It's near the end of the weekend, and I've made my daughter cry - again. Today was a special day and I have marred it with my actions. The offense? A lie about something that should have been done hours ago, followed by another lie about why she was still up and out of bed.
My response was to yell at her, because I cannot stand lying, even over trivial things. What I really wanted to do? Slap her hard across the face for trying to do it again and again and again.
That is what makes me feel truly guilty. That is the reason I had to walk away.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Everything Changes, Everything Stays the Same
I have an appointment this week and this is what I want to say:
The migraines and headaches will not go away. I will adapt.
The elevated WBC will remain elevated. It does not mean necessarily mean I will have cancer.
The overwhelming feelings and urges will remain. I will deal with it.
My professional life is difficult. It's all I have right now and I will suck it up.
I do not have hope. I also do not have a loss of hope.
Everything just is and ever shall be, world without end.
The migraines and headaches will not go away. I will adapt.
The elevated WBC will remain elevated. It does not mean necessarily mean I will have cancer.
The overwhelming feelings and urges will remain. I will deal with it.
My professional life is difficult. It's all I have right now and I will suck it up.
I do not have hope. I also do not have a loss of hope.
Everything just is and ever shall be, world without end.
Friday, February 14, 2014
Bun-bun
Reposted from an old journal, in honor of Valentine's Day . . .
It is a beautiful sight, my daughter cuddling with her Bun-bun.
When she was small, I often worried about her because she hadn't formed an attachment with any of her stuffed animals "friends." She loved them all, but none exclusively above the others. Then, one day, she chose her bunny as her favorite.
She dragged him by the ears back and forth across the house and just when I thought all of the stuffing would come out of him if she didn't stop, she would suddenly clutch him tightly to her chest and squeeze him. I knew it was true love.
"Bun-bun," she would call out in anguish when she couldn't find him, "Where are yooooou?" And she would search the house until she would either find him, or be forced to conclude the search because she was crying too much to continue.
Years later she still carries her Bun-bun with her and still cries when she cannot find him. "Mama," she asked me this evening right before bed, "If you find him tonight while I am sleeping, will you still give him to me? Because he is real, you know. Really real." And then she whispered, "And he is not as good as Fuzzy or my other stuffed animals."
And to think that I was once concerned about her.
- - - - -
This was written six years ago, and though she no longer sobs when she loses her Bun-bun, the concern is evident.
It is a beautiful sight, my daughter cuddling with her Bun-bun.
When she was small, I often worried about her because she hadn't formed an attachment with any of her stuffed animals "friends." She loved them all, but none exclusively above the others. Then, one day, she chose her bunny as her favorite.
She dragged him by the ears back and forth across the house and just when I thought all of the stuffing would come out of him if she didn't stop, she would suddenly clutch him tightly to her chest and squeeze him. I knew it was true love.
"Bun-bun," she would call out in anguish when she couldn't find him, "Where are yooooou?" And she would search the house until she would either find him, or be forced to conclude the search because she was crying too much to continue.
Years later she still carries her Bun-bun with her and still cries when she cannot find him. "Mama," she asked me this evening right before bed, "If you find him tonight while I am sleeping, will you still give him to me? Because he is real, you know. Really real." And then she whispered, "And he is not as good as Fuzzy or my other stuffed animals."
And to think that I was once concerned about her.
- - - - -
This was written six years ago, and though she no longer sobs when she loses her Bun-bun, the concern is evident.
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