Yes, this is my life

You once told him the song Settle For A Slow Down reminded you of him. You should know by now that he drove right past because no one saw you. You were like a parcel of garbage the wind blew across the street. He hit the gas because that was a bad part of town. Instead I offer you a little Misery Business by Paramore. If you haven't heard it look it up. I never meant to brag but it does feel pretty fucking good. If there was a song called Stop Bothering Us, You Adulterous Cum Bucket...I would give you that one too but sadly it does not exist. You actually told him it was clear I was still in love with my late husband. Thanks Captain Obvious. None of us saw that. Please find my sarcasm. I will always love my husband. If you loved yours half as much as I do, we wouldn't be in this pickle. See what I did there? I told you over a year ago to go be concerned with your own husband. Yet, here we are. In your last message you claimed you read my blog. That's not weird at all. Ok

My eight year old daughter is like any other. She's got every color nail polish, Monster High Doll, Barbie and well...she's got a ton. Despite her collection there is nothing more coveted, more loved than a 7 year old faded "daddy blankie". At 8 she still says blankie. I've always known how much she liked it but this week it got misplaced while packing and she cried for hours. I tore the house apart searching. When I found it we all breathed a sigh of relief. I know now just how important it is to her. It is her most prized possession. What's a daddy blankie? In 2008 when my husband was preparing for the first deployment since my youngest two had been born, the ASYMCA was offering kids of those deploying a small quilt with pictures of them and their daddies printed on fabric. The idea was to have daddy close while he was so very far away. I ordered one for each of the kids. They came and were quite beautiful. Kira had just turned one at the time and it didn&

You know that weird thing that happens when you're sleeping and things that you are hearing somehow become part of your dream? The sound weaves it's self into your dream and becomes incorporated. When you wake up you're not really sure if it was a dream or if it really happened? It's a regular occurrence for me. This morning it came again and although I've been awake over an hour I'm still wondering. Normally it comes in the form of a toilet flushing and in my dream I am using the rest room. Or the door bell rings and my brain turns that into a school bell so I am rushing to class. Sometimes the kids come and talk to me and our conversation becomes part of the dream. They have learned they can ask me for anything while I'm sleeping and I don't remember a thing about it after waking. Lucky them. This time was different. I fell asleep on the couch last night. Naturally Riley slept right next to me. Around daylight I heard her get up and go to the patio

Many traumatic events have occurred in my 36 years of life. My childhood was especially hard. I once thought because I had survived to adulthood I could survive anything. I thought nothing life could hand me was harder than what I experienced as a child. I guess I was wrong. Either my childhood prepared me for what would happen as a woman or it fostered the perfect storm for the PTSD I developed with Mikes death. I think of our souls as tempered glass. It's tough and made to withstand a great deal but is, at its core still glass. And it's particularly telling that I think of glass because I am terrified of glass. I guess it's symbolic in more ways than I even realize. Like I said my childhood was troubled. I don't say this to disrespect my parents in anyway. They did the best they could. But regardless, it's necessary to explain my youth to accept my growth and healing. It is part of who I am.  My parents battled addiction. With substance abuse comes a certain cha

After Mike died many people began writing to me about their own PTSD. Some of the time I was the only person they could open up to and say "I think I have PTSD." It can be incredibly difficult just acknowledging it. Even harder to share it. I guess since vets and their families saw that my husband suffered in denial and eventually took his own life, it opened their eyes. It made them realize that it's far more serious than first given credit. Here's what I know on it: I have NEVER met a person who ignored it until it no longer exists. It ALWAYS progresses when untreated. It can and WILL kill you if you suffer silently. You may not complete suicide, but those who are in denial are more likely to self medicate with alcohol and other substance. It will put a huge strain on your marriage, your relationship with your children, your friends family and Co workers. Everyone suffers right there with you. You will self destruct. The longer you let it fester and the harder it i

Mikes death is akin to a great flood that rushed in without warning, ripping through our life, destroying everything it touched and when the waters receded the only thing left miraculously was my children and myself. Their father was pulled into the current, our identity, our home, our hopes and dream, our security...gone. We were left standing waist high in mud and muck dazed and confused as we looked around to find we didn't even recognize what we once called home. Once the shock wore off we were supposed to rebuild. HIS DEATH RIPPED AWAY EVERY ASPECT OF OUR REALITY. Where would I even start? I decided my first priority was the health and well being of my children. I put all my energy into making sure they didn't just survive the great devastation but to thrive in the wake. For the past two years I focused primarily to our healing and recovery. I am fairly certain my children will succeed in life in spite of it all. They are so strong. I put everything else on the back burn

I'm sure by now word has gotten out to the world that a prominent NAACP leader has been misleading the public about her race. I find the story so intriguing. I've never heard one like it. I mean other than the White Chicks movie. The one that stars the Wayans Bros undercover as a couple of white sorority sisters. That was funny. This would be funny if people weren't being negatively effected by her choice.  It's not even a legal matter in my opinion but an ethical and moral issue. Historically the black community has had a very hard time trusting white people in authority. Well, although she had good intentions what she did was foster that lack of trust.  She teaches Black Women's Struggles and refers in her writing as "We". She has only been disguised as a black woman since 2007 according to her family. She's only been a "black woman" eight years? So she's qualified to speak on it? My daughter was born in 2007. I don't think she'

When people die, friends and family have a way of changing history. They start to fantasize about the person they lost. They build that person up. Putting them on a pedestal. I think it's most likely a coping mechanism. Since Mike passed away I have kept my perspective and a true account of our life prior to him dying. Some have accused me of "talking Ill of the dead." But I loved him at his worst so when I speak of it, it's not "speaking ill" it's just reality. You might find it hard to read but when people aren't honest, especially in deaths like his. When they sweep the truth under the rug...it stunts true healing and helps no one. How can others be honest with themselves if I cant? I can't help anyone by sugar coating. I find myself sometimes wondering what life would have been like had he gotten treatment. But that's not reality. He refused. He denied. He would have likely never sought help. I know the reality of what our life would b

Many who have been following my blog for years have heard me talk about my uncle Mike. He was the first exposure I ever had to PTSD. While in the service he developed PTSD and subsequently a drinking problem to cope with his symptoms. It became out of control and he was given the choice to be kicked out or retire early with 18 years service.  Substance abuse is very common and misguided way of coping with the trauma. When he separated he came back home to live with us. As you may remember my grandma gave us very specific rules for waking him up, never startling him from behind etc. Again, we were little so I didn't understand I just did as my grandma told because...she was little but she WAS the boss. I became very close to my uncle. I often asked about his son. He was never forthcoming. We were close in age and I had never met him. I only remember photos of him my grandma showed me. One specifically of him on a horse. I remember her telling me that was taken in New Mexico. I kne

Today people are wearing orange around the country to take a stand against gun violence. I guess it would be only natural that someone may ask me today what my position was on the topic. I thought on it before I replied and I don't feel Mike died by gun violence. If anyone should be able to own weapons it should be a highly trained veteran with 20 years of experience and respect for the weapon. His job afterall, as he would constantly tell me was that of a Rifleman. "A Marines first job is a rifleman..." He had up until the point he died never been irresponsible with a weapon. He'd never joked around with it. He had never threatened me or the kids with it prior. It had never come out of the garage in its locked case until that night.  I can't really speak on gun violence only to say that what happened to him wasn't that. He shot expert. Every year he requalified. He knew his weapon top to bottom. He could assemble and disassemble it. He told the kids never to

Everyone is talking about two things lately, Caitlin Jenner And the Duggars. I am not even going to go far on Jenner because it's a non issue. My only hate is that her rack is phenomenal and superior to mine, I was born female. The Duggars things though really really upset me. And the public reaction upset me even more. Why is the focus on the pious family being hipocrites? There are living victims in the chaos and media frenzy. Why is no one saying "I don't care who you are. I don't care your celebrity or standing in the community. Children were hurt. Law enforcement failed them. Their church failed them. Their family failed them. I personally don't give a good god damn who you portray in television, children suffered in their inaction." He was sent to work camp by his parents! Manual labor doesn't rid a predator from his impulses. I don't care that he was a teenager. At that age you know what you're doing is not ok. He's grown now with kids

Sometimes looking back at old photos I can see the distance that grew between Michael and us. What once was a "we" slowly became a "him" and "us". It was like a chunk of earth broke off from the mainland and slowly floated adrift. He was still around. We could see him but he became a separate intity. I am thankful the kids have so many photos of the family because losing a loved one so young has a way of stealing your memories over time. There is a documented time line of their life with their dad to look at, to remember and to hold on to forever. They can't or won't ever see what I see in the same photo we share. Where they see us all smiling happily as if we have no care in the world...I remember his behavior that day. I remember it being a chore to convince him to join us. I remember having to literally force him to have a good time with the family who loved him. I remember slowly exhausting myself to the point we just stopped asking him. We l