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Reflecting

December 16, 2009

I am having one of those episodes where I NEED to get my paper done for school so that I can focus on all the work that I have to make up in my English class.  For some reason though my thoughts are thinking back on my life to this point.

I think that by this point most know that I always wanted to be a mother- that isn’t looking so hot right at this moment.   I started thinking back and wondering about my life.

I wonder where I would be if I had chosen to stay in New York rather than trying to have a relationship with my dad.  In my head I like to think that the majority of parents aren’t like my dad and his wife.  I think that I may be reflective because it is a situation that I have resolved within myself.  I don’t wonder what could have been with anger like I would have this time last year. Today I am wondering because I think I would have been a dramatically different person- with someone who showed that they loved me and supported my dreams in an active kind of role.  I couldn’t tell you guys how often we jumped on a train so I could go to dance, gymnastics (yeah, that one didn’t last too long but I loved the short time I was there), swimming, baseball, tennis, modeling classes with my cousin, auditions (again with my cousin- she didn’t like to do things by herself), and even crochet classes.  If I saw something or someone doing something I didn’t know how to do- I asked and if it was reasonable I could at least try it to decide for myself if it was something I wanted to pursue.

When I lived with my dad it was the complete opposite.  Anything that took away from their time or their schedule or their leisure was brushed under the rug.  I took it though and for that I think I haven’t resolved that in myself.  The foolish hope that my dad and I and my brother could be a family- in the true sense.  Notice I don’t mention my father’s wife.  When I first moved with them my dad and I were still close (ish). Anytime we started really to have fun she would do or say something (usually completely inappropriate) to change that light-hearted mood.  When we had our last conversation (the one where I finally told her that I didn’t care one way or the other what happened with her) she tried to make it sound as though she some how protected me from my dad.  In that she was partly right- she was standing there right in the middle of us.  She says that it was for my own good but I say that she put every brick of that wall that rose between myself and my dad.  He provided the mortar by allowing her interference and that is just really sad.

When I lived with them it was my grandmother who paid my sports fees, for my equipment (I could go through at least four pairs of cleats in a season- not counting the team cleats that were for games or the cleats for off-season training), for my color guard camps, my color guard uniforms, and band trips.

I think my dreams would still be alive.  I smothered them for the sake of a relationship- a relationship that shouldn’t have required that. Right now I think that is my only regret.  That I sacrificed so much for what turned out to be nothing but heartache and anger. I hate how my teen years went but I don’t regret them because good things did come from them.  My very best friends I met while there.  I met the Hubbs- though I believe with my whole heart that even if I hadn’t moved to Florida I would have met him along the path of life.  I did learn how I didn’t want to be when it came to relationships. I would have liked to have kept my dreams in the process.

Again, while I have always wanted to be a mother I think the past five years have added different dimensions to that desire. I want to be the unfailing support to my child(ren) that my Grandmother was (and still is) to me.  It breaks my heart not only to see others being able to take that first step but seeing parents who are encouraging their children. It could be in a movie, on television, or just walking through Target and that pressure builds in my chest. I choke up and fight the tears I can’t seem to control.  It isn’t a sobbing or even that ugly crying (you know what I’m talking about- with the snot rollin out the nose, red eyes close to swelling shut, and not being able to breathe). Just a tear or two- and the sadness. I suppose that to a certain degree I could use the word regret but I reject that idea.  That would imply that I have a hand in my infertility and I am pretty sure there isn’t any way that could have happened.

Man this has taken quite a while to write so I need to go and actually get something done for school.

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