Okay, it was so totally hormonal

Three hours later, post house cleaning and showering, I can honestly say that it was totally hormonal.

I have got to learn how the "save as draft" button works. Good grief.

Wishing it was hormonal

The biggest loss of my divorce was not my husband. I wanted him to leave. I was happy once he did. The biggest loss was that of friends.

Most of my friends were friends through marriage. I have never been one to collect lots of friends on my own. I was never one of those girls who would have a weekly "girls' night out" and drink pastel cocktails while giggling about the bartender's cute tush.

There have been five women in my life who I could call steady friends, best friends, and now there are four.

Two of those women have had their own challenges brought on because of my divorce. Their own husbands are good friends with my ex-husband. T has handled it graciously and with care. The other chose not to. I don't know why either. I was in the same position with her during her divorce, and my Ex and I lay down the law right away. Her Ex was not to be mentioned, he wasn't welcome in our house, and I didn't want to know if the two men spoke or saw each other.

Maybe it was different because she was the one that was left. Maybe she felt more empathy towards my Ex. Maybe I'm giving her more credit than she deserves because it hurts too much to think about how easily I was discarded by her.

There was a day when she said to me, "You just aren't sad enough."

I am changing my life for the better, and she wanted me to be more sad.

I think what she was really saying was, "You aren't sad enough anymore to make me feel better about my life."

It's too bad she left me when she did. It was just a couple of months before my father's biggest slide downwards into Lewy Body Dementia and my mother's diagnosis of metastatic ovarian cancer. If she wanted to see sad, I can do sad now.

The interesting thing to me is that she and I were friends during a period of time that my family claims I was not myself. That is one of the things they love about Guy. They see more of me, the way I used to be, now that I am with him. As soon as I started coming out from under the weight of a marriage that was drowning me, my friendship with her started to crumble.

Most of the time, this doesn't bother me. I miss her, but I don't miss the way she treated me the last few months of our friendship. Today though, I came across a set of photos on Flickr. I was looking for some pictures of T's little girl's birthday party this past Saturday. Instead I found a set of pictures where T and her family drove to VA to visit my former friend and her husband. Again, the husbands are friends.

It didn't matter though. My mother has always said that I am loyal to a fault. If someone wrongs one of my friends, then I will write that person off for life. I am a bridge burner in my personal life, and during the period of time when I tried to get better at it, I just ended up collecting a whole lot of people who drained the energy out of me. I have torched a bunch of bridges over the past 2 years, and I usually feel much better for it.

The problem is that sometimes I can't understand why my friends don't have the same trait. Looking at the pictures of T sitting there smiling and having a terrific time with this woman who had hurt me so deeply, frankly, it cut me to the bone.

Logically, I understand that it isn't fair of me to expect all of my friends to act the same way I would. Emotionally, it doesn't matter. All I can think is that if someone treated T the way this woman treated me, I would never be able to maintain any level of friendship with them, no matter what. And that hurts. While I would like to blame this on hormones, I don't think I can. I would really like to not have this bother me, but I don't know how to just turn it off.

It didn't bother me when T and her husband sent out an email about something my Ex had sent their little girl for her birthday. I know they are still friends, and I wouldn't expect anything different. I wasn't abused or tortured in my first marriage, just deceived and disappointed. My Ex did not hurt me half as much as this woman did, and the pain he did cause was not intentional.

Of course I am too scared to talk to her about it because I will most likely say the wrong things and make everything thing worse. I know I can't handle losing her as a friend too.

Maybe it is hormonal. God I hope so.

Wimpy preggo

This is the time of year when my sinuses try to ruin my life. Usually it is a day of misery followed by loads of drugs including the miracle squirt or two of Flonase and an extra dose of Diet Coke. Now, it has become the source of migraines and the need for lots of sleep. In other words, I'm not getting anything done.

I am a person who likes to get things done. And yet, I have done nothing but take a hot shower for the purposes of steaming my sinuses and then go back to sleep. I'm fighting the urge to get up and go regardless of how I feel because what if this is my body fighting off a full blown sinus infection? I would really like to paint my porch and get ready for a yard sale tomorrow, but I sit here, with dog and laptop sharing my lap, not doing those things.

There might be drugs I could take. I could call the nurse at my OB's office and ask if my beloved Flonase is safe, but the last phone call made me feel stupid for needing to ask a question in the first place. Crying would be detrimental to the whole trying to mend my sinus thing I've got going on.

Why the wimpy label? Because my best friend has been on bed rest since her 2nd month. Her back and hip pain is so intense that she has days she cannot move. There are not drugs or therapy that she can have on a consistant basis, and so she endures the pain. For her baby. For her family. I do not know how she has done it. To trade her pain for a little sinus pressure would be a no-brainer for sure.

I guess it is okay to just sit here for a day and pay attention to my body. It's not like the work won't be there tomorrow. It's not all about me anymore.

Lovely's Christmas list

We haven't told Lovely yet about her pending sibling. Guy wants to wait until after the ultrasound finds a heartbeat. We did find a very cute monkey wearing a grass skirt who hulas when you pull its cord. The tag names the monkey with Lovely's name, so we bought it for her as a gift from the baby.

The best part though is Lovely's Christmas list. It includes the traditional TV for her room, iPod, clothes, and craft kits. Thankfully, it did not include the disturbing Barbie RV complete with hot tub. At the end though, she turned to Guy and said that what she really wanted though was a little sister. A brother would be okay too, but she would really like a little sister.

This makes us think she is going to be quite alright with the news whenever and however we decide to tell her. I hope so.

Preggo meltdown

Welcome to hormone central. Today, we have a lovely story of a pregnant woman cracking before your very eyes. It goes like this:

I started taking folic acid when I found out I was pregnant. Correction, I started taking it as soon as my dear friend T found out I wasn't and scared the crap out of me by hurling a bottle of it from her own cabinet at my head. Now, I take it religiously. 400 micrograms a day.

Today, I called the nurse and asked if my doctor could go ahead and call in a prescription for prenatal vitamins since my appointment is still two weeks away. She sounded shocked that I wasn't already taking them and didn't know that I could get them over the counter. I told her that I was taking my folic acid and she told me that I was only taking half the correct amount.

It is probably no shock to previously pregnant women that this sent me into a crying frenzy after I hung up the phone. I sat on the couch, stunned that I could already be the world's worst mother before my little zygote even grew out of its little tadpole tail. Guy called right as I was melting down and just laughed at me. I told him I was obviously trying to kill our baby by not taking the prenatal vitamins. He just laughed. Silly schmoopie. People have had plenty of babies without prenatal vitamins. You are just fine.

*sniff*

Can I just say again how magnificent he is? If I continue to gush about this incredible man, will you all roll your eyes and skip this part? Probably, so I'll just keep it to myself.

Besides, I have to go to Target and buy my prenatal vitamins and the new Damien Rice cd. Because I'm not emotional enough right now. I love that man too. He writes the most beautiful songs and orchestrates them like hanging tinsel on a Christmas tree strand by strand. Every instrument is carefully placed, the lines are simple, and when you stand back, the overall effect is stunning. I'm quite sure it will make me cry.

Another person that hates me

Why then, does the belligerent woman working the drive thru window of the Bojangles hate me so? I told her that I didn't want sweet tea while I was having to yell into the giant menu speaker while getting rained upon. She insisted that I did. In fact, I wanted sweet tea and french fries. No, no ma'am, I do not, thank you. I would like mashed potatoes with no gravy and I do not need a drink.

Why then, does she try and hand me a giant cup of sweet tea at the window?

I say, "I don't want any tea, thank you."

She sneers and says, "It comes with the meal."

I say, "Thank you, but I still don't want it."

She sticks her chin out and says, "You know you paid for it."

I say, "I understand, but I don't want the tea."

She expels a loud puff of air through her nostrils, takes the tea, tosses it into the trashcan behind her like she was hitting a 3 pointer and shoves my food through the window.

I ask for extra napkins because the inside of my car is now drenched from the rain pouring in the open window. She hates me even more as she generously gives me three.

It's all about preggo

I promise this will not just turn into a pregnancy blog. For one thing, I took the second pregnancy test and refrained from taking a picture of it. So there.

First-timers though are constantly aware of the changes I have found. Scanning through some of the pregnancy boards, I have read open conversations about boobs, gas, constipation, and God forbid, hemorrhoids. I am slightly afraid.

I am also slightly hungry. All the freaking time. The thing that sucks about it though is that absolutely nothing looks, smells, or tastes appealing to me. This is a very weird thing for me. I absolutely love to eat. I love food. I love to cook. I love to bake. And now that I need to eat, there is nothing that I want. Strange.

Then there is the tired. It is at least an hour before I used to go to bed and at least an hour before I wanted to go to bed. An early bedtime for me is bizarre, and 6:00 AM is not a favorite hour of mine, and yet that seems to be the new pattern.

Things smell funny. I smell funny. Body washes that I have used for years smell awful once I get out of the shower. World Market almost made me hurl yesterday; I think it was some unfinished wood furniture. Guy smells sweet though, like sugar. It is a good smell, but I know he didn't used to smell like sugar.

Tonight I was talking to my daddy. He asked how I was doing and I assumed he meant because I was pregnant and all. I told him I was always tired and hungry, but felt just fine. He told me to go get my thyroid checked. I reminded him I was pregnant. He pretended like he hadn't forgotten.

I guess some things are going to stay just the same.

A little light reading

I have 2 books about how to be pregnant because I don't know what I'm doing. They are both kind of annoying really. While I appreciate the information, I get going reading and feeling like I'm learning something and then they will throw in a "Dad Tip." These are pull out boxes on the page with stuff for the Daddy. One of them says,

"Dad Tip: Give your partner a lot of hugs. May women enjoy more hugging and cuddling during this very special time."

I'm not kidding. That is the tip. Here is a more useful tip that I would have included,

"Dad Tip: Quit telling people that your wife is pregnant by slapping her ass and saying, 'My boys can swim!"

But no, their tips include,

"Dad Tip: Bring home flowers for no special occasion."

Isn't that probably one of the things that led us to needing a pregnancy book in the first place?

I offer in its place,

"Dad Tip: When your partner tells you that she has to pee on the spice aisle of the grocery store, do not respond with, 'Again?"

But no, this book gives us nuggets of wisdom for those prehistoric sperm shooters we call husbands like,

"Dad Tip: Buy a present for your partner and the baby."

Aside from all this nonsense, I'm learning quite a bit. I have quit the caffeine, skipped sushi, of course corked the wine. We went to the Costco and loaded up on organic fruit and veggies, hormone free meat, and whole grain goodness. I'm exercising and getting a lot done around the house.

Most of what I've learned is that I'm not insane. Lots of pregnant women crave ice cream and have a metallic taste in their mouth.

One question that I have not had answered though is this: Is there any records of your dog knowing that you are pregnant before you do? I swear I think that Pupstar knew. She started acting more protective of me and will not leave my side for about 3 1/2 weeks now. I swear I think she knows. She is, of course, the smartest dog in the world. Evah.

Out of the bag

Momma is going to start chemo again. Her ca125 came back higher than it was before she started chemo this last time, so that is really disappointing. The news also included that she would be on chemo for the rest of her life. The rest of her life obviously, depending on how well she responds to the chemo.

Guy told them our news. I still couldn't. Not with her crying on the phone about her news. So he called them back and told them. I think Daddy got it. Momma certainly did. She said that they could really use some good news and that it was the best news she could have asked for.

I guess I should have told them days ago. Then again, I wasn't sure that I believed it myself. I took that 2nd pregnancy test that comes in the box just to see.

Very blue. Very quickly.

Very pregnant.

How much do you tell?

Momma goes to the oncologist today. She is rightfully very frightened. Today she will get a new estimate of the rest of her life.

The chemo was going well if you consider what it was doing to the cancer. Her ca125 had dropped into an almost safe range. She was well on her way to being on the 3 end of the number of years she had left to live.

Then came the pneumonia. After having the fever and cough for several weeks and finally being admitted to the hospital, put in the ICU and being on life support for 9 days, the chemo now looks like it wasn't going so well after all. She is pretty scared that they are going to tell her that she shouldn't take anymore. Or worse yet, that while she had been on hiatus from it and trying to recover, that the cancer has taken over and is unstoppable at this point.

I haven't told her that I'm pregnant yet. Each time that I call, she is so busy trying to tell me how alright they, and it exhausts me. She does this thing. If there is someone that she feels like is getting picked on or unfairly treated, then she does this passive thing where she makes sure to tell you all the good things they've done. Growing up, she would do that for my brother. She would try and passively change my dad's mind that my brother was a screwup. It never worked. And he wasn't, by the way.

Now, she is doing this for my dad. Every time we talk to her, we have to get the update on how well Daddy is doing. Nevermind the fact that while she is telling my brother the wonderful news on my father's miraculous recovery, he's in the other room falling off the air mattress that is supposed to be where my mother is sleeping for now. Hitting the floor, my mother's accolades are interrupted by unintelligible yelling, and Mom having to call out to him that she can't help. Oh yes, they are doing just fine.

I tried to have a conversation with my mother about the difference in being a wife and a caregiver. I have tried to help her understand how my Bro and I dealt with Daddy when he got mean and nasty. I have tried to encourage her to step up and take control so that Daddy will relax more and be easier to manage.

The bottom line is that she is incapable of seeing him as someone who is sick.

She still needs to see him as her husband and her rock. Really, if I step back from it, I can understand that. She needs a rock. God bless her, the woman has metastatic ovarian cancer. Doctors are telling her that she is going to die sooner rather than later. Her children are telling her that her husband is already gone just when she needs him to be there the most.

So how much do you tell each other? What is she leaving out of the reports? We know that he is yelling at her and berating her because he was doing it while she was still in the hospital. The fact that it is not his fault, rather the disease's fault doesn't make it hurt any less. Is he hitting her? Probably not. Would she tell us if he was? Probably not.

She did tell me about five years ago that he would hit her in his sleep. Part of his REM sleep disorder, this was probably one of the earliest symptoms. My reaction was to tell her that they needed to sleep in separate rooms. She never mentioned it again.

We keep so many secrets to be such a close family. I don't understand. Now, I'm keeping my pregnancy a secret. Part of me just can't get happy about the news as it relates to them. It just reminds me of how much they will not be with me. Another part of me doesn't want to tell her because I don't want it to effect her decisions about further chemo. Is that really my choice though, or should I let it be her?

Endings and beginnings

It's my last day at work. Well, one job at least. I will still have the other two part-time jobs.

So I'm leaving one thing and moving onto another.



Guy said I shouldn't tell too many people yet because you never know what will happen. Good thing we are a small circle of friends here I guess.

October isn't over yet

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month
Originally uploaded by canape.

Breast cancer awareness month. Yes, thank you. I'm quite aware of breast cancer. If you would like to visit a site that supports breast cancer research all year long, you can visit the fine folks at Bringr.

There has been a lot of talk on this blog about ovarian cancer, but I can't ignore the fact that this all started with breast cancer in 1980.

My mother was just a few years older than me when she was told that her odds were not good and that she needed to "get her house in order." She fought. She won. She is still here.

This is my youngest niece featured on my awareness poster. Myself, my little clone niece, and MerMer here all have to be extra careful. Cancer is a part of our genes.

On my 30th birthday, I had my first mammogram. I had some cake too, but first I had my first mammogram. Might I humbly suggest that you schedule your annual in the month of your birthday every year. It will help you remember, and catching breast cancer early will make every birthday that much more important.

The house is not a home

When we got married, Guy had a house, and I had a house. Guy's house is bigger. My house is older. His house won. So I am left with this little house in a great neighborhood that I have to say goodbye to. I don't want to, but I also don't want to own it and let someone else live in it. I am far too much the control freak to be a landlord.

In 2000, I had not realized that I would leave my first husband. What I had realized was that he would never make a living and that we were spending everything we made. I talked to my granddaddy who said, "Buy a house." Sage advice, but strange advice for a couple of poor musicians.

However, my friend Boo had just bought a townhome. She was single and also a musician. I was in awe and inspired.

The market was good, a mortgage was relatively easy to get, and I did want to buy a house. I started looking in an area of the city where the homes we could afford would be old and small, but that I felt like would increase in value. It was my only plan for getting ahead in life. Plus, it was my own little piece of the planet.

Once we bought that house, things began to change. I began feeling the burden of responsibility financially and at the same time wanted to start a family. Instead of being able to start a family, I had to put my Ex through more school. To feel that mothering connection with somebody, I started fostering dogs. My Ex was home less and less and I was home more and more. When it came time to split, it didn't take either of us much time to figure out that I was staying home with the dogs, and he was moving out.

The things he took were unimportant. It was the things he left behind that have mattered.

A sack full of letters from when I lived in London.

A tiny tux from before he hit his mid 20's growth spurt.

All the grunge cd's including the Singles soundtrack.

The four track recorder.

And in a drawer that I must have opened 3 dozen times before I learned my lesson, he left a broken keychain. It was pewter; an abstract naked man and woman. It was wrapped in a note from him that talked about how he would always love me even when it wasn't easy.

I would open the drawer and then shut the drawer. A few weeks later, I would go to clean out the secretary again, open that drawer and then just shut it again.

He also left a piece of hardwood flooring. A random piece of hardwood flooring that he was going to do a home repair with. It sat in a corner in the bathroom for years. Our house, like our marriage, was never tended to or cared for and the plans my Ex always had were never completed.

My little house has had a facelift in honor of its future owners. Years of vinyl flooring has been removed and replaced with tile. There is fresh paint. New gravel has been spread on the gravel.

Guy and I have done it ourselves, together. Each tile we have laid is part of the foundation for the rest of our lives. Each repair that he and his father make brings me closer to being able to let go of the past. Each load of my belongings that leaves that little house, making it a little more empty, has me feeling more confident about where we are moving.

We are moving forward.

Kids:0, Lewy bodies:1

All of the blogging issues aside, I should try to start writing about my time in California. It was quite the scene.

After the issue with the Nose, I boarded a plane and headed to Sacramento. GPS in hand, I rented a car and struck out for my parents' house with no warning from me. Guy did call Daddy that morning and told him, "Sir, I've just put my wife and your daughter on a plane to come see you." To that, Daddy chuckled and replied, "I wish you hadn't done that." Oh boy.

I took a piece of advice from my incredible sister-in-law and stopped at a grocery store. At the local BelAir, I purchased flour, sugar, eggs, vanilla, butter, and sour cream. I was stocked and ready to go with ingredients for a pound cake. When I pulled into the driveway of their house, my cell phone rang. It was Daddy. He wanted to know where I was. When I told him that I was in his driveway, all possibility of animosity melted away. He sounded just like my nephew when he said, "Really? You wouldn't tease me, would you?" I told him to come outside and met him at the end of the sidewalk with a big hug. The pound cake turned out to be secondary to just holding each other for 60 seconds.

As much as I would like to hit publish post right there and forget about it, I can't. That night, I got 90 minutes of sleep. Daddy was up and down all night long. He had accidents in the bathroom, needed his pj's changed, needed help getting in the bed, and needed me to remind him that Momma was in the hospital. The next morning, he was banging on my door at 6:00 AM to get up for the day and help him get dressed.

It is hard to shield your eyes from your naked father while trying to help him put on clean boxers. The dignity lost is from both of you, and I can honestly say that I wished I didn't ever have to do that and so did he.

There was an open wound on his leg. The open part was the size of a quarter. The infection spread to at least the circumference of a baseball. He insisted that it was not infection. I got a Q-tip and wiped off some of the puss to show him. He screamed at the pain, looked at the Q-tip and said that it didn't come from him. Oh boy.

He wouldn't let me take him to the doctor, but (if my ex-husband ever laughs at anything I say again, it will be this statement) he let me put Neosporin and a Band-aid on it. So I did. Twice a day. By the time I left it was beginning to grow some new healthy skin and had quit oozing through the Band-aid within the hour. Nasty.

The next day at the hospital, Daddy got lost trying to find the ICU where Momma was. He introduced me as his sister and told the nice lady that we were trying to find his mother. When the doctor came in the room, he fell asleep in the chair while the nice doctor explained that my mother would have to be moved to a nursing home for rehab. For those of you just joining us, my mother is only 65. Yep. 65.

At this point, we are going on about 40 hours of me being separated from Guy with about 90 minutes of sleep under my belt. I was not stellar.

The doctor pulled me into the hallway away from my father and asked if I had power of attorney for my parents. In my sleep and schmoopie deprived state, I just laughed. If I had known that there were power of attorney papers in the very room where I attempted to sleep the night before, things would have been very different. I explained to the doctor that my father was sick and he and my mother refused to accept the ramifications of that disease. Hell, they refuse to accept the actual disease and just call it Parkinson's. He would just have to try and communicate with them as best he could.

Sure, the doctor told us that Momma would have to go into a nursing home for rehab. Unfortunately, my daddy was asleep and drooling on a chair in the corner. The next day, he turned on me. It became my idea to separate them and to put Momma in a nursing home. I couldn't make him understand that she would come back to him once she was strong. I couldn't convince him that the doctor had talked openly in front of both of us and I just happened to be the one that remained awake. This started the children conspiracy theory. The theory in which his son and daughter were out to strip him of his dignity and keep our mother away from him.

This was the next day, when I had gotten just another 130 minutes of sleep that night. The week was not going to go well.

Advice of the day: Never suggest to your daddy who is only congnitavely challenged 90% of the time that he wear Depends to bed. I guaran-freaking-tee you that you will suggest it to him in the 10% of the time that he is all there. Sheesh.

The golden blogging rules

Updated below.

My dear friend at Toddler Planet emailed this morning. She always knows just what to say. I guess that is what happens when you have been friends for 20 years.

She sent me to a post by Dooce in which she talks about being outed by her brother to her parents. There is an accompanying newspaper article to go with it, and I have just read the whole thing with the same urgency that I guzzle my first Diet Coke of the day.

There was also an article in the News & Observer yesterday about blogging. After pondering all the information overnight, and now adding in the article about Dooce, I think what I find most helpful today is from Anton Zuiker. Mr. Zuiker basically said to blog unto others as you would have them blog unto you.

That has really got me thinking. Before, I was boldly spewing my feelings and opinions out through this keyboard. It didn't matter to me if what I said was nice or not, it was simply how I felt. If I play by those rules, then I really don't have any right to ever be upset with Guy's Ex for the things she says or writes about me.

I had this feeling that since she felt no shame or remorse in completely bashing me, fabricating all kinds of nonsense about me, and stalking me for over a year, that I had license to let loose on her through my anonymous blog. Am I the pot or the kettle?

The golden rule is a good one to follow I think. If I say that the things she says about me are not fair because she doesn't know me, then oops. All I know about her is what Guy has told me and what I have learned about her through the hundreds of voicemails she leaves at our house. I believe him of course, but from a larger perspective, it is not exactly a fair and accurate depiction.

All this to say, I guess I'm not so worried about anonymity today. Maybe tomorrow I will be. Today, I would like to just blog unto others.

Izzymom also had some rad blogging rules to follow here: Be good to yourself.

New name, new game

That's it. The old blog is in place. I did some editing and will work to remain more anonymous. Do not confuse anonymity with shame. Don't confuse me wanting anonymity equaling having something to hide.

I have nothing to hide.

In my blog though, I would like to be able to write openly and freely. I would like for it to be an outlet. A place that I can rant if I choose to rant. A place where I can discuss with myself the unpleasant conversation of what would be easier, for Momma or Daddy to die first. There are things that I don't want to share with my friends over coffee. I want to share them here. If I get too morbid, you can always click away from me and try again tomorrow. I have good days and bad days, just like you.

There is at least one person though, who wishes me harm. I think we all have at least one person in our lives that would choose to hurt us over choosing to turn away. For this person, I will remain anonymous.

Anonymity doesn't mean that you can't connect with other people I don't think. It also doesn't mean that you won't hurt the people you write about if they find out. It does mean though, that you won't know who I'm hurting if I rant. Anonymity for them as well. I suppose it's only fair in a world that is far from fair.

There is too much to write about my trip to CA and my parents right now. I've been reposting for about 3 hours, and I'm ready to put the pc to sleep.

Thanks for hanging in there with me.

De-blogging was a sad thing. I started my blog in May 2006 in order to have a journal outlet to mainly talk about my parents. It was a hugely cathartic experience, and in the venture, I also found several bloggers who I enjoy reading. I had no idea there was this huge blogosphere out there.

Since May, I have gotten married, become a stepmom, watched my parents' health ride a fast and downward spiral, and had to do some major growing up of my own.

Along with my new marriage came a very unstable ex-wife. Last week, she found my blog and left a voicemail after each entry she read. Most of them were unintelligible screaming, but regardless, the message was clear. She was really mad. I guess I don't blame her on the one hand. Some of the things I had said about her were not nice. Warranted, but not nice. It never occurred to me that she would read it. It was my outlet. Had I wanted to hurt her, I would have just emailed her the posts and had her read them for herself.

The blog was anonymous. If you didn't know it existed and weren't part of the story, you would have no idea who these people I write about are. The one thing I did recently was to create a link to a real life blog about my mom, and I suppose that is how the Ex found it. It wasn't very smart on my end, but if the Ex had a hobby besides being my internet stalker then it wouldn't have mattered. She is always looking for information about me to have fodder to put me down to other people and compare herself. It is quite sad really. She is technically old enough to be my mother, but is really quite emotionally immature.

I tried not blogging for a bit. That wasn't fun. I got pent up. I wrote to one of the bloggers I really like and asked for advice. Zoot said to start again. So I return to the blogosphere, this time with new pseudonyms and no pictures of faces. I am going to repost all the old posts with the correct date on the post even though the blog date will be different.

Thanks to those of you who encouraged me to start again. Although I won't quote the name of the last blog just in case the Ex remembers it and searches for the phrase, but if you were with me before, then you know that it only makes sense to give it another go. Granddaddy would have agreed. Today is now tomorrow when I get to start again.

My mother was awake today. She was mostly coherent and able to carry on a conversation. I am so glad. When she was moved into her new room, the first thing she asked me was, "Do I get to see your ring?"

I had almost forgotten that I hadn't seen her since Guy and I ran off and got married.

Before she moved though, and in her ICU fog, she looked at me, who was there in person, and asked, "Is Bro coming?"

My brother. I was standing there with her and the second thing she asks is where my brother was. There are some people who would be offended I think. Me, I'm just glad she is still herself. She assumed I was there to take care of Daddy, and she was looking for her momma's boy. There is comfort in familiarity.

And he's coming on Thursday. Good boy.

Oh my dear god. I can't believe who I'm sitting next to at this very moment.

Her name is Elsie. No pseudonyms here, she is really Elsie. She is my dad's new home health care provider. I don't know if he will keep her or not, but if not, I'm going to try and get her to come to North Carolina.

I could not have asked for a more perfect person to come into my parents home and attempt to take care of the most proud man in the world. She is, and I kid you not, from Mississippi. Even though my dad tried to push her off on me and have nothing to do with her, it only took 90 seconds after I told him she was from Mississippi to have them sitting in the same room and chatting it up.

Thank god.

I still had to get him ready for bed and put on his pj's and such, but people, I'm getting ready to go to bed and sleep all night. For real.

In the past 72 hours, I have had about 4 hours of sleep. I'm at my physical and emotional wits end, and I'm so excited to be sitting next to Elsie. I wish you could meet her. She is my new most favorite person.

The exhaustion I feel is what my mother must have been feeling for the past two years. I am a wimp compared to her.

Today my mother woke up. One of the first things she said to us when we got to the hospital was, "How do I get out of here." Rock on, Reverend Mother. Rock on.

I was so excited to hear her want to get out. Want to not be sick anymore. That was before the tears started.

I had to ask, when Daddy left the room, I had to ask, "Momma, can you tell me why you are crying?"

She opened her eyes and said, "I'm tired of fighting. I wanted so much for you and Bro, but I'm tired of fighting, and I need to go now."

I asked her what she could possibly give us that she hadn't already given, and she said,

"Memories."

What in god's name do you say to that? Has she been sneaking onto my blog, into my brain, and knows that what I mourn now, before her death, are the memories that won't be made. I sob when I think of how Lovely won't get to know her. I weep when I think about going through pregnancy without her. And I completely shut down when I consider the fact that she won't be here to baptize any of my babies like she has my nieces and nephews.

Or then, there is the explanation that she really is my momma. My nearest and dearest. Not a best friend, because she is, more importantly, a momma. You can't be both, you know. But she knows me better than anyone else. And she hit the nail on the head with,

"Memories."

I've got to get out of the future. There is plenty I won't be able to share with my momma. But if I'm 100% honest with myself, I have to remember that I should have lost her when I was 7 and she battled late-stage breast cancer. So I have 26 years of memories that she fought her ass off to give me.

Thank you, Momma. No matter what, I promise that I will stop being angry that I will lose you soon. Thank you for staying as long as you did. I do not take that for granted. I'm sorry that it only made me want to have you forever.