Wednesday, March 16, 2011
It surprises me how people that have never met can become “real” friends online. I think that part of that is the ability to be ourselves, to say what we want and not fear the retribution of those we see on a daily basis.
I have a friend that reads both of my blogs and we correspond through email as well. He said something the other day that really made me think. He said that in my blogs something is missing. He said in my email he sees my “softer side.”
I really had to think about that for a few days. I believed that I pretty much tell you everything between my two blogs. It set me back wondering what I’m not doing, what part of me is being hidden.
I then realized that I know exactly what’s missing. I’m missing. I tell you stories of my family, my chaos, my demons, but I don’t really tell you about me, the real me.
See, through the years I think that part has been hidden away for my safety. That part gets hurt, that part cries, that part is closely guarded. I think that all I tell you is a deflection. I’m deflecting you from knowing that barb wired part of myself.
Part of it, I think, is that people don’t want to read “goo.” Part of it that I must be guarding myself, even from you.
I’ll try to give you a few glimpses today of my more vulnerable side and hopefully in future posts I will be more sensitive to my true identity.
I’m not sure how good I’ll be at this but I’ll give it a go.
My mom was killed four years ago. I’m still in shock, I still can’t look at her pictures.
After mom died I flew home to Texas for a week every month for 13 months to be with my Dad. Dad needed me, not in a care giving way, but in a caring way. He was lonely, he was afraid.
When he died I felt like a kite that had the string cut. I had no base, no foundation. My brothers and I were alone in the world.
I made sure when my grandson was dying that he was never laid down, that he was always in someone’s loving, warm arms. When he died I broke, part of me died, part of me was locked away. When the doctors called the final meeting I knew what they were going to say and I “missed” it. I couldn’t face the truth, I wouldn’t accept it, I couldn’t hear it. I can't look at the cemetery, that I have to pass nearly every day, that holds my tiny grandson.
I’m the woman that has given the last 20 years of my life raising children that I didn’t give birth to.
Two of those kids turned on us and another part of my heart was closed off. I’ve barb wired my heart from that pain.
I think that’s enough for now. I’ll try to let more out as I go along. If you see the humor, the anger, the pain, you’ll know I’m deflecting something.
If you wonder about anything let me know, I’ll answer. I’m open as you all know, and I’ll try to be more so but I’m not going to get all gooey and sentimental.