Mom

My sponsor gave me an assignment. It was to write a letter to my Mom. She died in 1987 from lung cancer. It was really quick. She was diagnosed in late 1985 and by June 1987 she was gone. She and my dad NEVER told us that she was terminal. My mom was like that. She was incredibly strong. She would do anything for you. Fierce. I think that would be appropriate. She had a sense of humor that could knock your socks off. My mom and I didn't get along so well while I was a teenager, but by the time I was out of college and married, we'd become best friends. I went over every morning to have coffee with her and my grandmother, her mom, and the same every evening. From her house to mine was probably 8 minutes max. When Teresa said I should write a letter to my mom and tell her how I felt about her dying, I didn't think I'd be able to. I think about my mom just about every day. Sometimes it's fleeting, but sometimes it's not and I wasn't sure I wanted to chance reviving all those memories. I've written the letter, though and I've read it to Teresa. What I discovered while writing it, is that I am grateful for the woman my mom was because...that's who I am. Those qualities she had, humor, strength, fierceness? I have them, too.

Naked Crabs

I have a copy of a story my sponsor gave me years and years ago. It's called Naked Crabs. Basically, it's the story of how hermit crabs have to move from one shell to another when the first shell becomes too small. There's a period of time between one shell and the next when the crab is vulnerable...naked. I love the story, though, because it describes my life to a tee. I am a recovering alcoholic and my shell is constantly getting too tight. Like the crab, the longer the shell has been growing around me, the harder it is to break open. The more painful the breaking becomes. To avoid the pain, I prefer sometimes to stay in the shell that is too tight and no longer fits very well, rather than risk being vulnerable. The thing is, like the hermit crab, if my shell becomes too thick, too protective, too rough to crack open and start again, I can't grow anymore and I die.

I am vulnerable and naked and am scurrying to my next shell. Treat me gently.

Self Inflicted Pain

You know those little bitty scabs you get from say running into a holly bush or something? They hurt a lot when it happens, the pain goes away pretty quickly but the scabs remain? You don't even realize they're still there until you bump into them and you say "oh that hurts." That's the kind of emotional pain I've been in for a while now. The thing is, I can't will it to stop. If that was the case, I'd be shooting rainbows and lollypops out my ass. Instead, some days I wake up and wonder what the hell happened this past year? I met someone, it was wonderful for about half the time and the last half not so good. It still amazes me that I thought I knew someone so well and we shared so much and later to find out how much I was deceived. I wish in a way I could hate that person, but I can't. I gave him my heart. I truly believe, though, with gifts given we don't get to dictate how the person uses the gift. I don't want to stop giving gifts because of how the receiver used the gift.

Angry Sadness

It's time. Time to vent. Anger is an uncomfortable emotion for me and one I avoid at all costs. I considered myself pretty controlled. I guess that's the truth until it something really important and close to me. I got some news a couple of weeks ago that allowed the anger monster to come unleashed. I don't feel very good about how I vented and I certainly don't think the person I vented on deserved it. Everyone deserves to have somone in their life that trusts them. That's my conclusion after two weeks of being angry.