Unexpected Love

It comes when you least expect it, and well, don’t ever want to feel that emotional attachment to anyone. Love.


I was a young girl, a whole 8 years old. My parents had divorced and moved forward, and to be honest, I was a selfish little girl not even remotely interested in my parents moving forward, as I was still a massive bottle of anger and hatred. 

That’s when this amazing woman entered my life. In spite of my personal melodrama, she bestowed kindness and patience upon my world. She never once tried to replace the role of mother, and I’m grateful, because I already had a pretty awesome mom. 

Over time, my rejection of her began to decrease, and it was about this time that I found out about a new sibling entering my life. As her tummy grew, I began to hope for something special, and words can never convey just how special that little red headed girl would be. 

Every visit was brighter because of the gregarious smile that sweet baby brought at the sheer sight of me. I was her big sister, and once she began to walk, there was no where she wouldn’t follow. We played everything from hop scotch to super heros and every visit became an adventure. 

Time passed, and I grew older. Distance spanned the hours and days as life went on.

And now, 33 years later, this beautiful mother of one, grandmother to another beautiful red headed little girl and friend to a broken little girl has been diagnosed with cancer just 4 months after the loss of our father. 

Insurance companies make billions in profit every year and leave their customers with massive bills piling up. It’s enough to make anyone come unglued, and yet, my sister still stands with dignity and grace in spite of the heart break that she’s experienced in the past few months. 

She may not be anything significant to you, but to 3 girls, she has been an impact of unforgettable magnitude. 

I’m asking for help with her medical bills in order to alleviate the mounting pressure already delivered this year. Anything would be greatly appreciated. 

https://www.gofundme.com/2sdw784
Sincerely,

Misty

Do I work??

Ha ha ha ha ha.

It’s weekly shopping trip day, and their is inevitably that one person that asks me what I do for a living. Short answer, stay at home mom.

Long answer…

I am the stay at home mom who has raised 4 children to adulthood. Sure, I’ve had failures, some with flair, BUT I’ve had successes too. 

When my children were born, I could barely cook a box of hamburger helper. I’m just glad I didn’t burn boiling water!

Now, I’m pretty good at this cooking thing, and my baked goods are pretty good too.

And well, blah blah blah…

So, how do I shorten the point???

I now have created a series of rapid questions, accumulated over the years of experience.

How many children do you have? Do you pay for child care? How often do you eat delivery? How often do you pay for that nicer restaurant with the home cooked meal flavor? Do you have a maid? How much is your dry cleaning? And, how comfortable are you wearing high heels and business suits?

I have 7 amazing children, and no, I didn’t give birth to all of them. I have one amazing grandson I get to see often, and I get to see his momma several times a week. I’m watching her become the amazing woman I’ve always seen inside her waiting to grow, burst out into the world, and become the person she is. I’ve was in attendance when my children were learning to crawl, walk, talk, and so much more.

And, we don’t pay for those services I questioned, because I provide those services. I cook, I clean, I bake, and I love, every minute of it. 

Now, how much is that worth???

State of Affairs

Today, I am concerned. Today, I look at the world my children are inheriting and I am saddened.

I was born in the 70’s. Free love and flower power. There was still a whole lot of racism in that decade, still unwinding from the life of segregation.

As a young girl, I went to school with all races of children. We all played on the same playground, had the same superheroes, and laughed. I miss the simplicity of the playground.

As I got older, I began to see the division of friendships. I watched as we went from being children playing together on the playground, to teens in high school. I watched as superheroes were traded for cars and guns.

I watched the community I loved become a place where a stray bullet or a hit of heroin could take a friend quickly and without good reason.

What would surprise you the most about these scenarios is where they took place. You see, the childhood playground was in a suburb of Dallas called Oak Cliff. The teenage years were part of a suburbanite neighborhood that became well known in the country for being the heroin overdose capital, Plano, Texas.

In my twenties, I went to concerts and festivals. I went to the cultural showcases of rock, rap, tejano, and country music all being played on different stages at the same time. We laughed and danced and enjoyed the music together.

I truly believed we had come so far to overcome racism. I never thought electing a man of mixed heritage and severe daddy issues would lead to such a mess.

I never thought I’d see the riots and anger of desegregation come full circle. I never thought I’d see a group demanding segregation, the very scenario their grandparents fought to overcome. The very scenario that Martin Luther King Jr gave his life for.

It saddens me that people are being gunned down in the streets regardless of race. It saddens me that drugs, hatred and self-loathing have combined to become the very thing we were trying so hard to put an end to, and it saddens me that the legacy of Barack Hussein Obama will be division. Destruction. Hatred for the very country that tried to come together to erase racial hatred.

I don’t believe for a second that the sociological issues we are dealing with truly have anything to do with race. I believe they are economic issues, and finger pointing at racial issues is drawing attention away from the real issue.

We have an overwhelming percentage of dollars being controlled by the top 2% of the world. Those are the masters and decision makers. They form the policy and agenda. Two percent of the world has a voice.

Then we have the middle class. The guided cage of slavery in America. Where children are left in daycares and mother’s must work in order to afford a higher class of slavery. Because every one of those mothers and fathers are working, lining the pockets of the top two percent, and being taxed approximately 40% of their income to help with assistance programs for the poor while the top 2% get tax breaks that avoid it’s responsibility to give back to the very people that helped make their companies and government positions possible. And I have watched the poor be given assistance for necessities, ie. food, clothing and shelter, while they are encouraged to spend the small amount of income they possess into the very companies that are their masters.

We don’t have a race issue America, we have an economics issue and race is being blamed to cover up the evil that is truly the problem.

There is no such thing as equality in this system. We need a better solution, but first we must understand the underlying issues that led to this moment in history.

Perhaps it’s time we banned together and utilized the strength of our collective numbers and the amount of money flowing around to boycott the very top 2% that is the driving force behind the current state of affairs in this nation and nations around the globe. Thus ¬†we will see who truly controls the world and whom our true captors are.

You

I gave you my heart,
And I asked you for wings.
To be the angel I can be.
I had given up hope,
I’d given up pride,
I quit looking beyond my door.
I began to see hatred stamped everywhere,
Even the people I loved most in the world.
And in the depths of despair,
You whispered hey, look here.
You saw what I thought was gone.
You looked well beyond.
All the judgements of the past.
I found my smile,
I found my laugh.
I no longer cry everyday.
I don’t always feel insane.
I flew to the window,
I felt the sun,
I saw a smile,
When I saw none.
You cracked the shell,
You knocked on the door,
You dared me to believe in more.
You opened the door to second chances.
You light up my life.

The Cycle Continues

In my previous post, I explained how my life, and the lives of the people I love, were changed forever in thirty seconds.

And, after 16 years, they are tired of it, and think I need to get over it.

With that said, there are some things you can’t get over.

When this injury first occurred, I didn’t want to leave the house. I was terrified of the embarrassment that I would feel if I was standing in line instead of in front of the refrigerator when my body decided that like it or not, it was time to urinate. I couldn’t sense it, I couldn’t feel that my bladder was full. Or my personal favorite, when I had a bowel movement in my pants like a two year old because I could no longer sense that region.
I’m sure if you put two and two together, you can figure out other things I could no longer sense.

Now, on the flip side of all that, there was the pleasure of fire burning my legs. There was the pleasure of knives being repeatedly stabbed in my body. There was the pleasure of feeling those stabbing knife sensations being dragged down my body like I was being filleted like a fish.

That was in the beginning.

Today, 16 years later, I have given up the hope that I will find a cure. I will continue to do the things that work for me. I will go to the grocery store, and I will leave the DMV and come back later. I will wait for the line to not be 3 hours long, and I will eventually achieve my goals. I will do it in a way that I am comfortable with, because I refuse to stand in a line, knowing that I will have to go to the ladies room prior to getting to the end of that line, and holding it, well, as stated above, doesn’t always work out. And well, I’m sure the people in line appreciate the patience and persistence and the working within my limitations.

After all these years, I still have days that I am in absolute agony and all I can do is lay in the bed and cry. Those are the bad days when I question the reason for my existence on this planet. Those are the days when I believe that the people I love would be much better off without my presence holding them back.
But, then I have good days, and I bake cookies, or I plan a garden, or I teach myself something new, whether it’s how to crochet, play a guitar, delve into the deeper mysteries of theology, plan a garden, and so on.

Though I am constantly reminded of my limitations, I try my best to navigate my world.

I didn’t do anything to deserve this injury and my family didn’t do anything to deserve the fall out.

It’s been a hard, grueling process of having hope one day, only to feel completely hopeless the next.

It’s degrading to have to tell your children that they have to help keep the house clean because you can’t keep up with the pace required to do so all by yourself, not that my children were too young to pick up their toys, they were too young to understand. Even now, they can’t.

Nonetheless, I strive everyday to have a good day. I strive to achieve something every day, no matter how small it might be.

I get up every day, I brush my teeth, comb my hair, and I try. Some days, I achieve greatness. Some days, I fall flat on my face.

But, I am lucky. I am lucky enough to be with a man that sees what I try so hard to pretend does not exist. I am lucky that he has given me the tools to achieve the goals I try to set for myself. I am lucky that he will go outside and help me to do the hard labor aspects that, though I try, I can’t do. I am lucky that he stands beside me, and says it’s OK baby, I got this. I am lucky that he gets up every day, goes to work, and pays the bills. I am lucky that he keeps the baking cabinet stocked with the supplies necessary for me to do those little things. Those little marks of success. Those moments when I can stand up all day without tears.

I am lucky that he is patient. I am lucky that he is kind. I am lucky that he is understanding.

And for that, and a million reasons more that I have not listed, he has my love. He has my loyalty. He has my gratitude. He has everything I have to give. And, for whatever reason, I am lucky that he loves me in return. I am lucky that he is kind, giving and understanding.

He’s one of the many voices in my head telling me that I can do it when I am struggling to just put one foot in front of the other.

And, ultimately, he’s the genius behind my success, along with the group of people that have also challenged me over the years (they know who they are).

Though, for most, my measure of success is not enough, it’s enough for me and the people who live in this house.

You don’t have to understand it. It’s not truly possible unless you have walked a mile in those shoes only to end up feeling like a failure because you couldn’t work, and some days, brushing your teeth and hair was all the success you could manage.

And finally, to all the people who have had all their dreams sidelined due to no fault of their own, keep trying. You’ll find where you belong and you will find that though you are not capable of earning a paycheck, you have are capable of offering solutions to the financial problems that exist in something like this. You will have to think outside of the box, but there are options. Ultimately, support, patience and love go a long way.

Chronic Pain

To my family,

Please understand, I am not whining here, I’m explaining. I’m trying to help you understand the impossible. Because if you haven’t been there, you don’t understand.

I was injured, permanently, by a moment. A moment that lasted 30 seconds. My whole life changed in thirty seconds.

I was on the right track, the road to success. The road to a good life for my family. 30 seconds later, nothing was ever going to be the same, no matter how hard I tried. Failure is a bitter pill to swallow.

Over the next few years, I pushed. I pushed with everything I had until I sat there one night, holding a hand full of pills, the very pills they gave me to help relieve the pain. I sat there contemplating my family’s future. I sat there contemplating whether I was going to be capable of raising my 4 children. They were young, so very young. What kind of effects was this going to have on my life, and more importantly, my children’s?

Today, 16 years later, my children are grown, for the most part. And, looking back, I’m glad I didn’t swallow those pills.

I’m glad I was there all those years. I’m glad that even though I was a shell of a person, trapped inside my own personal hell, I got to experience the greatest joy in my life. I got to see my children grow up. I got moments, fleeting, brief, moments. An Easter basket of absurd magnitude. Surprise, mom made cookies, she had a good day. Here, let’s take a walk, it’s a nice day. But, my all time favorites, were the days my little girls came home, and some boy had pulled their hair, or said something mean, those days, I let my words do what I physically could not. I walked them through. I told them what is normal boy behavior and I told them exactly where it crosses the line. I guided them, often from my bed, the recliner, or the kitchen. I did the best I could.
And, all the while, when they were at school, I spent years chasing a cure. Searching, hoping to one day to stand in the sun with my children. I got that! It wasn’t permanent, though I hoped with all my heart that it would be.

I got to go play in the park, I traveled the roads to see my children, as some were already adults. I worked a job, even if it was only part time, and I have just about finished raising my children.

You take the good with the bad. That’s the lesson I learned. Never give up hope.

I cannot ever remove the grief that this condition causes, and yes, it causes it. It causes you to chase down every form of therapy. I causes you to scream for help. It causes you to ask your children to clean up their rooms because you can’t. It causes you to make your children grow up a little faster than you wanted to, and it causes you to lose faith.
It can be a soul sucking abyss of hell, and all the while, the light in your eyes, the hidden glint of a smile, the aww that you experience, the envy, the jealousy. How you’d give anything to achieve a cure, even your life.
Those days were hell on my children. They have seen their mother go absolutely mad. It will drive you literally insane and their is no pills for that. Trust me, I’ve tried everything!
No, it takes a sheer will of determination. My will is stronger than my body. I push myself to be better than I was, I rip muscles, I break toes, and I fall down.  It’s excruciating and mental. It’s good days and bad days.
Because I am not in the hospital, because I am not receiving chemo, because I am not dying, doesn’t mean that it’s not hell.
Yet, I endure my worst days so that we can enjoy my best days.
You are all grown, mostly. You are all capable of achieving your dreams. You are all strong enough to endure the bad and find the good. You will light up at the glimmer of a smile. Ultimately, you will live, and with that will, you will succeed.

I believe in you.

I have loved my family, the best I could, through hell and back. There’s nothing they are not prepared to handle. Most of my children believe in themselves. They are confident. They strive for excellence, and know that they will fall, but they know how to stand back up. The strength has been there all along.

It’s your life. It’s your path. You get to chase your dreams and I want to hear about them.

Find love, find faith, and find compassion. Find someone who will hold your hand on a bad day, and will challenge you to try harder. Find that hope within a smile and strive for excellence. Even if you fall, you can land among the stars, but don’t ever quit shooting for the moon. You just might get it. And if you don’t, that’s ok too. I still love you. I just want to see you smile.
Live, Laugh, Love

As for the decision I made all those years ago, I don’t regret it. I’ve been lucky to have a family that helped me through. That helped me endure. That helped me do the one thing I could do. Raise my children. It wasn’t perfect, but I was there, watching, guiding. I tried to teach you. I tried to show you that life is painfully beautiful, but to stand up for yourself. Know your strengths and know your weaknesses. Let your strengths shine. Never give up.

Manifest Destiny

Currently, in the media, race is a very hot topic.
So, I decided to address the issue.
I’m a 40 year old white female. By all accounts and standards, America should have been handed to me on a silver platter. Guess what, it hasn’t. Just like everyone else, I have been expected to carry my weight in society, however, it’s more than that.
My household is a middle class income generating household. My parents were an upper middle class generating household. Both my parents worked. I was what they called a latchkey kid.

My parents planned for the future, paid their taxes, and lived a good life.

Now, to add a bit more dynamics here. I’m disabled. My monthly check comes from the stipend of money that me, my parents and many other hardworking Americans paid towards a dividend with the government in the event that we retired, or in my case, got injured.
This is not money just given to me. And every year, they cut into the social security budget in order to fund the government assistance programs.
Now, I’m not necessarily against government programs per se.

With that said…
I don’t care about the color of your skin. Never have. I care whether or not you are a kind, decent, human being. I care about social constructs. I care about my heritage just as you care about yours.

Yes, the KKK was a racist group, but so is the black panthers. Martin Luther King, now that’s someone to look up to. He never used violence, he used his intelligence, and frankly, I think that he’d be very disappointed seeing where his legacy has led.

I blatantly find it offensive that you feel that you have a right to your cultural pride, but because I am white, it’s racist. Yet, I’m also proud of the Native American heritage in my ancestry.

I’m Irish. I’m German. I’m Native American. Ultimately though, I’m American, and so are you.

Manifest destiny was achieved through the shedding of blood and tears, if you look back at the whole known history of the world, you will find that this is a very common theme, no matter what it was called.
You would also learn that African Americans were sold into slavery by Africans, meaning black tribes. You would learn that the deciding factor was whether you won or lost a physical confrontation. Apparently, if you’re here, it’s because your ancestors lost the battle. Now, there is also the chance that you were kidnapped, just like the Irish-American slaves were, yes, there were white slaves. The fact that you don’t look at this speaks to a guided narrative of poor me.

To me, manifest destiny was about more than achieving a land grab, and it culminated in the Civil War. A war where many white Americans died to help your ancestors gain their freedom. All they wanted was a chance to create their own destiny.

This country has been desegregated my whole life. Yes, in the beginning it was tense, change always is. Yet, by the 90’s, we were sharing cultural differences at concerts and every where else. Acceptance was the goal. Respect was the hope.

Equality, that’s what you’re after, but did it ever occur to you that so do we. We want the right to manifest our destiny, just as you do.

I propose, we remove the laws governing enrollment. Remove the laws governing hiring. We remove the question about race all together from every government, employment and educational document. I propose that we let the hard work of each individual stand, regardless of skin color. I propose that if you want to achieve success, stand up and earn it. I propose that we stop funding social programs for able bodied people. I propose that we require mentally ill people to get a job. It’s good for them.

Ultimately, I propose that we stop making excuses and start with “The Man in the Mirror”, yes, I quoted a Michael Jackson song. I propose that we stop blaming white America for the problems. Because, like it or not, we don’t control the world, but you do have a more than fair chance to obtain a better life. Though all black colleges are a standard, all white colleges are banned, yet we’re the racist.

I’m sorry, but your narrative does not hold up to scrutiny, and you are not the only culture to have worn chains.

Stop blaming the world for your problems and take responsibility for your life. I know I sure can’t blame the world for an injury it had no responsibility in, so why should I bear a sympathetic ear to your arguments that predate my birth?
I am responsible for me just as you are responsible for you. If you’re not happy with what you have achieved, stop blaming my skin color for your problems, man up and manifest destiny with peace, love and good old fashioned elbow grease.

Otherwise, we all lose. Is the color of skin truly worth fighting another war, another round of family and friends rushing to their deaths? Or should you learn to not only speak your grievances, but to also listen to where your grievances have been addressed, and you still believe that white America is holding you back. From many perspectives, the only people holding you back is yourself.