A Letter to My Son

To My Son, 

All your life you have been loved by a woman. A woman carried you in her body. A woman survived major surgery in order to bring you into the world, and bears the marks and scars from the journey. A woman spent painful and sleepless days and nights to see to your every need while recovering from your birth. You fed, bathed, and clothed by a woman, every hour of every day for the earliest years of your life. 

The first words you spoke, the first time you walked or tied your shoes, your first day of school - a woman was there with tears of joy to cheer you on. A woman has taught you, fought for you, and fought with you. A woman has cried for you and prayed for you, and coaxed smiles from you. A woman has raised you up through sick, mad, sad and glad. 

I may be an oversensitive woman, but I'm your mother, and through all of this, I have earned that right. I was given the responsibility for your care, and the responsibility to see that you grow into a good man. With that responsibility comes the right to be a little oversensitive sometimes. 

Now that you are nearly a man, I have this one thing to say to you:

   Never ever forget the true worth of a woman. Do not forget how wonderful she is, how much she has been through for YOU. The day you forget is the day I will cry the hardest, for my son, on that day, the  woman did not fail the man, but he failed her. 

I love you, 

Every second, 

Every minute, 

Every hour, 

Every day. 

Love, Mom

Written by Jennifer Murray, 8-22-12

Passion and Sleepless Nights

Ok, that's a risque title, but let me explain.

Life is good here in the country. Notice I said "Good," and not "Perfect." "Perfect" would be having the west fence up, having a tractor to make our work easier, having enough money and supplies to build this place into the ranch we dream of."Perfect" would mean I could take in, take care of, and adopt out every animal that comes across my path. "Perfect" would be kids that get along all the time, a fridge and freezer that is always full, and laundry that does itself.

"Good" is the fact that we have enough work to pay our bills. "Good" is that my children are normal and healthy. It's "Good" that I can touch a few lives through my many jobs, be they animal or human lives.

My passion is so strong! It almost overrules my sense sometimes. For instance, I know good and well exactly how many animal I have room for, and how many I can afford to feed. and it's not that many. And yet every night, I go to bed thinking I haven't done enough. I haven't helped enough, saved enough, rescued enough. I've had to turn down animals lately, because this place just isn't ready yet. I've had to say "no" to people who have asked for help, whether it's with animals, personal stuff, kids, community or Zumba. I just can't do it all. I expect too much of myself, I guess, because honestly! Who CAN do it all? And yet I wish....

I wish I could say yes every time someone says to me, "I just don't have time for this horse. Can you take him?" How very sad... and yet, I barely have time for my own.

I wish I could say yes every time the call goes out for us to rescue a baby bird or a stray cat, but honestly, I just can't! We don't have the funds or resources to take care of everything.

I wish I could donate to help the community, the Chamber of Commerce. I haven't even paid my own membership yet! But I help wherever I can.

And yet I lie awake at night wondering what else I can do?

Did I do enough housework? Did I spend enough time on my Zumba career? Did I help my husband enough today with OWC? Did I hug my kids? Do they know I'm proud of them?

I'm not saying my plight is any different than anyone else's. I know good and well there are people facing tougher issues than mine. But still, I am awake, my passion for my many jobs burning late into the night, my mind buzzing with WHAT? When? How? Can I? Should I?

A lady called me about a horse that her father rescued, a small pony who had been dumped on a wildlife reserve. She wanted to know if I could take him. I wanted to say YES!!! Bring him to me, I will love him, I will see he is placed in a good home. But I can't. Where he is now, he has green grass and room to roam. He's in no danger. He's already been rescued. She just didn't have time for him. And that's not my job. It's not what I do. My passion is helping to heal those broken, discarded, neglected animals, who have known so little of human trust and interaction. He didn't fit my mission. Is he any less deserving of my time? NO! But I must pace myself and my resources for those who may truly need me.

Right now, for instance, I have Twister. Yes, I STILL have Twister. Poor fella, no one seems to want him. We get a few calls, but no one comes to look at him, and those who do decide he's not for them. I've considered keeping him, but he needs work, and I have no where to set up the round pen and work with him. Yet.

If it were up to me, and I had unlimited funds and capable willing people to do the work, this ranch would be ready to go YESTERDAY. I'd have a barn, a place for the round pen, feeding stalls, and all the green grass the animals could stand. But it doesn't happen over night.

And so, I go to bed, exhausted, but unable to fall asleep, because my passion is higher than my bank account can handle.

Moving on Down.... To the country

About 10 days ago, my son asked me when would we be able to move out of this school system, this neighborhood, and get somewhere out in the country. I said, "Son, when the time is right, God will put it in front of me, and we'll go." He asked me what I meant by that. "I've always believed that I am where God needs me to be. When we lived in Texas, the opportunity came for us to move back to Tulsa, and that's when NannyMae was so sick. If I hadn't moved back to Tulsa then, I'd wouldn't have had those last few months with her before she died. When we moved from the house next door into this one, it was because God needed to make room for Cristy and Jack to move in and grow their family. Because of that, we became good friends."

I explained to my son all the times that God had provided a better opportunity for us. We've been in this house for 5 years, and in this neighborhood for 9 years. I actually grew up in this neighborhood. We lived about 4 blocks from where I am now, until I was thirteen.

I had no idea God would answer his prayer (and mine!) so quickly. Two days after the above discussion, I was browsing Craigslist, thinking, "Probably won't be anything new, but if I don't look, I'll miss out on something." Sure enough. There it was. I called immediately, made friends with the landlady, and went to look at the property. It wasn't perfect. Perfection would be too much to ask for, and far more than I deserve. The house is only slightly bigger than what we have now, but it has the added bonus of a second bathroom. It's out in the sticks, the toolies, deep in the country. That's a big bonus. It has 10 acres. That's a huge bonus, but it's also the imperfect part.

You know the saying, "God helps those who help themselves?" Man, do we ever have some work to do. Most of the ten acres is grown over with brush and small trees, and the rest is dead wood and tree limbs that will be have to be hauled, stacked, and burned. It's a long skinny piece of property, and naturally, one of the long sides needs fenced. The house has a wide front porch, perfect for sitting in mornings with a cup of coffee. There is the CUTEST little outbuilding, with electricity run to it, and it will be a great workshop for the hubby, or a tackroom, or anything in the world we can figure out to use it for. But it needs a new roof. I don't mean just shingles, I mean the WHOLE ROOF has to be replaced. And the FLOWERS!!! There are day lilies, irises, hyacinths, all kinds of flowers, but no flower beds. There's a perfect spot for a vegetable garden, if we can dig up the sandstone.

So, lots of work. Nevertheless, we call the landlady and tell her we want it, fill out the app and send it back to her. The next day, we're approved. Out of 12 applicants, we were chosen. Just that fast! Oh my daisies!

So then it's boxes, newspapers, packing tape, and stacks of stuff all over the place. Making phone calls, scheduling utilities to be turned off here and turned on there. Breaking the news to my current landlady. And my Mom and Dad. And the kids. And my friends.

And my Zumba peeps. My wonderful, amazing Zumba friends, with whom I have spent the past year, 3 times a week, partying it up, encouraging, building friendships, and just generally having a blast. I had to tell them I was moving away. I was passing their classes on to another instructor. I know they'll be in Good hands, but I miss them already.

The thought of starting new classes in a new town where I don't know anyone is daunting, to say the least. But didn't I do just that with the classes in Pryor? And look what a blessing it was for me! So I think maybe it will be okay.

So, tomorrow is the big move. We'll move most everything to the new place tomorrow, and sleep our first night in our new place. That's so exciting to me! And a little sad, to be leaving behind a best friend, 200+ amazing Zumba participants, and moving on to the unknown. But God brought me to it, and I know he'll bring me through it. And you can't tell me it wasn't Him. It was God. I'm glad I was listening and watching when He put it in front of me.

Who am I? What day is it?

I was having a nightmare. My hubby was cheating on me, and I was FURIOUS. Only it wasn’t my hubby. I mean, I wasn’t married to Reggie. I was married to some other guy, some unknown person, and he was cheating on me. Stupid nightmares. Technically, I guess it way a day-mare, because when I woke up and looked at the clock, it was straight up noon. NOON! Ohmigosh! I can’t believe it’s noon! How did I manage to sleep so late? What day is it again? Tuesday… Zumba at 4pm. Crap. I have so much to do today! 

Knock Knock Knock. Crap. Someone’s at the door. Robe, I need my robe. Yes, I’m going to answer the door in my robe, it’s nicer than answering the door naked. 

I walk into the living room to answer the door, and I stop in my tracks. So confused. Why does my house look like this? RILEY!!!! Stupid dog, got into the trash. It’s everywhere. And there’s poop. Lots of poop. On the carpet. 

Knock Knock Knock. Crap. Someone’s at the door. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Crap. That’s just great. I’m in my robe, someone’s at the door, and my face is all puffy from crying in my sleep. Oh and my hair? Yeah… it looks like I stuck my finger in an outlet. 

I look out the curtain to see who’s at the door. It’s Sabrina. I open the door a crack and say, “Look, My house is a wreck, I’m a wreck. I just woke up, so ignore whatever you see." I open the door the rest of the way and let her in. I must have mumbled something else incoherently on my way to the kitchen to start the coffee, but I don’t remember what it was. “Let me just start the coffee, and I’ll get this mess cleaned up.”

The mess. Ohmigosh. My house is a wreck, it’s noon, and I have company. I’m in my robe. GEEZ! What a picture my friend must be forming in her mind. 

And then it hits me. It’s Rodney’s birthday. I must look like the most depressed, ragged, wreck of an individual. 

I walk back to the living room, and notice for the first time that Sabrina is holding something in her hand. It’s a bag, and has a balloon tied to it that says “Thinking of you!” It’s from Edible Arrangements. My sweet friend has probably been up since the crack of dawn with her 3 kids and homework and and everything in her life, and has taken the time to drive to Tulsa to pick up a treat for me on this difficult day, and I can’t even get my butt out of bed before noon, or have a presentable clean home when she gets here! What a picture! I open the bag, and inside is a box of chocolate covered strawberries. Sabrina is so incredibly thoughtful. 

Sabrina can’t stay long, her son is in the car. I thank her, hug her, try not to breathe morning breath on her, and then shut the door behind her. And I realize, my sweet friend picked up all the trash for me. The trash my little demon-dog scattered everywhere. So sweet. I clean up the poop, scrub the carpet, and run the vacuum. The dog is grounded outside. I don’t care if it rains. I’m mad. 

I’m so blessed to have people in my life who care. Today is a hard day. Next week, I’ll have another hard day. And then life can get back to normal, because honestly? This day? This day is not how I want my life to be. I don’t want to wake up late, answer the door in my bathrobe, and be incoherent when a friend pops over. I don’t want my house trashed by the demon-dog. And I don’t want to feel this hole in my heart with every beat.

Happy Birthday Bubba. I’ll try to do better next year.

Little Miss Sunshine

All my friends think she is just the cat’s pajamas. She has such joy for life, such zest! She finds happiness and excitement in everything she sees. Her favorite shows are America’s Funniest Home Videos, and anything on the Animal Planet Channel. She is compassionate, caring, happy, loving, friendly, and outgoing. She gives hugs like wealthy people give pennies. She has a smile for everyone.

And yet sometimes, I WISH she would just settle down. It’s difficult for me. I was an introvert. I was quiet, I stayed in my room, and did the moody teenager thing. No one liked me, I didn’t have many friends. I listened to music and I read a lot. And I didn’t chatter. I had no one to chatter with! Morgan doesn’t need anyone to chatter with, she just TALKS. And TALKS. And GIGGLES. And it goes on and on! 

I worry that my moodiness will rub off on her, and that soon she will barely speak to me. I worry that she will become sullen and quiet from me telling her to settle down all the time. I wish for a middle ground, a child who is happy and joyful, without be quite so vocal about it. 

I also wish for the capacity for joy that she has. For the ability to sit and watch cute animals on TV and just giggle helplessly at everything I see. I don’t like being so serous and grumpy all the time. And I don’t like being reminded that I need more joy in my life. 

Don’t get me wrong. My life is not joyless. But I expect it’s much the life of every adult woman with children out there. Life is serious. There are business things to think of, bills to pay, deposits to be made, groceries to buy, laundry to do, meals to cook. And Lord help me, I haven’t had enough coffee yet to deal with all this JOYOUS CHATTER!  I’m just an old GRUMP. 

But I do love her dearly. Maybe I’ll get lucky and her joy will rub off on me. <smiles>

Time is running short.

I’m running out of time. Somewhere along the way, I must have blinked. Or maybe I turned my head and lost focus on him for a minute. But when I looked back, he was half-grown!

Seems like it went like this:

1.       He was born

2.       He got a few teeth and started walking.

3.       He rode a bike, played basketball and learned how to hunt and fish.

4.       He’s taller than I am now.

WAIT! What???

When did that happen? What was I doing while this was going on? Why didn’t I notice?

I don’t know how it is for other moms, but for me, I remember everything about my kids as babies. Then I have a few really great memories of their early school years. And now it’s all just a blur! There are activities every weekend, meetings every week, and friends and homework and meals and arguments and laughter. I know it’s all there, I just can’t pay attention to it all. And then out of nowhere, I look up (yes, I have to LOOK UP) at my son, and he’s HUGE! He looks like a full grown young man.

He has responsibilities. He has a cell phone.  People outside this house actually count on him, and depend on him. He works part-time, and has a savings account. And he’s so serious.

Don’t get me wrong, he knows how to laugh and have fun. He’s a typical boy, in that he laughs at fart-noises and burps, enjoys stupid comedy shows that make me shake my head, and loves hunting and fishing. And video games.  And computers.  And music.   And his momma.  And his Nanny.

 

He has a quick temper, but is also quick to apologize when he’s wrong. He’s strong. He’s handsome. (Of course I’m going to say he’s handsome, he’s my son! But take a look for yourself.)

 I keep thinking, “I’m running out of time!” Time for what? What do I need time for? Time to be the only woman he needs in his life. Time to make sure he knows the kind of man he should be, and the kind of woman he should look for. Time to teach him about parenting, and working a full time job, and driving a car. But most of all, time to form memories. Because I can already see it in his face, in his eyes. He, like every other teenaged boy out there, already thinks he knows it all, can do it all, if we’d just give him the chance.

But I’m not ready yet.

In Remembrance

I wish I could share this 30’s thing with him. He’d be 33 on February 7^th. He shares his birthday with Garth Brooks. 

I could commiserate with him over all the little things that seem to be breaking down in my body, complain about how sometimes life just isn’t fair, and talk to him about our parents. He would worry with me over the things that I worry about. He would celebrate my accomplishments with me. I would love to know what he would have accomplished with his life to this point. Would he be married? Would I have a sister-in-law? A woman who would love him, take care of him, argue with him and keep him in line? Would he have children? How many and what would their names be? He died in 2001, age 22. 

When we were kids, we made a pact: we would never let anything come between us, we’d always be friends. We saw our mother angry with our uncles about something. We had no idea why, only that they weren’t getting along at the time, and we promised each other we would never be like that. We were each other’s first best friend.

We shared everything, up to and including our birthday parties. Our birthdays were only 8 days apart and only 2 years separated us, so I don’t remember a single time when he wasn’t there for my birthday. I don’t think I ever missed his either. Until 2002. That birthday was hard. It was the first birthday without him. It was the first time I truly felt like an only child. I was lost. He was my anchor. I could face any number of birthdays, and grow old gracefully, as long as I was watching him age right along with me. 

I’ll be 35 on February 15^th. While I worry about things like varicose veins, adult acne, stretch marks, and wrinkles, his body is whole and perfect. He has no aches and pains. He isn’t aging.

I remember how we used to compare things about ourselves. His hands were like mine, only more masculine, with square nails. His nose was bigger, but not huge. It was my grandpa’s nose. The Maberry genes run strong in our family, and my oldest son has that same nose now. We both had curly hair. I think back to when I was in Cosmetology school, and he’d let me cut his hair for practice. He was a teenager, and grew little curls out in the back, just at the bottom edge of his hairline, and the girls he dated all loved to run their fingers through it. My youngest son has hair just like his. 

I see these reminders of him every day, and I wonder how on earth can it be that he isn’t here? He’s been gone almost 10 and a half years. TEN YEARS. But ten years isn’t so long, when I look at the life ahead of me, and realize that I have maybe another 35 years without him as well. 

I’ve been through a lot in my young life so far, and nothing surpasses the pain of losing him. Nothing has been bigger than the emptiness left by his loss, so far. And in a way, that’s comforting, because I survived. I’m still here.

And he’s still with me. I carry him in my heart, and I know he watches over me and his niece and nephews.

I miss him.

                               (This was at our Birthday party in 2001, the last one we had together.)

Yeah, it's been a while. Just go with it :)

I feel like I’ve spent the last week or so fighting invisible foes.  

 Unseen - or maybe unforeseen – enemies pop up out of nowhere.  Enemies I can’t seem to get my hands on.

It’s like someone set loose the Bad Luck Gnomes to wreak havoc in my brain. OK, well maybe that’s overstating it a bit. I know my problems are very small compared to some, but still…. There I was, floating along on my little cloud of happiness, and Wham! Within two weeks:

• my heater is out,
• my computer died an agonizing death and left me stranded with no files backed-up,
• Hubby’s computer lost all his files while he was trying to fix mine,
• Hubby needs a new truck,
•  I have the worst case of hives in years,
• And lastly, I discovered that sometimes I’m just not enough.

Now, to elaborate: The heater works - intermittently. And it makes a huge clunking noise when it shuts off. Needless to say, I’m very thankful for the mild weather we’ve had so far. The part is on order, but I haven’t heard A. SINGLE. WORD! From the heater-man. Aggravating. I can’t fight this one, if no one returns my calls. ~sigh~

After four agonizing days without my computer, I got it fixed, had a new hard drive installed, and was told the info on my old hard drive was unrecoverable. $380 later, I have a new hard-drive and a working computer, but little else – including hope. And patience. I’m all out of that too. Thankfully, my friend Lisa has her Computer Geek. Working on my old hard-drive, and there’s a tiny bit of hope that my info can be recovered. I can’t fight this one and win, I have to hire someone to fight it for me.

Hubby figured if he bought Windows7, he could install it on his computer, copy it to mine, and VIOLA! Problem fixed! Not so, my friends. Windows7 is not an upgrade from Vista, and required a hard install, meaning anything Hubby hadn’t backed up recently was lost. ~sigh again~ Furthermore, it requires separate licenses on separate computers, unlike older versions of Windows Programs. Ouch, expensive for a non-fix! If I’m fighting anything here, it’s the urge to smack myself in the head for throwing good money after bad.

Hubby’s truck has been showing signs of distress for a couple of years now.  We’ve had the transmission rebuilt twice, and still it struggles. It’s time to say good-bye to the Dodge. However, buying a vehicle on credit when you’re self-employed isn’t easy. So we’re fighting with the loan companies who want pay-stubs, when all we have are tax-returns to prove our income.  Ay-yi-yi! So we continue to push the poor Dodge well beyond its usefulness. I’m fighting anonymous people with understandable rules that shouldn’t necessarily apply to everyone. And I’m not winning, by the way.

The hives… What can I say? My skin looks like raw meat in places, and itches infernally. It’s my own fault, but I assure you, my motives were pure. I wanted to save money! So I made my own laundry detergent. I was informed that for $9 I could make 6-9 months-worth of laundry detergent. Since I easily spend $20 a month or more on laundry detergent and fabric softener, I thought, “why not?” Let me tell you why not:

HIVES!!! And did I save any money? NOOOO!!!! Because I had to spend $54 for the doctor to tell me what I already knew, and $26 for medication that will make me hungry and moody. Like I need that! I’m fighting myself on this one. It just is what it is. 

And that last one? The one about not being enough? Well, what can I say? I’m a “fixer” by nature. I’m a helper. I’m the person that will do everything I can to make sure someone else feels better.  But despite my best efforts (which sometimes go unappreciated or unnoticed, and that’s ok, since I don’t do it for recognition) sometimes there is just nothing more I can do to help. I fight helplessness in this instance, and I don’t like it. It’s the invisible foe. The unseen enemy. It sneaks in when I’m not looking and whispers to me:

“Why? Why can’t you fix this? Why can’t you make the impression that needs to be made? What else could you do? What haven’t you tried yet?” 

This fight is my most difficult, though it leaves no open wounds, raw skin, itchiness, or financial disaster in its wake. This fight leaves me spent, emotionally, physically, and mentally. I’m a control freak (my closest friends and family already know this about me) and I hate the feeling that there is nothing I can do. I hate realizing that all my exhaustive attempts have been fruitless. That this ONE THING is out of my control and there’s nothing more I can do. I can’t fix everyone. I can’t fix ANYONE. I can only love them and pray for them, and hope that someone is praying for me too, because  I just can’t fight anymore.