Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Christmas Loneliness...its real.

The weeks leading up to Christmas, I saw several posts about how the holidays are not happy for everyone. That for some, the holidays bring sadness, loneliness, feelings of helplessness and despair.

It is true.

And this year is not the first time I felt those things.

Way back when I was 22 years old, I was a newly divorced young woman, with a 1 year old daughter, facing my first Christmas as a single mother.

My marriage to my child's father was short lived. After three years of things not going the way I wanted or needed them to, I gave up on the union. There I was. A new mother, working part time, getting $50.00 a week child support, and facing Christmas 'alone'. It was rough. I was scared. Scared to be in our home alone with doors that wouldn't lock. Scared because I didn't make much money, and $50.00 didn't even pay for childcare. Scared because sometimes, I didn't know where the next meal would come from or if I could pay for propane for heat, what less Christmas gifts.

And then there was the loneliness.

I made it through for the next 6 Christmas' alone also.  I had my daughter. And each year, I found a way to buy her gifts, and to have enough food. Enough heat. Enough spirit to celebrate Christmas and a baby who was born to save us. We certainly had plenty of love and smiles and laughter. But as the only adult, I did  feel lonely during the holidays. And despaired. Hopeless. It was a struggle, but I wanted my child to feel secure and 'normal', so I hid these things the best I could. So really, no one knew.

Then I met my 2nd husband.

He brought stability. Both emotional and financial. We got married. We had a child together, now there were two daughters. We made traditions as we went along. Some we kept year after year. Some were forgotten after the first year or two. But Christmas was . . . Warm. Safe. Love. Happiness. Fullness. Home.

After 22 years...it changed.

The few months leading up to our last Christmas together was...Cold. Quiet. Angry. Sad. Empty. Lonely.

After getting through that last Christmas, it was done.

What would the next Christmas be like? I moved to a much smaller and older home after the divorce. What I could afford. Would my kids like it? Would my grand kids want to come here? I didn't put up many decorations. Only a small tree and a few things here and there. My heart wasn't in it.I missed my home of 20 years...the house me and my husband had picked out together. It felt like I had moved my body and stuff here, but my soul was still back at my home there. Maybe it was wandering around that house, looking for me. Looking for my daughters. My grandsons. Listening for the laughter.

Luckily, after expressing my fear that they wouldn't like this new place, my daughter said, 'where ever you are mama, that is home to us'. And I realized, that where ever I was, and my loved ones come to me, that can be home to me too.

I bought a house over a year ago. Its not as big or as nice as the home I had, but its becoming home more and more with each passing month. The grand kids are growing and making memories here. My daughters come and spend a few nights here and there. My oldest daughter, the one with the boys, comes more often. My youngest daughter comes with her dog, and can sleep in peace I suppose. (She lived with me right after the divorce, and slept in the next room. I know many nights she heard my wails as my heart broke and knitted back a little, then broke again.)

I won't lie and say I don't miss my old life, my old home, my old Christmases. And after the kids go home, Christmas can still be a bit lonely.

So yes, when you see those Facebook posts about praying for those who will be hurting at Christmas, do pray. The sadness and loneliness is real. And it may effect someone you never would have dreamed would feel that way.






Monday, October 17, 2016

Like Prairie Dogs

October 17, 2016

I have not written a story in a very long time. This one is a true story...

     Many, many, many years ago (about 32 to be exact), I was having a meal at Steak n' Shake with a man that I was dating at the time.

     I had a steakburger and fries. As you probably know, SnS has very skinny fries. While eating them, I had one go down my throat, unchewed, where it got stuck half way down and half way up.

     When I realized I had a fry stuck in my throat, I popped up. Like a prairie dog. I was still sitting inside the booth. You know, those booths where the seat is bolted to the floor and you can't slide the seat forward or back? But back then, I was a little tiny skinny thing and I could stand almost straight up inside the booth. And I popped up.

     The fry moved a bit and I sat back down. But as soon as I sat down, it felt stuck again. And I was having a hard time breathing around it! So... I popped back up!

     At this time, my dining companion asked, "What the ^&%$ are you doing?" Finally, that fry went on down and I could breath! So I sat back down. I explained I was choking on a fry. "Well don't do that. You are embarrassing me!" He replied. (!!!!!!!)

     Fast forward about 22 years or so.

     My husband had a pair of shorts that me and my daughter affectionately (sort of) called Dicky Dukes. They are the male version of Daisy Dukes. They were cut off blue jeans with the frazzled edges. Each time they were washed, more of the frazzled edges would frazzle and they became shorter and shorter and more and more embarrassing.

     Much to mine and daughter's horror, he wore them to the movies with us one night.

     This daughter is one who is not one to draw attention to herself, and sometimes might be called just plain shy. She would rarely do anything that would make herself stand out in a crowd or cause her embarrassment.

     But her Dad wore the Dicky Dukes to the movies that night.

     Our movie had not started yet. In fact, we were a bit early and was forced to sit in the lobby while the previous showing finished up and the theater employees cleaned up a bit.

     Several young girls stood nearby where she and I sat. Dad was standing close by. In his Dicky Dukes.

     The young girls took notice of this nearly white headed man in his fifties wearing frazzled cut off blue jeans that showed way more thigh then his wife and teenage daughter wanted to see even around the house, what less out in public. They at once started bending over and whispering in each other's ears, giggling and pointing.

     Daughter popped straight up off that bench. Like a prairie dog.

     I looked up. Way up, because she is tall. And I saw the fire in her eyes and the tightness in her jaw. I looked at her and I looked at the girls. She thought twice and sat down. But the girls pointed and giggled again. And she popped up. Again.

     "Don't do it!" I hissed to daughter. "But they are making fun of my dad!" she exclaimed. "Let it go!" I urged. "But it's my dad!" She hissed back at me.

     I think the girls realized they were barking up a very tall tree, and they moved on. Thank God! Because I was beginning to get embarrassed! And he, of course, was oblivious to all this going on.

    After the movie, we scurried on to the car, dragging dad with us,  trying to avoid any more run ins with judgemental teeny-boppers and anyone else who might find humor in dad's attire. For the most part, he was never none the wiser.

    Daughter and I discussed it later, and she said she really wanted to tell those girls off. But I told her I was quite sure if he were not her dad, and she saw a man in his fifties with greying hair and frazzled edge cut off blue jean shorts that went way up to there, she would probably giggle and point with her girlfriends too.

    And she agreed.