Surprises and losses

So my medical appointment revealed a medical marvel: my bones had completely healed. This is really “one for the books” since bone healing simply does not occur before 6-8 weeks post injury – even in kids. There is no medical explanation. I was ordered to start PT immediately and I no longer have a cast; rather, a walking boot.

The boot, while removable, has proven to be awkward and challenging to put on and take off. So by and large, I’ve been sock-footed. I’ve been too uneasy to spend much time really bearing weight on my bad led as I fear falling. It’s getting better each day. And for the record, apparently Physical Therapists are obliged to read and take to heart 50 Shades of Gray as they seem to delight in mild torture. But it’s working.

Up this morning at 4:30am due to a muscle spasm in my back and contemplating the news that my brother is now in the last stages of hepatic encephalopathy. He’s agitated, confused, combative and my sister in law wants no one to come and help. Not that I could easily come with the wheelchair, walker and all – but she is shutting out all of the sisters. I understand this is her husband. But others have had a role in his life and to leave us without goodbyes or even the knowledge that we contributed some small thing to his comfort is a bit surreal. I suppose the expectation is to leave him to die and then come and show up at the funeral – which to me is so totally pointless. And I don’t think I’m motivated sufficiently to actually do it. My poor husband would bear most of the burden of the work of managing my mobility. I’m still thinking about it. I’ll have to think fast because last report was that no one thought he would last the weekend. He’ll not see his 65th birthday next month. Funny, the disease that started all this 25 years ago promised to take his life in 10 years. I guess getting 15 bonus years is nothing to complain about.

I only hope that he passes through this stage and beyond quickly. I do not know what happens after death. I will only acknowledge that it makes no sense for us to have these complicated, amazing, emotion filled existences for no reason. I am inclined to believe that there is some continuity beyond death, though what form that takes is beyond my understanding. Not understanding it, however, doesn’t make it untrue.

So this fall starts in a fog of loss and a limbo of uncertainty about how fast I will recover.

Just Too Busy for Life in General

I can’t say I have had no time to blog, but rather that I have not found the time for it. Made the time for it.

So I’ve been on vacation for the past 7 days. OK, I’ve got 2 kids here and had the hubby here for a few days, but otherwise my time has been my own. I’m left realizing that like Anne Lindbergh, these weeks should be a solitary venture.

What I have had reinforced by this time is that I’m not living the life I want to live. I am busy beyond all reason. My work consumes everything, leaving me nothing to offer anyone outside of it. Despite my recent efforts to improve my strength via physical therapy – an act of desperation to save my knees – I don’t spend nearly enough time in the sunlight. I feel bound by so many responsibilities that really should not be mine. I feel responsible for outcomes of lives that are not my sole responsibility. I spend most of my days with so much internal chatter in my brain that I simply can no longer focus on anything effectively.

The sea takes all this away. The sound of the unrelenting surf is medidative – forcing me back to the present over and over again. The sun rising on the horizon reminds me of the nature of life – each day a new opportunity. I do not see this any longer in my home life. I see the start of each day as one filled with problems I cannot possibly solve and the fear that more money will have to be tossed at this nearly 4 year old endeavor. If I have to spend another $20,000 on something, it better be a trip to Fiji. But it won’t be.

I’m making an exit strategy, but it will take a while to put into play. We have threats and opportunities, and in the end, I’ve still got mid-6 figures riding in this. Hubby says it doesn’t matter and part of me believes him, but part of me knows that he won’t forget a failed investment of this magnitude. If only it didn’t take 10-12 hours of my day, every day, to keep it afloat. 3 days a week even – that would be tolerable.

I’ve spent this week seeing my husband here miserable with doing “nothing”. He’s hated carting kids back and forth to a pool or the beach, as they are too young to be left alone just yet at the beach anyway, given the shark attacks. He left yesterday, finally admitting he really didn’t like kids. Of course, I’ve known this for 26 years. Problem is that before they hit adolescence, I really like kids.

I’m lonely when he is here. I’m lonely when he’s not.

We’re going to have to find some common ground, he and I. He is happy and proud to see me work – but miserable seeing me depressed and overwhelmed. I just want to quit. I hate to even type the words, because it seems like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Like bringing a wave of negativity onto myself. But these thoughts lurk in my mind all the time. And they’re going to take me down anyway unless I figure out a way out that doesn’t waste all the money invested.

What would I do if my time were mine? How would I spend my days? I’ve thought about this each and every morning this past week. I would read, write, put my home in order, prepare for the future when my body fails me. Grow things. Find old friends. Stop calculating and timing everything. Move my body – find its strength and stop overfeeding it. Think about things other than profit margins, and client satisfaction, and productization and balance sheets.

How exactly am I going to get myself out of this mess?

Family and such

Son has been to court (without me) and regained 50/50 custody (without me). The “without me” part is an enormous relief. I have little energy left for the drama that falls in the wake of his life. I guess this has triggered this line of thought.

I didn’t meet my birthmother until I was 35 years old. She was dead 2 months after I turned 36. The story behind that is one for a “based on true events” movie, but the telling is for another day. Even now, I don’t know the identity of my father, except that his first name (I think it’s his first name) was unusual (I know it) and that so many conflicting stories about what happened have been told that the truth is now lost to those who no longer are among us. I also know that I really like to listen to Tanya Tucker sing “What’s Your Mama’s Name.”

I spent perhaps 24 hours (yes, hours) in the company of my biological mother during my entire lifetime. She’s been dead for many years. Despite this, I have to acknowledge that my relationship with her (or lack thereof) has served as the major driving force in my lifetime.

My “mother” – the woman who adopted me – could have no children. Blame was tossed back and forth between my parents silently, but in that day and time there was no stigma to adopting nor to mothers who gave up their babies for someone else to raise. People in general were expected to have families, and there was an assumption that if it just so happened that you couldn’t have one, that didn’t mean that you wouldn’t be a great parent. The same is true now. That said, the reverse is true as well. People want kids for a variety of reasons. In the 50’s and 60’s it was an expected part of life, a right of passage, and not much thought went into whether you’d be a good parent or not short of making sure you had a job, hadn’t been to jail, and weren’t actively in psychiatric treatment. So, a lot of kids ended up in homes that were better than the ones they were born to, but sometimes still very, very problematic. That sums up my situation. My Mom had some very serious, undetected problems. Hell, in the years before I left I still didn’t put my finger on it and call it what it was – mental illness.

But I knew some things were off. I guess the first time I realized there was a real problem was when I was 4. I recall living in a large city in a high-rise apartment – 11th floor. I was permitted to go down to the playground with my brother (2 years older) and play. I have no idea what my mother was up to in the apartment, except to say that I was happy to go. There had been a couple of mind-blowing incidents of bizarre abuse and Mom was high-strung.

Flash-forward in my memory and I’m talking to some lady on the bench at the park, telling her in all earnestness that my mother had been in a terrible car accident – she might even die. I knew this was a lie – I just really wanted to believe it so much. I know, those are not nice thoughts. Oblivious, the woman then accompanied me back to the apartment only to find my Camel smoking, otherwise apparently healthy mother answer the door. This was the last time I remember my mother having any control whatsoever when she got truly angry with me. I think she had no idea what to make of it – this subliminal line of thought coming from her preschool daughter that she simply could not understand. She tried to talk to me, but I was 4 and really wasn’t much in touch with my subconscious mind. I promised Mommy I would tell no more lies.

More craziness would come. I’ve got images of my mother screaming in agony while Dad and Mom’s best friend pulled her nude from a hot bath and wrapped her up on my parent’s bed. Her expansive happiness when she thought she was pregnant once, and the raging anger and depression that fell behind it. She never, ever reconciled the fact that she could not make her body reproduce. She blamed my father’s low sperm count more than her blocked fallopian tubes and thyroid problems. And through it all, her mental illness grew worse, and worse, and worse. Her rage when I got my period. Most of the crazy came my way. At least I think it did. I realize now that Dad would have never said. He’s been gone for a long, long time now.

My brother escaped through drugs and alcohol. I escaped through school and at one point, religion.

My whole childhood I dreamed that out there was my “real” mother – the one who if she only knew, would come and save me. At one point I believed it was Liza Minelli – but she was too young. I never thought about my father coming to save me. I had a Dad who didn’t hurt me. Anyway, no one came to save me. Never happened.

When I did meet this person – this “real” mother who was to have saved me from everything, amongst all the questions she had was “Are you looking for a mother? Because I can’t be that.” I just told her, “I have a mother, but it hasn’t worked out very well so far. So I’m good with that.”

Mom is 80 this year. I last saw her in 2008. It took me until 2004 to really, really get over it. My life. That neither she nor I could ever be who the other one needed or wanted. I wonder how much time people waste on what are supposed to be really important relationships in a life, only to discover this is their hard truth? Some waste a lifetime.

Business, Family, Relationships

Week is coming to an end. There has been much drama on the work front with a major supplier of software to us wreaking havoc with an existing agreement we have with them. Hopefully, we’ve reached a compromise as of yesterday but my inbox is devoid of messages from them so I am by no means certain. It is clear that we will continue to diversify in 2015. This will mean some more long days.

Just for the record, owning your own business is simultaneously liberating and imprisoning. The hours are brutal at times, but the ability to make decisions on the spot is usually wonderful. Until you realize that you alone are responsible for any ripple effect of those decisions. I know for a fact that if I had to do this over again, I would not. I would be quietly retired and enjoying my retired husband (I think – another subject) and a life free of these particular responsibilities. I don’t like the stress, the hours, or the amount of space this company continues to take up in my daily thoughts. And yet, I truly hated working for other people. I never, ever got the true recognition that I’d earned because to recognize me was a threat to them. Duly noted. No grandiose thinking here – I could typically do my boss’ jobs without problems. Now I am the boss. Cool, but it’s no vacation.

Retirement for my husband is a total coin flip. He hates having days without structure or tasks by which he defines himself as valuable, capable, and relevant. He and I often have power struggles over minor things and I’ve grown to feel like I no longer really understand how our relationship works on so many levels. I am exhausted most of the time and he is either bored or highly invested in some project. The days that should be filled with gentle intimacy are instead filled with what we’re familiar with – managing the logistics of the tasks of the day. He doesn’t really see this as broken. And I don’t really know how to start moving us to a better place. He believes we have all the time in the world, and the people in my life have taught me that such a belief is simply not true. What to do?

Oh – update on brother-in-law: Stage 3a lung cancer. Starts radiation and chemo tomorrow. Age: 57. Think about that.

Strange Days

So, since I last posted I’ve seen 2 of my grandchildren. I’m not going to go into too many details here, but I had help and no one knows – not even these kids. I will say my disguise was good enough to fool my husband of 25 years.

My granddaughter is the image of me, but it was my grandson who took me back in time to when his father was young. They look so much alike. Only difference is that this child is so calm, so self-contained – unlike the hyperactive being his father was at that age. But the language skills – they are the same. How bizarre to hear a 3-year-old child speak in entire paragraphs and complex sentences. How like his father. I have a few pictures and a couple of videos, taken surreptitiously with my cellphone by a “helper”. There are no words to describe how wonderful seeing them was.

In other news, the kitchen has cabinets (some with doors that need replacement), countertops, sink, faucet, and appliances. Some shelf-paper has been laid and a few dishes put in place. Floor is 90% finished, with only the toe molding and last bits of corner pieces left to be laid. We still will likely have to touch up paint. And we need to get a kitchen table/chairs in place. But it is a million miles from where it was 30 days ago. And for the record, a 65″ TV is awesome.

I’ve had company (a friend/employee) at the house for the past 4 days, so I’ve not been of much use in getting things back to normal. Hoping that the weekend will bring me some time to do that. Also hoping that we get the big contract next week. And that we can resolve some contract issues, and that we have world peace…..