Archives for January 2009

As I grew up, my dad and I remained close. He wasn’t around often, but when I needed him, he was there.

At 14, I was raped, my virginity stolen by a guy I hardly knew. I felt so dirty, and I was sure that nobody would believe me. But, a week later when I finally told my dad, he knew the words true, and he did everything he could to convict the ones involved. He never made me feel as if it were my fault. He took me to live with him and his second wife, and protected me from the threats of my rapist and his friends. My dad was once again my prince, and I felt so adored by his love and affection. It seemed no matter what mistakes I continued to make in my life, he still loved and accepted me. I, in turn, gave the same back to my dad. No matter what he did, or what choices he made, I would forgive him and love him no less. Unfortunately, we so easily gave that same kind of mercy and grace to others who didn’t seem to appreciate such an amazing gift.

Over the years I continued to give love, or what I thought was love, to many. This resulted in only having my heart broken again and again. I would sit nights on end in tears, wondering why there wasn’t another man who would love me unconditionally, the way my dad did. My dad, as well, was experiencing much of the same heartache himself. His second wife eventually cheated on him, leaving him to experience a little of what he had put his own family through. Unable to be alone, he quickly and often took in many women who didn’t deserve a piece of his tender and giving heart. He would give, and the women would take. I hated to see the pain it would cause him. It was clear to me that he was choosing the wrong ones to love, and yet I couldn’t see through my own fog of similar decisions. I was amazed though, that through all his heartache, he was still able to love so unconditionally. Not just me, or the women he dated, but the way he loved the homeless and the destitute that rode the city bus he had been driving for over 20 years. I always heard about the different people he helped, and saw how often he went out of his way to make them smile. It was sweet, and it only made me love him more.

My dad’s habits continued. There had been many women in his life, and all had been a temporary fix to loneliness, so I never expected his relationship with Carol to be any different. This woman was trash if I’d ever seen it. He had met her on his bus, and had only been dating her a few weeks. She was quite a bit younger and a whole lot wilder than he. Among the many problems this woman had, bipolar disorder combined with a heavy drug addiction were at the top of the list. My dad had a need to “fix” people. He wanted to help them, and I figured she was just his latest project.

But, behind all four of his daughter’s backs, he married this “project” for better or for worse. It was the last straw for my three sisters. This was the last mistake they could watch him make, and the last heartbreak they could feel from him. I, on the other hand, couldn’t stay angry. Maybe it was the fact that I knew that none of his relationships lasted. Or maybe I just realized that I couldn’t change him, and I had to learn to love him despite how I thought he “should” be. (living two states away helped a bit too.) I also think that a little part of me recognized a similar pattern in my own dating life. I was no better at choosing then he was.

Things may have been bad in his life then, but we had no idea how much worse things were about to get.

© 2009 “Le Musings of Moi”

There are little girls who truly and unconditionally love their dads. Little girls who follow their dads around, faithfully by their side, even if it’s only to the dump or to garage sales. And there are little girls who believe their fathers can do no wrong. Most people call them, “Daddy’s girls.”

I know, because I was one of those girls. I adored my dad, and he adored me. He was my guy, and I knew I would always love him to the end.

Knowing this, you can only imagine the pain I felt the night I stood at the top of the stairs as I listened to my oldest sister screaming at my dad. I quietly stood there, and watched as my dad packed his things, saying nothing. My heart broke as I saw my mom standing there in tears, softly crying out my dad’s name. I sat down on the stairs, and began to put the pieces together. Though I was only nine, I was smart enough to realize that my dad was leaving me. As he finished packing his things, he glanced up the stairs and noticed me sitting there. I can only imagine how it broke his heart to see his little girl in tears, to see the look of abandonment on my young face. His voice cracked as he softly told me, “Daddy’s going away for a little while.”

Then he gave me a hug and a kiss, turned, and walked out the door.

That night, I came to find out that my dad had been cheating on my mom with another woman in the town where he was working. He would often stay the week there at the office, then come home to us on the weekends. My dad had always hated being alone, and I guess the time he was away was too much for him to handle. Due to his infidelity, my parents divorced after 23 years of marriage.

I went to see my dad every other weekend, and we worked to rebuild the connection that was once so strong. I constantly tried to find the good in him, and wanted so badly to defend his terrible choices. I didn’t know then, why I felt so devoted to a man who had caused my first heartbreak.

That was a lesson to be learned later in my life.

© 2009 “Le Musings of Moi”

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.

And believe it or not, it has nothing to do with fashion, shopping or decorating my home. For some reason, out of the blue, I’ve really been thinking about my purpose.

My purpose as a mom, a wife, a friend, a writer.

I’ve had a lot of people close to me pass away over the years, and with each time, each funeral I attend, I find myself wondering what will be said about me when it’s my time. What kind of a legacy will I have left behind?

But how can I leave a legacy if I’m not living my life with a purpose?

My days seem to just go by, one right after another, and at times I feel like I’m not doing much with what God has given me. Am I making a difference in my kids life? In my friends? With my writing? With strangers that I meet? Am I living life with a purpose in mind, or am I just living?

(I know, I go deep, huh? It happens, don’t act so surprised. I am an aspiring writer after all!)

Anyway, all this pondering has brought up some stuff. There is so much that keeps replaying in my head and weighing on my heart. In order to make sense of it all, I think I’m going to spend the next week writing about it.

It’s time to get vulnerable. I want to get to a deeper place in my life (and my writing), and in order to do so, I guess sometimes I have to get uncomfortable.

What I’m going to share is going to be humbling, and at times even embarrassing. But, it’s been on my heart all week to do this, and I know it will only benefit me (and hopefully one of you) in the end.

I’m calling it the Legacy of Love.

Part 1: tomorrow.

© 2009 “Le Musings of Moi”

Two words. Online Shopping. I’m just, you know, doing my part for the economy. Giving back. See, it’s not always about me and my needs! Sometimes I sacrifice for the sake of America.

Yay, I love this one, because it’s now back to all about me. 😉

So I just asked Jimmy, and with a heavy sigh and a dramatic push of the pause button on the remote, he responded with:

“Wise – Able to discern and analyze situations and choose a wise course of action.” 

“Thoughtful – From leaving notes, to making an effort to cook even though you hate it, you are thoughtful inside and out.” 

In his words exactly.

Ummmm, ok. He makes me sound good, so I’ll take it.

Okay, so I assume by bloggy friend it means someone who I don’t know or didn’t know before I started my blog. I would have to say, Wep. She’s been a faithful follower from near beginning, and has always checked in and left the sweetest comments.

Oh. I can go on and on about my dog, and how we just can’t handle the pooch. When I went through my few months of anxiety, I had this need for a dog. I felt that I wanted a pup to snuggle with and that would love me despite my flaws. So, I started the search for a rescued dog. We found Bradley. Actually he was Corky when we met him. That should have been my first clue. A dog with the name Corky had to be needy. (Life Goes On, remember that show?) My second clue should have been when the foster mom shoved him on my lap and told me I could take him home with me that night. Oh wait that was the third clue. Second clue should have been when he was adopted from the rescue only to be brought back a week later. But, as I remind Jimmy nearly every day, I can’t be held responsible for my decisions when I’m having anxiety.

Oh this dog. You will never meet a needier dog. He’s so desperate for affection that if you’re shaking your foot while on the couch or chair, he will position himself under that foot so he’s getting some kind of petting. It’s just never enough for good ol Bradley. You can be in the process of loving on him, and he will be scratching your arm, or leg, or face, begging for more. It’s sad. Really sad. But, it’s more than that. I can’t even begin to make him sound as needy as he is. Lets just put it this way. Even dog people have a hard time loving my dog. Are you kinda getting it now?

Here, watch this…This is Greg playing with Bradley. See what the dog will put up with just to be touched???

Have I mentioned we’re not dog people? I walk him, feed him, and pet him (with my foot…on accident, but it counts), but I don’t have the desire to dress him and take him with me everywhere I go. He’s a dog. Not my child. Not even close. Although, I think that’s what he desires to be. After a year, we decided we loved him too much to keep him. We thought he would be better off with a retired couple or an empty nester. So, we set out to find him just the right home. Months later, no takers. Apparently nobody is going through anxiety bad enough to fall for such a scam. Not to mention, Taylor kinda likes him. In his own weird way. He said Bradley’s our family and he has to live in our house.

How can I let him go after that?

So, he’s here for now. Right under my foot. Ugh.

© 2009 “Le Musings of Moi”