This week sucks...

This is my Tyler week. On Friday my baby has been gone for 11 years. Thats almost 3 times the time he was alive. And that is absurd. This week makes me want to sulk, cuss, lock my door and not go anywhere near public. I don't wanna talk. And poor Trai, he just doesn't understand that EVER much less now. Bless his heart, how I love him. Anyway, so today I want to sit in my bed and chainsmoke and sulk. Because I'm ill as a hornet and as emotional as I can be. Just makes me wonder, how many people that I love must I watch die? 2 of my children, my grandaddy, his brother, my cousin at 16, my great grandparents, and now my mom? Really? You gotta be kidding me right? I don't know, it just don't seem right, sitting here listening to angry music, posting to this blog, chainsmoking newports and verging on tears, but somehow it makes me feel better...

Yeah. I suck. I know.

I haven't been very good at keeping up with this, many of you probably have given up hope. But I'm back. I find myself in a quandry. At a crossroads even, and I have come here to sort it out. You're welcome to share your thoughts, or keep them to yourself, You WON'T offend me.

See, most of you know, my mother is fucking dying. and that sucks.

She's the only person I got who never judged me, always supported me even when I was dumb, Was there when I lost my babies, was there when I got divorced, when my kids were born, when i stood over my sons casket. For EVERYTHING. So its a double whammy. Like losing my best friend too. It's a hard pill to swallow.

And I have this husband, this man I told my mother I was gonna marry before I even knew him, and he's just too fucking stupid stubborn to get it. He cannot see that the alcohol leads to his actions, which leads to my reactions which leads him to act out only farther leaving me nearly hating him many days a week. And some of you reading this love him. And some of you think he's great. And Guess what? You're right! But what you don't know is there is a dark brooding mean side to him. A side where every hurt he's ever had is tucked away, only to escape after a day of heavy drinking and contemplating.

He wanders amidst all of us, full on tough guy biker persona in full effect, but truthfully theres always gonna be a hurt scared little boy in there who thinks he will never be anything. And I don't understand that. I don't understand having all the talent he has in so many ways, all the heart he has always helping someone else, and I know he has mad love for me, as much and as deep as he has ever loved anyone in his life. But at some point love is not enough.

People, I will fucking say it again. MY MOTHER IS FUCKING DYING! Could you suck it the fuck up, man up and chill the fuck out for the first time in four years? Could you let this be about me for once? Could you be sober for me to lean on you at any point? Could you realize that you have this woman, this woman that has stood by you when everybody else said fuck you, this girl that knew long ago, you were the love of her life, Can you pull your head out of your ass and think about all the support I've offered you? It's my turn, is that too much to ask? I am snapping, snapping into a reality in which I really just don't give a damn about a husband I have to babysit because he drinks too much.

BUT.

Then I think. Jamie, your mom is dying. Do you want to go through that without him? Do you want to watch that and lose him all at the same time? Can you even do that? I mean really, how much loss must I suffer? 2 sons, now you want my fucking mom too? And in the middle of all this I am supposed to just keep being fucking strong and do the right thing, hold it all together, fix myself, fix my house, maybe save a marriage, or maybe what find a lawyer? At what point does it become stupidity on my part for needing him? I just don't know. I am afraid to stick tomy guns, afraid to maintain the no alcohol threat. What if he doesn't choose me? I'm not sure thats a heartbreak I want to inflict upon myself at this point. I know that there is a good guy there, I have seen him, been with him, loved him, but he so often gets lost within the evil beer and liquor drinker. And he cuts my soul to its core with his words, which causes a reaction in which I am out for blood and its an endless circle of emotional terror on everyones behalf.

I'm torn and I don't know where to go.

And I miss him.

and i don't want my mom to die...

New meds,a birthday, rambling and guilt...

Well, I met the doc, Dr. Babatope. A jamaican woman, I figure around 40. Very nice, very easy to explain myself to. She'll be my med doc, there will be another for therapy. She gave me three meds, Lamictal, 25mg for the first 15 days, then 50 mg thereafter in the am. Then there is 20mg Celexa in the am as well. At night, she has me on Risperdal 1mg. Got the scripts filled yesterday. Had some wine at the birthday party, so I didn't start them until today. I was a bit scared the daytime meds would make me groggy as well, but they didn't today. Theres some pretty nasty side effects that are possible with all 3 of these, including meningitis with one, so we have to keep a close eye, but we're giving it a go. I do feel quite calm today, I'm going to assume thats the anxiety med she gave me. Might just be that we had a great time at Savannas party yesterday/ last night. Good times with the husband, friends and family...
Mom did good yesterday, up and in good spirits, having a good time most of the day and night. At 10pm when everyone got gone though, she was one tired puppy, but hell, we all were!! Savanna got money from everyone for her birthday, so she was thrilled. My sister took her on her birthday trip today. They had IHOP for breakfast, went to Gulf World in Panama City, she was part of the sea lion show, did the dolphin interaction activity, had all sorts of pictures made, then they headed to Pier Park for shopping and Margarittaville. Last I heard they were still at the restraunt, Savnna had spent her $125 she left out of here with and was enjoying her birthday Sunday. I'm glad. Savanna has been taking this thing with mom very bad. She needed the escape. She needed to go be a kid and not think about impending death and what she will do without her Ninnie. It makes me oh so happy for her, so glad she could do it, so glad my sister did it with her... Hmmm, all the kids get a birthday trip from her, suppose I do?? It's coming up real soon, haha.
Trai and I, well we've talked alot this weekend. Talked about me. About him. About the problems between us. About how I feel. How he feels. This weekend, its one of the best weekends I've had in a long time with Trai. Maybe we can keep it that way. Maybe he can hold it together. Maybe I can hold my end together. What we do know is there is much love between us. A powerful, sometimes all consuming love. And we both think thats worth fighting for.So we're trying...
Times are tight, and things are hard sometimes. But I gotta make the best of what I can. We only have 1 time here, and we don't have a clue how long that is, of all the people in the world I should know that. I should know, you could be 4 days old, 4 years old or 50 something. You just never know how long you have. I can't take the chance of NOT fixing everything I can, not doing my best, not trying my hardest and something happening, going out like that. Not when there is so much that can be done, so many ways to try...
I miss my babies. I miss them so much it hurts some days. But I have to learn its ok to not think of them somedays. It's ok to live life right now, with what I have, who I have and appreciate them. You can't appreciate everything if you're constantly looking over your shoulder in the past. And that doesn't just apply to the boys. It applies to all the hurt, between Trai and I, or anybody else. It's time to forgive for alot. Including forgiving myself for the deaths of my boys, because truthfully, theres nothing to forgive. Ir was never my fault. It was the life I was dealt. It was something horrible, unnecessary and life changing that like so many other things, we have no control over. It was not my fault, and I won't let myself think it was anymore.

Well, its 130 am...

And I can't sleep. For the first time in almost ten years, I will visit a shrink tommorow. And I hope I shall come home medicated. This scares me a bit, I've always been the "If you take the meds you admit you're crazy and admit defeat" type. Those feelings weigh much less right now, the feeling for calm inside my head a much more needed reprise.
For anyone unfamiliar with my story, 11 years ago, my son Hunter was born with a congenital heart defect. When this heart defect, Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome, was discovered in a routine ultrasound at around 5 months, the best advice my doctor could give me? "It's too bad it's too late to abort.". Every doctor I saw told me basically I was having this baby for him to die. It would take a pile of miracles to save him. He couldn't get one. He was to be born in Birmingham. Go straight to heart surgery, see if they could repair enough to keep him alive long enough to get a heart transplant. The docotrs wouldn't listen when I told them he would be born the day after Thanksgiving. They wouldn't listen to the fact that I had ALWAYS gone into labor at 38 weeks. They schedule my induction for 5am, Dec 01, 1999. Hunter was born in Enterprise on Nov. 27. He died December 01. The day I told them I would never make it to. Being born in Enterprise, he could not go straight to surgery. He had to wait on a lifeflight to Birmingham. The first jet malfunctioned, leaving them to send for another, from even farther away. 6 hours lost. That jet arrived. They told me as they wheeled him into the elevator, me seeing him briefly, only maybe 2 minutes since I had him, that if I went outside in about 20 minutes, we would be able to see the jet leave. They would call me as soon as he got to UAB and the doc saw him. I had my father wheel me downstairs, I stuck at that hospital for another 12 hours, to watch my baby fly away. I waited. and waited. and waited. I waited an hour outside that hospital. I decided I
had to have missed it somehow. And I had my father wheel me back upstairs. Another hour passed, no word. Another, no word. Another, no word. Finally, the phone rang. During an inspection before takeoff, a crack had been found in the wing of the second plane. They sat, in the plane and waited 2 hours on yet ANOTHER flight for my baby. Once he finally arrived at UAB, it would be around 5am the next morning before the surgeon would see him. Then, once he made his descisions, they would have to wait until I could be discharged in Enterprise, get to UAB and sign all the forms for his surgery. A baby that had no time, and I was watching time tick through my fingers with nothing I could do. Needless to say, a number of things went wrong, further after that. My son, that was supposed to be born at UAB and go straight to surgery, had to wait until Sunday morning after being born Friday at lunch to have his surgery. And when they did the surgery, I'll never forget the doctor coming out and telling me he had accidentally torn a hole in the only good part of a heart my baby had. There was nothing we could do but try to keep him alive and pray for a heart. Hunter declined quickly, coding several times, including while I was standing outside of a CICU, being told they couldn't let ANY of the 30 of us waiting to see our various family members in, because someone was dying. That someone was my son. But they brought him back. I saw him. I went to the Ronald Mcdonald house. They called me and said he was much improved. They were weaning him off of life support. That was at 9pm. I decided I was tired, and I was hurting, my body ravaged from giving birth and the journey I had been on. I was going to skip the 12am and 3am visits, get some sleep. I would be there at 6. At 2am, the phone rang. My mother answered it, all she said was hello, and silently handed it to me. They told me I needed to get there, SOON. Mom ran every bit of 100 through the streets of downtown Birmingham. When I arrived, they put me in a private doctors conference room, asked would I like to speak to the chaplin, and told me someone would be in very soon. An hour later, the doctor came with no good news. Hunter had coded again, it took 45 minutes to get him back, but they had. All of his organs were begining to fail, even on full life support. In a moment that still stuns me today, I simply said "This isn't fair to him, you're telling me he's going to die anyway, I want to take him off support". All of his doctors met and discussed it, 30 minutes later I sat beside his bed as they unhooked all the tubes and wires. For about 5 minutes, 5 of the longest minutes I have ever lived, I watched his breathing become more and more shallow. He squeezed my finger I placed in his tiny hand and took his last breath. They sent me out of the room, cleaned him up, put him in a beautiful angel looking blue gown and when I came back in, I held my baby, 4 days later, dead, for only the second time in his entire life. The first and only time that I could hold him and see his little face, because the wires that kept him alive, were gone.
Fast Forward to only 4 months later, April 2000. In a deep dark place, I decided maybe what i needed to snap out of it was a weekend trip out of town. I set off to visit my best freind at her Florida home, seeking a reprise. What I got was pure hell. We got up, the kids went outside to play, and Tyler, my 4 year old son had an asthma attack. When he hit the ground gasping, he fell into a small pond, no more than 2 foot deep, and still gasping instantly filled his lungs with water. I remember being hysterical. I remember screaming hysterically at my cold blue son as the other adults did cpr, waiting on an ambulance that took 45 minutes to get there. I remember about the 3rd compression, water shooting from Tylers mouth, just like on tv. Only on tv, when that happens, said person sits up, coughs and sputters and is fine. Tyler continued to lay limp on the ground. He was pronounced DOA at the hospital around 10am, April 08,2000.
Thats when my depression spun out of control. Thats when I was forced by family services to go to the doctor and I was diagnosed bipolar and PTSD. The doctors said I was probably bipolar as a child even, but the tragedy of the last several months had brought the disease to the forefront.
I couldnt find a counselor I liked, I was forced to go to group therapy in a womens group where the women only complained about their children. The third week I listened to the same bitch about her child not picking up his dirty socks, I told her "Bitch, be glad he's alive and shut the fuck up." I was asked not to come back...
For the most part, since I was exiled there, I managed to keep myself fairly well under control. Sure, there were times, days, even weeks sometimes that were very rough. But I did it...
However, right now, I can't. Theres too much. Watching this cancer eat everything that once was my mother, daily, anytime I wander through the house we share. Watching the kids, especially Savanna, hurt for her. Losing my job. Thinking of Hunter and Tyler. Struggling with 2 kids whose father thinks its ok to pay his child support whenever he wishes and in whatever amount he wishes, living 5 minuttes from them and never having them or seeing them. These babies are watching their grandma die because his sorry ass is at the peanut festival with his freinds, too busy to see his kids and to broke to pay his child support. It was just Hunters birthday, then his anniversary, and 2 days before Christmas? Tyler would have been 15. And Christmas. Oh, and lets not forget, a 16 year old son who decided he hated me so much, he did such dangerous things to the other children, He wanted to go live with a grandmother that turned her back on him the day of Tylers funeral. He was 5, and she never looked back,never called. At 15 he snuck to meet his father, whom signed away his rights to a child he didn't know because he spent his first 8 years of life in prison. When he got out, he didn't want to pay 8 years of back support. So he signed my son away. And Amos? He hated me so much for some reason (maybe it was the bipolar in him, he was diagnosed at 8 years old), he left me to live with strangers. Now he wants to come home. Almost 2 years later. I was right about them he said. They do and did lie. But the damage is done...

This is me

And this is going to be my safe place. What I say here may sometimes be painful, sometimes be brutal, but it will always be honest and without filter. So much happening. So much going on. The harsh realization that I AM in fact losing my mother, the only best friend I've ever had for EVERYTHING... And my husband. I love him. Dear God or whoever or whatever, I love him. There's just something wrong. Something I can't fix. He is an alcoholic. I drink, I'm not knocking him like that. But my Trai, he doesn't know when to stop. And when he doesn't stop, he gets foolish. And he says mean things. Really, REALLY mean things. Lately I find myself not being able to drink for pleasure at all of our functions because I need to be the rational one, I need to be able to compensate for what he might do, or who might trigger him into a fit. One wrong word and a whole weekend can be ruined. One must stay on the toes. But really, in a case like that, how far does love go? When do you have to say "WHOA". I have so much going on. I am married to a man that I laid eyes on at a gas station in 1997 and told my mother I would marry. And in 2010, I did. But I can't fix him, I can't help him, I can't make him see. I can't stress the damage the same old same old behavior is causing... Him doing it causes me to fuss, fight, yell and cry, which in turn causes him to rebel and drink more, which makes me worse, which leads to a vicious circle in which we eventually call a truce (usually on Sunday, when there us work the next day and no drinking will be involved for a few days).
Yet, for some reason,some reason I cannot grasp, unless it really is women are from Venus and men are from Mars, He cannot grasp that the constant cycle of this over and over, every weekend, 4 days a week, for weeks on end makes me the disgruntled wife he doesn't understand. It's a reaction to your actions. Simple life stuff right there. But I love him, and I mean really LOVE him. I know what a good heart he has, I know what a good man he can be, I know how awesome he is sober, I know how much he loves me...
I guess, the point here is, I'm here. And I'm gonna be here. At any time day or night, when I have a Tilt a whirl in my head, I'm gonna dump it out here. You're welcome to relax, hang out and chat with me. Just don't be shocked by what I might say, my life is spinning and I'm trying not to puke!