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Lost

Sunday, April 29, 2012

It's difficult to describe, this feeling I have.

It's a feeling of being totally off the path in my life. It's an incredible burden and overshadows every move I make.

I know some of it is work and the economy. The normal worry of financial and family matters play into it, but this is more than that. This is complete darkness and fear.

It's not bipolar, it's not depression. My anxiety level is high and almost uncontrollable.  I feel alone and separated from the people I love and those that love me.

The shadow that has fallen over me is suffocating. It's sucking the oxygen from my body and the energy from my soul.

The light has been hidden and the road to freedom blocked. I'm unable to see, or sense the future and am paralyzed by the past.

The bondage from this sensation controls me and my actions, it guides my steps and chains my thoughts.

It makes me want to hide from the world, to shrink away and disappear.

I wish I could put my finger on it, I wish I could control it and not allow it to control me. But I can't, not yet.

 

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Just A Few

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Just a few pics from Vegas. Lots of fun so far!

Ok, so I love my dress!


Le Reve


LOVE oysters!


Yes, I have the key

This was a cool place


BB King's Blues Club

Just me

Bedroom of the suite

Le Reve


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In The Air

Sunday, April 22, 2012

In the plane on our way to Vegas. Was going to post about that BUT this new blogger interface has pissed me off!

You know how I have my signature at the bottom of the page? It takes me forever to get it moved down so I can even begin to write a post! Not happy. Not happy at all, and a not happy Diva makes for a not happy time!

Why does damned thing have to change? It wasn't broken so leave it the heck alone. Geesh!

Anyway back to the trip I guess. I really don't have much to say, for me that's kind of rare, but today it's true.

I decided I needed a refresher on my rules and checkpoints for leaving my kids alone in the house for a week so I re-read my post "Before You Pack That Luggage." Since I can't figure out how to link to it with this new interface I'm just going to re-post the handy tips here.

Ready, Set. Go.


Raising a pack of wolves big family has taught me what to do before, and after, parental vacations. I feel it's my obligation to pass along these handy tips, all gathered by personal experience, to parents everywhere considering a getaway.



Before leaving:
Always inform neighbors and give them written permission to call police. Drop hints of this in casual conversation with kids.

Count number of children and pets before leaving.

Note mileage, gas level and radio station of the parental vehicles.

Always take note of the level of garbage (and recycle) in the outside can(s) before leaving and upon return. If there’s less when you return you can be certain that someone has some 'splainin' to do.

Give kids your itinerary showing you'll return one day later than you actually will.

Be sure to leave emergency money/credit card and check receipts against change/statements.

Hide all duct tape and rope.


Upon return:

If kids are overly anxious to greet you, suspect that they're engaging in a distraction technique.

Make sure parental TV lock has not been hacked.

Look through digital cameras, cell phone pictures and Facebook pages. Kids tend to be dumb and will take pictures and post evidence of their dirty deeds.

Always check to see if those little indentations in the carpet from the furniture are showing. If they are the furniture has been moved. In my house that usually means they've set up Ultimate fighting in the living room. They've chosen names before and thrown the victims in the middle of the room to fight when they ring the dinner bell.

Search all cabinets and walls, even behind plants, for signs of cherry tomato fights.

Check grout lines, and beneath items on kitchen counter, for flour that was most probably used in a flour fight.

Check youngest kids for bruises, rope burn or loss of hair or eyebrows. 

Examine all picture frames to see if they've been changed out. Yes, it's happened, more than once.

Search the house for new bottles of Super Glue. Yes, I have found things super glued together upon my return. Usually in the living room where the kids seem to believe is some sort of indoor sports arena.

Make sure dogs still have whiskers and eyelashes. My poor, poor lab.

If house is sparkling clean, you know that something's up.

Always peruse mugshotlist.com.

If all else fails pay off the weakest link.


Well that's my list. I may or may not post while I'm there, but I'll try to at least post some pictures. Sun, pool. alcohol and gambling......I'm ready.

Hasta la vista!


  

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Panic!

Friday, April 20, 2012

I was running low on one of the meds that helps keep me from ripping heads off of the minions, Xanax.

I went to the pharmacy website and submitted my order for 1 mg. tablets of the miracle drug. There were no refills left so the pharmacy had to fax the doctor. No biggie, I thought.

I went to pick them up this morning and they were for, deep breath, .25 mgs! That's 1/4 of what I usually rely upon to keep me sunny side up. I almost fell dead right there in front of the diabetes paraphernalia and the condoms! Side thought: Why do they have the diabetic stuff and the condoms next to each other?

I composed myself and as soon as I crossed the threshold of my house I emailed the doctor to see if he changed (insert heart flutter) my prescription. By that time I was in a cold sweat.

He's the most awesome doctor in the world and emailed me right back. The pharmacy made a mistake. Whew! I thought he thought I was being a crazed drug seeker. I guess after my reaction I kinda was.

Anyway he offered to fax over another prescription but I didn't want to seem desperate for it so I counted out what I had and decided the miniscule tablets would get me through until my next appointment on May 15th, that is if no major panic attacks come my way.

I don't take Xanax that often, usually only when a panic attack sneaks up from out of the shadows. I rely mainly on Ativan and Valium. So I think I might live, even though the very thought of being out of Xanax sends me over the edge of all reason.

Drug seekingly yours,


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My Daughter Told Me To

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

I was wasting time on Facebook when I saw my daughter posted something to my timeline.

It said, "You need to write, Mother." My kids only call me Mother when they're annoyed with me. Maybe she's annoyed because I tell her to write all the time for therapeutic reasons. She called me tonight and told me not to read her latest post, that it would "upset" me.

Being narcissistic and all I thought she wrote something horrible about me. She said, "No, it's about Isaiah dying. There are things written that I don't think you're ready to read."

I think she's right. Isaiah died in 2004.  I still can't look at his pictures for more than split second. Losing Isaiah was probably one of the two most difficult things in my life. I won't read. I won't cry. I won't re-live it. I just won't.

The other most difficult thing I've faced was finding out my mother had died, and then finding out she had been killed by physician negligence.

I remember my cell phone ringing about 4 in the morning. I let it ring. It was probably a wrong number at that time of night I remember thinking. If a message was left I would retrieve it. A message was left. When I heard the tone I climbed out of bed and stumbled to get my phone from the charger.

It was my aunt that lives on Cape Cod. I called her back. She said, "Teri, your mom is in the hospital. She's in grave condition. You need to call your uncle."

I was stunned. I couldn't comprehend what she had just said. I punched the numbers into my phone to call my uncle. When he answered he said, "Oh Teri honey, I'm so sorry. Your mom just died." I sat on the edge of the bed for a couple of minutes. My mind wouldn't take in the information.

After a bit I got up and went into the kitchen where Jeff was making coffee. I calmly told him my mother was dead. I remember thinking about those true crime shows where the police tell someone that a loved one had been killed and they show no emotion, therefore they must be the perpetrator. I had no emotion, I would have been arrested, I thought, had I been questioned about the mysterious conditions surrounding my mom's death.

My brother and cousin work for American Airlines and one of them, or both of them,  had passes waiting at the ticket counter at the Portland Airport for Jeff and me to make the flight to Texas.

I don't remember the flight, I don't remember seeing my dad or my brothers. I do remember picking out the casket and flowers. I remember choosing the grave site with my dad and brothers. That's all I remember of the days surrounding her death.

Sometime during those first days I found out one of the doctors had told my dad that he needed to talk to the coroner about how my mom died. Mom had fallen and cut her chin. Dad called the EMTs to take her to the hospital for stitches. The next thing he knew was a doctor came out and simply said, "She's dead."

The doctor that whispered to my father to talk to the coroner had theorized that when mom was sent for scans of her head and neck a contrast was used that shouldn't have been used with the medications she was taking.

That turned out not to be the cause of her death. The reason my mother died, and the reason I say she was killed, is that when she was in for the scans the tech noticed she was having trouble breathing. She called the ER doc and told her, the doctor, she thought she needed to get mom back to the ER. The doctor said to finish the scans.

The tech called several  more times and each time was told by the doctor in charge to finish the scans. Finally the tech defied the doctor and rushed mom back to the ER when her breathing became even more difficult. By that time it was too late.

Mom was suffocating and went into something called DIC, or Disseminated intravascular coagulation and began to bleed out everywhere. Her throat was so swollen that she couldn't be intubated. She died. Dad had taken her for stitches and she died from negligence.

That was July 3, 2006. I can't look at her pictures either. I do have pictures of Mom and Isaiah around my house, but I avoid them at all costs. I can look at the pictures of my dad and I can smile when I look at them. You see, Dad's death was expected. He was sick, we knew it was near. It was his time. I'm at peace with that although I miss him terribly. But with Mom and Isaiah I can't do it. I can't face it. I don't want the tears to start, I fear they'll never stop. I fear they will unleash emotions I try too hard to keep buried deep inside.

I guess my daughter was right, I needed to write. But as I was writing this I realized that I've distanced myself even from this piece. My feelings aren't engaged. They can't be. I have to keep them buried until one day maybe I can handle them. But tonight is not the time.

So I'll step back, I'll write from afar. I'll push what memories I do have away, I'll bind them and bury them deeper. Maybe one day I'll be able to feel what I need to. Maybe one day I'll be able to truly mourn. Maybe one day I'll be able to look at the pictures, to remember and cry, but not today, not today.

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I'm Not Sure What To Say

Monday, April 9, 2012



Rarely am I at a loss for words. If you know me at all, you know that I say what I think and sometimes not in the most appropriate way. But tonight I can't think of how to start, of where to start. I can't decide how much to tell or how little to tell.

I guess I should start at the beginning. About 12 years ago a State worker pulled up in front of my house. With him were two boys that had recently been taken by the State of Oregon. Those boys, Taylor was 10 and Jeremiah was 18 months, would become my sons.

A few years ago Taylor went through a rough patch and we didn't see him for years. Last week I ran into him at a restaurant. It was a restaurant I wasn't even headed to. It was a spur of the moment,  "turn here," time.

I was standing in the lobby with friends waiting for a table when a young man approached me. It took me a moment to realize the handsome young man was my son Taylor. I hadn't seen, or talked to, Taylor in over two years and only a handful of times since he was about 18.

He was smiling and had his arms outstretched. He said "Mom!" He hugged me and didn't let go. I was in shock. I didn't know what to do the only thing I knew was that I was happy to have my son in my arms again.

I thought the hug would never end. We stood there for what seemed like an eternity in amazement that I was face to face with my long lost son. Soon my name was called, we said our good byes and my friends and I went to our table.

As he was leaving Taylor came and found us. He sat and talked as if he'd never been away. He then asked if I would be home today, Easter,  and said he wanted to come by.

"Of course I'll be home and of course you can come over," I said not really certain that he would show.

Yesterday I got a text from Taylor saying that he would indeed be over today. About 3:30 my prodigal son walked through the door of his home, into the arms of his family. I couldn't have been more overjoyed. I've missed him so much.

I was hurt through the years that he made the decision to avoid us. But I can understand being taken by the state and plopped into a new family would give a kid all sorts of things to figure out.

Today, holding my son in my arms, was incredible. To hear him call me "Mom," was the most joyous sound I could imagine.

He leaves later this summer to go to school in Santa Rosa and play football. I'll miss him. But to have him back in my life is amazing. I've missed him, I've cried for him and I've hurt for him.

The best thing of all is that my daughter told me she saw him after we did that night at the restaurant. She told him how happy she was that he approached us and he told her how happy he was to have his mom back.

The missing piece is back. The hole has been filled. My son is home.

Taylor meeting his nephew, Jax, for the first time. 




My son and his Mom. My baby's back.

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Because I Scared Myself To Death....

Saturday, April 7, 2012

I always look back on these things thinking, "What in the hell was I thinking?" "Who in the world, besides me, would do a google search on the Manson murders late at night?" And, "How much valium will be needed to get into a much calmer state?"

I scared the hell out of myself tonight googling Manson stuff. Now I'm the only one awake, it's dark and I'm too afraid to close my eyes. So I'm going to do a few Sunday Stealing questions to take my mind off scary knives and crime scenes for a bit.

Hang in here with me, it's therapy after all, cheaper than a midnight call to my psychiatrist and much more safe than a handful of valium.

So shall we?

1. What is your origin of your first name? What about any nicknames?
How mean is this? My dad always told me when I was little that I was named after a cow. What kind of crap is that? The year before he died he told me the real reason for my name. My middle name is for his favorite dancer of all time, Cyd  Charisse. So he chose my middle name to be Cherise and he thought, being all intellectual as he was, that my first name, Teri, had the right amount of syllables to go with Cherise. How sterile is that? The only nickname I ever had, that I know of, was 'Penelope," from my uncle Tex when I was a wee one.

2. Have you any claims to fame?
I think being part of the forming of a non profit corporation aimed with policing big, bad car dealers in the State of Washington, helping to change the State's auto leasing laws, and all kinds of cool TV, radio and print interviews kind of count. That, and also I'm a Diva.

3. If you were famous, how would you introduce yourself to someone who had never heard of you?
Maybe something fun and quirky like "Hello."

4. Which of your country's achievements do you hold in highest regard?
The Constitution

5. As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?
An adult

6. What was your most prized possession as a child? Do you still have it?
It was a green striped clown with a plastic face, and no I don't have it. My dad threw it away. Traumatized me for life.

7. What would you change about yourself, if you could?
Most people would probably think I'd change being bipolar. But that only makes life more interesting. I'd probably add a touch of OCD, of the cleaning variety.

8. What are you obsessed with?
shoes, like you didn't know.

9. What is your greatest achievement so far, or the high point of your career?
Raising eight kids and staying sane in the process. Oh, wait, I'm not am I? Oh well I tried.

10. When/where were you happiest?
That, I'm sorry, is a secret

11. And the lowest point in your life thus far?
dealing with the killing of my mother, and the deaths of my grandson and my father.

12. What was the best decision you ever made?
To get pictures of myself with my kids. I have none of me with my mother. Funny how seemingly little things come to mean so much when you can no longer have them.

13. If you have any body modifications, which was most painful, or which do you regret the most? If you haven't got any, do you have any planned, or would you ever consider getting any?
"Body modifications?" That's funny. I have a few. I've had cosmetic surgery twice and I have lots of tattoos and I'd do them all again.

14. What is the most idiotic thing you have ever done while intoxicated?
Sorry, pleading the fifth.

15. What is your favorite joke?
I have to take the fifth on this one as well.  Or one my brothers' know....."So I said to this emu".....long story there.

16. What is the coolest/most impressive thing you own?
The coolest is my Harley Heritage Softail and the most impressive would have to be, uh, I have no idea.

17. When did you last cry, and why?
I don't cry. It releases emotions I don't care to deal with yet.

18. What's the best piece of advice you've ever had?
Listen to your parents.

19. Similarly, what's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for you?
Married me when I was crazy and had two small children.

20. Have you any vices?
Well, I don't smoke, I rarely drink, but I LOVE to shop and to gamble.

21. Do you regret anything?
Leaving my son with a certain babysitter when he was one. He was beaten.

22. What is the best invention ever?
The Mac Book Pro....duh

23. How would you describe your relationship with your family?
incredible

24. Who is your biggest inspiration?
my grandmother, my dad and Ronald Reagan.

25. What are you going to do when you've finished Sunday Stealing?
try to find something else to do to keep my mind off murders, creepers and freaks.

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The Gun Was Touching Her Skull

Monday, April 2, 2012

If you're not one of my Facebook friends you probably don't know what happened last night about 8:30.

I answered the phone about 9:15 to a hysterical, sobbing, incoherent daughter, The Bipolar Princess. It took me nearly a half hour to forty five minutes to figure out what had happened. I knew it was serious.

The thoughts running through my head were horrible thoughts of one of her kids being killed, or her husband dying. I never would have imagined in a million years what had really taken place.

Karli was at the bank filling out a deposit slip when there was a knock on her window. She thought it was the police. She looked up to see two masked men with guns pointed directly at her.

She went to put her car in reverse and one of the men shot into the air and screamed, "You don't think I'll kill you bitch?"

He told her to open her window. As she cracked it open he shoved his gun through the window and into her skull.

My daughter was robbed at gunpoint as if she hasn't been through enough in her 30 years....rape, stalking, having a son die and having another son sexually molested by her ex husband plus having to deal with the insidious disorder with the name of Bipolar I.

Now she has one  more terror to add to her list of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

My. Daughter. Was. Almost. Murdered.

She couldn't identify the men, only that they had Mexican accents.

Today she's been pretty well medicated and much calmer due to the amount of medication she's on.  I cannot begin to tell you the out pouring of support she's received. The money the men took was all the money my daughter's family had until the next pay day and they had no groceries or gasoline.

A friend of  mine, an angel, sent her a check for every penny that had been taken, my brother sent her some money as did my son and daughter in law, and when Jakob came home from school he was carrying with him a gift card to a grocery store here in town.

Not only am I angry she was robbed, I'm angry she was there. Does that make me a terrible parent? I'm also angry that everyone's telling her what she should have done.

The truth is that you have no idea what to do when you're in that situation, you can't think, you can't form a plan. You can only comply.

She complied and she's alive, traumatized, but alive. My daughter is alive.

In case any of you are thinking this is a case against the second amendment, it's not. Guns did not rob my daughter. Illegal aliens did, said the police. If more people were armed fewer people would chance coming up on someone that could kill them first. What's the saying? Oh yes, "If guns are outlawed, only outlaws will have guns."

Criminals don't care what the laws are, they'll find ways to get guns regardless. Police don't carry guns to protect you, they carry them to protect themselves. Self defense is our best defense.

I do realize that my daughter would have had no choice had she been armed in this instance with two men with guns pointed at her. But if they thought she could have been armed it would have never happened.

Criminals prey upon people they think are defenseless whether it be by gun, by knife, tire iron, or their hands. It's not the gun, it the criminal.

But bottom line is my daughter is alive.



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