Murderer

Like wind blowing across hot dry sand my memories are fleeting

But the stones so heavily in place keep the things I want to forget 

As if branded like cattle before slaughter

They are always here

When I thought like a child I had two abortions. 

When I felt like an adult I made decisions that scarred my womb, my heart, forever.
The thought of what I was about to do, the life I knew I was about to end, made me ill. I threw up all the medication they gave me, and because I didn’t show them my vomit and flushed it, they refused more meds and told me I’d be fine. I wasn’t. I felt the life they took on my behalf. I felt the tearing as my eyes welled, and tried to get away. They held me down. They did an ultrasound, and found more of my unborn, and held me down again while they leaned up the mess I had made, and vacuumed out what was left of my aching heart. 

I lay there, and imagined what my birth mother chose not to do to me. For the first time in my life I was truly thankful for the life I had, and thankful that she didn’t have to endure the same pain I was in. 

I was alone.

I took a pill that was meant for abortions at under seven weeks. I went in for an ultrasound. The nurse took my lies while looking at my womb, grey and alive. She took them and made them her own and signed papers giving me permission to abort at home. 

I took the pill, alone, on a spring morning. I sat on a toilet as my body spasmed when the medicine kicked in. I cried. I held my body close. I was alone with my choice. Alone with yet another life I CHOSE to take. My body bore a tiny life, in which I gathered up in a specimen jar, and placed in a bag, in a freezer, in a doctors hands, in a trash can for human waste, in a burning pit, deep deep in my soul. 

I knew the lives I took. I felt their end. I love them even now. 

Alone.

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Reflections

What does it mean to be a woman?I think that the answer lies within the heart and mind of each woman reading this.

(Still thinking of that beautiful young lady who was killed in Orlando, I’ve been stuck emotionally, and the best way to unstick is to unload.)

I don’t know her but I know she matters, and I know she loved, is loved.
I am a woman. 
I often tried to put myself into a certain group of people, and it’s not because I was craving that high school groupy-ness but because more often than not, I just didn’t fit in. It use to bother me immensely. It made me insecure. It made me someone I wasn’t meant to be….

*****

My femininity is beautiful. My gentleness/strength is empowering.

***** 

While trying to pen who I am, I’ve been thinking of all the women that have influenced me in the last year of life. This last year has taught me much about the human condition and all its glory/gore. The gray side of life. (Because for me as I age, the black/white, left/right, near/far on many things have melted to a calming shade of gray. There is less to fuss about. Don’t get me wrong – I still have absolutes, but in the gray I have found understanding and I’ve learned to understand.) 

*****

My mother, who I haven’t spoken to since last December, has taught me that I can be accepted – by me, without a desire to please her (or anyone else) and cut myself down. I have learned that I can still love her (and others) from afar, and not feel worthless for doing so. For myself this is HUGE. I try very hard to make everyone that I cherish feel that from me. I don’t ever want to let anyone down. Feeling as though I’ve failed someone feels like I AM the FAILURE. She was one of two voices I would hear in my mind when I’d done less than perfect anything. Hers by far has/had the biggest reach (1700 miles to be exact) and her words until recently cut me deeply, and had the magical ability to change me, how I viewed myself. It is not sad or tragic, though I use to feel that way. It’s life and a lesson I needed to learn for so long. 
My friend Kristal, who is raising her two grandchildren. She is a faithful woman, both with her relationship with those she loves and with God. She listens when I talk to her. She lets me know she’s there when I need that – because we all do sometimes. She accepts me AND my crazy brood just the way we are. I have learned from her, that it’s never too late to love myself. I’ve learned that through her own life story, and how her life story has changed me. 

Alyssa, who was the first person to follow Little Bits of Heaven, has become what I refer to as my ‘one in a million’. Our lives are like the reflections on the water. Almost the same, yet different enough to keep me looking, searching, but in a comforting way. She is the me if I were her and I if she were me. Her journey inspires me to look beyond the introvert I have become and be a part of the world again. She has taught me what it is to overcome, to cleanse, to use my words as a way to move through things rather than stop and stay. And that, for someone with anxiety, is a BIG deal. She is more a part of me than I thought I could find in a friend. I envy the way she can take a simple thought I pen and send it back with such illustration, with words that give life to the slow death that is each passing hour. She is true beyond measure.

My blogging buddy and gracious friend Annabella, who sends me weekly emails just to remind me that in my closed-circuit world someone’s still ‘out there’ caring about me, has shown me that I need not apologize for things I want out of life. Her wit, her desire to be authentic and trust the Lord has helped me through much in the last few months. She sent me the most beautiful something, and it’s real, tangible, touching, authentic. I could send her all the ranting/cursing that this sailors mouth could conjure up and she’d still see ME. ME. What a blessing. She doesn’t allow for shallow self loathing or to skip over the what if’s. She allows me those, and challenges me to take my life and desires head on, which sometimes I/you/me/we need.

Deb, whose life and love and gentle nature, which bleeds through every post and tugs at my heart strings, has taught me the importance of being gentle, but even more so that being gentle, even quiet – does not make me a woman of weakness, but strength. Things don’t always need to be said. Words do not need to be written just for filler. Peace, quiet, and a gentle nature have more power than I ever knew. The struggles have not taken her love away, but magnified it ten fold, in the most wonderful way.

Each of these women I would cross the country for. Be there to pull their hair back from their eyes in those sad and mournful moments, hands held tightly no matter the miles apart. I would/do/will celebrate them and their accomplishments. They inspire. They love. They are all true and beautiful. 

*****

I read what I’ve penned – and stop. I picture that young woman I’ve been thinking so much about. She must have been strong, to love herself in spite of all those who were against her. Her challenges in this life most likely gave her a loving and loyal nature toward those who truly loved all of her. Those gentle smiling eyes no doubt lit every room. I’m sure that she touched many lives in ways she will never know. She has taught me what it means to BE COURAGEOUS. 

*****

Myself, last but not least, always has room in my heart for you. I am loyal, at times to a fault. I’m a lover of God, my husband and family and the diversity of all the women who make up that which is ‘me’. I am beautiful. I have value. What I lack in social graces I make up for in my writing. I’ve lived more than I should have, but it’s given me perspective. I see the cracks in my mirrored reflection as that which keeps me grounded rather than that which stops me in my tracks. Happiness is progress. Wholeness is healing through my pain, and not allowing it to break me. I’m me, and that’s a miraculous thing to accept, more so to love. 

Thank you to all of you, and some that I didn’t mention, for helping me to find myself. It’s a journey every woman needs to take, even if it’s kicking and screaming – which yes, I’ve done that too. Thank you for the love, acceptance, lessons, and humanity. 

***We. Are. One.***

Meth/Death and Life is…

*I had the most amazing (powerful?) post written for today….and then my baby cried and with that alone on my mind I closed the screen and all was lost. So.Very.Frustrating.*

 

The words spelled out how aging comes to a woman who use to ‘do’ (crystal meth). Craved it more than the air, more than her sanity, her life. They were words brought together by pain and suffering, loss and hunger. RAGE. The nouns though few were ‘just’ people. People who only betrayed her, easily molded her. She became a child sleeping on a park bench…night after cold/damp/dark and scary night. Sentences filled with lowly quotes, angry musings. Perhaps a thought put to the paper on how growing older is such a miracle – because it is. She is amazed she survived at all.

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The places, the things/moments that put her there were woven into what would have been real/raw/and punctuated with needed heart-breaking. A story of rage turned toward redemption. The solitude that helped her find her peace. The child that lost her innocence but found a way to give that child a home, a comforting place…deep within.

It was to be all of those ‘things’ that one remembers, of a life gone but never far enough from her mind…

The closing was to be all about the light that had shown through her window, right to her thankfully still-beating heart, as the sun was rising…

I am an addict, forever in recovery. I am 19 years CLEAN this month. Though my teeth still show the regrets of my youth, my drug use, and the ravages of time…I will take it. This age. This wisdom. This life.

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The Art of Loss…

CeeCee, my mother-in-law loves slim-jims, Reese’s pieces, Oreos and Diet Pepsi. She has an affinity for very hot coffee and cheesecake. CeeCee has never had a child of her own, but has taken in many a stray both human and four-legged alike. Though our differences are many, she is the grandmother to my children, and we adore her.
CeeCee has Alzheimer’s Disease. It has taken much from her as of late, including her ability to find her own bathroom, her obsession with Reese’s and her health. My father-in-law Harry has taken the necessary steps to care for her in every way he can. He’s put a stop-payment on his job, rallied the troops and been the most loving, kind, humble husband I have known. His second nature to be abrasive has been swept away by his knowing she may not be ‘there’ tomorrow.

This morning we received a short, sad call from my Harry.

CeeCee has been placed in intensive care. She is on a respirator, heart failing. Harry, for the first time in many years doesn’t know what to do.
While our lives carry on in a very human way, a part of his will not. My soul aches for him. Holding fast to my faith as I watch his little bit of heaven slip away, I ask that you keep Harry in your thoughts and prayers today. Thank you.

Mommyland

Trying to figure out where my extreme case of exhaustion has come from I have decided to reflect on my life as a mom. Is it that I’m older and my body just can’t keep up? Is it my anxiety? My diet? Too much coffee and then too little?

*My 11 month old is crawling all over me, literally. He’s like that little monkey in those museum movies.*

Up to the wee hours with a nursing baby, then time for myself….but in reality it’s just laying awake in bed with the hubby, said baby and a dog at the feet…I couldn’t escape if I wanted to, which by the way I should try to use the restroom one more time before beddy-bye.

Where was I? Oh, exhaustion….

So putting my midnight math skills to good use I have stumbled sleepily upon the following facts —

•I have been a mom for 18 years, 1 month and 22 days.
(Not included is my first pregnancy…because I was woefully yet delightfully clueless.)
•I have been pregnant for a total of 4 years and 2 months.
•I have been a nursing mommy to my teeny humans a grand total of 7 years and 10 months…so far…
•I have been a stay-home mommy for 13 years, non-stop, no give-backs.

•In all this time my hubby and I have spent just one, yes ONE night away from all of our 7 (yes SEVEN!!!!!!!!) kids…in total, EVER. *It.Was.Glorious.*

…And there’s that exhaustion again.

On top of all of this I clean the floors, scrub the toilets, wash the butts and wipe the boogers. I change the babies, bathe the kids, cook (I admit, the hubby cooks more than I these days.) and match socks. I do dishes, and potty-train. I grow gardens of food and flowers, mow and weed…all for everyone else. Never to perfection, but with my all, and always with what is my best.

On nice sunny days there are dog walks, trips to the park. Weekends are fishing.
School days are homework+homework+reading.
There are always sports events for the kids, choir, science fairs and girls scouts. (Not all on the same days, weeks or even months…usually, *yawn*…)

So, with all that math, and my mind wandering off to a quick and needed good night, let me say to all the moms (stay home parents of all kinds) no matter what we deal with in life…I feel yuh! You’re exhausted. You do so much, which is often too much. However!…look at all you accomplish.

For bumps in the night…
Whether sick or well…
We do our jobs…
We change their diapers…
Whether hot or cold…
We play the games…
We read the books….
The love we get back is what keeps us hooked.

Thank you exhaustion. You’ve taught me much…
In this…my little bit of heaven.

Good Morning to You!!

Good morning minions! The birds are chirping, the kids are sleeping….I know, miracles do happen! Anyway, hello followers!! I’m so excited that you think what I’m writing is of value. I’d love to get to know each of you if that’s ok. I love love love learning about people. My days are spent at home raising kids, so to communicate with adults…yippee!

I’m going to start. Bragging, bitching, broken heart ramblings are all allowed. If you don’t know who you are tell me who you’d like to be! There’s no judgement here. I just want to know you. 💜

Ok…..
I’ve been given the nickname Bits, so that’s what I’ll call myself. I’m a stay home mom. We have three kids that are all grown up and moved out, and four kids at home ranging in ages still-wearing-diapers baby to wrecking-ball teenager. I am a step-parent of our two oldest, but in my heart there isn’t a damn bit of difference. I try to let my kids be what I wasn’t allowed to be…individual, unique. Don’t worry! Not in a Will and Jada sorta way. I just don’t force them to be blonde if they want to be a red head, or violin when they want to run. I’ve been a mom my entire adult life, and when they’re all grown up I will be completely lost in this world! We are transplants to the Midwest from the Pacific Northwest. And no, there are no real mountains here. All trails lead to home so here is where we stayed. I have anxiety, as do two of our kids. Their idea not mine I swear. I’ve been married almost 14 years. Miraculous. My husband is an infantryman, Army. No longer chasing bad guys in foreign lands, he fishes, chases our tiny ranger. He’s got two brand new shiny knees and is the biggest smart ass EVER. He does Facebook…which is on my ‘I hate that shit’ list. He’s my big, cuddly, funny kid. We have two dogs, Moe is our ever present guard on duty, while freckles is well, freckles. Puppy, chewy, naughty, so very loving. I have early onset macular degeneration but I still have eyes in the back of my head so it’s all good! I would love to have more tattoos, but alas, we have kids that need to eat. I have a nose ring, ear piercings and purple hair. I LOVE my purple hair. I am unique, might as well let my social awkwardness fly freely!!! I love writing, coloring, hiking…and back in the day I loved to ski. Now, aware of the danger I avoid it…and there’s no mountains here! Damn it! My favorite painter is Vermeer. I despise selfie sticks. They are all that’s wrong with the world. I curse, which I hate, but try not to. I have a love hate relationship with being at home all day. Mainly because I have no life of my own. While speaking to adults I often use words like ‘tummy’ or ‘ouchie’ or ‘poo poo’…because it’s what I say all day long. I hate spiders. I love to garden. Growing the things that we can sit around and eat together is great therapy! I am a Christian. God has brought me out of more than I will ever say here and now, but rest assured I would not be alive if it were not for His Love and Grace. I don’t push my faith on others, rather choosing my life as an example of who He is. Hence ‘little bit of heaven’…there is always a lesson that can help someone.

I’m not cool and don’t care, but because I can and will..it’s your turn brave followers.
*Mic drop*

The Beginning

Una sola lingual non e’ mai abbastanza!

After reading many a blog, and not finding one to fit my nostalgic, comfort food, family, art, poetry loving, history frame of mind, I have decided to fall head first (hands trembling) into blogging.

I am first and foremost a wife and mom, so a weekly blog is all I’m going to truly commit to writing. I’ve got a life that I want to be a part of and I can’t do it typing all damn day.

A little bit of my heaven….

I’m a mom to lots of kids. LOTS. It’s my happy, messy, frustrating, amazing life. I have a past, as we all do and perhaps with time I will share my life’s lessons. I truly believe that I have been blessed to know there is so much to learn – and love, looking into the broken mirror. Mother, wife, daughter…they are all wonderful people to be, but I’m ready to dive into the inner child, daydreamer, artist that I’ve been missing for so long.