Playing Hide and Not Go Seek

Gosh, I haven’t crawled into this space in a long time. It's like my hide and never seek spot. A place to lay the tears of my weeping heart and never look back.  It's a comfort zone I have avoided because it is filled with deep pain. Pain secured here, so that I may continue life's journey with a lightened since of grief.  I have a huge load to get rid of right now.

I was thinking of Mom yesterday morning, as if I don't think of her about a million times a minute, and the many new memories I have of her.
 
Mom and Pinoch, the oldest and the youngest. The two who were so much alike in attitude and ways and the way they interacted. The way they accepted and rejected each other. The constant "I'm not playing with you," followed by the shouts of pretend battle. The way Mom would poke him with her cane when he sat quiet (finally), and the game would continue.

I'm going to miss him gathering his "books to read to Granny," Kindle (to play games) and baby to lay on the bed while he kept Granny company as she watched TV in her room.

I sit in admiration at the way the three year old took it on as his duty, to stop whatever he was doing when he'd hear the tap of her cane coming from the other side of the house, and run to turn on the bathroom light. Then run back to grab her hand and walk with her to the bathroom. Or if she ventured out of her room without it,  he would run to get it for her.
I laugh at the memory of the occasions he would run ahead to hide inside claiming he had to go first.  Their verbal battle would always end in laughter and a poke from the cane when he gave in and let her go first.

I think sadly of the few times he would be napping and she would be peeking around the corner looking for his swiftness and asking "where is he?" Only for her face to fall at our answer. I'm going to miss that and so many other interactions between those two. As I'm sure he will, now I watch his face fall when he says, "I only want to talk to her. "

I'm not going to miss how her waning memory had bothered her so much she was beginning to call herself,  stupid.

I'm not going to miss the way she would bemoan the absence of her children.  Those, who she often told me, "Were busy with their jobs and life." I understand that mindset of self comfort. It's life,  people are busy, some can only deal with situations by keeping their minds full, and others are simply pure unadulterated, thieving, best forgotten, lying-assed, pieces of shit, who will not be thought of again. And yes, I do have a few anger issues. At least it's directed at one person.

I'm not going to miss watching her crumble when a Sunday has ended and the meal she cooked wasn't eaten by those she expected to visit or the phone didn’t ring because she didn't receive a call. I'm going to let that crap go, put it here and forget about it.

I'm also going to place the hurt, crushed part of my heart here. The part killed by words aimed to destroy a relationship. When a parent dies, siblings need to handle their own guilt without trying to hurt others.  Nothing will repair it and I don't want that memory.
I want to remember things like, how I was born to rise with the birds and would often go sit on the porch as a child and Mom would chew me out. Worried about me sitting out early in the morning without company and possibly being abducted or hurt. I love how she chose it as her time to leave. Now she will forever be, in my sunrise. Life never ends.

I'm going to miss my mom. Even though she could drive me crazy over who was the boss of whom,  what she could still accomplish,  whether or not she took her meds, and repeating childhood incidents better forgotten. I wouldn't trade the last seven months of being her companion,  whipping girl, and confidant, for anything.

IDIOTS WITH CHILDREN

Well, the boys are gone. Their dad came to get them late Sunday night. He had called and said he would come on Sunday and I had them ready all day, just before bedtime he arrived.

The mom, anxious to keep up with a man who wants nothing to do with her had spent the entire Sunday afternoon instant messaging a grammatically murdered rant about the man. For over two months we'd had limited conversation with her and when it looked like the dad would be coming she couldn't stop sending messages. No, she wasn't worried about the children this was just a way to talk about the dad. I was so glad to see him at the door.

Yesterday, the dad called me four times within two hours. Another shock, this was as many times as he had called the entire time the children were living here. Apparently, instead of going to Beaumont with the little guys (a two hour trip) he decided to go to Woodville (even further)and the alternator on the car broke. This thirty year old man has a souped-up Impala with a stereo system that takes up the entire trunk space, gorgeous rims (she paid for), video screens throughout, a navigational system and nothing else to his name. No job, no food, no money. He's stuck in a town bumming money from an elderly dad living in a nursing home. Idiot.

I couldn't figure out why he was calling me and then it dawned. Each time he called he asked whether I had heard from the mother. When I did hear from the mom and told her how the children had been stranded with their dad in the cold, she spouted no regret for the children. She just killed the English language with further insults about the man. From what I could gather these idiots are using the children as a tool to fuel an argument. Whoever has them is the 'better' parent. In the end the silly mom boiled it all down to, she cares nothing about the dad and she has been talking to someone else for the past three months. The exact amount of time the boys have been gone . Neither worry about the children. Idiot too.

I asked the dad how the potty training was going and he said he had them in diapers. That idiot had the nerves to say he told the boys to just use it in their diapers. Well, there goes my work and their progress. One night and they are back in diapers.
I feel so sorry for all of those children. I wish they could pack their bags and runaway from home.