September is a month when I usually feel the ends brush against me. The end of summer's freedom to run, end of warmth as Pennsylvania goes cold, end of green as fall begins... this September was the end. But what was it the end of? No word to label this one really, just a deep gorge scarred into my nerve. An end to wholeness? No. I was not so whole before this. An end to sacrifical patience? No. I still have not an option for something lighter weighted to bear. Hmmm... Maybe aiming in the direction of control would hold a balance. I am limited, but as always I have been, the reality of it being a facad in my mind has been made clear. That is it! The end of control.
With every end, there is a beginning. As I do not have control, then this opens the boundary for me to believe in many things that before we uncomfortable. I am finding that accepting that the polite gestures of acquaintances are meant only for their own boundaries and have nothing to do with me in all actuality, therefore freeing me, creating a beginning for me to break away from.
The parenting of six children on my own has forced its poking rods into my soft shell this month. Granted my oldest two children live with my ex-husband, but that in itself comes with a history of reprocussions that lead to today's folly. He did not win them, but yet he has been awarded with his own self proclaimed Zues standing in our days of separated sharing of two lives. My middle two children I do have sole responsibility awarded to me, that I did not 'have' to fight for, or even ask for, as it was given to me with the added pencilled in words of the judge, "shared custody would be detrimental to the children," as concluded our divorce decree along with the permanent restraint order in effect for life. My two babies now living their existance out on the balancing act on the thin wire of border issues with their father a million miles away by order of the American public of which surrounds me now for nothing more than being the new fad ego booster to cut him to shreds of his dignity as a human and father, my husband.
This month started with saying goodbye to my husband after a reduced family reality visit of two months that even though grateful for, I cannot help but feel cheated at the very subject being brought out of my mind to be the object of my thoughts. Why do we only "get" two months? Ask my family oriented government why. They seem to have all of the well equipped answers to everything. How could they not with two mouths talking at the same time covering all directions and rocks uncovered. Assholes.
I arrived at the Pennsylvania nest and was invited to be placed on a chopping block of sorts among fellow searchers for justice, the immigration rights activists. Yes chopping block as it may seem to a woman skin so thin that it became see through. I became aware that the safe place was not so safe after all and that there was something to be said about myself that I am now choosing to guard. I have been reduced to a woman of few words even within my own space because if I am not conformed I will be disqualified according to the politics that we must remain "behind" and know our place. Even this simple paragraph will induce labor and birth of my rejection. For this, my control is handed over, my weakness, you may have, for I do not need it any longer. I am free of it.
The summer of love was to be extended into fall and the call of my children in the States came with a razors edge in my stability. When I was a girl, my friend Nick committed suicide to the tiny disagreement of a father about college... a question of mortality impressed to an eighteen year old. And now there is my daughter, top of the class, accepted into one of the finest colleges with a scholarship, top of the Math and Latin Club in the area going for the six-year Pharmacy program, denied -by her controlling father nontheless. Smack and smash to what she was capable of. I had to return to ensure that her life would endure, as he is such an asshole.
A red truck loves to pass our present nest, diesel of course because it sounds powerful. It is my stalker ex, father of the two middle children. He has recently found friendship with the house across the road and it beings much non pleasure to see his truck in their driveway with a group of guys in a huddle looking over at this house. He was made aware last Christmas to stay away from the elementary school from the school's prinipal. Our divorce unfolded in Florida, so I had to actually have the court in this state to call the school here, to explain that, "yes indeed that restraint order in front of you is in effect not one year, or three, as is custom, but it is in fact forever as marked, in their unbelieving eyes." His new wife is the PTA mom. They placed her three boys in the school beside our place even though their school is in a different district. I feel sorry for her the used woman. She must have credit though to afford him a shiny new red truck, how sweet. They came as a family to the recent open-house for parents for the new school year. Such arrogance at the disregard for laws. My son and I ran for the door as he, the ex stalker who happened to be my son's mystery father, was roaming the halls, certainly in search of confrontation. Assholes.
Speaking of the law, two police cars pulled in looking for "two boys dressed in camo with a gun" as I replied, "oh, that's just my kid and his friend JJ -the gun is not real," as if the whole issue was a mistake. They shot a guy on a Harley with an air pistol. The guy actually chased the boys, but their camo gear ended up blending them into the brush. I am to appear before the magistrate to determine the fine to be paid from the bottomless pit of financial burdens that are well below even the normal electric bill, as low and behold we do not own lamps. We have been stripped of everything and to give more is a wonder that I am no doubt going to experience soon. How to handle the entirety of this circumstance with the pressure of the dam behind it all, alone.
The process for my husband to come here has been initiated this month, for on my spare moments I gathered the "proof"... that belittled bit of "yes we are real"... with the acknowledgment that someone will read of our lives and pass judgement if we should remain married, or not. That burden of country over spouse placed on my will to gather the photos from my computer memory and disks from our entire past of hugs and kisses and parks and parties that were taken for the love of each other now used to "prove" that we are a real marriage. Nothing can be more demeaning than this. A demand from my own people that I am to feel for the patriotic tear in my eye, possesses burdens that I wonder if they could look passed their ego and sympathsize, or at least allow my husband safe passage. Of course, even with a safe passage, we are talking a possible two more years of this shit blizzard before it is awarded.
Alone in parenting to some say, "no, you are not alone." Oh, but I am, friend. I am separated by the standard of my own country above it all, as my babies will testify to. My husband is not here - it is that simple. Ask our son who cries himself to sleep and wakes up in the night asking for his father. It is not imagination of any sort. It is virtual lack of control of my life.
To this first day of the new month and placement of September behind me, I say thank you for one of the worst months in my life. A list that stems from loss, we have now lost control or willing to control or maybe awareness of not having control, derived from experiences of deeply rooted hurts. Despair? So silly to think that I am deserving. No. I still have my 4.0 and have kept my A. On drugs? No. Bad mom? Hardly. Ignorant and rude? Not really. Cheat lie steal, nope. Just a mom, saying goodbye to September 2011 with a smile of "meeting you was a pleasure that has knocked me into a different line of travel" that some folks do to you. I may be alone, but I am still a shining star in the galaxy protected by God. Seems ironic that my life is so shitty, but that is what happens in spiritual warfare, it gets a little dirty.
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