The Quality of Mercy

I recently - very recently, as in yesterday - experienced a fairly substantial disappointment; I had interviewed for a job that I wanted, badly, and did not get it. Hey, that's life...but if I've learned anything over these past three years, it's that the only way out is through. Trite, perhaps, but very, very true. So, I allowed myself a "wallowing" period, and then moved on to a more "count your blessings" sort of mindset...and although I'll admit that this may sound a little silly to some, it works for me.

The admittedly sparse amount of posts I've managed thus far have contained a lot of information about my children, as will this one. I've received some (greatly appreciated) comments telling me that previous recountings have brought tears to some eyes, and I think that this one may, as well; however, this should engender tears of a very different sort.

The avatar at left is, of course, not me; it is my small daughter and although it's a not-very-flattering photo, it captures her attitude precisely. She's quite a beauty, with magnificent violet-blue eyes and lashes that reach to her eyebrows. In the photo, her lovely blond hair looks frizzed out and wild, and, in case you're wondering...yes, she is flipping the bird. The photo is saved on my computer under the title "Hername_springer" because I think that she looks for all of the world like someone you might see in the audience of "The Jerry Springer Show." My girl has no filter.

My son, on the other hand, has been described by more than one person as an "old soul." I agree completely. He, too, is physically striking, with a fine-boned face and a generous mouth. But it is what issues from that lovely mouth that has sometimes taken me completely aback, shamed me at the level of maturity and wisdom I can only hope to one day possess.

Some months ago, on a Sunday afternoon that represented the near-end of one of "my" weekends with the kids, my volatile little girl dropped a strawberry on the floor, and in the way of nap-needing 3-year-olds, threw a small fit, yelling incomprehensibly and directing her outrage my way. My son, who was walking through the kitchen at the time, did an abrupt about-face and marched right up to his sister. He closed in on her and said, "Do not ever speak to our mother that way, with such disrespect. You know that Daddy will be here to pick us up soon, and after we leave, Mommy will be alone. Alone, and with your temper fit as one of the last things to remember about the weekend." He then looked at me and said, "Mom, you're the adult here. You don't have to accept that from her." I was amazed, stunned into silence...and, I have to admit, somewhat gratified. My ex-husband is a yeller-screamer. I'm the one who says things like, "You're angry and frustrated. I understand. But I'm not the source of those emotions, and I will not accept being the target of them." So, it was wonderful to hear my own words come back to me, to know that it's not falling on deaf ears. But, of course...I'm digressing.

I held my son at arm's length, by his shoulders, and with wonder in my voice half-whispered, "Where did I get you?" He looked directly into my eyes and said, "I believe in you, Mommy."

Five words. Five words that have seen me through wound-licking disappointments. Five words that have LITERALLY kept me alive because, you see, there's always suicide. Five words that have allowed me to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, I've gotten a couple of things right where these children are concerned.

Five. Words.

Only the Lonely

I don't do "alone" very well. I always thought that having a husband, a family, would "complete" me in some way...and what a bitter disappointment to find out that they were not doing what I believed, almost unequivocally, would be their job. Now, it all seems so academic; if you don't have it within, you sure ain't gonna get it from without.

I still do not have it within.

I have written, to some extent, about the crime and the punishment. And, if you go to enough 12-step meetings, or spend enough time in rehabs or in the "recovering" community, you'll hear about plenty of dirty deeds. It's never a good idea to play the "relativity" game, and I've always salved my conscience by telling myself that I got cracked - HARD - because I have been given to in other areas. By this I mean that I've been given intellectual gifts, strength, determination, and the wherewithal to dig myself out of the hole into which I so fervently threw myself. After all, I tell me, if I'm going to admit and accept the bad - my weaknesses - then I am allowed to acknowledge the good - my strengths. It should by now be obvious that to some extent, this constitutes an internal dialogue between Me and Me...a pep self-talk, if you will. However, I do honestly believe that you are only given what you have the strength to withstand...although given by whom, I am not yet sure.

This only helps sometimes. And this is not one of those times.

My children, as I've said, are in the primary custody of their father. I spend as much time with them as humanly possible, but it's never enough. Not nearly. I speak to them almost every night on the phone, although I didn't talk to them last night; school began again for me, and I had classes until 10 pm...and, stupidly, I hadn't charged my phone enough and it died before I returned home. So, I was very anxious to speak with them this evening. For Christmas, my ex-husband bought our son a Wii, and it's been a huge, huge hit...it's something he's wanted for some time now. So, when he answered the phone, I heard It: That Sound. The one that causes the bottom to drop out of my stomach and my throat to clench up like I'm going to vomit.

What I heard was the sound of a happy family. My happy former family...my forsaken family. And I ask myself, When will that entity who has decided that I have the "strength" to withstand what sometimes feel like blow after blow...when will It have decided that enough is, quite simply, enough? Perhaps I haven't yet cried "Uncle" loudly enough, and the same stubbornness that I place in the asset column won't allow me to do that - not yet.

Oh, yes, I was incarcerated for 6 months. And the loss of one's freedom is a harsh punishment, to be sure. But that? A cakewalk compared to the loss that, quite simply, just keeps on taking.

I fully expect to receive some "get over yourself" feedback on this post and I probably need it. There's not a shadow of a doubt in my unquiet mind that I am doing nothing less than wallowing in self-pity at this moment, and the only thing I can say for myself is that at least I acknowledge that fact. But...moments like this, these are why I started this blog in the first place.

I'm Overcome...

And I seriously am. First of all, thanks to Lemmy...who, I should disclose, is a real-world friend and not a virtual one. And thank you so much to everyone who commented...I appreciate the kind words of encouragement.

Well, I sort of owe this post to Lemmy, too...because he mentioned that it would make a worthy post, and probably some good commentary.

First, I should say that I am an orphan, have been one for some time - and this is notwithstanding the fact that I am squarely into middle-age. When my dad died, almost 15 years ago (my mother, at that point, had been dead for 9.5 years) I was 28, and I said something to someone about feeling like an orphan. This person - who STILL has two parents - said, "Oh, you're too old for that." HAH. I say, when your parents die, you're mentally 6 again, no kidding. I also am divorced, mentioned that earlier...and do not have custody of the kids. I often tell people that I don't have the kids because I'm a student and a full-time employee...although these things are true, it's NOT why I don't have the kids. I don't have them because of a spectacular fall from grace, during my minor-sometimes-major career as a drug addict. That predicated the divorce. And the custody arrangement. My ex and I have a decent relationship though, but not having the kids sucks, and hurts. I'm close with them and all that, but still feel like a failure. Well...to the point, I guess.

My mom died when I was 18; alcoholic cirrhosis, if anyone cares, and more proof that my family has a horrible history of addiction (she's one of many, many others). HER mom, however, lived a lot longer, although she was not mentally attending due to senile dementia. But: In her prime, my grandmother was a TRIP. And, several days ago, I was commenting about something to Lemmy, and that's what this was SUPPOSED to be about (I'm a digresser, notice that?). Okay, anyway...my mother's family was Irish and German...and they had the weirdest sayings. One of them...when they didn't like something, like some restaurant's food, was: "I wouldn't hit a dog in the ass with that." My sister and I find ourselves saying these things, perfectly seriously, and cracking up about them. Who says this stuff? And...what, if the food was good, you WOULD hit a dog in the ass with it? This is what I meant, in that first post, when I said "mental meanderings."

Thanks, again, for the WONDERFUL comments...and, please, tell me if your families had such crazinesses. Honestly, though...my sister and I laugh, and then, we cry. A lot. Our parents have been gone such a long time, and missed so much of our lives, and yet we still miss them - every day. And for my two kids...I try, as best I can, to keep them alive. They'll never know them, and oh, just wait: I've got some mother-in-law posts coming up...terrifying stuff, and I'm NOT kidding about that.

Damn. I never know how to end these things.