Living Blissfully Naïve

For a year I wore blinders. I did my absolute best daily to control what I saw, heard, over-heard, and put myself into. In a world that craved an eye on the terrors of the war, gushed and awed at the thought of another soldier dead, in a culture where video games allowed one to act as if there were in the battle field, and movies that glorified death to a disturbing degree it wasn’t always easy to keep my blinders in place. Yet that is the role I took for a year while my love was away.

I recently heard a story on NHPR about a group of women and families that were interviewed about their personal experiences while their husbands served our country. I recall one woman stating that she engineered her computer to alter her to any new updates pr news articles about the area in which her husband was stationed. I was astonished to hear this. When Ray and I were separated by oceans and deserts even the thought of hear about this or that explosion sent chills throughout my body. In the moments that I somehow would stumbled across news of a fallen soldier I never could hold back the tears. It was always a guilty mixture of “thank God it wasn’t Ray “to an overwhelming blow of “that could have been him”.

There would be days when I would hear nothing from Ray. It was all that I could do to carry on with daily life without fear creeping its way into my every breath. Even on the days I would get to actually hear his voice through the creaky connection the moment we he had to hang up I would sit there still listening to the dial tone wondering when I would hear it again. In fact to this day almost 4 years later I still haven’t the heart or desire to erase the 13 message he left on my phone in the year he was gone.

It is haunting the way you drift when the person you love might never been seen again. For me it felt excruciating that I might never get to fully enjoy the love that Ray and I had, as we had only courted for 16 days prior to his departure. Thankfully for me, for us no matter how long it went between our correspondences there was always another.  

Death in the "Family"

I just found out that my Grandfather died; and I feel nothing. Perhaps it is somewhat fueled by the bitterness of the way that family abandoned me, or maybe it is simply because I never knew him.  Nonetheless I am also surprised to find that I don’t feel guilt about my lack of emotion. I think that I know the answer to that more clearly; I know in my heart that he would forgive me, if only so that I would consider forgiving him for never saying a word.

I suppose that last line deserves some back story, yet I am perplexed at were to start with my epitome of a deadbeat father. I would never say that I had a bad childhood. In fact I have many memories on which I base much of my happiness growing up. I am also very aware that in this day and age it always could have been much worse. And in many ways Paul taught me some extremely valuable lessons, such as;  don’t smoke pot, it is indeed a gate way drug, and you WILL lose brain cells. Yet that is only the start of the endless screw-up’s that define my biological father’s existence.

My father and mother had that cliché of being high school sweethearts. I really don’t know much of the story leading up to their love, only the fall that resulted. Put simply my father was a lying, cheating, drug using bastard (ahhh that felt so good to into words). My mother being the strong spirited women she is left him with me by her side. Of course not before he had the chance to literally bankrupt us and leave us both a little emotionally scarred.

Of course the pain didn’t stop there. I spent the next 22 years of my life attached in some manner to a “father” who I pathetically kept hoping would change. I was kidnapped twice, left with promises broken countless times, and so emotionally drained that when I finally realized that the only reason I still allowed him to be a part of my life was so that I could spew my venomous words at him I simply asked him one day to pretend I never existed for that was my plan from that day forward.

I have kept to that promise for 3 year now. My children who are very young now have never once heard me speak of him nor have they met anyone from that side of the family. I do one day plan to share that sorted past, if only to teach them the lessons he taught me. Yet until than I have enjoyed this freedom of letting my heart let go of something I never really had. Yet today I find myself drawn back into this world that I finally was free of.

Milton Prouty, that is the name of my grandfather whom I barely knew. He was a distinguished narcotics officer in Massachusetts for many years, a Korean war veteran, as well as a loyal husband and father of 4 children.  The only thing that I personally knew about him was his amazingly beautiful ability to play the piano by ear in a way that left you wondering if your eyes were really seeing what was before you.

Yet my memories of this man are small and far between. I re-call after my parents’ divorce only seeing my grandfather as he dropped off my Nana for visits, than picked her up later.  Never once did he get out of the car, or even speak to me for that matter. As I got older on my brief visits to their home, he would be vibrant and sweet as he showed me his incredibly detailed oil paintings, and let me sit next to him as he played the piano and I whistled along. It always seemed so contradicting that he could be so utterly caring and yet completely distant the next. No one ever question this behavior, it just seemed to be a mute point.

With my oldest daughter currently exploring the art of back talk we have gone into great discussions with her about the choices we all make in life. Even though she is only 3 my husband and I feel that it is important for her to begin understanding that her own choices affect all those around her.  2 days after my Grandfathers death I begin to wonder about a choice he had to make years ago.  A difficult choice had to be made between the shame and sheer disappointment of his youngest son (whom his wife and children all coddle and create elaborate excuses for), or keeping his life and family in order, and sacrificing any relationship with me. Years later with a family of my own I very easily can accept his choice as the only rational one to make.  So on his death bed as I look up to the clearing night sky I forgive him for never being able to tell me his sorrow for my plight and I hope that he forgives me for feeling no grief for a Grandfather that could have been.

Mayhem in the Morning

35 weeks 3 days pregnant and this morning I felt every bit of it. Somehow in a house of 2 little ladies 3 and under, 2 dogs and a husband who was supposed to be at work 30 minutes ago we all over slept. First I hear the thud of my 9 month old dog Ranger’s cast hitting our bedroom floor as he stretches and begins to whine for me to get up and start his morning routine. Ray my husband mumbles and groans, apparently sleep finally came to him at 3am; got to love insomnia! Ella my oldest daughter is dressing herself, and Evelyn is screaming at  me from her bed.

8:05 - 25 minutes to get dressed, take out the dog, give dog meds, check his cast, let out second dog, dress 2 girls, make breakfast, find my husband’s lost hat, pack lunch, pack a back pack, find keys.

8:37 - almost done and out the door!

8:45 – Ella is off to school, I am home with the little lady, baby Ray begins his morning exercise within my womb, and I already on the phone fighting with Verizon! YAY! It is most definitely time for that half caf cup of coffee I limit myself to.

9:00 – STILL fighting with Verizon. I have ordered coffee online as well as paid several bills during this argument with Verizon. I have also managed to wash 2 sinks full dishes. What amazes me is that there were none when I went to bed last night! I am going to take a wild guess and say that Evelyn’s molars coming in and that would explain the crying, screaming, red faced monster attached to my leg right now.

9:20 – Evelyn’s medicine has kicked in YAY, I can hear myself think. Now to call the veterinarian and explain to them (hopefully without feeling like the worst dog owner in the world) that a $4000 surgery for his broken leg is completely out of the question. Did I mention I am 8 months pregnant and about to have 3 children 3 and under? Poor dog, got caught in an animal trap illegally set close to our house, it broke his leg and resulted in a blue cast to his shoulder on a very playful, very energetic dog.

9:45 – An appointment has been set for Ranger to get the 1^st of his weekly cast re-structures done right after Ella is done with school. I walk into the hall after hanging up to find Evelyn crayon in hand. “Mommy we draw on paper right?” she says, I respond “yes baby we draw on paper” Evelyn “oops”… 30 minutes spent scrubbing the wall where her artistic ability has been beautifully expressed.

Finally for this thought let’s skip ahead to 12:35. Errands have been run, as Evelyn and I approach the front door I pray our poor puppy has been good while we were away. Because his cast is all the way up his leg he no longer fits in his kennel, thus meaning he went from kennel trapped dog to free range puppy. Upon first inspection of the house I sigh a deep breath of satisfaction…Until I notice the black spots all over his front legs and neck. Puzzled I step deeper into each room turning on lights. There it is, the shattered black ball point pen on the brand new white down comforter on my nicely made bed.

Breath Cassie…Breath