My Heart

I held her. I rocked her gently. I sang, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away." It's the only thing that calmed her. It only calmed her when I sang it to her. She was happy. I was happy. We were both content.

I can't hold her any more. I can't rock her. She hates my singing. She hates me asking her any questions or even talking to her at all. When I do, I say all the wrong things. If I ask her questions, I'm being nosy. I only talk about her when I can brag about something and yet, I'm accused of not recognizing her accomplishments at all.
If I don't ask her anything, surely it's because I don't care. If I read and comment on her Facebook, I'm being presumptive about knowing her at all. So, I'm not allowed anymore. I'm blocked.

I want to hold her. I want to tell her how much I love her. I want to rock her and tell her that she's still my sunshine. I want her to know that no matter how much she's hurt me these last few days, my feelings for her will never change. I want her to believe me. I want to take away her pain. I want to know exactly what I did or didn't do that caused this so that I can fix it. She won't even grant me that. I can't fix something when I don't even know what to fix. I want her to know that we can get past this. I hope we do someday. I hope she lets me back in so that we can work through this.

I worry about what would happen if I died tomorrow. I know it's melodramatic, but things like that have happened. What if this were the last day we had together? How would she live the rest of her life? Would she ever accept that I DO love her with all my heart? Would she be able to get over the pain of living these last moments on earth together in turmoil?

My heart is breaking. I'm sure hers is too, even if she won't admit it. I don't like this pain. I don't know how to mend it. For either of us.

Bean's Halloween

Bean (my granddaughter) always stays over here on Thursday nights because I'm off of work on Fridays and so I can get her off to school in the morning. It was the same this past Thursday and Friday. Friday morning, She went to her overnight bag to get her clothes for the day and found homework that was supposed to be due that morning. A week's worth of homework that had not been started. Several short writing assignments, a math assignment and a geography assignment. This was a short 30 minutes prior to the bus coming. No way we could have finished it in time for school. So, I wrote her teacher a note, explaining the misunderstanding and that she would turn it in on Monday. Then, I told her mom, Ally, about it and that we put it back in her overnight bag and sent it back home and that she would have to help Bean finish it before Monday.

Flash forward to Halloween night. We get a call from Ally at 7pm saying that they aren't going to make it to our house for trick-or-treating (they always come here and go around our neighborhood because they live in an apartment and don't trust to go there for trick-or-treating). Apparently, they hadn't eaten yet and they hadn't started on Bean's homework yet and it's a school/work night so Bean wasn't going to go trick-or-treating at all.

I'm so fucking mad, I can't see straight. I don't know how I'm able to write this post. Not only that, it's just a symptom of Bean's life and I'm so sad about it. If it were the only thing bad that ever happened to her, I'd just say, "oh well, she'll get over it". But bad shit happens to that kid every damn day. Her mom basically ignores her and has no time for her. Her stepfather to be is mean to her and picks on her daily and is basically just a huge asshole. (That's another story for another day.) Her mom also never thinks of what Bean needs or what's best for Bean. Another example is that she sent Bean here without a jacket and it was 25 degrees here on Friday morning. You could say that maybe she didn't realize that it was going to be so cold, but it was nearly as cold the day before. And forget about hat and gloves, she didn't have those either.

I'm just beside myself and there's not a damn thing I can do about it. What she does, or doesn't do, is not illegal or any grounds for us getting Bean. It's so frustrating. They have to break her or physically damage her before anyone will do anything. I wanna scream.

Navel Gazing, Part I

Oh, the 30 days of truth posts. I'll be honest. I usually skip them. Sometimes, it might catch my eye and I might read, but mostly, I just zip on by them in my reader. Sorry, if your a 30-day-er.

Now, here I am, joining in on the fun (or not-so-fun, depending on how you view it). Here's my reasoning:

• I can be more "truthfull" here on this blog than on my other one.


• I am writing more for me here because I have very few readers here (by choice).


• I need more self-discovery and I figure this is cheaper than a trip to my therapist.


• I know those of you reading will forgive me for this self-indulgent, navel-gazing. (Again, my apologies to other 30-day-ers.)

DAY 1--Something you hate about yourself.
It greatly annoys me that when I read this, my first thought was of something that is superficial. I don't like to think about myself as superficial, but my first thought was that I hate my nose. How dumb. I am about more than my nose.

What I really hate about myself, isn't far from that because, what I really hate is that I care way too much about what other people think about me. Whether it's about how I look, how fat I am (or am not) or about whether something I did or said was the right thing or not, I am constantly worried about those kinds of things. Quite often, I ruminate forever and ever about things I've said or done. I wonder if they took it the wrong way or if I sounded like an idiot. I play and re-play scenes from my day over and over. It's absolutely annoying and sometimes crippling. If I could, this is one thing I would like to change about myself.

Anyway, that's day 1 for me.

Here are the prompts, in case you want to be a self-indulgent, navel-gazer, too.

Day 01 → Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 → Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 → Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 → Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 → Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 → Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 → Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 → Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 → Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 → Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 → Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 → Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 → A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 → A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 → Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 → Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 → A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 → Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 → What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 → Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 → (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 → Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 → Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 → Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 → The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 → Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 → What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 → What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 → Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 → A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself

About Max

Max is my son. He's the baby of the family, even at 15 years old. I suppose he'll always be my baby, even though he pretty much hates me. Or, at least, he acts like he does most of the time.

He's been going through some shit for about the last year or so. Really, all of his life, but it's been more visible the last year. You see, I've always thought that he has depression and anxiety issues. I'm his mom. I see things in him that I see in myself. I could go on and on about this, but let's just assume I know what I am talking about and that I'm right when it comes to him. Because I am.

Anyway, about a year ago, we discovered he'd been using pot. And drinking alcohol. He felt absolutely shitty about the way we felt about it and he decided, on his own, to join a sobriety support group at school. We were proud of him and he stayed clean and sober for most of the school year. This was true even through the loss of his grandfather, some bullying at school, difficulties with schoolwork among other normal teenager experiences.

Toward the end of the school year, he came to us and asked us if there was something we could do to help him with school. Specifically, he was wondering about medication. He had been diagnosed with ADD in the past and had tried some medications before, always with bad side effects. So, we took him to his pediatrician and she prescribed some medication for him that she truly thought would be the right thing and wouldn't cause him any ill effects.

Weeks went by. Max became a different person. Not in a good way. He was angry. He was violent. He was edgy. Trouble was, we didn't see it. We never saw him. He was always here or there or somewhere else. His sister, Ella, tried to tell us. We didn't listen. Or, we didn't want to hear. Until, one day, he sent several suicidal texts to his dad. It was terrifying. I called the facilitator of his sobriety support group, a prevention specialist (someone who helps students with student issues), and she called him down to her office where we met them for an intervention of sorts. Did I mention it was terrifying?

Max stated over and over that he would not commit suicide; that he just felt hopeless and like a failure (at this point, he was failing all of his classes and it was a short 2 weeks from the end of the school year). We came up with a plan to help him both in his schoolwork and in his emotional needs. That night I tried to hold him as he sobbed in pain. Do you know how hard it is to watch your baby, who is a young man, really, sob in pain? It really broke my heart.

In the days following the "intervention", it was discovered that he was using marijuana again. He promised us he would quit. Again. We got him counselling. Which sucked. The counsellor kept saying things like, "You're a good looking kid. You have lots of friends. What do you have to be depressed about?" I mean, what the fuck? Max refused any kind of medication. We had immediately stopped his ADD med at the time of the intervention, fearing that it was the cause of his downfall. (It probably wasn't or was partially responsible, along with his use of pot and his already fragile psyche.) We just agreed to end counseling and remain open and honest with each other. And cross our fingers and toes, hold our breath and hope and pray for the best.

Mid-summer came. Along with a few hints from Ella and then a full out, "You better search Max's room, Dad!" statement. That's where we found drug paraphernalia, alcohol bottles and cigarette packages. Sigh. He was due for a physical, so back to the pediatrician we went.

(I should insert at this point, that I have worked with his pediatrician since long before Max, or Ella for that matter, were born. She has "known" him since he was a teeny-tiny bean in my tummy. I call her my children's "medical mommy". Truly, she has been a big part of our lives.)

I prepared Max for the appointment by telling him that he would have to be honest about his drug and alcohol use. Which he was. His pediatrician was awesome. She told him how much she loved him and that she was not going to let him go down that path and that she would do whatever necessary to keep him going down the right road. So, we agreed to a plan. It includes periodic, random drug screens. We just tell her and she puts an order in at the lab and his dad brings him in to pee in a cup. He was agreeable. He was excited. He couldn't wait to show us that he means it when he says he's done with that.

He's really trying. So far, all of the drug screens have been clean. He's honest about where he is going and who he is going to be with. He's doing well in school. He has a very nice girlfriend (his first real girlfriend). He's back in the sobriety support group. I'm cautiously optimistic. I mean, he's only 15, surely there will be more bumps in the road. I just hope they're pebbles, not rocks or boulders.

Ticktickticktockticktickticktock

That was my heart yesterday. It was beating rapidly and my blood pressure was sky high. Funny thing (or not so funny, depending on how you look at it) is that I wouldn't have known it except that I was having this really weird visual disturbance and my face felt fat. So, I had them take my blood pressure at work and that made them send me upstairs to one of the family doctors. The doc, who is completely and totally awesome, was very concerned and sat with me and talked and talked and talked while he waited for the nitroglycerin he gave me to work. I was thisclose to going to the hospital in an ambulance. The nitro brought my BP and my heart rate down. My EKG looked okay.

I have to start some new blood pressure meds. Yay. If it makes me feel as good as I did after the nitro, I guess I'm okay with it. The only thing that bothers me is that I have been working so hard at getting myself in shape and working on the old heart and lungs and it depresses me that it just wasn't enough. Or it wasn't happening fast enough.

I only told Jay about it and I'm not going to tell the kids. I don't want my mom or my MIL to know. I'm kind of embarassed, truth be told, about it. I don't know why, I just am.

Just trying to work it all out in my brain. And my heart, I guess.

What's In a Name?

In this name? Lilly, I mean? Nothing really. No racist statement. No statement about loving white lillies. Nothing like that, really. It's just that I had an aunt with a similar name, so I kinda stole it from her. I was going to be Lilly G (the first initial of her last name) or Lilly G Spot (snort), but those names were, sadly, taken. So, then I tried Lilly Girl. That was taken, too. People have used the word "white" to describe me in more ways than just my skin color (which is whiter than white bread), so I thought of Lilly White. That was okay for here, but my for my email, I had to add girl to it to get something that wasn't already used. I chose two Ls in Lilly because that's more similar to my aunt's name than one L. That's how I got here. Lilly White. Or email me at lillywhitegirl (at) live (dot) com.

Hi, I'm Lilly

In my other life, I write a little blog and almost everyone I know IRL reads said blog. This includes, but is not limited to, my sisters-in-law, brothers-in-law, mother-in-law, my mom, my children, husband, aunts, uncles, cousins, godfathers and co-workers. There have been things that have happened over the last year or 5 that I have wanted to write about true and/or made up that I have felt like I just couldn't write because of fear of offending or hurting any one or sum of the above named. I need to be uninhibited or I cannot write. I need to not feel like someone is always judging what I put out on the Internet. In essence, I want free speach again. So, here I am.

Yes, I've been here before. Well, not here, exactly. But other "places of my own", under other assumed names. Somehow or other, I lost those places. I hope to not misuse or lose my voice here. I think I'll need this place, for both therapeutic and creative reasons, in the coming weeks, months, maybe even years.

Almost everything you read here will be the truth, unless otherwise specified, except for the fact that it will be written using a nom de plume. A lot of bloggers do that, though, right?