Sunday, December 31, 2017

There are several important women in my life.

Off the top of my head there are six. The hold various roles but I can not imagine my life without a single one of them.

My Mom, the Great Investigator. There was never a part of my life she did not dive into and immerse herself within to better understand what makes me tick.

My Wife, my Commander. Like a good Commander she guides me, she protects me, she inspires me. Not only would I die for her but a bad end will come to anyone who does her any harm, a very bad end.

My sisters, my Cheerleaders. Very positive, sometimes not so positive, but without fail they are beside their brother. Through thick or thin, through his insight or his idiocy, they are there.

My Daughters. The two of them have had a huge impact on who I am. I've always been upfront about the tragedy that is my life regarding my off spring.

The oldest, bless her soul, was hidden from me (by design) until the investigator finally succeeded in locating her and initiating contact. This has lead to a decade of bittersweet joy. Whenever I see Yaz, whenever I talk to Yaz, I love and hate her mother who gifted me with a such a beautiful mind and robbed me of seeing that mind become.

The youngest was born with trouble. Trouble caused by the damage done to my chromosomes during Desert Storm. I feel most burdened by this damage as it was, in essence, my fault. I did NOT have to go. (Well they probably would have insisted if I said no but) So in my mind and soul I felt her birth defect was my fault.

During the first week of her life she had to have significant operations to allow her more life. I stayed with her each day and each night while this was happening. Whenever she went into the hospital for revision surgery, I was there even at the cost of my job which I eventually lost due to my adherence to her side.

A few months after I lost that job a great employment opportunity opened up for me literally across the country. I took a bus, yes a bus, from Philadelphia PA to San Jose CA for this job. And this job was good for me, I tried to maintain contact with Baby Mom, though to be honest she did not want me to be around, but life was better for me.

Then one day life transformed for me. A Philly friend of mine expressed his remorse over my loss of my daughter. Loss of my daughter?!? Since that time I have had to tell people about how my one daughter died from birth defects my willing service caused her at a tender age of 5. That horror had dreadful impact upon my psyche. I started to experience PTSD in debilating fashion. The most painful was the flashbacks which I had not experienced before this point and has taken several decades to control. It did cause me to leave my profession though as it became the trigger which caused them.

That is the effect that I don't tell people about. The news about my loss triggered something of a mental meltdown. Nothing untoward to the community around me... all the pain and discomfort went to the target, Me.

Well, the great investigator was uncovered another great mystery of my life. the youngest did not die. The friend was mistaken in his report and my avoidance of spending significant time in her hometown has kept this mistake alive. She lives and once again life, and service, has robbed me of the life and love of a daughter. However, I am going to strive to thrive (as always) in the face of this revelation. I think I'll get Yaz to open contact with her sister, Amanda, and let them work out how I should be punished. Positive or negative I will accept their judgement and punishment whatever that may be.

They are and have been, truly, significant portions of my psyche. There is no part of me that I will not own though a writhe in shame at some parts. However at no point was I ever deceitful or unscrupulous so I leave the dice where they lay and regret only the numbers that appeared.

I do not regret tossing the dice.

Saturday, April 29, 2017

Too soon!

All of my friends and acquaintances were right there after my accident. They tried to help me recover, and they did, but their efforts, or the focus of their efforts, was misdirected. They tried to help me re-become and sadly that isn't possible.

The old me, that 45 year old war Veteran, disappeared in that accident. What was left was me and I needed to regrow up. Mentally and psychologically. Early in my recovery I was not "old" enough to understand much of what was going on around me. My church put their arms around me, my Masonic lodge tried to help me shoulder on through, and many local, and not so local, friends put a comforting hand on my back so that I didn't feel so lost.

What many did not understand was how much I did not understand.

For instance, all my food likes and dislikes have changed, significantly. So being out with friends who encouraged me to eat this or that as "the old me" used to love it, and the new me did not, might have been an oppsie.

Or another example, the old me used to have an understanding of decorum. A simple thing but a profound thing, at least between kids and adults. I used to be a 45 year old Adult, I was no longer. I'm not even close to that adulthood even now many years later. I am not the kid that I was, and I most definitely was a child. Here I was being reintroduced to affairs fit for the adult I was when I was no longer an adult.

Did I embarrass myself and those around me, Yes!
Did I generate hostility towards myself for lack of decorum and understanding, Yes!
Was this a mistake by others trying too soon to introduce me to who I used to be? Yes!

And therein lies the additional trauma, personal of course, from my accident. Each and every day I endure my condition, outwardly with a smile upon my face, and I hate it. There are times I want to fall down on my knees and scream at the Universe for placing me here. And I feel regret for the accidents and mishaps for my friends, brothers, and family trying too much, too soon.

I can't help but feel grateful for their trying however I can't help but feel regret for things that happened. I can only point to the wheel and say, "I wasn't driving, at all." And hope that many of those involved accept my regret as an apology while recognizing their involvement in those times.

One can only hope...