My first real sickness since losing her, and it's crazy but maybe because she was so involved with my asthma and my stupid lungs for so many years, I just miss her.  I think of her lungs.  The cancer in her lungs killed her.

We liked  a lot of the same TV shows, specifically Downton Abbey and Mad Men.   So for the past few years on Sunday nights, we'd pop some popcorn and I'd make a big cup of tea and we'd watch our shows.  A few weeks ago, the new season of Downton Abbey started.  I watched about five minutes and turned it off.  I was simply disinterested.  I didn't know why.  Until I had a conversation with my Dad.

"Have you been watching Downton Abbey?" He asked.

"No." I said." I guess that I just haven't been interested, maybe because Mom and I used to watch it together."  I didn't realize until I spoke it.  Makes sense right?

 Just like it makes sense that every month around the 27th, I get a bit sad.  I don't always know why, until I stop and think, "Oh yeah." 

When I was in the throws of caring for my Mom, I never stopped to think about how lonely I would be when she was gone.  I'd gotten so used to our relationship.  The way she would talk to all the people in the hospital about me, saying,

"Ask my daughter, she will know."  Or I'd hear her call my name from down the hallway just making sure that I hadn't left yet.  

All I can say is, this grief thing is a bitch.

One second I will feel perfectly fine, and then my heart feels as though it is being pulled down into my stomach.  They don't teach you about grief in school.  There are counselors who learn, but the average person gains knowledge through experience.  We are seasoned by these losses. 

When my cat Teddy was hit by a car, I was almost ten.   It was my first "real" loss.  I saw his lifeless cat body wrapped in a black garbage bag and I did what anyone who is really sad does.  I threw myself on the ground and howled.  My Mom tried to console me, but I simply could not imagine my life without Teddy.  His name was one of my very first words, he was there when I was born.  He was always there no matter what...I had loved him for my whole life.  Eventually, my sadness over losing him grew less painful.  I got new cats, who I loved, none ever as great as him until my Sunflower.

But when my mother died, even if I wanted to throw myself on the ground and howl, the construct of behavior, or fear or something prevented me.  Rational behavior versus grief can create some sort of strange dichotomy of emotion.   Maybe all the losses over the years hardened me.  Sometimes though, I wish I could be more like my ten year old self and give into the sorrow. 

Fear holds me back.  

Fear that if I threw myself to the ground, I may never get back up.