kate; uncensored

I’ve had several people ask me lately why I prefer to stay anonymous.

I think to some degree I enjoy the ability to say whatever I want without the immediate worry that I’ll hurt someone close to me. I can vent about my family, my job, my relationship.

I’ve thought about being more transparent, about just letting the restrictions drop. Just using twitter under my real name, and perhaps closing the blog. Every time I get close to going through with it, I read about someone “outed” and I get nervous.

When I read about Riff and his situation, I immediately shivered, knowing at one time, I was just as at risk.  I had someone threaten me.

I’m not quite there yet, ready to shed the cloak.

still, sleepless in the bottom of the house

he lays asleep upstairs, warm, the familiar sound of his breathing filling the space at the head of the bed

I sit, quiet in the mostly dark room

praying that sleep flirts with me, takes me into its arms

still, I know when I climb back into that bed, and feel him beside me

that sleep will run down the hall, leaving me behind

bewildered

I can’t remember the first really bad thing that happened to me. I wonder if time has dulled the senses or if I was lucky enough to spend my early childhood without such memories.

I remember the first big lie I told, and seeing the situation implode should have cured me of that for life, you’d think, but like everyone else, I never thought I would get caught that next time. I would be smarter about it. My father is fond of hyperbole, though his exaggerations are more for dramatic effect than to deceive anyone.

I do remember the first time my father told a story about me while I was in earshot that I wanted to correct. I had told my mother of his error and was told that it is very impolite to correct an adult like that. She informed me that if I had a problem with it, I should take it up with my father, who promptly brushed it off.

My father is a sweet and kind man. His sarcasm and his way with words are enviable, unless of course, that funny story everyone’s laughing at is about you, and it’s only partly true, and you’re made to be the fool.

Last night we had a conversation. The kind that makes you a little sad. Well, not you, but me.

Mothers day; from the end of April I start to feel the sadness. The twenty-fourth is one of those would have been due dates and it really gets ramped up the days before the holiday, with commercials on full blast.

He knows my feelings aren’t neatly resolved.

He knows I still struggle with my unrequited motherhood.

He never wanted children. He’s always been firm in this belief, and he’s comfortable with it. He loves children very much, but did not want to be a father. He’s a great uncle, and fantastic with his friends kids, but for a number of reasons (mostly related to his own father and his childhood) he decided not to reproduce.

He feels like I’m trying to change him.

I don’t think I’m one of those women, always trying to “improve” and change their man. Still, the old saying about women wanting to change their man, men wanting their woman to stay the same has some truth to it. I have suggested some nicer jeans. I do encourage him to eat more whole grains.

I want to paint the spare room. Maybe a pale blue-green, add a little throw rug, make it nice. This makes him uncomfortable; So does my sadness about being childless.

I have known from the beginning that he didn’t want children.

Honestly, I don’t want them that way either. I can’t have them easily, and the processes I would go to become a mother are done for me, they’re less than desirable. I would not want to put myself through that heartbreak again. He’s not holding me back from anything. Still, I  grieve over what might have been.

I have known from day one that he didn’t want kids. The same way I have known how he feels about marriage, and how he does not want to go down that road again. Just like I know about his preference for white walls in the house.

These things don’t stop me from loving him. In fact, the way he holds strongly to his beliefs and opinions is one of the things I love about him. But, it doesn’t mean I agree with all of it, or that I ever said I felt the same way.

Sometimes I want to paint a room the color of sea glass. Sometimes I want to be his wife. Sometimes I still cry about not being a mom.

And I don’t know if that will ever change.

My blouse is tear-stained and my mascara is collected in streaks down my face.

My car smells like toothpaste from the trunk full of dental products I promised to bring to a friend’s charity collection. I never made it. There’s a gift on my front seat that I didn’t drop off either. I had to run home, like a wounded animal.

In front of hundreds of people, I talked about infertility and how it can bring blessings. I feel like a huge phony. Sometimes, I believe the words I speak. I can talk honestly and openly about how my life would be different if I hadn’t gone through it. Without that set of circumstances, would I be alive, even? It’s entirely possible, my former oncologist said, that had I not been doing so many ultrasounds because of IVF that the cancer would have been much farther along when they found it, if they found it.

But today? I hurt.

I don’t have hope, I let that go a long time ago. All I have is hurt. I feel robbed of all of that. I stood up in front of these people, and I can acknowledge their pain, but at the same time, I know most of them will go on to be parents. It may be a different experience than they had originally planned on, but at the end, they’ll hold their baby and be a family.

I will never be a mother. I will never experience childbirth, a full pregnancy, the bonding of mom and baby. Fine.

I don’t want to grieve those things anymore either. I want to be the evolved woman who realizes that my worth is more than my ability to reproduce, but some days, I feel like a failure.  I gave up. And, that isn’t like me. I fight.

I fought the doctors who said we wouldn’t be able to have our own child. Then, I fought cancer, a much more formidable enemy. I fought those who said we wouldn’t make good candidates for adoption. At the end, all I fought was my ex. He wanted to keep pushing on with whatever it took, adoption and surrogacy and what not. I had no more fight left. I had no more hope left.

So what made me think that I could tell other people how to do it?

When I decided to leave that hope, that dream behind me, I thought time would help. I expected to come to terms with my childfree life much sooner than this.

I sit here, just past midnight, with an empty mug beside me; my breath milky like a drunken infant.

Fidgeting at the kitchen table, jumping between open windows, trying to dull myself enough to sleep. I don’t know if it’s a reverse seasonal affect disorder or what, but there is just something about this time of year. I wonder, perhaps if it has something to do with things being in bloom, all that reproduction in my face.

I feel sad. Frustrated by the changes I cannot push myself to make. Frustrated that I have to be in such a position.

I wonder if maybe I feel the start of my own transformation. Is the uneasiness I’m feeling all because I want to shed something and grow? Am I able to? I feel stifled at my job. I enjoy the work, but several changes beyond my control are deeming it worthwhile to again look to see what else is out there. I fight with my own sense of loyalty, wondering why I should stay.

The damp weather affects my mood, and the gray skies I’ve woken up to the last few days match my eyes. I keep the tears in, but just barely.

It’s a strange milestone, I don’t think I noticed when the odometer went to 50K.

On the drive home, I was thinking about where I’ve been. 

The car has been up to Canada, down to Alabama. Over to New York and back to Utah. From Tennessee through Kentucky, Missouri, Illinois, Ohio, Pennsvylania, Nebraska, Wyoming. 

It was a quick decision, made under duress. Carless and needing the freedom of wheels while feeling trapped in Nashville. I remember the first 13 hour trip to NY, to tell my parents my marriage wasn’t working out. The teary drive from Tennessee as I walked out on my husband. As I said goodbye to the dreams we had and the life I had tried so hard to make with him.

I remember feeling loopy as I drove from Lincoln to Salt Lake, wishing miles and time would hurry up as I waited to get here. 

I work for a dentist. Managing a dental practice is not thrilling work. Patients are great, but insurance companies suck. I enjoy my coworkers, but not the smell of the office. Today may be the first day I’m truly proud to work here.

There were a number of reasons my brother came to visit. He got laid off in the fall and has been really frustrated with the job search. When my dad was diagnosed with cancer, the stress level back home shot through the roof. I thought it might give my parents a break, to not have to deal with my brother. So, we planned a visit. A break from the craziness back home, a chance to see where I live, to get to know D. But, really, one of the things I wanted to do was get him some dental work.

He’s 26 now and hasn’t seen a dentist since my parents coverage stopped when he was 18. He needed braces and didn’t get them. He also had a penchant for Marlboros and Mountain Dew. He has good oral hygiene now, and paired that with giving up those two vices has helped, but not enough.

It’s rare to see him in a photo. He’s usually hiding, making that “photo face” he has. Never really smiling, never showing the teeth he’s so ashamed of.

Today, he had an appointment and got two of his front teeth worked on. We did a couple of others last week and some other stuff the week before that. Today, he exclaimed “holy shit!” and “wow” with a voice I haven’t heard in quite a while. His excitement was palpable.

I kinda wish I had a great set of photos, before and after. The smile was contagious. I don’t think I’ve seen him smile like that in years, and certainly not in front of strangers.

This is truly one of those cases where some work can change someone’s life. He is now more confident, ready to smile and shake someone’s hand at a job interview without wondering if they’re judging his teeth. He’s excited about showing his girlfriend and my mother the smile we’re working so hard to give him.

I’ve got pneumonia and strep. Well, the strep is probably gone from my system by now, but the cough is hanging on, as is the rattle when I talk or breathe.  I’ve been whiny because my brother is here and I’m trying to be all festive and hospitable when all I want to do is curl on the couch.

It’s not the end of the world, but I no longer have the level of appreciation I once did. A few years ago, any little cold was a big deal. Then I was diagnosed with cancer and anything else seemed paltry by comparison. I had a crappy immune system before my diagnosis and it’s worse now, but I’ve forgotten to be grateful for the fact that it’s not life threatening, it’s just an annoyance.

My father is experiencing the first scary strains of the symphony. He’s had some minor surgical procedures as he rests and recovers and gears up for the worst. I’m sad I’m not closer, to somehow coach him through the ugliness. To squeeze his hand and then wait in the assorted rooms with my mother as he’s wheeled away.

- I want to do something different with my hair. I love being a redhead, but I’m thinking something drastic like bangs or a big color change.

- I am not ready for this trip. I need to find a different swimsuit, I need sandals and more sunscreen.

- I know my life is different from what it once was when I look at my options for packing my stuff. Oh, I miss my good luggage.

- I want to buy a Kindle or the like, but I’m not sure I’d like it as much as I think I will.

- I am getting frustrated by this seemingly endless process of hiring someone new at work. It’s been wild meeting some of these people, some have been real train wrecks. One was fun, just watching my boss posture to impress her. Another was entertaining, purely for the insanity factor.

- I think I need new glasses. I don’t use them all the time, but for what I need them for, I think new ones are in order.