Fifty-Nine

When I was about 6 or 7 years old, my family was living in South Korea.  My brother and I were playing with friends in our condo complex.  We discovered a game that would test our agility and ultimately the size of our balls.  Being the only girl playing, the size of my balls was in significant question.  There were these gates that entered into the courtyards of each building.  Over the tops of those gates was a concrete, rectangle “roof.”  As kids do, we climbed on top of the roof.  The next roof was about a five foot leap.  The goal:  Jump to as many as you could before you chickened out.  My brother, the Cirque du Soleil acrobat and athletic beast, tackled the leaps with ease.  Therefore, I gained a false sense of confidence.  If he can do it, so can I!

The first leap was a massive success.  It didn’t matter that my stomach was in my nose.  I was terrified.  I was getting more and more nervous as the next roof was staring at me.  Mocking my tiny, tiny balls.  The boys below (which was about six feet) were taunting me and egging me on.  I thought a running start was a good plan to attack this next jump.  I gave myself four good pushing steps and leapt.

I woke up in my father’s arms.  He was running up a street I didn’t recognize.  I distinctly remember the smell of his BDU’s as my face was cradled against his chest.  His breathing was fast and frantic.  I looked up at his face and saw for the first time, fear.  I had no idea what had happened.  He felt me moving and looked down at me.  His pace never slowing, he smiled as he acknowledged that I was awake and somewhat alert.  Sitting next to me at the emergency room, he told me that I had missed the jump and landed flat on my back.  I had been knocked out for about 5 minutes.  My mother couldn’t wake me.  Fortunately, my father had arrived home from work just in time to rush me off to the hospital.

We didn’t have a car.  The walk/run was about 10 minutes.  He made it there in less than eight.  The doc cleared me to go home and recommended that I not try to make such attempts again in the future.  My mother was relieved to find that I was fine and hadn’t sustained even as much as a concussion.  This is the first memory I have of feeling protected by my dad.

When I was ten years old, a friend’s father hurt me.  I ran home.  My father was in the field doing army stuff.  My mom was beside herself.  Cops were called.  Someone was sent to get my dad home.  I watched as the man was arrested and put into the back of a squad car.  I have vague memories of the conversation my mom and dad had with the police officers.  But, I will never forget hearing the words my dad said.  “If I see that man, I will kill him.”  The police handled my father and calmed him down and assured him that there would not be any chance of paths crossing. 

Again, my dad cradled me in his lap and pressed my face against his chest.  I felt his breathing and heartbeat.  Both were so fast and violent, it made my face hot.  My father asked me repeatedly if I was ok.  The significance of the incident had not yet manifested itself.  I was in shock over it and further rocked by seeing my parents in the state they were in.  That situation could have been a much more damaging experience had I not felt the tremendous protection from my dad.

Fast-forward about 18 years and I’m grieving the loss of my son.  My father, who had shown such valor for me in the past, was absent.  He wasn’t talking to me at all.  In fact, he was all out avoiding me.  I allowed that to go on for about three weeks before I jumped on him for abandoning me.  He sat quietly as I yelled at him and told him he was being a bad father and that all I needed from him was for him to hold me in his lap and protect me.  He couldn’t do that from the distance he was, but the phone calls would have sufficed had he made the efforts.  He patiently waited for my speech to end before he responded.

“Emma, it didn’t occur to me to check on you.  You have always been a child that has bounced back from adversity.  It didn’t even cross my mind that you would not be able to handle all of this because of how intensely resilient you are.”

I was silent.

As I think about my dad, specifically on this day, I am reminded of all the good things that my father gave me.  There are thousands of memories that are mixed with good and bad.  As much as my father drove me insane for years, as I mature further into my adulthood, I’m constantly reminded of the positive attributes I have because of his reinforcement.  I am eternally grateful for the amount of discussing my dad and I did before he died.  He was able to see me 100%.  He watched, helpless, as I struggled through the last year of his life.  But, he told me that he was not worried about me.  I walk around today knowing that a good portion of my confidence is because of my dad’s faith in me.

So, for what would have been my dad's 59th birthday, I am giving him this:  I am ok.  I am human and flawed.  But, I am learning and growing.  I will be ever diligent in my pursuit of becoming the best version of myself I can be.

End Of Year Blow Out!

Trying to come up with the best way to describe the year 2014 has been very challenging.  Easily, I can just recap the big moments.  But those moments are not exactly what have defined the year.  The emotional impact and evolution that has stemmed from those moments are what has defined a year for me.  Typically, I ponder the year and evaluate any lessons that have been taught, ignored, need review, etc.  This year has left me in a total quandary.  There haven’t been any specific lessons learned this year.  There have been some severe revelations.  I’m not sure I would count those revelations as lessons per se.

The year began with pending doom.  I knew the second we crossed into 2014 that this was going to be a rough year.  I was driving back and forth to Phoenix.  I wasn’t exactly sure how things were going to be from one second to the next.  Having the level of intuition that I have, I was certain things weren’t going to be positive with each trip to Phoenix.  But there was still a roller coaster of mayhem with each trip.  The end of January had my father and my two youngest siblings moving into my house in Sierra Vista, preparing for dad’s death.

March 11, 2014, he died.  All but one sibling had relocated to Sierra Vista to help us all pick up pieces and figure out what shape our family was going to take.  Family and friends flooded our world with love and support to a level that I had never seen before.  For the first time in my entire life, I felt like things were going to be ok.  If I needed to fall apart, despite every effort to avoid falling apart, I knew that I could because of the massive amount of help we had.  Silver lining.

May 17, 2014, I welcomed a son earlier than expected by nearly 8 weeks.  Because of that intuition I have, I saved his life.  I cried as I listened to the doctor tell me he was doing an emergency C-section ASAP.  I didn’t cry because I thought my son wouldn’t make it.  I cried because there were two people absent from a situation I desperately wanted there.  I knew Ben would be ok.  I just didn’t have a single shred of doubt that whatever power is greater than me, would think I could handle mourning another child.  On the heels of my father’s death, there was no way one person could be that unlucky.  It was very difficult to survive the NICU that I lost Connor in.  The word surreal doesn’t even come close to describing the emotional hell that was.

August 1, 2014, I moved out of the house I’d lived in for 9 years.  Almost exactly nine years.  I couldn’t box things fast enough to close the door on a life that no longer existed.  The house I’m living in now brings me such joy, that it has often brought me to tears of joy just waking up to these walls.  It’s such a bittersweet reality that I’m living in these days, but starting each day to the life I’m building inside this house has validity and purpose and it makes things that much more sweet.

September 3, 2014, I officially became Ms. Emma Mayne.  This particular subject is difficult for me to write about.  This is the preverbal dirty laundry that I loathe people airing out for all to see.  There’s anonymity in writing online about this part, but this town is small.  The rumors and opinions are already thick and obnoxious.  The long and short of this subject, is if you’re close enough of a friend to me, you know about this stuff.  It hasn’t been the worst thing on paper.  But this has been emotional havoc.  I didn’t think I could cry as hard as I have.  I still cry.  Days are getting better, but it’s a progress I’m still navigating.  I’m doing my best not to wallow, but it’s rough.  At some point this will be a time I think about and find the silver lining.  Right now, it’s a torrential downpour of bipolar fits.

2014 taught me just how deeply I fight for things I love.  Kicking and screaming I denied things to myself that once I finally listened to the truth, it had me on the floor.  Literally.  But, I stood up from that breakthrough, hell bent and determined to fight for a person I haven’t fought for enough.  Myself.  I’m still recovering from just how much I’ve let myself down.  There are years of behaviors I’m working on correcting.  There are habits I’ve made that are going to take a while to break and stick to.  It’s a daily effort.  But, I’m fully understanding of what I will end up feeling like, should I revert to the person I was in regards to being a doormat.

Despite so much hardship this past year, I’ve absolutely been able to recognize major beauties that have come from it all.  My sisters and I are closer than we have ever been.  A bond was mended between my brother and I.  Through the discovery of our new family dynamic, I’ve made best friends out of my sisters.  My entire family has come through the deaths of our parents, whole.  I know my mom and dad are proud of us.  In each our own way, we have become people that are more capable and more determined to be successful.  We are all doing amazing things and I’m beside myself with pride when I look at each of us seven and see that not one of us is slipping.  We are all vicious fighters. 

The relationship I have with my children has been transitional.  Having a teenage daughter has been a test of love and understanding.  Even if there are those who believe I’m not as good of a mother as they believe I should be, I look myself in the mirror each day and know that I’m not only doing my best, I am a good mother.  It will be very evident in the coming years, as my daughter becomes the woman she is going to be.  I am seeing pieces of me in her all the time.  I am extremely proud of her.  She’s flawed, but I wouldn’t have her any other way.  There is proof in her character of her rearing.

I am dating.  That’s beyond weird.  But, holy shit.  I’m not an easy person to impress.  There is discovery in each new interaction as to how little I’m willing to permit.  Needless to say, I’ve been on mostly first dates.  Which is just fine.  I’m enjoying being social and doing some things for me a little more than I have in a very long time.  For example, getting back to the music.

As I write this, I’m listening to music that inspires me to improve and make goals.  I was able to play a little bit in Tucson and that was amazing.  Getting back on stage is instrumental in my emotional well-being.  I’m singing more at home at the top of my lungs.  I’m emoting through the speakers. 

I’m writing a lot.  Publishing WILL happen this coming year.  I read a lot.  I am figuring out ways to get my passions realized.  Though music is a pretty solid definition as to what makes me, tic…words are actually the core of who I am.  There is nothing sexier than a meticulously crafted phrase that strikes a chord that rings through to my toes.  I’m shaping some well-written words daily.  I will share them as soon as possible.  For purchase!  LOL

The year really kicked my ass.  I’m sore.  I ache.  Like every good workout, the harder the burn the stronger the core.  I worry sometimes about callouses I’m building.  My baby boy Ben softens me almost every second of the day.  Alex keeps me on my toes and draws out the tenderness I’m built to show.  Isabelle forces me indirectly to pay attention to the errors I make.  Things are still tough and in a state of rebuild.  But the foundation that 2014 poured makes me feel confident that once construction is finished, threads of silver will be throughout the most intricate designs of a life I have made.