Lumbering to wakefulness

" It's an art to live with pain... mix the light into grey." 
-- attributed to Eddie Vedder

And, voila, two years blink by.

Sorry. 

I'm still here.  The blog isn't dead...entirely.  It's been, well, resting a bit after a particularly loud squawk.

Things have happened, without comment.  Things continue to happen.  "Change happens."

Life...proceeds.  Healing...kind of.  It's been hard to clean up the mess that was dropped into my lap.  It's been hard to find... understanding. It's been hard to find... relief.  It's been hard to keep struggling.

And, yet, I must.  As long as it takes.

In the end, it's all just shades of grey...and up to us to figure out our monochromatic comfort levels.

-- f

Photo credit: Phil Whitehouse
 

It's Not the Years, Honey...

I've been doing a lot of thinking over the last few days and weeks, trying to make sense of what happened, how it happened, and the impact of the various changes that have taken place.

Four months ago, I was proud to celebrate my fifth anniversary. Within days, I learned of a betrayal...and as the weeks have continued, I have learned of other betrayals. Broken trust, broken confidences, broken promises. The hits keep coming and I keep trying to understand how things have changed so much in so short of time.

The most trusted person in my life four months ago has become, well, among the least trusted...and the least respectful. It gives me pause...and it's made me think...and rethink...a lot of the past.

A friend of mine, who shall remain anonymous because I don't have permission to "out" her here, put it this way, "Betrayal takes away your past as well as your present." She's quite right. I recently looked back at a number of photographs of earlier times and I couldn't help but see them in light of today's knowledge. The same is true of some of my previous posts, one of which I'll highlight in a couple of weeks.

Three years ago, I took a picture. It was just after the Reconciliation and I was struck by the loving emotion, promise, and happiness it showed. It meant a lot to me; I used to keep it on the refrigerator because it spoke volumes to me about how far I thought my relationship had matured. "We'd been through so much," I thought, "Surely we can survive anything."

I recently burned that photo in a personal ceremony designed to recognize the ashes my hopes had become...a ceremony designed to help me release those dreams. I want to open myself to new hopes, new dreams, new ideas, and new beginnings.

And yet, as I face the prospect of opening myself to these things, I wonder...how do I open my heart again? I gave everything I had to my previous relationship...and it wasn't enough. Can I truly take that leap of faith once more?

The part my friend didn't connect to is that betrayal also affects your future. One of the many questions I'm trying to answer is, "How do I trust again?" Here's another, "How do I open my heart that completely again?" A third, "How do I seriously believe that I can allow someone that much access to my inner self again?"

In one sense, it's hideously ironic...in another, it's pathetic and ridiculous. I have so much love to give and give so much of myself to a relationship...and, yet, I continue to fall for women who can neither recognize the rarity of such gifts nor honor...or respect...the risks associated with unconditional love. These women ply their own agendas. They take and they give as little of themselves as they can to get what they want.

Oh, I know. I'm being a little bitter and I'm throwing myself a nice little pity party here. But even as I recognize that, I also recognize that there is truth in these doubts. In so much that I can no longer trust either of the women I once called "wife," I wonder if I can trust anyone with my heart...or my soul...again.

It concerns me. It concerns me because I have chosen to live my life in a way that allows me to love freely...and completely. I don't play games with my heart because, well, frankly it takes a lot of energy to play games, energy I'd rather spend communing, flirting, playing, collaborating, exploring, giggling, tickling, cuddling, and well I'm sure you can imagine the next few action words.

When I think about the possibilities of actually having opportunities to suit those words to actions, it makes me stop for a moment. You know what? It actually makes me a little nervous, truth be told.

I realize that I don't want to go through this; I don't want to start over again. I have to, of course, but it's not something I really want to do.

I remember a certain moment, standing on a department store roof overlooking the Paris skyline. I remember the thrill of watching someone realize a lifelong dream. I remember the flash of love in her eyes...as well as the joy of discovering things in a city I'd never been and probably wouldn't have gone to without her influence, help, or dream. (I remember other things about that trip and see them in a completely different light than I did then, but that is a story for a different post. This post is about me and how betrayal has affected my perspective.)

I have to admit that there's something exceedingly tempting about running away. How nice it would be to grab my kit, spend my last few on a ticket, and blow this popsicle stand for a new set of constellations and a new opportunity at life.

I can't, of course, because I'm connected to my daughters and will not abandon them. Also, I have responsibilities, such as financial commitments I'm still trying to figure out how to meet and pets to care for, but it is a very appealing and romantic vision, isn't it?

I'm beginning to yearn for new discoveries. And you know what? I think I'm going to start saving for a ticket somewhere. Where? I don't know yet. Barcelona? Tokyo? Rio? Dublin? Rome? I haven't decided. I do know that my last two trips abroad included a person who eventually backstabbed me.

I have pleasant memories of those trips, but those memories are tainted. I will not forget the good times, nor will I poison them with untruths about what "really" happened. I will remember those times as truthfully as I can. A scar, however, is a scar.

I think I'm going to do something else, instead. I am going to complement those memories with better ones. It may take a few years to arrange, but at some point, I'm going to stand at an overlook in an exotic location, one I've never been. I will look at the view and will have my own realization, my own dream fulfillment. I will know that I am there in spite of the betrayals in my life.

And you know what? I think that's going to feel good.

--f

Regarding Stormy Weather

I recently described how music frequently serves as an indicator of my mood. Well, today's post is inspired by our local weather and sponsored by Frank Sinatra's rendition of "Stormy Weather," a phrase that accurately depicts what's been going on for me lately. (While I heard Billie Holiday running through my head as I composed this post, I picked Frank's rendition because the lyrics match the situation.)

If you saw my previous post, it should come as no surprise that my emotions are in high turmoil. As I work through the necessary arrangements, I find myself experiencing ranges of emotion that flare, swirl, and twist. Pain, grief, anger, resentment, betrayal, confusion, jealousy, fear, and despair all rage through me, through my mind, my heart, and even through my soul. It's an inferno, a deluge, a typhoon, and a shockwave; the four classical elements crashing together in a single emotional overload. And lurking underneath is an ever present sense of soul-crushing loneliness and the utter certainty that I am ultimately broken, unloveable, and unwantable. That somehow, I deserve all of this.

All of this has happened before. All of it will happen again.

I know these are natural responses to what's happened. I know these feelings are a form of depression and a part of the grieving process. It'll pass. (I hope it'll pass.) But even knowing all this, it continues to overwhelm me when it demands to be given voice. Several times over the past days, I've found myself lying on the floor in the middle of the room, sobbing uncontrollably. The emotions are so strong and the despair is so deep.

I don't want to bury these emotions. I've done that so many times in my life that it bubbles back at the worst possible time. No, I need to experience this now and deal with it all. That feels like the only chance I have of getting to true healing.

I'm scared I won't be able to handle the finances; the mortgage on the house needs two paychecks and now there's only one. We bought the house in the final throes of the housing bubble, so it's underwater (meaning we, no...I owe more than it would sell for). The numbers work, but barely. I have to literally watch every penny and will be eating very little when neither of the girls are in residence.

DD and Kara are handling the change as well as can be expected. I haven't seen a lot of DD since the announcement, but she has said she wants me to remain a part of her life. JP's moved to a different part of the city, so I don't know how that will work in the long run. I miss having her (DD...and JP, truth be told) around when I come home from work. I miss being able to get cuddles whenever I want. I miss tucking her into bed at night.

When either (or both) of them are around, I put on a brave face. We distract ourselves with activities, TV, and video games. It's hard for me to focus on anything, though, especially when I'm home alone. I try to watch a DVD, but give it up as a bad job after about five minutes because I can't focus on the story. Sleep is, unsurprisingly, fitful and elusive. Rest even more so.

The pets (four cats and Dog) do their best. They know something's changed and they're all trying to provide as much comfort as they can. Dog seems the most confused; he whines a lot and lies as close to me as he can get. He wants more attention than usual.

The cats all respond in their own unique ways. Tramp is the most affectionate. He sits next to me when I'm on the sofa and he sleeps next to me when I'm in bed. He's always been a loving soul, but he's been even more so lately. He nudges me and gives me lots of kitty kisses and licks, something he rarely did before all this broke.

Pouncer and Climber have enjoyed being able to sleep on the bed again. Climber is usually aloof independent, but she's been very solicitous. She winds herself around my legs, sits on her haunches, and gently places a paw on my knee. She looks at me with such concern, as if to say saying, "It'll be OK, Dad. It'll be better soon." I wish I had her faith.

Even Lady is in on the act. She still spends most of her time outside (and still hisses at the other animals most of the time), but when she's eaten and is ready for some affection, she hops up and burrows into my arm with force. Whenever she can, she's on my lap, demanding to comfort me.

But in the end, I can only try to ride out the storm. I'd lash myself to a metaphorical mast, if I could, but my ship is lost and I find myself drowning in a sea of pain, loss, and despair.

Change Happens

And it came to pass that change became necessary.

There's no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to blurt it out and go from there.

JP and I have decided to part ways; we're going to divorce.

There's no blame here. She's a good person, a terrific mother, and a truly giving friend. I'm a good man, a responsible husband, a loving father, and a devoted partner. We each deserve happiness, we each deserve genuine intimacy, and we each deserve partners who are also our devoted friends, confidantes, partners-in-crime, and lovers.

She's at a place in her life where she can no longer commit to trying to make that happen with me. If you've followed her blog, you know that she's been struggling to find her voice, trying to become that fulfilled person that we all long to be. She's been trying to find the path that leads her to self realization and self actualization.

And her path is taking her in a direction that doesn't include me. My path now lies in a different direction from hers.

This is the beginning of a long process, one that will be filled with many tears and much anguish. I expect to go through a lot of anxiety, fear, and soul-searching before it's over. For the moment, there is a small part of me that feels relief. I know what's going to happen. "What if?" has turned into "What is."

The next stage of my journey has begun. I wonder where it will lead. Hopefully...eventually...to my happiness. And if that's true (and I desperately hope it is), then I take my first steps with purpose.

It's true that my dreams are splintered and that my heart is broken. Much of my personal identity is wrapped up in the roles of father, husband, and lover. Not all, but much. There is great comfort in having someone to come home to, no matter how hectic...or complicated...things get.

This will be painful for our children, of course, though I'm quite certain we will work to comfort and support them through this. JP's older children live outside the house, so they're impacted less. DD will not be happy about this at all, but I also know she'll be able to come and go as she wishes and I'm sure there will be great comfort in that. I've already spoken to her other family and they support my desire to continue to be her step-father in spirit, if not in actual fact.

Kara will want to know how this affects her relationship with her "seester." They've really bonded. I know it's been hard for her to bond with JP without feeling like she's betraying her other mother. But, I'll help her through it. Truth be told, she'll probably want to try to help me through this. Ah, to be ten years old again.

I've been through this before, though. I survived. I'll survive this, too.

To our online (and RL) friends, I don't believe either one of us is going to ask you to take sides or to choose between us. I'm sure some of you will naturally gravitate to one or the other, but I also hope that some of you will choose to develop and maintain separate friendships with each of us. For those who'll lean toward her, thank you for allowing me to share, if only for a short time, your journey. I'll miss you.

For those who decide to stick around, thank you. I may not be much fun at cocktail parties for a little while, but I am looking forward to finding my balance and my future. Your help and support will be invaluable.

And, to JP, who I know will read this at some point, I'm sorry we couldn't find that place where we were both commited to the same thing. You know I love you with all my heart. You know how important our family is to me. You know how much I miss our time together. You've taught me much and I truly hope you find what you seek. Adieu, cherie. Adieu.

--f

Photo credit: Sea Turtle

Mediations on Change

My darling JP's recent post on change got me to thinking that I really need to change myself. That is, I need to revive this blog and start posting again. I'm sorry I let things lapse for so long.

It's not that there hasn't been anything to write about. Indeed, life goes on, whether we record it or not.

If you followed my blog over the months, you may have noticed that I began well. I posted (realtively) regularly. However, about a year ago, new posts appeared less frequently.

When I (re)started this blog, I wanted to create a space where I wrote about the things I was thinking about. I wanted to think about my experiences and try to draw meaning about what's happened in my life.

As you might expect, that required a bit of retrospection and a bit of personal honesty. As I thought about what I was feeling, I uncovered a certain amount of pain, pain that was as fresh in the moment of discovery as it was the moment it was originally inflicted.

Things like the pain I feel every time I return Kara to her mother. (Sometimes, it's so fresh, I can barely breathe and my heart feels like it's about to burst.) Like the pain I felt when my mother told me I'd need to find a new place to live (I was 18). Like the pain I felt when I said goodbye to my father before he and I could have that grown-up conversation that we kept promising each other that we would have. Like a number of other deeply painful experiences.

Abandonment. Betrayal. Failure. Loss.

Deeply personal and extremely hard to document. Things that, quite honestly, can bring tears to my eyes just by entertaining the memory for more than a few seconds.

So, if you noticed a change in the nature of my posts around the time of JP's surgery, that's why. My mind ran rampant during those hours I sat in the waiting room with no information. (I began to fear I was going to lose her again.)

It was hard to look at that stuff and it's hard to experience these deeply personal and deeply emotional things. Worse, it's hard to find ways to live with that pain, to learn to accept the consequences of those actions, some of which were my own damned fault.

I also felt shame. I'm supposed to be a grown-up. You'd think I'd have it all figured out by now, right? Be a man! Suck it up. Cope!

It scared me. I didn't know how to integrate what had happened, let alone explain what (and why) I felt these things. Explain why I feel these things, for some of these emotions are still raw.

I backed away from my writing and I allowed this pain prevent me from finding ways to synthesize, integrate, and share my experiences.

And you know what? That needs to change.

This is a process, a journey (hence the picture, which is from what JP calls my "commuter series") and I apologize for not being willing to be more honest in sharing it with you.

Photo credit: me.

Regarding Home Improvement

We've been in our new home for three months now (though in some ways, it feels like it's been much longer) and I've begun to learn some basic skills I imagine are common to all homeowners. While our home is relatively new (10-15 years), some minor repairs and improvements have already been necessary.

When I stumbled downstairs a few Sunday's ago, looking for my first cup of coffee, JP informed me that the kitchen sink was backed up. Now, I was nervous when she asked me to fix it, as I had no idea what to do. My previous experience with anything even remotely related to plumbing (beyond using a plunger) was as a small child, when my father was the one who did routine maintenance. As I recall, it involved a large pipe wrench, a threading machine, some rather messy (and smelly) paste, and a lot of cursing from my father. With that background, you can imagine that I wasn't looking forward to attempting to fix the sink…especially since I don't even own a pipe wrench, let alone a threading machine.

JP was under the impression that we would need to replace the disposal. She'd already done some research and, based on the links she'd found, it looked do-able. I really didn't want to have to replace the disposal if I could avoid it, so I dug around the Internet for some more information.

I came across a site that suggested checking the trap. After turning off the water to the faucet, I was surprised to discover that I could unscrew the pipes with my bare hands and was able to remove the trap without any tools whatsoever. As soon as I did so, I discovered the problem; the trap was full of eggshells. I dumped those into the trash, rinsed the trap, and then reinstalled it. The sink drained perfectly and, no, there were no leaks afterward.

All told, it took about twenty minutes, much less time than I'd anticipated.

Once, we discovered a leak under the sink. Although I had no idea when I started trying to solve the problem, I quickly traced it to the faucet, which has become slightly unscrewed. After rinsing the rubber washer and tightening the faucet, the leak disappeared.

Another time, JP bought a new light fixture for her office. Now, my electrical experience is about as extensive as my plumbing experience. Still, I knew enough to turn the breaker off and managed to install the new fixture relatively quickly. Since then, we've also replaced the fixture in the kitchen.

A few days after the weather turned, JP mentioned neither her office nor DD's bedroom were getting any heat. I remembered that the home inspection we got prior to buying the house had determined that a heating duct was disconnected under the house. I went into the crawlspace to take a look for myself and traced the loose duct to the vent leading to JP's office. I also noticed that the other ducts were attached using heavy-duty nylon ties. After a quick trip to the local hardware store, I reattached the duct and secured it with a new nylon tie. I'll admit that I wasn't entirely sure this would solve the problem, but it did.

When we started looking for houses, JP expressed a hope that I would be an "active partner" in helping to keep the place up. I wasn't offended; I know I'm not the sort of person you normally think of as being handy. You might ask me to take a look at your website or to troubleshoot your network, but you probably wouldn't confuse me with Tim Taylor. During my previous stint as a homeowner (my first marriage), I was involved in a total of zero improvement projects. I knew JP knew this as well, so I understood her concern.

I also knew that JP's prior experience as a homeowner (in her previous marriage) was less than satisfying because it was, um, difficult to get some projects finished.

As it's turned out, though, I think I'm proving to be a quick learner. Oh, sure, there are days when I would rather be doing anything but working on the house, unpacking, or reorganizing. Nevertheless, I do think I've been an active partner. I hope so, at least.

Photo credit: NASA

Phenomenon (Do Do Doo Doot)!

Today's Sunday Scribblings prompt is phenomenon, which (of course) brought to mind the classic Muppets sketch with Sandra Bullock.

For geekier among you, I also found this X-Files take off. It made me laugh. I freely admit my (no-so) inner geek.



(I believe I've previously mentioned my fondness for Muppets...and X-Files?)

So, it's a perfect prompt for me. Phenomenon. Do Do Doo Doot!

And, for those wondering about our recent move... Well, JP's done a nice recap of the day itself. Since then, we've been trying to get the rest of our stuff out of the old place while working our stuff into the new place.

Because of JP's back, I'm left doing most of the heavy lifting, literally and figuratively. I'm also learning how to be a handy person. Today was filled with chores around the house, things like reorganizing the boxes in the garage (so someone could walk through), putting up a new bathroom fixture for JP, replacing the shower head, and so on. Friday, I rescued one of the cats (Pouncer) from under the back deck...only to (later) learn that she knew a way out of there in the first place. Oh, yes, I've also been trying to learn how to mix the appropriate chemicals for our hot tub.

It's a lot of hard work, this moving business. But, I love our new home. We're making it ours and, while it's a lot of work and aching muscles, it's also fun (in an odd way).

Of course, I look forward to the time when "fun" in our new home doesn't involve a lot of work on my part.

Please Stand By

Tomorrow is the big move! Unfortunately, we won't have an Internet connection until the next day (at least). So, we are essentially off-line for the next day or two.

The picture, by the way, is known as a test pattern. In the days before cable and 24-hour music, news, and movies, broadcast TV stations used to have to sign off for a few hours each night. Many would use test patterns at the very end (and beginning) of their broadcast days.

Of course, the geekier among you may also recall that the phrase "please stand by" was used at the end of the introductory narration of a television program called The Outer Limits (intro here). Okay, two television programs.

Because the first version ran when I was a very small child (1963-1965), I watched it in later syndication, along with The Twilight Zone, Night Gallery, and similar shows. These shows are one reason why I love short stories.

Because of the need to be brief, short stories often set aside details that longer forms take for granted. Consider, for example, An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge. In the filmed version, we never learn the name of man who stars in the episode, nor are we told how he was captured or any other extraneous details. He's simply a man about to be executed, presumably for interfering with the railway. He receives, though, a reprieve when the hanging rope breaks.

I first watched this film in grade school, some 30-odd years ago. At the time, it captivated me. It still captivates me today. You can watch it here, though I don't know how long the link will last. If you've not seen it, it's well worth the half-hour investment.

I think, perhaps, the reasons why it spoke to me as a child are the same as the reasons it speaks to me as an adult. Here is a man who loves his family so much that they are the last images he sees in this life. Melodramatic, perhaps, but melodrama I can identify with.

My life has been filled with much drama...and (as a result) I can appreciate melodrama as an entertainment device and a teaching device.

I'm not sure I can explain the life lesson of Owl Creek. I hope you'll intuit it without my commentary.

JP and I will be back soon. We need to move few things to new digs first. Please be patient while we do so.

Photo credit: RCA Manufacturing Co, Inc. (by way of Broadcasting 101)

We Have Started Moving!

We started moving this past weekend. Saturday, we cleared out the storage unit, which generally consisted of a lot of my junk stuff, along with some furniture. With a little help from our friends, we got everything moved into the digs. (Most of it went into the garage for later unpacking and, I'm sure, reducing.)

Yesterday (Sunday) morning, we got up and (with JP's help) over to the new house to finish some chores before the major move day. She painted primer on one of DD's walls while I took care of a number of little chores, like installing the washer and dryer. (Memo to self: pick up plumbing tape for the hose connections before we do laundry.) We also reorganized the garage, making room for the boxes currently waiting patiently in the old garage.

We discovered that one couch meant for the media room will not, in any way, shape, or form, be able to be moved into the media room. It's too long for the stairs and the 30" doorway is too narrow. I also had to do some repairs on a media armoire that I've owned for years. It's a lovely piece, but I think I'm finally ready to let it go. We're planning to put both pieces on craigslist and, with luck, we'll get enough to justify a nifty, new widescreen TV for the media room.

Our new neighborhood seems nice. We've met some of the neighbors and the girls have already made friends with one of the neighborhood children. I'm happy to see that, for Kara hasn't had much of a chance to make friends when she's with us. She's made a couple this summer and I'm happy to see that.

Tonight, I stopped by the house and finished painting DD's wall. Kara was hoping to play with her new friend, but was disappointed.

After the weekend of hard work, my muscles ache. I can't wait until we get the hot tub checked out and useable. I could use a good long soak right now.

We have one more big moving day ahead of us...Friday. Fortunately, we've hired a couple of movers to help load and unload the U-Haul. I know the next weekend is going to be as busy as the last, but at least we'll be in our new home, then.

It's a lot of work, this moving business, but it's also worthwhile. Both JP and I are exhausted, but we're both looking forward to really creating a home together, a place truly our own. It's not that we don't like the place we live in; it's just that, well, it's not ours. There's a difference between a place you rent and one you (and the bank) own.

Besides the hot tub, there are a couple of features of our new home that I really love. It has an office space that JP can use as a place to write and it also has a family room large enough for my bookshelves, books, computers, and video game system. It'll take some time, but I really think our new place will be a terrific nest for us.

Now, if you'll excuse me...I have an appointment with 600 mg of Ibuprofen. Perhaps even 1200 mg.

Photo credit: Russ Kwan, c/o The Vancouver Gallery of Photography