Jet To No Where

Help me find out if I am on a Jet To No where…or just on stand by.

Archive for the category “Family”

Fillicide Follow Up….

 

I don’t know if this will mean anything to me. I was angry at Jake before I had this dream. He was being disrespectful earlier in the day, but this still haunts me and I have hugged and kissed him every chance I have had since this dream. I know you cannot control your dreams, but all of this is frightening to me. I only hope I never experience it again.

 

INTERPRETATIONS OF THE DREAM:

http://www.dreambible.com/dreamdictionary/c2.html

Children

To see your real life children in a dream represents ideas, habits, or developments that are being encouraged. Situations or aspects of your life that you want to see powerful or flourish. It may also reflect an aspect of yourself based on the one thing that stands out the most about that child.

If you have more than one child in real life then each child will represent a different aspect of your life based on your most honest feelings about then.

To dream of losing a child represents feelings of being overloaded or stretched beyond your limits. Juggling too much at once or “dropping the ball” with something because you are too involved with something else. Getting so caught up in minor details that you forget what’s most important.

To dream of a child dying represents a loss or unpleasant change to some area of your life that had potential. Positively, a child death may reflect a growing problem that has finally been dealt with.

If you dream of children that you don’t recognize it represents new ideas, or situations that are being encouraged. Something not thought of before. Negatively, it may reflect burdens, responsibilities, or problems that have to be looked after.

Evil children symbolize negative or corrupted aspects of your personality that are being encouraged. It may also point to a bad situation or problem that feels like it’s getting out of control or scares you. Evil children may also reflect childish beliefs or habits that are getting out of hand.

Alternatively, children may reflect aspects of your personality that are playful, young at heart, or childish in intention. You don’t want to be involved with anything serious.

*Please See Son. *Please See Daughter.

Son

To dream of a son that you don’t have represents an emotional investment or hope for the future in a situation where you are dominant, assertive, or insensitive. Determined protective feelings. Doing everything you can to maintain control over a situation. Being stuck with a decision where you have a leading or controlling stake. Deciding to assert yourself or be aggressive and now living with the consequences or responsibility of that decision. A developing masculine aspect of your personality or life.

 To dream of a son you actually have in waking life may represent a situation you hope to see succeed or thrive. If you have more than one son in real life then each son will represent a different aspect of yourself based on your most honest feelings about then. Ask yourself what qualities or feelings stand out the most to you about your son and try to see how that may apply to a situation in waking life.

 Alternatively, dreaming about your son may reflect your waking life relationship with him.

 Evil sons symbolize negative or corrupted aspects of your personality that you are encouraging. It may also point to a bad situation or problem that you are supporting. You may feel that your own aggression or assertiveness has turned on you.

Example: A man dreamed seeing his dead son. In waking life he had lost his eligibility for home insurance, which worried him a lot. The dead son represented the lost home insurance which the man cared about getting back.

Example 2: A man dreamed of seeing his older son as a child. In waking life his was experiencing his son moving out of the house for the first time. The son being little reflected the man’s projection of his son doing something new with his life.

 *Please See Children. *Please See Daughter.

MORE INTERPRETATIONS:

http://www.thecuriousdreamer.com/dreamdictionary/

To dream of killing:

categories: Activities

Killing or wanting to kill often represents a desire for power or control, often based in feelings of powerlessness. Killing someone can mean:

  • You’d like to take power from whomever or whatever that person represents in your real life, perhaps so you can feel less powerless
  • You are angry at them in real life
  • You’re feeling unwilling to deal with the problems or hassles you feel they cause you

Killing someone in self defense can mean you’re feeling attacked somehow (mentally, emotionally, physically) or that you need to defend yourself or stand up for yourself somehow.

Killing someone accidentally can mean you’re afraid you’ll accidentally hurt that person, that something you do may be detrimental to them somehow, or that your subconscious mind is thinking things through to make sure this doesn’t happen.

To dream of attacking someone:

If you dream you are attacking someone (physically or mentally), consider your feeling during the dream:

  • If you are attacking because you are angry at the person, you are probably really angry at them or something related to them
  • If you are attacking to protect yourself against an attack by them, you may feel threatened by that person’s criticism, hostility, ambition, etc. in real life
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Fillicide

Marilyn Manson

“Is adult amusement killing our children, or is killing our children amusing adults?”  ―    Marilyn Manson

 

My son was gone.

I was screaming his name over and over, echoing through the vast rooms with high ceilings and shiny old oak crown molding. I was running down every stair case, looking into every room, searching…..scouring what was easily 25 old, Victorian style rooms. I yelled  his name so many times that I was hoarse. My through scratchy and tired, my heart pounding with each gasp.

“Jakob!!!!!”, I cried,……..nothing.  “JAKOB, WHERE ARE YOU???!!!???”, I bellowed down with each step. No response.

I don’t remember why I was looking for him. I know I was angry, but I have no clue as to why. He wasn’t answering me. He knew I hated that. I always told him that if he hears me call his name to never yell, “What?”, back to me. He was to come to where ever I was in the house. I knew he was mad, so that is why he wasn’t answering me and it infuriated me more and more. I was so angry, yet frantic…searching….”Jakob!”……”Jakob!”…..”JAKOB!!!”…..

I found him on the first floor. There must have been five or six staircases that I remember going down. I didn’t recognize the house either. I was a house from a faint childhood memory that I may have been in once when I was a little girl. Jakob was so angry that he would not even look at me.

I kept screaming, “Why didn’t you answer me?”….”What the fuck is wrong with you?!?”…….”I am going to kill you for this one!”…..yet, I don’t know why I was mad or what he had done to set me off so badly.

I had my hands around his throat, tightening my grip while he tried to yell….”Please, mom…..PLEASE MOMMY, DON”T….” I would stop and say, “This is what you get for acting this way!!!!”…..”This is what happens when you don’t answer me!!!!”. He fell to his knees and I stopped. When he started to speak, to ask me what was wrong with me….I started choking him again……”How do you like this?”….”Huh?”…..”Are you happy now?”….”Are you glad you didn’t answer me, that you IGNORED ME???!!!???”.

Then all I heard was a crack. I knew instantly what I had done. My arms fell. They hit the floor like lead. I was sobbing, ….NO…..NO….NO!!!”….What have I done?!?!”….”OH God PLEASE NO!!!!!!!”, I echoed the entire house. Then, his face faded away….. I was holding a screen…I think it was an iPad, cracked with the Apple on the front fading because I knew I had broken it….or him….

I just woke up sobbing. I am inconsolable. Why the fuck would I dream of killing my child? He is my life, my love, my legacy.

We went to IKEA today. It was Jake, Owen, Sami, Jayden, Seth and Jill. We met Robin and Miles, Jake’s best friend, there. It was such a long, exhausting day. If anyone has ever been to an IKEA, especially with one child, let alone five, they know exactly what I am talking about. Jake and Miles were running around the store, getting food in the cafeteria…..just goofing around as usual. He wasn’t especially bad…he was just bored and being 12 with his best friend. Robin had to leave early, so Jake went with them to sleep over Miles’ house. I miss Jake so much when he sleeps out. Sometimes I lie and say something like, “Oh, not tonight honey….we have a lot of stuff to do tomorrow.”, just so I have him home. He is my baby.

About two hours after he left the store, he called me. I had his iPod in  my purse, so he wouldn’t lose it while he was running around. He asked me to bring it over to him. I told him I was still here, at IKEA. He was angry. ….”What?”, he said in a disgusted voice. “I thought you would have been home by now.”….. You could tell he was mad. He was huffing and deep signing.

I said, “No, I told you it was going to be a long day and just because you forgot to get it before you left is not my problem…..There is no way I am….NEVERMIND!”,  I screamed. “I don’t have time to argue about this! Too bad!”…and I hung up. It was getting late. I was tired, frustrated with 4 kids and Jill was the same and getting on my nerves as well.

I spoke to Jake earlier, about 8:00 or 9:00 PM to say good night. He was fine…having a good time. We didn’t even mention the iPod discussion. It was long over and forgotten.

I know why I was holding a cracked, broken iPad now. I don’t know why I would ever have dreamt that I would have strangled my son. Truth be told, I wanted to strangle Jill by the end of the night.

I woke up screaming, crying, inconsolable. I wake up this way at least once a week. I have vivid nightmares of semi-real life events. They alway end badly. I sobbed and yelled, “No, no, no, no…” so many times, I cannot count. I was coughing and throwing up. I was still asleep for the most part. After about 3-5 minutes, I started to realize that it wasn’t real….I had dreamt the whole thing. Then, I was truly a wreck because I cannot fathom that nightmare. I cannot wrap my head around the fact that I dreamt that I killed my son….and for a reason I cannot remember….not that there would ever even be a reason to kill one’s child.

It was 1:15 AM. I called Jake sobbing. I said I was sorry for waking him and I had a horrible nightmare and needed to hear his voice. He was fine. He said he was still awake…that he couldn’t sleep. I don’t believe that, just because he sounded like I woke him up. He kept telling me to calm down and he was okay. He knows about my nightmares. I calmed down a little. I told him to call me in the morning so I could come and get him as soon as possible. He said okay. I kept telling him over and over that I loved and missed him so much.

I can’t even see the computer screen as I write this. The tears and just running down my face…my voice is scratchy and I feel like I am getting a cold. I didn’t even put my glasses on, so there is probably more than a dozen typos in this story. This true story. I write my dreams down as soon as I wake up or I would never remember the detail. It would never be as raw as it is now. When I go back to sleep and wake up later and come to read this, just as I have done countless times before, I am dumbfounded. I can’t believe some of the things I have dreamt and the sadness or violence of them.

I don’t know what to do with this information….why would I have strangled my son to death in my dream? I am calmer now, but still upset and crying. I love my son so very much is physically hurts at times…..my heart aches.

I guess I will be Goggling dream meanings after this…..or do I even want to know?

The Definition of Insanity

Some people have been telling me that the definition of insanity is repeating the same action over and over and expecting a different outcome.
I looked it up and it is a valid statement.  In fact, it was Albert Einstein is responsible for that statement. He was also considered insane by most people…but then again, most geniuses are….. Lord Byron, an English Poet, Tycho Brahe, Danish Astronomer and also Michelangelo.
The definition of insanity, for me, is telling people how their life should be run and then they become angry when you choose how to live your life instead…..regardless of the outcome. One person’s definition of a “normal” lifestyle differs vastly from another’s.
So before you decide to tell someone that their choices are wrong, especially when it has no effect on your own life, think twice and do not judge. No one makes all the right choices. No one person’s life is better than anyone else’s life.
Once one realizes that repeating the same action will not get a different result, one has learned a valuable life lesson…..their own lesson, so leave them to it. There are no “I told you so’s” when you’re a grown up.
True grown ups do not say that to anyone. Grown ups recognize that we are not all going to make the same choices and we are not going to choose wisely, at times.
The truth is….we never stop growing up…..we keep learning from our mistakes and adjust accordingly. It is when we do not adjust that we are truly insane.

Back in Pennsylvania…

I slumped to the ground in a lifeless pile. The ground was so cold, so muddy. My fingers and hands that were so desperately trying to hold me up were buried in soggy cold, thick, wet dirt. The rain had not stopped all day. It was the type of rain that just kept coming and coming….no end in sight and pouring down. Every time I opened the door to see if  the guys had arrived, the rain was loud and insistent. I could see my breath outside on the back porch. I was wearing a white v-neck t-shirt and a long skirt….no shoes. The kids were inside playing video games and Ted was pacing nervously back and forth on the porch as he tried to put his best it’s-going-to-be-okay face on. It wasn’t working.

We knew something had happened. Something tragic, but we didn’t want to believe anything we read on the Internet. I only checked it twice and saw two news reports. I read only a little and closed them out….the computer was off from then on. I had a horrible sinking feeling of dread. I knew he did something really stupid this time.

I finally heard two bikes coming closer to the house. The sound was so faint, but I heard them. I had been listening for hours for that sound. I wanted to know what happened….the real story…… The bikes grew louder and louder until they finally arrived. It was Tom and Sam. They were wearing their usual jeans with their old worn in leather jackets. Tom had a cigarette hanging from his lips. He always had a cigarette hanging from his lips.

I stood on the porch, cold and barefoot, waiting for someone to say something. Ted was standing on the front steps, waiting just out of ear shot. They walked up to Ted so slowly that it seemed as if an hour had passed. They shook Ted’s hand. I couldn’t hear exactly what they said. I only saw tears and heads shaking.

Sam looked Ted dead in the eye and said, “I’m sorry man….there was nothing anyone could do.”

Ted walked back and forth on the porch while I just watched him. I gestured for Tom and Sam to go in, whispering there was coffee or beer. I still didn’t know exactly what had happened. I was afraid to ask Ted. I didn’t know if he was angry, upset or just completely distraught with grief. I kept looking over to him and he finally looked back at me.

“He was in a bad way”, he simply stated. His eyes were so welled up with tears that never fell. His head was tilted to the side slightly with a look that I ached for him. There was so much pain in his soft voice and crooked glance.

“No one could help him any longer. It just happened…..it had to happen sooner or later.” Ted said with a tremble. “He took a bunch of pills and wrecked his bike.” He went through the open sliding glass doors into the kitchen. I wanted to go and help him, console him….but I knew he wanted to be alone for a while.

On my way down to the mud I couldn’t control myself. I was inconsolable. I cried so hard my chest hurt. The kind of cry you had as a kid when you couldn’t catch your breath. My face down, struggling to catch the breath I could see right in front of me in this wicked rain….my hands grasping the mud, squishing through my fingers. I sat there in the yard getting drenched on the freezing ground. No one would know I was crying unless they heard me….the rain was sliding down my face…mascara running down with it.

I didn’t even like him. He had done so many awful things in the past two years to everyone who had tried to help him get on his feet again. The whole family talked about him taking pills, but no one ever confronted him. Everyone was great at that….talking about what was wrong with someone, expressing so much concern, but never doing a God-damned thing about it and then saying they couldn’t have done anything anyway. No one actually cared enough to sat anything….even myself.  Plausible deniability.

There was a certain look on Ted’s face. You cannot describe it….you only know it if you see it.

Guilt.

Guilt of never confronting him about the rumors of pills, erratic behavior and lies. Ted would never be the same after today. I knew it would be a long time for him to open up and talk about it, but I would wait. He would need me soon enough and I didn’t want to push him. He needed to feel the loss….face the pain….it was his only brother, after all.

Leonard was dead.

The Icy Chards of Truth

Truth Floats Downstream

“Sometimes, if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known.”~Winnie the Pooh

I went to his house. I hadn’t been there in four years. He
wasn’t expecting me. My sister came with me, but Ted refused to come in. He
stayed outside, in the cold, biting air with chards of glass floating down the
stream that flowed behind his home. Ted waded in the shivering coldness.

“It will feel even more cold inside of his home.”, Ted said.

She wouldn’t leave the kitchen. He never came when I rang the
doorbell. Peering through the fogged front, Alison had to open the heavy cherry
stained door. He still didn’t come.

I waited……and waited for which seemed like days, but only
seconds. He never wore shoes when he was at home. In a soft, cottony button
down shirt and khaki pants with dark blue socks…just as I had always
remembered, he strolled into the living room. 
He wasn’t excited to see me. He looked nervous, yet angry.

“What do you want now, Alex?”, he simply stated. 

“Why….. do I have to always want something to
visit?”, defensively I remarked. 

“You always have before…”…..And his words
seemed to trail off, but they weren’t his words. He would never say that to me.
He would have been so excited and melancholy if we had met in a parking lot,
but not at his home with her there. I could hear the dishes being thrown into
the dishwasher, but never enough to be broken. Everything was fine china, you
see. I could picture the dishes being broken in slow motion, like in the movie Titanic when the ship was sinking.

Only the best.

And I screamed over and over., “Why don’t you care if we
talk?”….”Why don’t you call your grandchildren? I have been lying
about you for years, saying you have been out of town, working, busy…anything
I could think of when Jakob asked. I have been trying to paint you and her in a
good light, but Jakob is not a little boy anymore. He’s smart and he knows.
What am I supposed to tell him?”

My screams turned to tears of anger and grief as I made my
way into the kitchen. He didn’t answer me and didn’t stop me from going.

“You callous, greedy bitch!”, I growled at her.
“You have no heart! Why am I protecting you? Why have I been lying for
you….YOU of all people? You were his grandmother for seven years and then….nothing! I told Jakob
the truth. I told him you were mad at me and I was sorry that he was caught in
the middle.” 

My tears stopped dead.

“I told him you were a cold, hard bitch who only thinks
of herself.” He knows what you are now. I have stopped trying to protect
him from the inevitable truth.”, I spewed toward her. She continued to
load the dishwasher ever so slowly….”He knows now…he knows….”, I softly trailed off as if in a Xanax induced daze.

My sister was dragging me away….”Stop Alex. They will
never change. It’s not worth it….it’s just not worth it….it just won’t matter”

“WOULD YOU STILL LOVE HIM IF HE WERE BROKE?!?”, I
screamed at her, so loud my voice scratched the inside of my throat.

“WOULD YOU STAY IF HE SUDDENLY LOST
EVERYTHING?”……”WOULD YOU STILL LOVE HIM IF HE WERE BROKE?”…..”ANSWER
ME!”…”ANSWER ME, YOU MANIPULATIVE CUNT!”, I spat at her….the
words falling on deaf ears….she never looked at me and never became angry.
She did as she always had.

She started to cry….the crocidile tears she had always shown for my father….  for my father to see yet again that I was the crazy one.

“You need to leave now, Alex.”, he said to me in a
monotone voice. “This is not the time.”

“When will be a good time for you,
dad?”….”Is there ever going to be a good time?”….I said to
him as I was leaving the cherry stained door for what I knew would be the last
time. 

My sister lead me out by my hand, yet holding me up. I said
everything I wanted to say. I didn’t want to, but I had to. If he would have
just been happy to see me. If he would have just, for once in his pathetic
marriage, stood up to her….but that day will never come.

We found Ted behind the house, lying in the cold water with
crystal clear ice surrounding him, sleeping. I was yelling, “What are you
doing?!?”….”You are going to freeze to death.” 

He stood up, dripping with icicles and asked, “How did everything go?” He was joyfully
optimistic. 

“As expected.” I robotically said….”As
expected.”

“Realization is one of the most difficult acheivements” ~ Erich Fromme

by Alex Senape Vader on Monday, November 8, 2010 at 1:42pm

Is sad that is took me so long to realize that my body does not function like everyone else. Th common cold puts me in bed for a week. Stress makes me vomit and the flu puts me in the hospital. If I make a promise, I keep it, but if it comes at a price of my health, I cannot. I look and feel (most of the time) normal, but I am not. I will need a heart transplant one day and until that day I am cannot pretend I a Superwoman, Super-wife, Supermom or Super-friend any longer. I don’t like this realization, but I have to accept it. I wish others could accept it and I understand that it is not that I do not want to do something that I promised, it is that I CANNOT do it.

I try my best to stay true to my word, but I am no good to anyone, especially my children, if I am too sick to do anything. I have to start putting myself first and I will not apologize for that. I wish the people who say they love me and are family here would understand all of this, but unless someone has had a life changing health issue, no one could possibly understand. No one will ever truly know what Ted has been through or what I have been through with our health.

It saddens me….it hurts me…I do not want to hurt anyone, but I cannot be what I thought I could any longer. I cannot do it all…I wish I could. It is entirely 100% true….if you don’t have your health, you have nothing. I do have Ted and my children who truly understand all of this…. because we have been through it all together.

I always thought that admitting ones weaknesses was admitting one was fragile or not strong.  It is not. It is human.

I now realize that I am weak to a certain extent. I cry as I write this, but it is because I feel sad for the promises I cannot keep….but it saddens me even more deeply that people called family cannot understand this. I needed only to explain this one person, and I hope she understands. I thought she did….and I hope she can understand.

 Now, I have to take care of myself….I have to do this for my family, my children most of all.  I have to remove myself from all things that have an impact on my health.

 Anyone who truly loves and cares for me will understand without a word.

 Others who cannot or will not understand…..then I know I made the right choice.

“To preserve health is a moral and religious duty, for health is the basis of all social virtues. We can no longer be useful when we are not well.” ~ Samuel Johnson quotes (English Poet, Critic and Writer. 1709-1784)

 “Before healing others, heal yourself” ~Indira Gandhi

Twas’ the Night Before Christmas….

It happened last night. It was inevitable. I knew it was coming, like murky grey clouds hanging over my house….the electric smell of a storm brewing. I had avoided it for almost a year. I kept thinking to myself….just one more year, a little more time, I am just not ready yet. We were sitting outside on the balcony. I inhaled a long drag off of my P-Funk and blew it away from him, as always when he would come out with me. The smoke just hung in the air like those cartoon bubbles above characters heads….just waiting for the silence to break. Then he asked….

“Mom….is Santa Claus real?”

I stopped breathing for a second or five…all possible answers flew through my head like a swarm of locusts on a crop.

“What do your friends say about it?”, I questioned back quicker than I thought.

“They said he isn’t real…that your parents do everything…so do all the kids in my class.”, he responded. He was matter of fact. Just as if he were telling me what time it was.

“What do you believe?”, I quietly said.

“I think he’s real.”…..And there it was. The answer I didn’t want to hear. He is going to be nine years old in exactly one month. I found out when I was about seven or so. Now what? I was so happy I squeaked by last year with answers like, “Do you think I want to stay up all night and put presents together?”….”Why would you think I would do all of that…I’m tired.” I refer to myself in the singular only because in the past eight years there had not been one Christmas Eve where Ted had been awake long enough to do it all. I was Santa all these years.

Jake is extremely mature for an eight year old. People don’t give him enough credit for how smart he is or for how much of the real world he does understand. He’s in third grade, reading at a fifth grade level….and a math genius. How do you lie to a genius?

So I did the dirty deed.

I explained it all. Santa…St. Nicholas…why people created the fantasy of such a person. A person with incredible influence and power over children. How does a child get over the fact that it is all a lie?

A lie is something you tell someone to hurt them. A lie is meant to be cruel….the fantasy of Santa is not a lie….it is a way of making children understand the concept of giving. It helps them to understand how to treat one another….how lucky we are and how unfortunate others may be. It is the reason we feed the hungry, house the homeless and drop our change and dollars into those red buckets every year outside of Wal-Mart.

He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t sad. He asked one question. “Well, if Santa and Mrs. Claus aren’t real, then who I was talking to on the phone last year wasn’t real?”

Ummm…yea….here we go…..

“Well, they were real people, just not Santa and Mrs. Claus.”, I answered.

“Then who were they?”, he asked.

“Your aunt and uncle.”, I said timidly.

“So, they lied to me.”, he responded…so quickly and with a shred of anger.

I proceeded to explain how it wasn’t really considered a lie, as it was not meant to hurt him in any way. It was merely meant to keep up with the illusion of the Santa myth. (I didn’t say that part ver batim….I skirted around that one as much as possible). At this moment,  Ted came in from walking the dog. I proceeded to tell him the entire story. He didn’t react as I expected. He was extremely angry that I didn’t “consult” him before telling Jake the truth about Santa. Really?

I mean fucking REALLY?

Three months ago Jake asked the sex question. I “consulted” him on that one and he proceeded to simply say….”Oh no, you got this one.” and threw his hands in the air. So I took it and with the maturity that Jake has, he handled it just fine, matter of fact, not really even surprised at all. He just said, “Oh, ok”, and shrugged his shoulders.

Ted was so enraged about this life altering decision I had made that he went on and on for over an hour. I defended myself, Jake told him to knock it off…that he was just fine and to “get over it”, which I found completely hysterical.

After Jake fell asleep and Owen was bathed and finally in la-la land too, I proceeded to give Ted the silent treatment. For someone who says that I talk too much and to leave him alone during an argument, he cannot stand the silent treatment. It kills him. He tries any and everything to get me to give him some sort of response…none of it worked.

About 11:00 PM, Ted got up to go to bed. I simply said, “Ted, if it will make you feel better, I’ll give you the Easter Bunny and the fucking Tooth Fairy…..ok?”

 

 

In rememberance of all those who have given the ultimate sacrifice…9/11/2001

To live in hearts we leave behind….. Is not to die.

~Thomas Campbell, “Hallowed Ground”

American Flag

How Do You Measure A Person’s Success?

How does one measure a person’s success?

I have known many wealthy individuals who have worked themselves almost to death and for what? A bigger house. A nicer car, designer clothes, more vacations and hair by Fredric Fekkai….why are all these things so important? Do they really measure a person’s worth? Do they calculate their success or value as a human being?

I knew a woman once that would give you the shirt off of her back…knowing it was her last shirt and never bring it up in a conversation again. She had ruined her credit, had no vehicle or home and was virtually broke. I also know a man who has earned a lot of money, helped his family members when he could, but was quick to use it against them in the future. Yes, this man worked long, hard hours. He was rarely home and saw little of his children. He had everything he ever wanted, but there was always something lacking…. something more…something better to buy…something more expensive or trendier to obtain. So he kept working way beyond what should have been his retirement age.

Now, this woman died penniless, but with all of her friends and family surrounding her.

This man is still alive. He has a strained relationship with one of his children. He lives under constant stress and is still striving to obtain “the American Dream.” Most people would agree that he has already achieved it, but not in his mind. He has to have more…has to keep up with the lifestyle he has made for he and his wife. I don’t discount for one second all the hard work he has done to have this level of success…but is it really success?

I have shitty credit. It’s my own fault. I made huge mistakes and now I am paying for them. I don’t own a home right now. I rent a really great two bedroom, two bathroom apartment. This is where I am right now in my life and I am taking steps to change my life. Not only monetarily, but spiritually as well. I am truly happy with my life right now. It has improved greatly from over a year ago and my husband and I are doing more to insure that our family will always be comfortable.

Now….am I successful? In one respect, no, as my credit is shot and some months are harder than others with the bills. On the other hand, yes. I am in a much better place than last year. I am healthier, my kids are happy and my husband is much more relaxed. We have improved our lives 100% in the last year, but we are by no means wealthy. Does this mean I am not successful? Do I have to be Donald Trump to be a success? Is the measure of ones success based solely on their economic status?

Is it so horrible to die broke? I really don’t plan on that happening, but if I do, does it mean I died with nothing to show for it? My children are always well cared for. They have everything they want and need and more. We do things as a family all the time. No…we don’t go on elaborate vacations to exotic destinations, but we go to Disney-world or Universal Studios for the day every few months. We go to the park and the beach. I spend almost every day at the pool with my kids and their friends. My oldest has sleep-overs constantly and my house has become the Kool-Aid House. I write every day, which is what I love doing. I have friends that I talk to every day. But most importantly, my husband loves me and I love him. We have had some of the hardest times one can imagine, but we got through them.  We have both made mistakes, but we worked them out. We will be married 11 years on August 31st. He is the only man in my entire life that has never disappointed me.

Some would define our life as average….some below average.

Why is it so important to be wealthy and powerful to be considered successful? Does it not count to have a loving family and friends living a less than middle class life? The middle class has been totally screwed lately, but they continue to pick themselves up, brush off and start over.

I was middle class once. I screwed it all up. I am below middle class right now. I don’t plan to live paycheck to paycheck for the rest of my life….who does? But life happens and people screw up. What else are we supposed to do? I could drop into a deep depression, make my kids miserable, ruin my marriage and really make my life a royal fuck up. But I am choosing to pick myself up, brush off and start all over again….with the help of my husband. We did it before…we will do it again.

 I would say that sounds pretty successful.

The Reality of It All….

It finally happened. I saw them both. We were all in the store. It was just a coincidence, happenstance….or are there no coincidences? I followed them around the store while my father longingly looked back as his unsympathetic wife walked faster and faster. It was as if he were trying to stop, but couldn’t. I could tell by the look on his face. It was ….”I’m sorry”….”I love you”…..”I have no choice.” She was cruel but her crocodile tears were starting. They always came….she was a professional. She could have won an Oscar so many times over the past 30 or so years…it was a true hidden talent….but I knew that’s all it was…a talent, acting…not real tears. Maybe this time she was genuinely scared. Scared of my wrath, as the anger was growing on my face. Scared of my letting the truth out, calling her out on her lies and manipulations. But I saw the slight grin surface a few times around each corner. She knew what she was doing and didn’t care. What made me sad…more than anything was that my father was going along with it all. Dodging me, pretending to ignore every time I yelled to him…asking him….”Please, please stop!…I need to talk to you! I have to talk to you!” I started to cry….the kind of cry that is almost inconsolable. Sobbing, my chest heaving with every breath and step I took.

It was as if I were in slow motion. I was trying to catch up so desperately, but there were people everywhere. The store was so busy and flooded with potential consumers that just seemed determined to block my every move. I finally caught up to them. I didn’t say a word at first. I just stared at my father for a minute that seemed like a lifetime. The type of stare that buckles your knees and says everything without uttering a word. I was puzzled, dumbfounded, hurt, shocked, visibly upset…but only slightly angry. My chest hurt so badly. I was squeezing as if I were in a vice. It seemed impossible to speak, but I finally could.

“Why are you doing this.”, I sobbed to him. “I just don’t understand. Just what am I supposed to say to Jakob”. I started to yell. “He is only eight years old…a little boy…he doesn’t know what he did “wrong”.” I was now spewing at him.

He had no defense. He knew he was wrong. He had hardly spoke to me in the last year and a half and had called Jake about ten times. His wife, who Jake had called Mom-Mom at one time, had not spoken to him in over two years. No phone calls, letters, holiday or birthday gifts that she picked out. He only received what my father picked out and signed her name to the card.

“Jake has done nothing!”, I screamed. “He is so innocent and good-hearted. He is kind and wants to know why “Mom-Mom” doesn’t care about him any more. He wants to know why everyone he has known for the past seven years has disappeared out of his life. He wants to know what he did “wrong.” I finally screamed at both of them.

She was “crying”…. A meek, simple sob that would absolutely be figured out by the majority of strangers and most family members. I knew it so well. My father was always reeled in., but he was different this time. He seemed to know that she was the reason, but he had no choice. He kept stumbling over every word. He couldn’t complete a sentence. He was crying now too. I have seen my father cry a few times, but not like this. He was truly sorry, empathic….with a look on his face that said everything. He was helpless. He was a pussy.

“We can’t trust you. We never could. You have always caused problems for your father and I will not see him hurt any longer. I am done with all of your bullshit for all of these years.”, she spit at me. Her eyes were dark with nothing behind them. I had heard this speech so many times before. It was ridiculous. I could not have possible been that bad for thirty years.

“What does that have to do with my son!” I screamed into her face. I was up close to her, intimidating and angry. I always knew deep down she was scared of me. Scared that eventually my father would finally listen to me. That he would would hear how she treated my sisters and I over the years. I was never afraid of her. I never backed down from a fight with her. I called her out on every evil, manipulative move she made. She had said to me so many times over the years….”I will deny everything I say to you, so don’t bother saying anything to anyone because they will never believe you.” She was right….they never did.

I was pleading with my dad…..”Daddy, please…why are you doing this to Jake?….I don’t want you to hate me, but it doesn’t matter if it means you’ll stop what you are doing to him. Jake is so sad some days. I don’t know what to say. I am sick of lying….telling him that you and her are so busy…that you work so much, even though you are supposed to be retired. I am tired of having my son think your wife is a good person when she absolutely is not!”

“I don’t understand.” I said as more and more tears were streamed down my face. All three of us were unaware of anyone else in the store. The people all seemed to go about their business in slow motion. They were all a blurry haze of everyday life passing me by. My father didn’t seem to care either. Normally he would avoid any public display of this sort. His wife kept looking around…as if anyone really could give a shit. They had lives to lead, bills to pay, grocery lists to fill. She was always putting up a front. No, no…nothing is wrong in my life…I have the perfect life…a huge home, a rich husband…and I was able to turn him against his three daughters…it was so easy.

What kind of man lets that happen? What kind of woman lets a man choose her over his children?….But we are talking about her. She hates kids. She hated us as kids. Now as adults, she saw no reason to find any possible imperfection or nuisance to make my father’s life so miserable that he was willing to ignore his daughters. At that very moment… I didn’t care what he was doing to me. I was protecting my son. I was standing up for my child who loved unconditionally and didn’t understand what he could have done that was so awful that his own grandfather hardly spoke to him…..that his so-called Mom-Mom hadn’t talked to him in over two years and hadn’t step foot into our home in over three years in Pennsylvania before we moved to Florida.

My father just kept sputtering…trying to catch the right words. There was an obvious look of  “I am so sorry for all I have put you through over these years. I wish I could change it all. I wish I had a relationship with you”. It was everything I ever wanted to hear, but it wasn’t why I was so angry….Jake…why would he torture a poor little boy that he used to take almost very weekend to fly in one of his planes. Jake loved it so much. He would tell everyone he could…”My Pap-Pap is a pilot. He has his own planes and lets me fly them all the time. I know how to fly a plane.” He was so proud…so sincere….it broke my heart.

It ended almost as quickly as it started. We were being pulled apart by her. My arm was out stretched….with so much pain on my face. He had the same look of pain. He kept asking me, “Do you need anything? Does Jake need anything? I’ll give you whatever you need! If you need any help. please let me know!”

I yelled… “No. …I don’t need or want that kind of help! I don’t need your money….I need for you to be a grandfather to my son! Don’t do to him what you did to me! He doesn’t deserve it! He did nothing wrong!”. Tears were flowing so much that I could see any longer. She was pulling him father away. I was screaming at him.

“Call Jakob!..Call your grandson! He doesn’t understand! He just a little boy you bastard!” It was my final good-bye as she whisked him far out of my reach. I was sobbing so heavily. I didn’t answer the people…strangers asking me if I were all right. My mind was boggled and nothing was resolved….as always.  I had a glimmer of hope that everything was going to go back like it used to be… but  it was gone as quickly as it came.

The sobs kept coming. I couldn’t control it…I was inconsolable. I hurt so badly for my child…..Jake loved him and her so very much…..I had never felt such pain and controllable grief…it was a loss greater than any death I had ever experienced….because it was a chosen loss…. by my father.

I woke up grasping my chest, tears streaming down my already soaked face. I was crying during the whole dream. I still could not control it. Jake was sleeping next to me. I hugged him so hard, but not enough to wake him. I love him so much…..everyone always tells people that you will never know such a love until you have children….I never believed it until I had Jake. I would die and kill for him. Everything was so fresh and real. I was there. My dad was there. She was there. It really happened….it couldn’t end like this? Why was it all a dream!!! Why was my son going to still question himself and what he did wrong to have this all happen to him.  I was still crying, but starting to become angry.

I got up and went to the bathroom. I washed my face off and brushed my teeth. The clock said 1:46 AM. I cried the whole time.

It’s 2:58 AM now. I am done with the dream, but I am still sobbing uncontrollably. I had to wipe my eyes so many times just to see the screen. My chest doesn’t hurt any longer. I am starting to calm down. Jakob had a sleep over with his cousin, Skylar. She keeps waking up and moving around, but I think she is still sleeping. The computer is right next to where she is sleeping. I am going to check on her.

I just can’t believe it is over. It was so real. It still seems within my grasp….like maybe when I fall back asleep I could pick up where I left off…but that never happens in my dreams no matter how hard I try.

I guess no matter how much I say that I am OK, I am still not over all the hurt from my father. Maybe I will call a therapist in the morning.

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