The Year 2008 In Words

The Year 2008 In Words

January came and I was working everyday. The grandbabies were coming over and all was wonderful until January 28. That’s the day my back gave out. Thus began my unmerciful rehabilitation to wellness. I spent every other day at the chiropractor and four days a week at physical therapy. I was taking several different types of pain killers and still my back was uncooperative.

February found me turning 47. My friend took me out for my birthday dinner, we had steak and then saw a Kate Hudson movie, called ‘Fool’s Gold’. I should have saw something else that night. I don’t go to the movies much and when I did, I see a flopper of a movie. But my night was really wonderful, filled with good food, good times and great company. I was still spending four days a week at physical therapy. I had an MRI and I was still taking several different types of pain killers, my back was uncooperative, and my spirits were sagging.

March marched in a second birthday party for Brody. Becca made him a ‘Cars’ cake. He was incredibly cute and his sister was adorable. The weather was still icy, snowy and plain out cold. I was taking photographs, but writing was becoming an obsolete forum for me. I had zero inspiration and less gumption. I was still spending four days a week at physical therapy. I was left in so much pain that some days I sat in my truck for an hour before I could lift my leg to put it on the brake pedal to turn the ignition. I was on a couple different narcotics, but they only seemed to dampen my already sagging spirits. They did nothing to ease the pain.

April brought Easter and with it was an announcement that Becca was having a third baby. Brody just turned two, Cloey just 6 months old and Becca thinks she’s due in December. Great is all I could think ... Great. I quit smoking April 13 at 11:59 pm. I quit taking the narcotics. I hated the way they made me feel. I finally received my sick pay from work. Paperwork mishap they claimed. I believe I may have starved had it not been for the love and caring of my friend. The doctor having no other tricks up his sleeves for the pain I felt, made me an appointment at the pain clinic.

May delivered me to the pain clinic. I had waited six weeks for this appointment, and on the 22^nd,  I walked into the clinic hunched over, limping, unable to take off my jacket. The doctor felt me, prodded me, pricked me, poked me and listened to me. He told me after 1-1/2 hours the he had a diagnosis and a treatment. I was stunned, I was skeptical. He gave me a series of deep muscle shots. There were nine in all, each shot very painful, but I started to become more optimistic after the about the 4^th or 5^th shot. He told me I was just feeling the numbing effects of the shots, but that feeling would prove to last. I walked out of the clinic two hours after entering - 95% pain free. Unreal! It felt like euphoria. I woke up the next day with about 75% of the pain gone. It stayed gone and I was able to return to work. Ironically, school had let out or the summer... I think someone was playing tricks on me.

June was my daughters 22^nd birthday. She was living at her mother in law’s in a two bedroom trailer. I was trying to learn to stop judging her and her choices.

"White Trash. For many, the name evokes images of trailer parks, homegrown meth labs, and beat up Camaros, rural poor whites with too many kids and not enough government cheese. It’s a putdown for the down and out and white. White trash is the name given to those whites who don’t make it, either because they’re too lazy or too stupid. Or maybe because something’s wrong with their inbred genes. Whatever the reason, it’s their own damn fault they live like that. They’ve got nobody to blame but themselves."

Excerpt taken from: http://nsrc.sfsu.edu/article/white_trash

This is a sad statement, but when I think of my daughter, this is clearly how I think of her. It’s a shame, because I didn’t raise her to act this way. I leave April clearly failing at non-judgmental thoughts.

July flies in and finds me remaining essentially pain free. My Scott turns 25 this month. I am busy getting ready for Scott’s wedding. I did what I could to help out and got Becca who was standing up in the wedding ready. Her husband didn’t believe she should go to the wedding. Such a waste of human skin that man is - oops think nonjudgmental thoughts Tammy - On July 31^st Becca calls me to tell me to come and get her, she and waste of human skin are divorcing. HALLELUJAH!! That thought will prove to be short lived.

August moved my pregnant daughter and her two children home with me. She wants a divorce. I have a houseful of guests and a wedding in a couple days. I put her life on the back burner and enjoy my son’s wedding. It was beautiful. My daughter-in-law and my son make me so very proud. They are in school, she graduated and went back for a bachelor's degree, he is near graduation. They both work and are stashing away a down payment on a home. After a very happy occasion, I sat down with Becca and asked her what she wanted. A divorce she said. I researched divorce and found a way that I could do it for her without the lawyer fees. I am a quick learn but I feel like I pulled off a miracle when she was able to file it 8 days later. I even found a way to waive the filing fees for her, so here I though I accomplished exactly what she wanted, but that thought too would prove to be short lived. Becca asked me to come to her OB appointment with her in mid August. One of the tests the doctor had taken on the baby came back positive for Down’s Syndrome. She was scheduled for an amniocentesis. The wait was excruciating. She told me she would have the baby no matter what. Whew! I would have supported any decision she made, but I prayed for that one. The tests came back negative this time. The baby (girl) was perfect, without any sort of birth defects. I thanked God.

September eased in with the beauty only September can muster. I was finally back to work. Something I had not done in almost seven months. I was nervous about my back, as it was giving me twinges of pain now and again, but so far so good. Becca and the children were still living with me and Becca was working the welfare system only like one of her kind know how to ... she plans on going to school to be an x-ray technician. Her classes start in January. She’s getting money, food stamps and medical care from the state. Then one afternoon a man calls. It is the father of a girl my daughter’s husband is seeing. The father asks me what his problem is. I just listened and hear this man tell me that his daughter is in ‘love’ with Becca’s husband and that he would like to kill him. Then Becca took the phone and went outside with it. She talked to this man for over an hour. She was fully aware that her husband was laying with another woman while she - pregnant with their third baby - sobbed her nights away. Her husband moved back to town and moved in with his mother a few miles away from me. Becca snuck off to be with him. She never once told me the truth. I could have handled her telling me she was going to be with him and try to make it work out. She decides to lie to me all the while. She filed for full custody of the children and got it, she talked of her future without him. She never told me she was contemplating moving in with his mother to be with him.

October warms my soul just because it is October. The pumpkins, corn, apples and cinnamon smells delight me in ways nothing else does. I took a little day trip with my friend to his grandfather’s home in Montague. We took the long way home and stopped at the apple orchard. We had an amazing time. October also saw my granddaughter turn one. It was simply a gorgeous day. Then the day came that Becca left. At 10:00 am that very morning I asked her if she was going back with her husband. She replied, "I don’t know." At 10:10 am  his family shows up to move her out. Seems he sent them the day before to get her. Husband had written a note saying, "It’s time. Get your stuff and get in the truck with my mom and come home." She decided to wait a day to tell me that she was going. It was ugly and I lost my temper. I had it with her and them. Get the fuck out of my home and my life. I still cry when I think of that day, but I meant it then and I mean it now. I hate what she put me through. I hate her husband. He is mean to my daughter. He lays his hands on her, he lays with other women on her, and to her it’s all okay. I think it’s disgusting beyond belief. They deserve each other. Then I hear him tell me how everything was my fault. How I forced her into getting a divorce. Fuck 'em all and the horse they rode in on is what I think about both of them. I love my grandchildren, I’ll do anything I can for them, but as far as my daughter goes, I’ll talk of things like the weather. Nothing of importance. I can’t care anymore. Caring about her only proves to hurt me so deeply I can’t heal from it. So in September I stopped, period.

November brought more pain. My back went out again. I was so scared that it would be like the last time. I called my pain clinic and they had closed down. I had to find another pain clinic and start all over again. It wasn’t but two days and I was in the new clinic getting treatment. Lumbar epidural steroid injections, two nerve blocks, and trigger point injections. Then my daddy got sick - really sick. His poor lungs were wore out already when he got a ‘touch’ of pneumonia. He went to the hospital on a Friday and they admitted him. On Monday he was taking a breathing treatment when he simply stopped breathing. He told the medical staff he wanted to be intubated. They put him on a ventilator. We were told he might die. The doctor sat us down and told us if te ventilator didn’t work, we would have to sit down for a long difficult talk. He stayed on it through Thanksgiving. He was seriously ill when he came off of it. He had some major psychosis issues. We were assured that the psychosis was due to the medicine and would subside. He couldn’t walk, his stamina was nil. He was so weak. Mom couldn't take him home, so I helped her admit him into the nursing home for rehabilitation. It was a very difficult day.

December brought hope. It took several weeks for the psychosis to leave daddy. He was settling into his routine at the nursing home. He was able to come to my house for Christmas Eve brunch. My daughter and her husband came with both the children, my mother was here. My son came, his wife had to work. And then to my surprise, two of my son’s childhood friends come. These two men were like my own as they grew up. One of my parent’s good friends came over as well. It was such a sweet, special Christmas for me. Daddy went back to the nursing home about 5:00 that night. When everyone was gone, I was left in the glow of Christmas. I went to my friends house the next day to spend time with him and his family. I enjoy my time with him, it is too little bit of time as far as I'm concerned. I have a difficult time committing myself with a long distance relationship. But that’s for another day... This day I was relishing being there, until 11:55 when my daughter called to tell me she was ready to have the baby. It was a false alarm.

My third grandchild, Daisy Ray came into the world on December 29^th at 2:59 p.m. She weighed 8 pounds 3.3 ounces and was 21-1/2 inches long. I think she was Becca’s most beautiful baby at birth. A head full of dark hair, a sweet rosebud mouth. I stayed in the room to watch her come into the world. Becca asked me to ‘wait in the hall’ like I did Cloey. I told her no, I was staying .. as the knife she wielded dug deeper into my heart. She stays true to her self-centered, white trash ways, even during childbirth. The day Daisy came home, Cloey got sick enough to wind up in the ER with an IV in her. Becca let her husband take the new baby home to his mother’s kerosene heated trailer while she left the OB floor and came to the ER. Such is life with children. I left Cloey and Becca off at the trailer and came home to be with my Boog. He at least was well, and that’s how I spent my New Year’s Eve; watching my grandson sleep on the couch as I called my friend to say Happy New Year over the telephone. Dick Clark has finally gotten old, way old. The ball reached the bottom, Happy New Year. I hope it brings healing with it. Healing hearts, healing spirits, healing bodies. It took awhile to convince Brody that he wanted to go home. He kept telling me, "No, I stay with Yaya today." He did leave and met his newest sister this afternoon ... and life goes on, and life goes on.

Yes, there really is a Santa Claus ...

Yes, there really is a Santa Claus.

I felt him residing in my heart this Christmas. As you know, my daddy has been very ill, and deep in my heart I fear that this may be my last Christmas with him. It proved to be a better day than I could have possible hoped for. Daddy came home from the Nursing Home for the afternoon. He didn't go to his home, he came to mine. It took a lot to get him here, but there were no obstacles that were so large we couldn't solve them.

I don't know who was more excited to have him home, my momma who didn't sleep at all the night before because he was coming home, me who stood in the kitchen with tears streaming down my face as he was pushed up the walkway, or my grandson who was literally screaming, "HE'S HERE! BIG GRAMPA IS HERE!!"

My boys were all here for Christmas. Ben and Larry who were at my house more than at there own when the kids were all growing up, surprised me this Christmas. Ben home from Iraq and Larry out of the service and living in Chicago decided to pay this momma a sweet visit.

My daughter and her husband bought the itty bitty ones, who were the best behaved babies I could have imagined. They ate and opened thier gifts and simply delighted everyone with their antics.

After brunch and gift opening we sat with coffee and soft drinks relishing each other with vivid stories. We talked of the upcoming birth of Miss Daisy Ray - She's coming on December 29... Brody crawled up into his Big Grampa's lap and slept, Big Grampa relaxed in the recliner and did the same for a bit.

Daddy went back to the nursing home about 5:00. My momma and me cleaned up the house and did the dishes while we waited for the men to return from taking him back to the home. I had asked Santa Claus for a good day. I got the best day I could have hoped for.

The ice held off till everyone was safely back in their own homes.

I hope that all your Christmas dreams came true as well!

One Touch Game Sites - For The Wee Ones!

My Grandson is two years old. He is becoming very interested in the computer. I found this awsome site for little tykes. Kneebouncers has one touch games that are stimulating for my little guy. They have mouse games when he moves up to that too.

I thought I'd share in case you have a knee bouncer or two of your own!

A couple other one touch game sites :

CrayMachine

Fisher Price Pre-School Games

Life - Answered Prayers

Life

It's so precious.

I learned a few things this Thanksgiving day. My daddy, who couldn't breath very well went into the hospital emergency room on the 21^st of November. He has congestive heart failure and COPD. He has had a 6 vessel bypass and a stint. He is the strongest and robust most man I have ever known. Ever. Period.

On the 24^th of November at 10:32 am, my mother called me at work. "They are going to intubate him, get up to the hospital!" I was stunned. He was doing better, he was on the rebound, we were looking forward to having him home on Thanksgiving. It was not to be. My daddy stopped breathing. There was a Respiratory Therapist in the room considering he was in the middle of a breathing treatment. He couldn’t get any air to move into his lungs. Try as he might, it wouldn’t go in. His doctor was on the way. At 10:35 a.m. I went to his side and told him I love him. He squeezed my hand. I told him that they were going to put him on a ventilator. He said to me, "Tell....them........to...................hur.....ry."

I did. I cried. I prayed.

My father has a ‘Do Not Resuscitate’ order at the hospital. I know my daddy is tired, he is plumb wore out. He hasn’t been able to breath well for three years, and it have been getting progressively worse. I know about the DNR and was thrilled to hear that it was my daddy who told the nurses that he wanted the ventilator. It is an instinctual reaction to want to breath ...

The tube went in and by 10:45 my daddy was moving into the ICU and being hooked to monitors and machines. Fluids of assorted colors and thicknesses were being pumped into him. Air was being pushed into his lungs by a machine that makes the most horrible rhythmic noises. My poor sweet, stubborn daddy was agitated beyond anything I had seen thus far in his heart wrenching ICU jaunts. This being the third time on a ventilator, I thought I had seen it all, but I hadn’t. He pulled at his IV’s, at his catheter, at his gown, at the sheets. The doctor decided it was best to put daddy in a coma. They used a paralytic and an amnesiac ‘mind fogger’ at the same time so he could let his body rest and allow his lungs to pass oxygen throughout his organs.

On the 25^th of November the doctor came into the room. He sat in a chair next to daddy. Mom was sitting on the other side, looking over my daddy’s bed facing the doctor, I was standing behind my mom when the doctor made my knees buckle and my breath whoosh out of my lungs. "We need to be serious here ladies, if this doesn’t work, I’m hopeful, but not optimistic this time. If it doesn’t, then we are going to need to have a long, hard talk. This isn’t looking good."

I spent a lot of my time with tears either threatening or streaming down my face.

Daddy lay in a coma on the 24^th, 25^th, and part way through the 26^th of November. They let the medicines that made him comatose wear off. He awoke agitated and restless. They tied him down in the bed. They tried to wean him from the respirator, but to no avail. He wasn’t strong enough to make the move that Wednesday. They would try again in the morning. Morning came and left, as did the afternoon. By early evening on Thursday November 27^th - Thanksgiving Day - the medical staff was ready to try to get the tube from daddy’s lungs and allow his lungs to breath on their own. This time all the right numbers were on the machines face. The Respiratory Therapist had my daddy do a couple of exercises. His NIF was -20. She said that was good enough, barely, but good enough. The tube came out and for the first time in four days my daddy was truly breathing on his own.

Tears of joy were streaming down my face. God had answered the prayers being said round the world for my daddy. His Vital signs were jumpy though and he was still loopy from the medication. He told me his name was John Strickland, he told me he wasn’t sure who I was. Nope, he didn’t know momma either. We were certain that the amnesia would fade. The medications he was on are incredibly strong, the effects of them were still lingering, and the doctor assured us that it is temporary.

I hope so.

As I sat down to peanut butter on bread on Thanksgiving evening, I was awed at the remarkable sights I had seen through the past few days. My daddy who by every right should have been dead, wasn’t. Not only was he not dead, he lay in the hospital breathing on his own. My prayers were answered, I just wasn’t ready to let go of him. Not yet. Not this day.

He continued his confusion but his vital signs began getting stronger and holding firm. His blood pressure and heart rate no longer jumped around, but he is weak. He can’t stand up alone. He can’t walk or dress himself. He can barely feed himself. The doctor thought a rehabilitation center would do the trick for him.

So that’s how I found myself doing what I never in my life wanted to do. I went with my mother and admitted my daddy into a nursing home.

He’s been there since Friday December 5^th. He’s disoriented, he’s confused, he sometimes isn’t sure where he is or why he’s there. The nurses put an alarm on his shirt that is attached to the bed, if he tries getting up the alarm separates from the bed and signals that he’s up. He’s tried getting up numerous times. Once, he took his shirt off and got up. Knowing he wouldn’t sound the alarm he decided to use the bathroom. He fell to the floor. He thought he could walk. He’s cranky and tired. He told my mother that his therapy started when he ate soup at lunch. It’s a good start daddy, but it’s gotta get better than that. The doctors have shared with us on Saturday that the immensely huge doses of Prednisone that was helping my daddy to breath also scrambles the brain up. He too promised it to be temporary.

I hope so.

He told me the other day that he feels cheated. He feels as if he should have died. He feels he was cheated out of the opportunity to pass on.

Call me greedy, but I’m thankful he didn’t.

I am thankful that I get him one more day ...

He needs your prayers - My Daddy

Tonight on this, the eve of Thanksgiving, my daddy lies in a hospital fighting for his life. He has Congestive Heart Failure. He has a damaged heart. Tonight he is on the ventilator for the 4th night in a row. The doctor doesn't think he'll come off the vent... they tried easing him off today, but it was a failed attempt. The doc told us today that, "The prognosis is grim." He (I, we) are in need of prayers, for strength, for God's Will to be done, for my daddy's number to be down, not up. Dear God in Heaven, I'm not ready to live without him.....

This photo was taken of him and my son on July 13 2008. I used it in Picture Perfect's 'Zest' theme. Please say a little prayer for him.

The Parrot :o)

The Parrot

A young man named John received a parrot as a gift. The parrot had a bad attitude and an even worse vocabulary. Every word out of the bird's mouth was rude, obnoxious and laced with profanity. John tried and tried to change the bird's attitude by consistently saying only polite words, playing soft music and anything else he could think of to "clean up" the bird's vocabulary.

Finally, John was fed up and he yelled at the parrot. The parrot yelled back.  John shook the parrot and the parrot got angrier and even ruder.  John, in desperation, threw up his hand, grabbed the bird and put him in the freezer. For a few minutes the parrot squawked and kicked and screamed. Then suddenly there was total quiet. Not a peep was heard for over a minute.

Fearing that he'd hurt the parrot, John quickly open the door to the freezer, the parrot calmly stepped out onto John's outstretched arms and said, "I believe I may have offended you with my rude language and actions. I'm sincerely remorseful for my inappropriate transgressions and I fully intend to do everything I can to correct my rude and unforgivable behavior."

John was stunned at the change in the bird's attitude. As he was about to ask the parrot what had made such a dramatic change in his behavior, the bird continued, "May I ask what the turkey did?" 

 
HAPPY THANKSGIVING! J

What is a Massapequa? (Herman's Story)

What is a Massapequa?

When I was 22 years old, a friend who lived on Long Island near Massapequa, asked me to come out and share expenses with her. Her husband was going into the Army. Having just survived the most extreme year of my life, I was happy to change my geography, thinking that it might just change my attitude as well. I told her yes, I would be happy to move in with her.

There Is Something About A Man In Uniform.

I was able get a job at the 7-11 convenience store at 80 Brooklyn Avenue in Freeport, which was about 1/4 mile from the apartment we lived at. I walked to work everyday. I tried to work as many hours as possible to be able to pay my bills. I was working the 7 to 3 shift this June 2^nd Wednesday that the YooHoo man made his delivery. I was stopped in my tracks. I stared at him. Gawked is a better word for it. He went about his business not noticing me. He put away the bottles of chocolate YooHoo and brought me the packing slip. I wiped away the drool that was dripping from my chin and took a deep breath. I left to count the wares and signed the packing slip. He left without another word. He would return with more YooHoo on Friday.

Move Over Fabio.

For the next two days my fantasies had us in every romantic situation possible from riding white steeds to piloting airplanes to secluded islands. As Thursday turned into Friday, I walked to work with an extra bounce to my step. My YooHoo man was returning. He walked through the same series of steps that he had done on Wednesday. It was simply a prelude to the rest of our lives together. I counted the YooHoos and as I handed him the slip back, I asked him his name. "Herman." Getting him to say more was going to take tact. "Okay, Herman it’s nice to meet you." Ugh, meet him? I wanted to lay down in sweet green grass with this man and let him read poetry to me as we sipped Chocolate YooHoo’s til nightfall. Do better my mind shouted. "Doyouwanttogotodinnerwithmeandmaybemovieafterwardtonight?" He smiled at me and laughed. "Are you serious?" This was the most serious string of words that ever rushed out of my mouth. "Yup, serious." Oh My God Oh My God I’m sounding like a half-wit! "Sure, should I pick you up here?" At that point I think I did the Snoopy dance in front of him with a little yippee shout. I gave him my phone number and told him where I was staying.

You Call It Soda, I’ll Call It Pop.

On June 4, 1982 at 7:30 pm Herman and I went out on our first date. We saw the movie Poltergeist starring Craig T. Nelson, JoBeth Williams and Heather O'Rourke who played this really creepy five year old girl. I remember taking the opportunity that scarey movies allow to curl up close and tight next to Herman. He protected me from the fictitious demons on the silver screen and kept me safe from harm. We went to a little hole in the wall pizza joint for dinner. It was the best New York pizza I ever had. A slice of pizza pie with fresh mozzarella cheese and sweet basil on mine. I can’t remember what he had on his slice. We drank pop, he called it soda. I was in heaven. I remember what he smelled like when he put his arm around my shoulders as we walked down the street. Still some 27 years later, I remember what he smelled like.

Unfortunate Crucial Information.

It is unfortunate that I have to add the next few statements. It is crucial to the decisions that will unfold as this story is told. On September 14, 1981 I had a baby I named Christopher. She was born 6 weeks early. She lived four hours. When she died, I lost a part of myself, a part that would remain empty for the rest of my life. I think all mothers who lose children feel some part of the same way. I went wandering for a couple years, sometimes getting lost, and sometimes just hiding. I was resisting the urge to live. I was heartbroken and empty. This is what I eluded to in the first paragraph when I said, "Having just survived the most extreme year of my life ..." With that understanding I was certainly not ready to conceive another child. I barred my uterus from accepting any sperm whatsoever. I was on the pill. Knowing that the pill is only 99.8% effective, I also had a diaphragm with spermicide that I used religiously. Coupling the pill and the diaphragm might have been enough, but to add to my own sense of security I also used the ‘Today Sponge’. While still used today, it was most popular in the 80's. The whole spongeworthy concept and all. Four types of birth control used simultaneously every time I had an inkling that I even might have sex so I wouldn’t ever be put in a heart wrenching situation.

Hershey’s Can’t Make Them Sweeter.

Herman may have thought he would get lucky on our first date. I know just smelling him did things to my soul that I thought were dead to me. I was feeling again for the first time in a long time. I was wanting to feel again. He did that to me. It was instant combustion when I saw him the very first time. Whoosh - strike a match, set a fire, light up the sky with fireworks ... To my own surprise, Herman didn’t get lucky that night. We talked and held hands. We walked with his arm around my shoulders. He made me feel safe in his arms. We were both very surprised when we saw the sun coming up. We left and he kissed me goodnight - sweet, delicious kiss. A kiss I have not forgotten. A kiss that was to begin the rest of my life.

Meatloaf or Marriage?

On the beach. At night. Full moon. Water lapping at the shore. I loved him. He loved me. It was beautiful, he was beautiful. I wanted to live forever in his heart. I wanted to be the reflection in his eyes for as long as his eyes could see. I wanted him to marry me. I never said that. Asking for dinner is one thing, asking for a husband is an entirely different conversation. Our time together was coming to an end, but of course neither one of us could have possibly known that yet.

Instructions For Positively Negative.

Step 1.) Take the pill.

Step 2.) Squeeze a line of spermicide around the lip of my diaphragm.

Step 3.) Put the diaphragm in place.

Step 4.) Wet the sponge, squeeze it out, snug it up tight to the diaphragm.

Everytime. Period.

No Period.

One morning, I think it was Oct 29, of 82, I woke up knowing something was not copasetic . I was positive I was pregnant. I took a test and it showed negative. I took another, it too was negative. I was positively positive I was pregnant and did not know what to do. I felt so alone and so perplexed. How? How? How? I was 100% on my 1.), 2.), 3.), 4.). Everytime. So here is where I threw all my Baggage with a capitol B into my thought process. The way I saw it through my eyes, the same eyes that in the not so distant past had received a devastating blow to the soul was

1.) Herman would ask me to marry him. Yippee! I would have said yes, emphatically YES! Then I would spend the rest of our married life wondering if he felt stuck, forced, having no other option but to marry me, or,

2.) Herman would give me $300 bucks and point me in the direction of an abortion clinic, or

3.) Deny, deny, deny.

Dear John, err, umm Herman.

I wasn’t going to hear any of the above. I left. I skipped town. I ran away ... fast. Herman got a letter I left for him there at the 7-11. I didn’t mention the baby. I don’t remember what I wrote about, but I know it was a pack of lies. I was ‘going home’ to my mother’s house to have my baby. I probably told him something like ‘it was time to move on’ or perhaps, ‘I need to go visit a sick friend’. I don’t remember, I do remember crying the entire time I wrote. I so bad wanted to stay, but I was more afraid of what he would say. The next day I was gone.

Positively Positive Pee.

I urinated on so many sticks during the next couple of months. I was positively positive that I was pregnant, but it was showing negative on every single one of those taunting sticks. My sister in law said I was being wishful. My aunt asked me how did I know? I told her ‘I just do." My mom thought I was unbalanced. She knew what transpired within me during the aftermath of my Christopher. She fully expected me to turn up pregnant. Funny thing though, is, that I didn’t want to be pregnant, hence the overkill on the contraceptives, I just knew I was. It took 14 weeks for the pregnancy to show up on a contemptuous pee stick.

The Cowardly Lion has just received a Courage Medal.

July 13, 1983 came and I delivered the most beautiful baby boy. He looked just like his father, even at birth I could see Herman in him. Dark hair, dark eyes. Everyone said he favored my daddy, but I knew the truth. I found the courage I needed and I called Herman on December 31, 1983. We talked and laughed together for over five hours. Straight through the birth of the New Year. I had sent him a Christmas card with my son’s photo in it. Herman’s mother opened the card he told me. When she looked at the photo she said to Herman, "That baby is yours. He is you made over again." I told him then that, yes he was my son’s father. My son was almost 6 months old at that time. I remember there was a long, quiet time on the phone, then Herman whispered, "Why?" "Why now? I just got married." I remember all my air rushing out of my lungs. I couldn’t breath. The lights went dim, then they flared with blinding light. I blew it. Blew It Big Time.

Love Letters and Roses

When my son was two years old I took him to Long Island to meet Herman. He brought me a red rose, (I still have it) and a romantic Hallmark card (I have that still as well). It didn’t turn out the way my minds eye had fantasized about it. He was aloof. He was uninterested. He cared less than I thought he might. I left New York knowing I had made the right decision, but yet, I still loved him. Still yearned for him. Silently.

And Even Though I Know How Very Far Apart We Are, It Helps To Think We Might Be Wishing On The Same Bright Star.

My son, now a man himself got married this past summer. It wasn’t long afterward that he came to me and asked me a bit about Herman. He said he found what he hoped was the right address on the internet. He had mailed him a letter. I called Herman, I wanted him to know that the letter was coming. I wanted him to answer the letter. I wanted just to hear his voice say my name one more time. I spoke with Herman’s wife. They are still married. I didn’t know if she knew about my son or not, so I thought I better not mention him to her. I did ask her to pass my phone number on to Herman. He called me two and a half weeks later. Nearly twenty seven years disappeared when I heard his voice. He apologized to me. I miss him. Funny how that is, but there it is, I miss him. I still love him ... somewhere in my heart there is a place where love resides solely for Herman. He gave me the best part of me - he gave me my son. I never asked a thing from Herman, ever. The only thing I ever really wanted from him I couldn’t have anymore. He gave it to another woman. That’s sad.

Ever After.

I don’t know how this story is going to end. I sit here writing this tonight and wishing he would call.

Strange how all this makes me imagine him riding white steeds to piloting airplanes to secluded islands ... ... ...

Several Weeks Later ....

My son recieved the letter he had hoped for. It was filled with the information he wanted to know. There was photographs of Herman's family, he has two brothers. He also saw who he looks like, something I have known all his life, but never told him. My son is happy with the news and found out that his brother wants to make contact with him has thrilled him.

Me? Well I haven't heard back from Herman, nor should I. He is a long ago, albeit important figure in my life. Hearing his voice spirited me back into a time that was comfortable and easy in memory. It's was a soft sweet place to visit.