Saving Daddy's Soulmate

My Journey of Forgiveness

Trying to Reach You But You’re Out Of Touch

skyIs this what you see Dad?  Or is just my view when I look up?  I’ve been crying for 2 days now and I have no understanding why I am crying.  I keep watching the Long Island Medium and sobbing as person after person is given that link to their deceased family members and here I am, bereft, alone and stunted.  I’ve watched so many episodes the last 2 days that I’ve decided I can’t watch anymore.  I called a medium today so that I could reach you, ask a few questions and perhaps somehow get some answers.

But $175 for a one hour session over 2 hours away by car seemed a bit steep to me.  Hell, I’d like to know where the life insurance money went so it’s not feasible for me to spend more money when there’s already money missing.  What did you do with that money?  To whom did you lend or give it?  I’d really like to know.  Mom wants to know, but knowing you, I’d rather keep that Pandora’s box shut, locked and never open it.

I did get on a psychic radio show today.  When I told them I was looking to hear from my Dad who was deceased, they laughed and said that just like at Christmas dinner you can’t predict what relatives show, this is the same.  And just like in real life, you continued to refuse to show just like you did for many holiday dinners.  I guess you had better places to be today.  I guess the ‘let the next son of a b” take care of it mentality reigns and I have to take care of myself as well.  What else is new?  I’ve always had to pick up the pieces in everyone’s lives.

They told me that I have healing powers in my hands.  That I’m an em-path which I actually already knew and that I was an ear to ear healer which means that I can simply listen to someone and help them to heal.  They asked if random people just told me things and I said they did.  It’s happened my whole life.  Strangers come and tell me their life story without any qualms.  It’s amazing to me the secrets I know.  Sometimes I wish I didn’t know.

I guess you’re not ready to talk with me.  Or perhaps all the medium mumbo jumbo is just mumbo jumbo and not real.  You communicate readily with my son and unfortunately I was able to monitor you when you were alive but now I can’t.  I”m asking that you communicate with me.  Leave him be for now.  Let HIM have a childhood please.

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Life is what you do with it


“Life is 10 percent what happens to you and
90 percent what you do with it.” – Unknown

I don’t know what to do with the emotions and what I’ve experienced.  And why does it seem to come now when he’s been gone for longer than a year?  I liked this quote because it gave me hope and strength.  Funny how I always return to the sea when I need peace and companionship.  I’ve always been this way.  Like the Stevie Nicks song, ” I have always been a storm.”


Every night that goes between
I feel a little less
As you slowly go away from me
This is only another test

Every night you do not come
Your softness fades away
Did I ever really care that much?
Is there anything left to say?

Every hour of fear I spend
My body tries to cry
Living through each empty night
A deadly calm inside

I haven’t felt this way I feel
Since many a years ago
But in those years and the lifetime’s past
I did not deal with the road

And I did not deal with you, I know
Though the love has always been
So I search to find an answer there
So I can truly win

Every hour of fear I spend
My body tries to cry
Living through each empty night
A deadly calm inside

So I try to say goodbye, my friend
I’d like to leave you with something warm
But never have I been a blue calm sea
I have always been a storm

Always been a storm
Ooh, always been a storm
I have always been a storm

We were frail

She said
“Every night he will break your heart”
I should have known from the first
I’d be the broken hearted

I loved you from the start
Save us
And not all the prayers in the world
Could save us….


I’m Stumped

stumpPhoto credit:  Unknown

This is how I feel.  He’s dead and yet his roots are still very much in my life.  They are far reaching into my psyche.  I hear his words in my head even though I can’t really remember his voice.  I’d know it if I heard it but the exact timbre of it is lost now.  But the shame, the guilt, the unworthiness is still there, very much evident.  I can’t seem to shake it.  How do you kill the roots when the tree’s already gone?

I get angry because I shouldn’t have to deal with this anymore.  But it’s all around me.  I’m still dealing with him by having to deal with my Mom who still misses him.  It’s not him so much as the security of another person in her life.  She misses that he slept with his arm around her at night.  That she had him there to drive her around.  That and she could remain safe in her cluelessness.

But I need to empty myself of what’s poisoning me inside.  The snippets of memories long ago buried which pop up out of nowhere, confusing me.  The emptiness which I feel in my belly that I feed with junk in order to quiet it all the while hating that I’m eating.  There were times when I didn’t eat, a whole week when I refused to speak, eat or do anything but stare into space at the young age of 12.  The anorexia which plagued me one summer, giving me that empowered sense of not eating ~ a type of control when all else in my life was out of control.

And now, the beast needs to be fed and I can’t stop.  The girl who prided herself on being thin, now expanding beyond appropriate form only to stuff down feeling with food.  Where I once limited myself, I now am limitless ~ equally hating myself.  I am pudgy.  I look stuffed.  I look awful and not like me.  And yet, I can’t stop.

I hate myself.  I hate feeling this way.  Lonely, I share nothing except with you.  I cannot tell those around me what I am enduring for fear that they will not understand.  I profess that I put on a good show, an actress as always.  Made for the part ~ and yet deep down, I’m withered.  I’m cold.  I’m desperate.  I fear that if I allow myself to really feel and go there, into the blackened hole, I will never get out.  I will drown in the truth.  So I skirt it.  I dare not take that first step for there is nobody to hold me that I trust.

What I fear I know weighs heavily in my head, on my shoulders, in my vast belly.  How can it be that I don’t know things or am I making them up in my head?  There’s no one to ask.  No one to trust.  No one alive who will tell me the truth.  I want to be healed.  I don’t know how to relive this and I can’t find a way to do it on my own.  I’ve never been the one who needs my hand held.  I’ve been the strong one, the mother figure to all of them.

Who’s to help me now?


I’m All Alone

IMG_0635I’m all alone here.  I can’t share this with anyone for fear of it getting back to society where these things aren’t suppose to go on even though they do.  It’s not the physical abuse which hurts, it’s the emotional abuse.  He was the puppeteer, manipulating situations and us (Mom, Sissy and me) so that he could be the King of the household and also be the savior.  Hit me, beat me and when I am down, crying, weakened ~ hold me, gather me up into your lap and press my head against your chest as I sob.  Run your fingers through my hair as I hyperventilate.  Scream for my Mom to leave us alone as you calm me down, whispering your words in my ear softly, with such a soothing tone that I forgive you.  Because you hit me for my own good.


And now, when I’ve confronted my Mom who by the way, he never hit, she remembers nothing.  She’s blocked the ugliness as I did.  She forgave him for what he did because he came from an abusive home.  That makes sense to her.  He did what was done to him because it’s all he knew.  Somehow that doesn’t equate for me.  I came from abuse and yet I’ve never hit anyone in my life.  I’m no pansy, but there’s no way I will abuse my children in order to show my power and to exert my strength over others.

Nope.  To me, there’s no excuse for it.  And I don’t forgive him ~ or myself.  And her blind allegiance isn’t getting her any points either.


Outside the Window, Only Cold

004Outside the window, only cold.  Outside myself, only cold, inside myself, utter sadness.  It’s been a long time since I’ve written.  Perhaps that is best as I’ve been in a quandary for a long time now.  Today however, it’s like I’m seeing things for the first time.  I need help.  I realize now that the cluttered home in which I live isn’t helping me.  Nor is the guilt, shame and anxiety which plague me daily.  I’m having a hard time following things, it’s like I’m ADD and I’m not.  But it feels like it.  I start something only to jump to something else and then back again.  I can’t keep on a steady stream.  I feel pushed/pulled in all different directions.

I need healing.  I need a vacation from my life.  I’m not suicidal.  I’m just tired of carrying the woes and burdens of everyone else on my shoulders.  I want peace.  I want help.  I need nurturing.  So I came back to you.  In this safety net, I can just be myself.  Be open and free to speak as I need to without having to be so darn superficially fine.  It’s exhausting and I’m tired of living that lie.  So here I come to rest, to speak and to reaffirm that I’ve been hurt, abused and harmed and I’m still here.  I acknowledge that I need to heal what’s hurting even though it’s already dead and get myself back in a peaceful place.

Since September I’ve been dragging my life around, not happy, just hurt.  To meet me you wouldn’t know I feel like a victim (a word I loathe) as I hide my unhappiness quite well.  But I am tired of living this way.  I need an outlet again which was what my blog gave to me.  So here I am.  I hope you will know that you are loved here and that here is a place of healing.  I used to be an anorexic and now I just overeat all the time.  I stuff down my feelings through food.  I am overweight which I abhor and I can’t stand the sight of myself.  So I need your help.  Thank you.


Out of Mind, Out of Focus

002There are days that I can focus on my life without him in it.  I can even go so far as to remember that I had a Dad, but not remember him.  Amazing how our brains can be motivated when we are shirking the truth.  Focus on the pretty life and not on the flower.  That’s what we did.

On the outside, as a family, we looked pretty good.  2 healthy daughters who made good grades, had good manners, grew up as expected.  We were taught to be grateful for what we had.  We lived in a well-off community, but we were middle of the road at best.  The black sheep of an affluent family name.

But as you know, what goes on behind the closed doors of the house is never told.

He’s the only man that’s ever hit me.  I tolerated it because as a child, I didn’t know better.  I revered him back then.  He made me feel special, even when he hit me.   My Mom doesn’t remember him hitting us.  She’s blocked it like she’s blocked so much of the pain.  It’s a wonder she’s still here.  Perhaps her weakening mind is because she withstood so much emotional abuse and now that it’s finally over, she can fall to pieces.

The last time he hit me, I was 16.  By then, he didn’t take down my pants, lay me over his lap while he lay on the bed and smack my bare ass with his hand.  That stopped by age 12 or so as far as I can remember.  Grounding began after that ~ first no tv, then no phone.  As I got older, it was not being able to see friends or go anywhere.  We called it prison block 56 after our address.  Because that’s where we lived, with a warden who had to have his own way all the time.

When I was 16, he reached across the kitchen table, pulled back his arm and made the grand gesture to slap me across the face.  Instead, he hit his head on the TIffany lamp with hung from the ceiling illuminating the table.  With that, he screamed in pain and sent me to my room.  I was grounded anyway so it made no difference to my day.

Except it made me smile to see him with a headache.


Dream Interpretation Help Please!


In my dream last night, I was living in an apartment. I remember that my Mom lived there too for some reason. But we each had our own bedrooms. I was in my room and realized that they were going to clean it, so I was leaving. As I passed the staircase, my mom was there on the phone with someone and she was explaining her taxes. She was telling them why she did this and that on her taxes. As I stood there listening to her sometimes twist her reasons for things, I realized that she was talking with the accountant. She sounded so sure of herself. I remember thinking how proud I was because she’d come so far. She’d been delivered a blow (Dad’s death) and kept going. I was happy.

So I decided to go to the kitchen since they were vacuuming my room. As I walked into the communal kitchen, there stood my Dad. He shyly smiled at me and I stood there with my mouth hanging open, unable to say anything to him. Mom appeared after a few minutes and when she saw him too, nobody said a word for a long time.

We just looked at one another. It has been over a year since he’s been dead.

He said, “I’m back. Sorry I was gone for so long, but I had things I had to do.” I was speechless. I was enraged. I was saddened to my very core. I said nothing. I turned away and left the kitchen. I went back up to my room only to find the door locked. So I had to climb on a balcony to let myself in the unlocked door on the other side.

There was no way I was able to speak to him. My phone rang and someone called again looking for Dad. I told them he was dead. Because he is dead to me.

Then I laid down on the bed and cried. I was so shocked. I was beaten inside. There are no words to express how I felt.

Here he shows up thinking it will all be ok. We went through hell for him and now he comes back?

And then I woke up. Disorientated. Not sure because it all felt so real. And I had to think, he’s dead right? I saw his dead body. I know he’s dead. He’s not just left us and now come back. I’m still in my house with my family. That was just a dream. But it felt so real.

What does it mean?


Daily Post ~ I’m Rocking


This is a brick on my home’s patio. It looks like me I think. A bit weathered. A little spotty from neglect (mold). Still able to shine through if you look closely, you can see the original brick red color ~ a little older and aged from the wear and tear on the body. Oh yes, I am a rock.

Ask for help, me? Nah. I’ve tried. But I was met with judgmental shaking of the head and frustrating silences which I interpreted as the cogs in their brains now changing how they saw me, my family, my circumstances and not in a good way. So I’ve learned the art of keeping it to myself and it’s here where I am most comfortable, or should I say, I WAS more comfortable until the wounds began to seep deeper into my soul.

That’s where blogging has helped me to not be such of an island. Under the relative safety of blogging, I can tell my story without reprisal. I can tell the family secrets which haunt me. I can open up the wounds, ask for the comfort of connection in order to heal and I can hopefully be helpful to someone else in need.

My role was to be self-sufficient, to bring life and laughter to others and to be a positive happy puppet. I am a glass 1/2 full person in theory and mostly in reality. But it’s not reality when you laugh for the audience and cry in the dark from the pain you hide. It’s just not healthy and I truly want to find the healthy woman inside and let her out. I want to connect with others and not feel so alone.

I am a rock. I am strong, I will not be broken even though I am in pieces inside. But I can weather the storms and continue on if I have to ~ and I’ve had to my whole life.

Daily Prompt: I Am a Rock

Is it easy for you to ask for help when you need it, or do you prefer to rely only on yourself? Why?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us SELF.


Daily Prompt ~ A Rose By Any Other Name…


Daily Prompt: Name that… You!
by michelle w. on September 2, 2013

Do you know the meaning of your name, and why your parents chose it? Do you think it suits you? What about your children’s names?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us IDENTITY.

I identify with a rose. It was always my favorite flower, although I must admit that I’ve branched out (pun intended) and I like all different types of flowers, especially those with a scent like lilacs or peonies. But I digress.
When I asked where I got my name, my parents finally confessed that they found it on a tombstone while walking through a cemetary. Fact is that I’ve never liked my name, but I’ve had it for too long now to change it. When I was in college, I would know when I’d had enough to drink when I couldn’t remember my first name. I’m sure there’s something psychologically messed up with that fact, but it’s true. I could tell you the rest of my long birth certificate list of names, but always I missed my first name. That’s when I knew it was bedtime.
I’ve had nicknames, but none of which have stuck which is fine with me. I like the name Tommie and have used it on many occasions and even in a job since there was another girl with my name at the same business. My inner self feels more like a Tommie than my birth name. My birth name is hardly ever pronounced correctly which I find annoying and a reminder that my parents did what they wanted without thought to consequences. It’s not like they live with this name.


There’s A Gator Lurking

img_0184_0001We saw the signs.  We heard the fights, the slamming doors, the idle threats that he was going to leave.  It scared Sissy and me.  There weren’t a lot of fights, but when there were, they were doozies.  He always held the upper hand in them and he knew it.  He was a master predator and knew how to twist situations and words. 
To her credit though, Mom learned from him. One of his favorite lines was, “who died and left you boss?” Apparently she’s taken it to heart and decided to use it, although when I think back honestly, she’s been doing this for a long time. Let me explain.
So 2 days ago, she ‘can’t help herself’ and she insults me by saying she wished I took better care of myself because I look haggard and I need to exercise. Perhaps a haircut would brighten my face and I’m too blonde these days. It washes me out. And why don’t I get some pretty clothes…there are sales going on you know, it’s Labor Day. If I wanted to drive up to see her (45 minutes away from me) she would treat me to get something that fit right and looked good.
I tell her thank you, but the traffic is horrific. I have a hair appointment next week and I started walking so thanks for her concern. I quickly tell her that the doorbell is ringing so I have to run. Hope she has a great day and I hang up.
My day goes by quickly, I am a wife/mom and it’s a holiday weekend filled with lots to do. So I don’t call her for the afternoon call, but sometimes I don’t because there’s a lot going on. She’s always said she understood. By the way, she NEVER calls me unless it’s an emergency. I am the one who has to call her every morning to make sure that she’s made it through the night alone. I am the caretaker.
So yesterday I call on my way to the store. Granted it’s an hour later than the normal 9am, but hey, I do have a life here and quite frankly I don’t need any more hassle from her. I’m a bit peeved from yesterday.
She immediately starts in with she didn’t mean to insult me. She’s been up all night worrying that I am mad at her. She begins to cry, feeling sorry for herself. She doesn’t want me to be mad at her but she just wants what’s best for me. She doesn’t mean to be a burden. She is so dumb. She says I don’t take care of myself. She says she’s afraid of losing me. She continues to cry.
Yes. She’s learned from him. Perfectly.
You see, if I agree that she was mean, she will spiral into a depression and cry for days. And guess who (ME) will have to drag her out of it, I will have to go see her, coddle her and deal with the aggravation in person. I will have to lie and tell her I knew she was only looking out for me, that she only wants the best for me and that her cutting mean words were not meant to hurt, only to help. I will have to handle her with kid gloves. Stroke her sensitive soul until she feels fine again because her mind is twisted. She gets ahold of one thing that is said to her and she can’t let it go. And in the process, she twists it so she is the martyr and the victim.
I don’t have the patience to play this game so I quickly tell her that she didn’t insult me, that I’m not mad, but that I’ve been busy. I conclude with promises of seeing her next week which she tries to pin down, but with the onslaught of school, I am vague.
Coddled and her twisted mind released from her supposed guilt in insulting me to the point that I’m mad, she gaily goes on her way with a minimum of tears and I am left, as always, holding onto the shit.
Ah, but not only did he die and leave her the brass baton, but he’s left it to my inlaws as well. Now they’re judgemental as well and MIL (mother in law) has the idea that she can also say whatever she wants to me without reprocussions. And yet, if those things were said to her, there’d be hell here on earth in a milisecond. She’s the type that glides her finger across the livingroom table to see if there’s dust. They are also famous for ‘stopping by’ unannounced and instead of ringing the front door bell like normal people, regardless of whether there’s a car in the driveway or not, they come around back to knock on the backdoor which is glass so there is no way to pretend I’m not at home. They park in the driveway like they pay the mortgage which they do not so that if I am out and arrive when they are skulking around the back of the house, I have to unload the groceries from my car from the street instead of my driveway.
I know it’s petty, but I feel like I have a BASH ME sticker on my forehead which I am not liking.
It’s like the gators are lurking, going in for the kill of my spirit. But you know what I know, they would be sorry that their puppet were dead because I do everything for them all. I wish they’d just leave me alone. They say they love me. I’ve heard that before…you hurt the ones you love the most. That’s what Dad always told me.

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