I've been writing things because at my age, "as one gets older, one's fears subside and what seems more and more important is to be known." I stole that line from The Bridges of Madison County movie, an all time favorite of mine. Francesca had a life changing event in the middle of her life that had her looking at her choices, her future; and while she chooses to stay with her own life, she wants her children to know about this, and leaves them a letter along with journals describing those four days. This is the digital age equivalent of that for me!
I research genealogy and family history because the past of my grandparents is so sketchy, full of stories and half truths, and when it comes right down to it, there must be many skeletons in the closet to justify all the secrets that those who went before me have kept.
Even my parents, and I've lived around them for 50+ years now, had things that were their own as adults and individuals that us kids didn't know about. Or maybe we were just young and involved in our own selves, not paying attention to them as real people -- they were "the parents". Which makes me wonder what my own kids know about me. I know that I probably raised them like my parents raised me: best foot forward as a parent, putting their needs, their learning, their growing, above my own wants and needs. To me, that's as it should be. If I wasn't willing to do this, I saw no reason to have kids in the first place. Which is why God probably entrusted me with special needs kids, if that's how one chooses to look at it.
Things might have been different if I'd stayed married to their father, if he and I had more things in common, if, if, if. So many if's that don't really matter any longer, they're part of the past. It wasn't all bad, there just wasn't enough good to balance it out.
Holiday seasons seem to bring out the reflective side of me. I don't know if my kids wonder why I didn't stay with their dad. We married when I was only 19 years old. I may have seemed mature for my age, but in truth when it came to relationships, I floundered just like everyone else. I was overweight growing up, and when I finally got a boyfriend, I thought it was forever - the only one I would ever have! (see? kids get dumb ideas!) I'm sure that was a lack of self esteem issue. But after we married, it was easy to see that we had different ideals on family and raising kids, and we stuck it out for close to 10 years.
We had our challenges with our kids, they had more needs than an average kid might have. And it always felt like meeting those needs was left up to me. When Tanya was born, my parents watched her. I would get up and get ready for work, drop her off, pick her up on the way home. Once I got home, it was time to cook, clean and get ready for the next day. Here I'd be, tired and hauling the kid, the diaper bag and the car seat up the stairs only to find their dad sitting in his fav spot on the couch, TV on, with a Pepsi and a bag of chips. And I remember thinking to myself "how is this fair? I work hard too!" But I kept on keeping on. It was a trip to visit his parents in Arizona that woke me up. I got up one morning, Tanya was an early riser, and always rambunctious as she was learning to walk. We went into the living room. His dad walks in, snaps on the TV, grabs his coffee, sits in his chair, starts watching TV and hollers for us to "keep it down". And I just couldn't see that as my future.
Does that make me a little nuts? Intolerant? Judgmental?
I know those are two simplified scenarios, but it was a daily occurrence and one I didn't think I could handle for the next 20, 30, 40 years. I wanted to do more than work and watch TV as life went by!
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