“I believe I’ve passed the age of consciousness and righteous rage,
I’ve found that just surviving was a noble fight
I once believed in causes too, had my pointless point of view
Life went on no matter who was wrong or right”.. Billy Joel Continue reading “Noble Fight” →

     On most Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays you will find me at the YMCA.  Either doing yoga,  a new favorite is a Wednesday night Zumba class or just riding 5 miles on the recombinant bike and doing a trip around the weight circuit.  It my time to “do me”.  I spend time thinking and with the exception of the Zumba class it is very self reflective.  There honestly isn’t much time for self reflection while trying to not trip over my feet for 65 minutes to Latin music.

    Since January 1st the Y is packed with new people as per usual at this time of year.  I am looking at faces I have never seen  before while I am pedaling away tonight.  All trying to stick to their resolutions of working out and eating healthy. 

     By March the newcomers full of their fancy clothes and brand new gadgets and shoes will b gone.  Leaving all of us who just want to be healthy.  Regardless of whether our workout gear matches our water bottles.  One thing will remain,  us with our tunes,  our water bottles and our devotion.

     As I write this one,  I am not sure I will ever hit the publish button,  or even share it to my Facebook Wall.  I have written a lot about addiction,  the way that it destroys lives and tears families apart.  One of my HS friends has been struggling with this monkey on her back in some way shape or form since we were in school. 
    I thought after the devastating car accident  that almost took her life  as well as the life of the other driver she was getting her life together.  Months of physical and alcohol and drug rehab seemed to not have worked.  I don’t know why I am surprised.  More fractured and permanently destroyed relationships caused by addiction and her refusal to accept the consequences of those actions.
     The constant roller coaster of her life continued,  jobs got and lost,  apartments got and lost.  Finally getting her license back after the accident,  then adding a string of unreliable cars to the mix. My radar was on high alert,  but she always had an excuse for why she was moving or why she had changed jobs,  or what was wrong with her pile of a car this time.
       I knew she was using,  I didn’t know what it was this time, but I knew that she was headed back down that slope.
      Then came the text messages that confirmed it without the words.  “My car died,  can I borrow $200.00 till next week” ,  and when I said no she got mad.  The next one was “My laptop won’t work and I need to get it fixed to do my resume” .  I still said no.  I knew those things weren’t broken.  What was broken was her,  and me loaning her money wasn’t gonna fix it.  It wud just buy her a fix,  crack,  cocaine, heroin, or the bottle.  Whatever was her drug of choice at the moment.
     She missed our class reunion,  something that she was looking forward to.  She had talked endlessly about catching up with people.    No text messages,  no calls,  no Facebook Messages as to where she was,  and all of those things from us to her went un answered.    I was worried as were others, but we also silently resigned as to what happened.
     I finally heard from her the next week saying she lost her phone,  she got a new one,  all was good now, but I  I knew it wasn’t the truth.   I really knew what the deal was.  She was in deep this time.

     In October I found out how deep.  She was in jail that weekend.  In October she was arrested for larceny,   stolen license plates,  uninsured vehicle,  un registered vehicle and the list goes on.  She has  a laundry list of charges,  is sitting in the woman’s prison,  with a hefty bond.  I am hoping she gets the help she needs and that it sticks this time.  I have already lost her to drugs,  but I am not ready to lose her to a gravestone yet.

   

   I miss you,  your laugh,  your sarcastic wit.  The way that you could make me realize that life just wasn’t so darn serious.  I miss our Facebook chats,  the way you would leave little notes on my wall or comment on my pics or statuses. 
     The realization that missing you may be something that goes on for a long damn time has hit me like a ton of bricks.  I keep pulling those bricks off 1 by one,  and then another memory knocks another pile in.
     I am someone that alternately keeps my emotions locked away,  or wears them out for the world to see.  This one has been locked away,  tight in a vault that would have made the constructors of Ft. Knox very happy.  But that kind of burying has consequences.  I hate those consequences,  but I have no choice in this matter. 
     All I do know is the sadness is no fun and I wish it would break,  pretty damn fast,  because I am done with it. 

     Some people do their best thinking in the shower or in the bathroom in general.  I will not lie to you I have come up with some pretty awesome ideas while perched on the porcelain throne.  But I seem to have my best ideas at the gym,  while pedaling away on this recombinant bike, the tunes cranked away in my headphones.  I don’t know whether it is the mindless pedaling, the ability to just leave everything behind or the knowledge that no one can get to me for the 30-45 minutes that I am here, but it works.
     I do know that as my legs pedal in time to Don Henley this time.  (Don’t judge me, I am a teenager of the 80’s) I have made a revelation or had an epiphany,  call it what you choose.  My working out is to make me healthier, not to fit into some idea of what the fashion industry thinks I should be.  I watched all those skinny size 2 or even some of them smaller.  (Although praise the one who announced to the world she is a size 6.) Parade their beautifully toned bodies at the Golden Globes  last night,  their dresses cost more than my entire new car and yes they drank champagne,  but probably can’t eat for a week now.  That just isn’t me!!

    I am trying to do better about what I eat,  less carbs,  but the chances of me giving up pasta are about equal with me winning the over billion dollar Powerball Jackpot.  It just isn’t gonna happen.  It is my comfort food,  my happy place, and if I were to give it up I would be a really miserable lady. 
    More lean meats and fresh vegetables and nope the fruit isn’t going either.  I need that in my life in moderation.  And chocolate that isn’t going either,  cuz that would really make this mamma bear unhappy.   If all those things mean that I am destined to be a curvy size 10/12/14 I will take it.  My curves are what make me, me.  Without them I would be an unhappy stick figure. 

As 2015 winds down and 2016 starts I have taken a little time to reflect on what has happened in the past year.  Both of my boys now have great girlfriends,  girls that are fun and respectful to be with.  I lost my last grandparent and my great aunt.  Both were 98, both died on the same day and we’re born a week apart.  The loss of both of them hurt me more than I thought it would,  mostly because it is the last of that generation.
      I vowed I will take more pics of my parents,  when Kyle asked does my Nana look like your Nana.  Meaning does my Mom look like her Mom.  My Nana hated her picture taken with a passion,  I have to hunt thru photo albums to find a few pictures of her.  And the short answer is yes she does. 
     She was a 5 foot tall spitfire of a woman, in constant motion, that weighed all of 105 pounds on a good day.  She had a Napoleon Complex and drove a big Ford LTD car and had to have a pillow on the seat so she could see over the steering wheel.  Her world revolved around my brother and I as her only grandchildren.
     We bought a brand new car, that already has 11k miles on it.  Living in the boondocks means u have to drive miles to get anywhere.  I got Red,  yeah!!,  I know I will have to slow down cause I drive to fast for a Red car.
     Kyle graduated from High School and I managed to get the ceremony with only misty eyes and no real tears.  I was pretty damn proud of myself.  Considering when he graduated from 6th grade I was a blubbering mess.  I make no promises about Connor’s graduation though.
    All in all 2015 can go in the books and be closed and locked.  I am looking forward to 2016. Bring it on.!!!

  This one will NOT be shared
to Facebook, so unless you follow my Blog you don’t get this one.  This entry is highly personal and emotionally charged.  When all is said and done the whole mess makes me miss my Grampie so much.  I wish he could have met Mark and Kyle and Connor.  I would like to think that he would have been proud of the woman that I have become, because he was proud of the teenager I was when he left this world in 1984.i

   I have spent the better part of tonight thinking about this and how to rectify me feelings and finally have come to this.  I have entitled this Dad because I want you to show it to him, whether on the screen or whether you print it out for him. 

     Nothing that Jama did in her will can change the way that I feel about her.  That emotion is anger and betrayal.  She made me truly understand that she took her feelings of favoritism to the grave.  She made those feelings apparent in her life and they have carried on in her death.  Nothing I did was ever good enough, or maybe it was too good.  I was never thin enough, or pretty enough, or my hair was too dark, or I was too educated or too opinionated.  There was always a reason.  I finally stopped fighting and trying so hard,  and after Grampie died I stopped trying at all.  I was never gonna be the person she wanted so why even bother.  

     I would like to say that my skin was thick enough that her barbs didn’t matter, but that would be a lie, all I ever wanted was to be loved by her and no matter how hard I tried it just never worked. 

     I always thought that Tim was the most like her but I think in the end it was John.  Doing her bidding, ripping what was left of the Whalen family apart at the seams, until all that remains is threads.  

     Feeling sorry for myself, because I didn’t get what I wanted won’t solve anything.  But what makes me mad is knowing that Dad was emotionally hurt by his own brother.  That he was left with nothing as well,  just so John could say he took everything.  Greed is a powerful thing,  and John used it as his tool,  the wrong kind,  like a petulant child.  If blood is thicker than water than I am not sure what John has in his veins.  He is a cold hearted son of a bitch.  All I can hope for is that Karma truly will get him eventually.  The small knowledge that Grampie would not be happy with the outcome of this entire mess and that hopefully John has ostracized himself from the rest of his brothers. 

Love,

Tammer