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 “Parenting”

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?

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?”

 

 

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.

Giving Your self Approval

Giving Your self Approval

Along with control and survival, approval is one of the three basic human wants that keep us entrapped as the ego.

It’s astonishing how far people will go for approval. The multi-billion dollar cosmetic industry is just one example. The clothing industry is another. The list goes on and on.

People pattern their behavior based on what they think will get approval. And yes it’s common to subject ourselves to control to get approval.

The amazing thing is that it’s incredibly effective to give ourselves approval. There’s no need to seek it anywhere else.

This is powerful stuff.

It can dissolve guilt and help us forgive ourselves.

http://meditationvacations.com/observer-meditations/giving-your-self-approval.html

Just intersting facts I was sent via a Twitter Follower….

http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://bp1.blogger.com/_metY-441Ik8/Rocv26fRaTI/AAAAAAAAAZc/Xk8EefQcJsM/s400/ruby.JPG&imgrefurl=http://amyfibich.blogspot.com/2007/06/ad-campaigns-target-body-image.html&usg=__NH3z7FTnQiM_NOe1_qr5CKVRnUI=&h=249&w=400&sz=22&hl=en&start=34&sig2=zD61vnbKdHiNuaZdw4MTLA&tbnid=kl1DtFSc3udakM:&tbnh=77&tbnw=124&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dbody%2Bimage%2Band%2Bself%2Besteem%26gbv%3D2%26ndsp%3D21%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN%26start%3D21&ei=kc5GSva_D9KFmQf58_GnAQ

You have to see this! Awesome!!!!

If Momma Ain’t Happy….Ain’t Nobody Happy!

My family and I have been living in a duplex for close to a year now. It wasn’t perfect when we first saw it, but it was big, had a good school nearby, was reasonably priced and easy to move in. No, it wasn’t perfect, but I wasn’t prepared for what was to follow after moving in.

First of all, I was away when our move in date came, so my husband moved in and took pictures of all the previous damage left behind. The amount of dead roaches was innumerable. They were in kitchen draws, on floors, under the stove and refrigerator…anywhere you could think of. Of course, there was no walk through, so pictures had to suffice. He cleaned like crazy. Grease from floor to ceiling in the kitchen…it was disgusting. But, honestly, I had lived in worse places in college. But I have kids now, so we were determined to make this place as presentable as possible.

 I can handle roaches, broken faucets and peeling tiles. We sprayed and hired an exterminator. My husband can fix or build anything, so small repairs were not an issue. We installed a couple of new ceiling fans, repaired door jams that were broken upon move in. I painted a room or two. It was mostly tile, so a few throw rugs here and there were fine. The bedrooms carpets left a lot to be desired. Even though I was informed they were professionally cleaned, the stains were clearly visible and the smell was distinct….pet urine. We scrubbed them to no avail. The peel and stick tiles throughout the living room were peeling up and breaking apart. They were stained and black….a magic eraser couldn’t even get the shit off.

But, you get what you pay for.

All of the cosmetic problems aside….I had no idea what we were getting into with the neighbors. There are four duplexes for a total of eight units. All of them were rented when we moved in. Jake is eight and there were plenty of kids his age here to play with. Big mistake. These kids were rotten….and I mean future orange jumpsuit wearing rotten. Jake is the first one to tell me if some kid acting like an ass. After a few incidents of bulling, other kids smoking and swearing and the usual bullshit, I decided that these were not the calibre of children I was comfortable letting my son play with. One kid used to come over everyday….even school nights…and stay all day, eat dinner and my husband ended up walking him home at 9:00 PM. I never even met his parents and they never came looking for him. I felt bad for him. Until the day he shot Jake and another kid with a BB gun. Then I called the police.

There were multiple calls to the police. These kids were always left unsupervised. No parent was ever around to keep tabs, make sure they were safe, or make sure they were fed for that matter. I was the only parent outside yelling at all these kids when they were all acting like assholes. I quickly became know as “the bitch”. I told a fifth grader who had been bulling Jake that the day I moved in was the worst day of his life. He didn’t answer. All the kids that Jake used to play with now wanted to beat him up. But, here’s where they underestimated Jake. He has had close to six years of karate. The kids were fair at first. Jake would come in and tell me that so-and-so tried to hit him and he punched them in the face and gave them a roundhouse kick. I have always told Jake not to be a bully and stick up for smaller kids….don’t hit other kids, but defend yourself if you need to. Well, he did.

Soon, he had beat every kid in this wretched neighborhood, no matter what size they were. That’s when they decided to gang up on him. They couldn’t beat him one on one, so they resorted to fighting dirty. I watched out of the window everyday when he played with one of the two good kids in the neighborhood (they were not allowed to play with the Manson Children either). Jake was great…never afraid….I stepped in lots of times. I saw the fifth grader pouring gasoline into a soda can one day. I took a picture with my phone….I am all about getting the evidence. Ted, my husband, went to tell his mother, as no matter how bad a kid is, it is always because of an underlying problem in the home and really not completely their fault. The mother quickly called her son on his cell and he denied it, so she said…”he said he wasn’t doing it.” Ok. Ted just said that when he ends up in the hospital with second and third degree burns that he had warned her. Thankfully, he never did do anything stupid.

They wrote “Fuck your mother” on my sidewalk outside my door. They told every chance they could that I was mean and a bitch. Jake just told them to shut up unless they were in his face…then he punched them. It took months, but these rotten kids finally realized that I was not going to stop watching their actions and that Jake was not a kid to fuck with….so they finally stopped.

That’s when the new neighbors moved in. Two domestic calls to the police later…not even by me…and I told Ted I had enough. We are preparing to move as I type.

Here’s what makes me so angry: These kids have no one to look up to. The parents are not around. If they are, most are usually drunk or just inside the house not giving a shit what their kids are doing. I have always believed that everything begins in the home. So, it was inevitable that these kids are the way they are. If you do not teach your kids values and morals early…this is what you get. I see a future of saddness and prison for most of them. I don’t care what they think of me…or the parents for that matter, but throughout all of this nonesense, I did try to talk to some of them and tell them to be kind and to be friends with everyone. It was to no avail, but I felt obligated to do something that they were not getting from their parents.

Once, Ted went outside and played football with all of these kids. They were happy, friendly, nice….not the little pricks that picked on my son. They were getting what they craved so desparately….attention.

It is amazing what happens when parents just pay attention to their children.

The Beginning of The End…Part 2:

Has anyone every seen the movie “Blast from the Past”? Brendan Fraser and Alicia Silverstone?…..it’s a cute movie about a 30 year old guy that lives in a bomb shelter since birth and eventually comes up for supplies for his family. Long story short…he falls in love with the girl and she meets the parents. The guy (“Adam”, Brendon Frasier) had this line in the movie that I always remembered. It was something like this…”The parents take care of the children, then in turn, the children take care of the parents…that’s just how it’s done”. Something to that effect….but it’s true. That IS how it should be. Anyone who was raised properly with love and everything they ever needed or wanted should, in turn, take care of the people who may have given up so much to do that for them. The sacrifices that parents make are not measurable. Yes, we choose to become parents, but the act of giving up so much so that another human being you are responsible for can eventually live out their dreams is nothing short of miraculous.

That is what my grandmother and grandfather did for my father and uncle. They would have never become a pilot and lawyer without the help of their parents, my grandparents. When my parents divorced and we lived with my father, my grandmother stepped right in. He would never be where he is today without the sacrifices she made for my sisters and I. Who wants to become a parent again at the age of sixty? My grandfather was long gone…since 1979, the year my youngest sister was born and Gram gave up whatever she may have had planned in the future in order to take care of us.

In my last blog concerning this touchy subject, I stated that my father and uncle said Gram would never, ever go in a “home”. They did lie. My sister and I both offered to help take care of Gram after she fell. After all, she did raise us, I promised her I would always be there to take care of her and we wanted to. All the reassurances that she is well taken care of and how no one would be able to care for her like she is being cared for now and how my father always picks her up every weekend and they have dinner at his house with her…..that she is doing great….likes it at “the home”….I hear it every time (and it’s not that often I speak to my father any more) he calls or I call him. I have never spoke to my uncle about it. Quite frankly, he is not very personable and probably doesn’t want to talk to me either. My father can talk all he wants about how better off Gram is at her new “home”. The bottom line is this:

He isn’t trying to convince me, my sisters, my grandmother, his friends….no one….he is trying to convince himself.  He, my uncle and their wives were not willing to give up their lifestyles to accommodate the woman who was responsible for those lavish lifestyles. She molded them into the successes they are today and this is how they repay her. I don’t care if my father never speaks to me for the rest of my life….I will still take care of him if he needs to be later in his life. I would never do that to someone who had sacrificed so much for me.

Just like no one, except Gram, can forgive me for the credit card fiasco….I will never forgive my father and uncle for what they have done to their own mother. It’s disgraceful.

Sometimes we have to give up our dreams to do what is right.

And Karma’s a bitch….

TO BE CONTINUED…..

Who’s Afraid of Virginia……..Pig?!?

So, now we have the Swine Flu. Not the Avian Flu…..the Swine Flu. Something not seen in almost 30 years, so some people will not be capable of fighting it off. May it be a chronic illness, the very young or the elderly. So far, we have been lucky and no one has died here in the US. But is that about to change? Has the media scared us to the point of no return?

Well, they have certainly got to my husband. Yesterday he said to me this: “I think we should home school Jakob (he’s 8).” I said, “What’s this “we”? Do you have a fucking mouse in your pocket because I don’t see you staying home from work and home schooling anyone?”

Should I be scared? Jakob is now….thanks to his dad. He overheard it all and is stating the Mexico statistics and US ones as well. He said he doesn’t want to get sick and die. I assured him that he will be fine…that no one here has died….that Mexico doesn’t have the medical care and hospitals we have and we will be OK. If I get the Swine Flu, I’m dead. I don’t have the immune system because of my heart disease. Should I, living in Florida with a large population of Mexican people who do travel back and forth….should I be scared? Do I wait until there is a case here to keep Jake home? Once it starts in the school system…forget it…it’s going to be nuts and people will become unreasonable.

My girlfriend in St. Pete, Florida told me that two of her kids are sick with flu-like symptoms. I just now heard on the news that the median age of people that are infected is 16 years old. The symptoms are just the same as any other flu…so what now?

Now, Dr. Sanjay Gupta has a model from a few years ago showing how it may be expected to spread….should that scare me?…..because it does. Tami flu is supposed to halt it significantly, but how are you supposed to halt something that you already have?  He is in Mexico City…which is crazy to me even if it is his job….dictating all the possible treatments and outcomes.

My point is this: Is the media helping or hurting us? We need to know …yes…..but do we need to be told every tiny possible detail? Is this a crisis yet? The government had the Avian flu scare in 2006, but it never amounted to much.

Dr. Louis Sullivan, who used to work for the CDC, says we are moderatly prepared for this strain, but it’s not “excellent”.  On Twitter….Dr. Drew, Anderson Cooper…even Perez Hilton are talking about the Swine flu.  It’s everywhere in every medium.

So how do we decide on when to really panic?

http://www.cdc.gov/swineflu/

http://www.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/04/24/swine.flu/index.html

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