The Good, The Bad, And The All Around Horrible

As much as I'd love to regale you with my fabulosity, and post something envy-inducing about just how incredible things are here, I'm afraid I can't.

Life's been so, so hard lately.

I am at the end of my frayed and filthy rope, in a way I haven't really been before, despite all the divorce nastiness and the poverty. I found myself standing in the grocery store today, tears running down my face, shaking, completely confused as to why I was there. Everything seems huge and overwhelming-both terribly important and yet totally meaningless and insignificant at the same time.

Because while some things have been good- (VCB and I took his kids to visit his sister last weekend and had a lot of fun; Jackass has been more decent than usual and even paid some child support; VCB has done his damndest to distract me) mostly, it's been awful.

The universe decided that it was time to slap me back to an unyielding reality, apparently. I have decided to embrace, again, the firm belief that for me, for now, hope is a total waste of time, and low expectations mean less disappointment. Exhibit A- My grandfather is well and truly dying. I have a funeral in my immediate future that will probably be one of the most unbearably painful experiences I will ever have. Exhibit B- The "maybe" very good thing I posted about, of course, fell through.

My grandfather had held his own for about ten days after I came home. He was discharged from the hospital and went to a rehab facility to gain some strength. And for a while, he did. But just as we were told would happen, the pneumonia came back with a vengeance, and he was readmitted to the hospital after less than two weeks. That's where he is now, barely clinging to life in the care of hospice workers who say he has only a few days at best.

Because Jackass had lobbied to switch the weeks of visitation, I was able to go back up to see my grandfather again. I was able to sit by his bedside for hours and hold his hand, touch him, talk to him, soothe him and advocate for his wishes with his medical team and my family. It was heartbreaking, exhausting, and stressful. I only slept for about 8 hours in 4 days, bracketed by 12 hour drives.

Now I am home, jet lagged as hell and having anxiety attacks, while I wait for the call that he's gone. It's completely surreal yet horribly true. But also, life goes on. So I have to get the kids decked out for school tomorrow, and take care of work stuff, and just catch up on LIFE. I haven't bothered to unpack yet. The mail's piled up. The house is a wreck. Being away from home for most of the month, with another trip ahead of me makes sitting on my on sofa in my PJ's tonight feel like a luxury.

It's a beautiful cool evening. I have the windows and doors open to the night sounds, and music playing. My grandparents would sit in the living room at night like this, watching CMT with the screens letting in the breeze. Grandma always had a revolver beside her, a Diet Dr. Pepper and a People magazine. She smelled like baby powder and dryer sheets. Grandpa would sit in his recliner, drinking a PBR, reading the NRA magazine, and he'd try to turn the channel to WWF wrestling when Grandma wasn't looking.

The shirt I put on for bed tonight was last washed by my Grandmother, and I wore it in the hospital my last night with my Grandfather. I pulled a chair up by his bed, laid my head on his mattress, and held his hand. It smells like them, like my memories.

Oh for fuck's sake.....

I am just exasperated today. My neck and upper back are one big knot, I'm jittery and pissy and have zero patience. In short- stay out of my way, but if you can't, I apologize in advance for my attitude.

Here are some things I am dealing with that I can't control but which have major potential to fuck up my precariously little unbalanced life:

There's *maybe* a buyer for the house on GBR. Maybe. Good news? Sure, if I can hash out all the tax and financial and legal issues. Two hours on the phone in the past two days and not much to show for it, many more hours ahead to get that straight. And THEN...Jackass will get to sue me for my trouble! Brilliant! Can't wait!

There's another, bigger, possibly much better *maybe* situation that I am anxiously awaiting word on. That one's causing much sleeplessness and inspiring many happy dreams. (Although aren't I going to feel like the idiot when it doesn't work out, because I'm all excited about it even though I told myself over and over I shouldn't be? Why yes, yes, I will. Disappointment here seems an inevitability.)

My grandfather's health. And the related never-ending family drama surrounding that situation.

My job. Lots of projects happening, many new opportunities, and I am horribly behind since I went out of town for a week.

Money and lack thereof. Child support nonpayment and upcoming court dates. Jackassery.

Jules' birthday is Thursday. To party or not to party? Nothing planned. No money. Am loser mom extraordinare.

Then there's the usual backlog of car maintenance, household chores, back to school crap, visitation scheduling-and-bailing-out-of-or-forcing-kids-to-go...

It's all too much, today.

Things I want to say to my kids but can't

7. I want you to study and be successful in life largely because I can't support you forever, and even if I could, I wouldn't.

6. In ten years NONE of this shit will matter. But clean your room anyway. Because I said so.

5. Sometimes a cold beer really can improve a crappy outlook.

4. Your father's family is CRAZY. Please, please don't grow up thinking all that redneck bullshit is okay. Have a standard for yourself that's higher than a new truck and a girlfriend with a nice rack.

3. I really don't have all the answers. I'm sorry. I wish I was a better mother and human being. I'm doing the best I can, but I know I fall short all the time.

2. I hope that you grow up to appreciate me for all this because holy shit, it's hard being a single parent. And if you can't appreciate me I hope you at least resent your father. Not really. Okay, maybe. Sort of.

1. If your dad was paying his child support you would have a better life. I am sick and tired of absorbing your unhappiness about the situation all by myself. I know I tell you that what we have doesn't matter, but the truth is I am really unhappy about being poor too.

There's so much to say that I don't even know where to start.

I'm home.

My grandfather (on the left, with my brother) is still alive, but he has refused the invasive medical interventions that would give him more time with us. He told me he is ready to go; that his quality of life is nonexistent, and that he has had a good life. He looked at me and held my hand and we both cried. He quietly, and with much dignity, asked me to help him make the rest of the family understand his decision.

It may be my last opportunity to give him anything of value. It was also the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

Saying goodbye to him was brutally difficult, knowing I may not get back up there in time to see him again.

There's so much swirling through my head, not knowing if I did enough, not knowing if he really knows how much I will always love him, hoping he is not suffering, hoping he is not alone, not afraid. So many memories, very few regrets.

Ultimately when I think of my grandfather what I know is this.

I was the luckiest little girl who ever lived, because this young man grew up to be my grandfather.

You CAN go home again.

I got the scariest phone call last Thursday...the one you know you have in your future about an older person that you dearly love, but that you hope and pray won't come today...or any day, ever.

"He is failing. It's bad. You need to come home."

So I did what you do, what you have to do, what you can't NOT do. I got in the car, and I drove. Home.

Home, where I haven't lived for 36 years, but where my entire extended family lives, where I have come any time I get the chance, at least two or three times a year, all my life, until my divorce. It's been two years since I have been back here, an eternity. Almost two years since I have even had the nerve to call- since talking means telling, and telling my family the details of my situation was not only impossible, but cruel. They begged to hear from me, they sent letters and money and called and left messages. But I couldn't respond. I couldn't not tell them, I couldn't not cry when I heard their voices. I didn't trust myself to hold it in, to not worry them.

It hurt me terribly, not talking to them. I didn't know if they'd forgive me, if they'd still welcome me and love me the same way; I didn't know if I'd even get the chance to try. It was a burden so heavy I couldn't talk about it, a pain so deep it rendered me mute. The fear and shame and regret of not talking to them became an obstacle I couldn't see a way around. I didn't know if I'd even get a chance to make it right.

But I underestimated them, I'm ashamed to say. They are thrilled to have me here, it's no different than it's ever been. The usual rib crushing hugs, and shouting, and calling every relative in twenty miles to announce my arrival, and they keep trying to feed me and begging for pictures of the kids. I am Home.

And yet. Someone's missing. I'm posting from a hospital waiting room, while they perform yet more tests.

My Grandfather is 84. He has numerous medical problems, and his body is weakening, fading. This time it's a staph infection, shingles, and pneumonia. He is in the ICU, in pain. There is no permanent solution, nothing to fix the underlying problems. There is only management and pain relief, and temporary measures to keep him going a little longer.

He still smiled at me when I walked into his hospital room at the end of my 12 hour drive, and he called me his favorite Granddaughter. He will probably survive this round, after all. He keeps saying "Thank you". Thank you, for coming. Thank you for being here.

How could I not?

This trip was as much for me as for him. I am so relieved to have had this chance to sit with him, to hold his hand and hear him brag to the nurses that he taught me to shoot when I was so little I could barely hold the gun. I am so grateful for this second chance, to have been able to come and listen to the old stories and drink "diet pop" with my grandma, and drive through the town where my parents met; where I hear "It's Dena's daughter! You're HOME!!" in the grocery store.

They all want to know about my life, they ask when they can meet VCB, they exclaim over my new haircolor and thank me for coming, and hug on me. They whip out pictures of their kids and share stories about my Mom. It's the same as ever, and even though I feel so completely different, maybe I'm not. Maybe I am still me.

It feels a lot like redemption, however undeserved.

That phone call, THE phone call, is still somewhere in my future. Where I will be so much more prepared to deal with it, after this visit. This is a gift I never expected to receive, one I will be forever grateful to have been given.

The kids are with Jackass this week, albeit unhappily. It wasn't 24 hours before they started emailing and texting me to come home.

I declined.

This was tough. Because the kids are merely bored, and because Jackass wanted them next weekend (his birthday) it wasn't hard to figure out that sending them home was just his way of using me as his childcare. Since he has to work this week, he has dumped them, per usual, at his parents' house. However, I ALSO have to work this week and I have no available childcare. But the kids are pissed and I am anxious about them. Not sure what to do with that except ride it out.

In other news, work is going well right now. I am continually anxious and freaked out about my performance, but occasionally something happens that makes me realize, hey! I am really pretty good at this! Which is a great feeling after basically being a professional volunteer and stay at home mom for the past 13 years. I have learned a tremendous amount doing marketing & PR work for this company, and writing it's blog. I have even been asked to teach an intensive class on interviewing at a local center that helps people find work (although the budget has not yet been approved for that, so I'm still waiting to find out if it will actually happen...fingers crossed!!)

Poor VCB is sick, he has the crud I usually seem to get in the spring and fall- the crap that starts with a sore throat / sinus mess and then moves south to the chesty cough, headache and body aches. In my case it's also accompanied by a nasty attitude and zero energy. So far VCB is sweet as ever although the poor boy has no voice. I hope it passes because he feels terrible and, hell, this was gonna be our week together and illness is unwelcome indeed.

It was a great weekend.

Friday, I spent a great deal of the day getting ready for (cleaning and shopping and setting up) a birthday party for VCB's daughter. (He still has both a Very Large, and a Medium Goat in his backyard, among other things, so my house became a better venue.) The party was fun, his family came and we had pizza, cake, and a silly string fight. There was a classic AFV moment when his younger daughter whacked her sister with the pinata stick, and we all watched it happen in slo-mo disbelief. Overall much merriment was had by all.

Saturday morning VCB and his Very Cute Girls came over for breakfast. There was a bacon cremation accident -the aroma of which will linger in my house forever, as it has proven impervious to all attempts at eradication- but otherwise all was good. (Five kids and two adults in a 1000 sq foot house is a lot of people, just in case you were wondering.)

The remainder of Saturday afternoon was spent in pursuit of Super Soakers for an epic water battle at VCB's sister's house with his entire family. Did you know that Super Soakers are not only expensive, they are really hard to find in August? I didn't. Until we took 5 kids to WalMart. And ToysRUs. On a Saturday. Which was, um, interesting. (Let's just say I really needed that awesome Daquiri that VCB's brother in law whipped up for me!)

The water battle was just hilarious, picture 15 adults and ten or so kids running around dousing each other with water guns, hoses and buckets, shrieking and laughing. It was really, really fun. Austin tossed a bucket of water over VCB's brother in law from the top of the playhouse, and kept us all entertained by going down the slide at 50mph and skidding across the yard. The kids had a blast too. In fact Julia's sleepy little voice at midnight piped up, "Today was FUN, Mom." Awww...gotta love it.

I have to say, VCB's family is one of my favorite things about him. It sure is easier when you LOVE the in-laws, and they love you back. One thing I know from experience-it's every bit as important to audition any potential inlaws as it is a potential partner. A bad set can wreck a good relationship and a good set can go a long ways towards keeping a shaky relationship on solid ground.

Sunday VCB and I helped his family move some furniture and took the kids out for dinner before Jackass picked mine up for the week. We exchanged a series of (knock wood) decent emails before the visitation so let's hope and pray this goes well.

My house, it is too quiet. Tomblike after the hustle and bustle of a busy weekend full of laughter and activity. I miss my babies already.