R.I.P. Mr. Waddles
Tears keep spilling over my bottom lashes and onto my cheeks while I’m typing and I feel like a total idiot.
My pigeon Mr. Waddles has died.
He was a disabled pigeon friend who I shared my sandwich with every day.
He even pecked on the window one morning when I wasn’t quick enough getting out with his portion.
He was stubborn and proud and resourceful.
We recently had some rain – and when I went to see where he might be, I startled him out of a little alcove – but he had no cover. Mr. Waddles was soaking wet, so I made him a box – which he didn’t use.
Seeing Mr. Waddles in the rain was about the sweetest and saddest thing you ever did see.
He couldn’t fly like most pigeons, instead he did what I referred to as a ‘chicken fly’ – you know, a lot of flapping, not a lot of height, but some sort of airborne moment. He was unable to reach anywhere to roost, so he kept on the move all day. Smart, considering the roadrunners that share the territory.
I thought out loud just the other day about how much walking he did! I mean, I know pigeons and most scavenger birds do a lot of walking, but he had no choice. I wondered if his legs were bigger because of it. (As if he was meant to have awesome calves from all the working out.)
Anyway, when I pulled into work each morning, there he was, huddled alone.
Waiting.
And once I parked, he would head on over towards our office.
After I opened up, turned off the alarm and put down my things – I’d get my sandwich and give him breakfast.
Every weekday.
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It was 3:30 pm today when I decided I probably needed a coffee – I was sitting yawning with one of the owners.
I grabbed my wallet and headed across the road to the convenience shop.
I knew it – knew it before I even reached him.
I saw ‘something’ in the parking lot and as I got closer, sure enough, there lay Mr. Waddles.
Earlier I had noticed him across the road and mentioned he was being picked on by another pigeon. One of the owners said “He’s going to get hit.”
I didn’t agree – “He’s smart! He can do his chicken fly thing and get out of the way.”
I guess I was wrong.
I turned around and headed back to the office – grabbed a box and went to collect my friend. I didn’t want him repeatedly hit like he was just any old roadkill.
R.I.P Mr. Waddles.
I looked forward to seeing you every morning – and even if I was just nut and seed wheat bread to you – you meant something to me.
I hope you’re flying now – that your wing is fixed. In fact, I hope you’re a super roller!
This is for you x
Mending my heart – with the boy who stole it
What a difference a day makes!
I’m feeling hopeful and positive. Even while our town is ensconced in fog – a rarity for our area.
It’s so beautiful.
I have to share with you a dream I had the other night.
In it, I was told that my heart condition could no longer be helped by the medicines I took. I was told I could be part of a group that were being ‘put to sleep’. It was explained that it was a mercy ending and did I want to participate?
I thought about it and decided it was probably the best route. I didn’t want to put my family through a sudden ugly passing. I also somehow knew if I didn’t take this opportunity, I would die alone.
The time was arranged and I told my friends.
The day of the arranged ‘end’ – I went to the clinic. There were others there, dressed comfortably and quietly entering a room.
I changed my mind.
I was told that the only way I could get out of it was to have my doctor give his permission.
I could not for the life of me (no pun intended) remember my doctor’s name! I scoured through a phone book until I finally found him. I called – and there was no answer.
It was at this time, that I should have been dead. I remember checking my Facebook and seeing that a friend had posted a tribute – it was me and a naked mole rat (yup, that little creature at the top of this page). The post had 34 likes at the time I saw it.
I was still alive, but no one knew. So … I ended up going into that room.
I felt the IV – I felt the liquid entering my body and felt myself going under. I tried to fight it – but knew it was too late. I was never to wake up.
As you can imagine, I was very grateful to wake up yesterday morning – and realized – that I needed to address what was hurting my heart.
This rift with my favorite person on the planet was now manifesting not only physically, but into nightmares.
Something had to be done – and so last night, I had a conversation with my son.
I shared my concerns and asked the questions I needed answers to.
When I opened myself up to my son, he opened back.
Honesty.
Truth.
It was wonderful.
I found a way to help him last night – and as I did, I realized not only were we solving one of his problems together, but I was getting the time I needed with him in the process.
Win win.
I typed as he dictated a late paper. I saw an area I could be of service – let him focus on the words and let my aptitude for touch typing at great speed make the task less daunting. Get it done so he could get the rest he needed.
We exchanged glances and smiles and laughed together.
“This is how it should be.” I told him. “A balance. Of school and work and relationships and fun – and us. I missed you. And you must reach out when you need help.”
(Which is funny coming from me – ask anyone who truly knows me who has tried to offer their help. I’m SO stubborn – and will only resort to accepting aid if my problem begins to affect those I love.)
I awoke at 11:30 to a sound in my room – and climbing onto my giant bed, was my boy. I suddenly had my entire little family close to me.
Butters snoring on one side, Nic finding sleep on the other. I daren’t move – my heart was smiling.
If that was the last moment of such closeness I get – I’ll hold tight to it. My boy breathing and dreaming, my dog nestled up on my pillow. I lay there and though I was tired, wanted to soak up every second of that. Until my eyes closed again and I found sleep.
And there were no nightmares last night.
Now that my hands are smaller …
“Even when my hand is bigger than your hand, I’ll still hold it” he once told me.
Things are strained between my son and I, and I’m uncertain of what to do.
“You’re afraid that he won’t like you.” One friend said.
Yeah.
Yeah I am.
That little boy who reached out with his tiny hands, “Up!”
That little boy who fell asleep on my chest – as I stroked his impossibly blonde hair out of his eyes.
The boy I played games with.
The boy I wanted to please with every ounce of my heart.
I didn’t want him to lose out – feel different. Having only me.
The young man who only 2 years ago turned and waved as he walked up the dirt road to the school bus stop.
The young man who would tell me everything that hurt him – share his hopes and dreams.
Of course I want him to like me.
But it feels like it’s all gone.
I blinked and became redundant.
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His priorities are askew – not focusing on school nor work – he is not following the house rules which are only a few.
It was so long ago that I was ‘momma’.
I barely see him now.
I don’t hear what is hurting him.
I don’t know anymore what his hopes are – or dreams.
“Why is he treating me this way? I made sure to do everything different. Do everything right.”
I lamented to a fellow mom yesterday.
“I remember being so excited to run home with a craft I made at school to show my mom, I remember it being so important to me to find just the right present for her at Christmas time. He has never really been that way toward me.”
“Maybe you were too nice” she said.
And it dawned on me, that in overcompensating, maybe my son never had to feel like he needed to earn my love or approval.
I mean, of COURSE he never had to earn my love but you know what I mean.
I still find myself wanting my mom to be proud of me. Even at 45. I make something, or accomplish something noteworthy, the first person I want to show it to – is her.
“Like me! Like me!” My inner child always seeking approval.
I always let my son know he was my favorite person on the planet. Is that where I went wrong?
Should I have spanked him? Not played video games with him? Not snuck him out of school (when his grades were good) for a fun rare day playing hooky?
Should I have not been so candid about life as he grew?
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Being mom and dad was a weird line to straddle. From baseball to condoms – driving lessons to shaving – I taught it all.
I tried not to yell, to forgive quickly. Knowing that if anything ever happened to him, I would regret every sour word.
But in doing that – I clearly did not instill any healthy fear. I did not gain respect and have not been taken seriously.
And every day – my “Up!” boy is slipping away.
And his hands are so much bigger than mine – and so far from holding.
Musings from the Laundromat: Writers regret edition
I arrived here this morning and was greeted by my old laundromat biker buddy, “They’re ready for you” he said, gesturing to my two favorite washers “I kept ’em warm for you.” I stuffed them full, sat down and he filled me in on the progress of his eye that had glaucoma. He sees floaters and doesn’t trust doctors anymore.
I was eager to start writing – get this post out-of-the-way – but listened to him instead until he was done and heading to the dryers.
So the ginormous elephant in the room – my Friday post that I deleted..
I was having a rough day.
Usually I can stomp down my past and stay in the moment – but not Friday.
I reached out to a friend “Ok, which topic should I write about” it was suggested I write one and send it to them – not publish it. OH come on! That’s so sensible – so not ME.
I called another friend who is always full of wisdom and always makes time to listen to me ramble, and then ended up speaking to her sister.
I was trying to type her words as she spoke (which, didn’t work out too well. I prefer to do my ‘interviews’ via IM, so I can paste and so that I can be certain I have each word correct.)
During this conversation, I was also trying to interject my story into the piece as we had very similar pasts.
By the time we hung up, and as I was trying to read what I wrote through wet eyes – I heard …. what could only be described as a baying. Like an animal in pain – gulps of air then terrifying exhales of screams.
They were coming from me.
I was mourning in a way that I’ve only experienced a handful of times before in my 45 years.
I was out-of-body – feeling every horrible thing I’d ever done with such remorse and regret and agony.
I hit publish during this.
Stupid.
It was written horribly – not edited – and after I shared it I realized, sometimes my candor is too much.
I removed the piece.
I received comments, two in fact, from a reader the next day.
Here’s one:
“Your post “We’re too tired to survive” was disturbing to say the least. You must have really been high. I see you removed it. Once posted on the internet it is always out there. Could have been printed or copied and pasted.”
The second comment was much like the one above, but ended saying I should get help before it was too late.
I considered not approving the comment – but that would not be very authentic of me right?
I responded:
“Yes, it was disturbing, and very hard to write. I was typing while speaking to someone who was telling their story and interjecting mine. I try to be as honest on here as I can be, and no, I was not high. I was in a lot of pain and you are right, I need help. I can’t fix those things I’ve done and it always weighs heavily on me. I have a ‘contact me’ section you could have used if you were concerned. But I’ll own my piece and reply here. For all to read. Yes I know, once out there, it’s out there forever. After thinking more about it, I thought I could probably do the story justice another way, thus the removal. Was not a good piece, hard to type when crying and so emotional. I have good days and bad, and I always hope that in sharing the bad ones, perhaps I can help someone else.”
Both comments bothered me – for a couple of reasons. 1) I took the piece down, but she brought it up in two places to be sure I saw – but in doing that, the ghost of the removed piece was also in two places for everyone else to see. As I mentioned to her – I do have a ‘Contact Me’ section. If you’re coming from a place of concern, use it.
2) The reminders of ‘once it’s out there it’s out there’ and ‘could have been printed or copied or pasted’ came across more like a threat than a heads up.
I’m sure she didn’t mean it that way. That’s my guilt projecting onto the tone of the comments.
I know once something is out there, it’s out there. I have friends that have read it and strangers too.
I stand behind what I wrote, but only wish I had written it in a less emotional state.
I also had no business revealing a truth to the public before discussing it with the one involved.
That’s been a standing rule for me. I tell MY story – it is not my place to tell a story that involves another. Unless I have their permission.
‘Harm none.’
Oh it’s so hard sometimes – but I do it. Or rather, ‘don’t do it’.
The person was right about one thing though – I do need help.
I need to get all of my demons out and begin to truly heal. Therapy is something I’m very open to. (Just, without the shock treatments please! lol)
Alone for Thanksgiving
You know, moms lose their sons – but tend to keep their daughters.
I was informed last week that my offspring would be eating turkey at his girlfriends house.
I knew this day was coming – but didn’t know it would hit when he was 19!
I had prepared myself for the “We’re spending Christmas at my wife’s parents house” sentence – but that was supposed to be YEARS from now – and I’d be tending to my 15 cats by then and unable to dwell too much on his absence!
What happened???
We usually go together to my moms for a feast. But this year, after hearing I would be sans child – I decided to stay home with Butters.
My mom understood. Mostly because she’s a huge animal lover and advocate and knows how I hate that every holiday we end up bailing on Butters to partake in festivities without her.
I’m also not a huge fan of Thanksgiving.
Don’t get me wrong – I’m a HUGE fan of being thankful. And if it was just a special day set aside for doing just that, I’d be all in. But there’s that tricky Pilgrim/Indian factor.
The whole myth of the harmony of that first feast turns my stomach to the point of not wanting to fill it with brussel sprouts or stuffing.
Then the completely food selfish glutton in me manages to get over that and pig out.
I bought myself a turkey – plan to make a full meal and enjoy having the relaxing time at home. I’m going to love smelling the meal cooking while lazily flicking through channels to find the perfect corny holiday movie to settle on.
I might even fish out the Christmas decorations – or at the very least, the Christmas candy bowl.
It’s my first 4 day weekend in I don’t even know how long!
Butters and I will enjoy every moment.
None of those moments will include being anywhere near a shop on Black Friday by the way.
I’ve managed to restrain myself and not bring up the way the Wampanoag were treated … so I’ll keep it light and skip the holiday commercialism speech too.
I DO wish everyone reading this, Peace, Gratitude and Love in their lives. May your day fill more than your stomach – may your heart be filled with precious new memories.
And hey, if you’re parents of young children, let them be loud, let them climb down from the table, let them stick their fingers into the pumpkin pie – don’t sweat the small stuff! Because one day – they will have other plans.
Debauchery Soup 