Not Her Daddy

I had a hard time deciding where I wanted to put this entry: personal journal or one of my blog sites. I chose a blog site—probably two, by the time it has been placed on the internet. Anyhow, this deals with emotions stemming from seeing my granddaughter being taught how to fish by another man. It isn’t about begrudging her the opportunity or being mad at this man who isn’t her daddy; this is about the “it isn’t fair” emotion because cancer decided to take Vincent away. When I first saw the picture, I thought, Wow! She caught a fish! Then, realizing it wasn’t her daddy there doing it with her, my smile and enthusiasm diminished. It should be her daddy doing this with her. Then I thought, her uncle should be doing it with her. I am happy she caught a fish. I am happy she experienced this. I am happy someone is there to teach her (hopefully ethically). I’ve only met her stepfather once. I can’t say much about him. I only know what trickles down to me from others, and I must be careful in making a decision in what type of man he is. As a parent, I understand how a parent is critical about the chosen partner of a child. It continues on for a lifetime. That’s being a parent—protective. As I said, I don’t know her stepfather. I can only tell you what I felt as I saw the photograph. It’s hard! It’s terribly hard!

I know how much Vincent loved fishing. I remember him saying he was going to teach Chloe how to fish and to hunt—especially fish. His attitude was about having a girl that could be prissy and boyish. How much he would have accomplished depended on Sammie too (smirking as I think about it). Yes, I began to see Vincent in that photograph with Chloe sitting on his knee as the fish dangled from the fishing pole. That’s where Vincent should have been.

If anyone thinks this emotion is wrong, YOU ARE WRONG. An emotion is exactly what it needs to be because God gave them to us—all of them! It’s what you do with an emotion that decides right or wrong. So, I took the time to cry and took the time to discuss it with Chris. No matter, I will always have this feeling and need to deal with it—someone other raising my boy’s little girl. I can’t change what happened to Vincent; I can’t change how I feel; the only control I have is to face it and deal with it. AND PLEASE don’t tell me I can change how I feel—if you haven’t been in my position, you have no place telling me a thing. I’m sure other grandparents out there understand.

2014 11:59PM to 2015 12:00AM

 I realize this isn't a rant in the sense of GRRRRR but a rant nonetheless.

Chris and I go out New Year’s Eve. We pay David to be the designated driver. To my surprise, Ginet shows up with her friend Logan. I'm leery about Ginet's presence. We have a history that came to bad terms when I had to leave her father. Now, she is sitting at the table with me, talking, even joking with my fiancé. We are playing with the hats and the noise makers, talking about silly things, nothing serious; I won’t touch anything serious at this point. The whole idea of tonight is to relax. Honestly, I’m not a person to get smashed in public; a little tipsy, yeah. I’m the responsible one, the person who will keep some wits to help the person who is smashed—namely, my fiancé. The last time I was even near smashed was two weeks before Thanksgiving when we went down to his friend’s in Anderson. So, through all this silliness, we creep onto the subject of Vincent. At this date, my son has been gone nearly two years, passing away due to cancer. Vincent loved having fun on New Year’s Eve. The last one I remember is the night at his older sister’s place (the daughter who has said I am dead to her). The dancing he did. The jokes he made from nothing. He found humor in places that most didn’t think possible. I would say his humor was close to Robin Williams. Right now, I envision Vincent in place of Fluffy (Gabriel Iglesias). Vincent was never Fluffy, not even close to Fluffy; Vincent, according to Gabriel’s measurements would be twig. Anyhow, we are trying to be Vincent now. It isn’t working. The alcohol in me is plenty. I know it is time to stop just by how my emotions are playing out. I don’t like the feeling of watching myself from within my body. I begin to cry. Chris is still somewhat able to respond. He notices. He hugs me tight, kisses me, says, “I love you; it’s okay.” He tells David. David kneels himself in front of me, and says, “Don’t think about it.” Then Ginny figures out what is going on. She yells across the table (over the music, which is country at the moment), saying, “Don’t cry. Don’t think. Have fun.” I cry more. Before I know it, she is hugging me, speaking into my ear, “I love you Mom; I miss him too; don’t make me cry.” The first three words echo between my ears: “I love you.” How long had it been since she said those words and meant them? The last time I heard her say these words I knew she had forced it, had not really meant them. I cry harder. In the years of Vincent’s illness and the divorce, I loss three children: Vincent to cancer, Jessica to hatred, bitterness, and lies, and Ginet to confusion and lies.

Ginny has returned; however, my heart is still leery. I’m afraid to get too close. Right now, we work on friendship. After a birthday party for William, she comes by the house to tan—no prying eyes where I live. She asks me what I think of her boyfriend. I can’t tell her much because I’ve only seen him once, and we didn’t talk: “He looks like a hillbilly.” “Hell, he’s a redneck, just like I like ‘em!” I smile and shake my head: “As long as you are happy.”

Wiki

There was a heated debate about the use of wiki under one of my post on FaceBook. The idea of arguing such made me mad. I knew when my fiance posted the wiki information that someone would say something. I almost said something myself but understood his reasoning for this post before asking him--some good sources are available to lead you to the best information instead of him doing the work for someone else. I knew someone would make a remark--one of my two friends. Then, the debate begin. I recognized the heat immediately. Both persons had valid points though couldn't see beyond each others ways of thinking. I don't like it when my friends seem to place me in the middle--even if they didn't or didn't intend to. I can't stand conflict of any type. I'm always attempting to keep the peace. Even when I want to argue my point, I'm careful about how I say it. I don't like hurting anyone unless it is absolutely necessary to get a good solid point across because the person has decided not to look at all the angles before making a decision. I guess it is time for me to be blunt: I'M NOT A PEACEKEEPER ANYMORE! FUCK YOU ALL! I won't post this on FB because I won't make waves. (Once again, I cannot stand conflict; it nauseates me, literally.) This is my ranting page, and I will use it for exactly that. Anyhow, this is what was said by me about wiki:

As an educator, wiki is not a source to be on a work cited page because it is inconstant change by many; however, it is a source to begin finding other sources that will ultimately be worthy or unworthy. Even the unworthy can help in research by establishing falsifications believed by the general population. I don't condone the use of wiki as a reliable source, only a source to begin groundwork--though wiki can be very reliable as long as everything has been cited. There are far worse sites than wiki on the internet. Many are seen on FB. Teaching students how to use sources reliably is key, and part of my discussion in the classroom every semester. You would be surprised how many teachers allow students to use wiki as an acceptable source for essays. It isn't that wiki is a "no good" site; It's a site that isn't always reliable. With that said, there are written sources just as unreliable and often less reliable then wiki. (Edited--after getting onto the computer)

Everyone, HAVE A FUMING GOOD DAY!

Broken

I read that post about "no name." Strangely, that person I could not name was the beginning of knowing I was broken and that it was okay to be broken. I had to know I was broken to mend myself. I had to see the broken me. Being broken isn't bad. I have to say we are all broken in some way. Some of us have great brokenness, some of us small brokenness--usually unnoticeable. (The unnoticeable brokenness is usually the unwillingness to see, or what you have been taught as acceptable.) People are broken because people are human. Humanity isn't perfect. This is a fact. Now, with that said, there is a wholeness in the brokenness. If a person never knows s/he is broken, I believe, s/he will never know her- / himself. If a person cannot see the break, the same errors are made. The question probably becomes if the person likes the cycle. Some cycles are hard to stop. I've realized that all I can do is mend those areas and keep a watch for those scars to break open. Those scars never go away. Those scars are there for a purpose. Those scars are a reminder of where you were and where you are going and who you are to become., and a reminder that YOU ARE HUMAN. Human is being an adventure. What is your goal in your becoming? Will you reach that goal? Who is it you want to be? I cannot name that goal, or can any other person. Remember, being broken isn't bad. Being broken is experience and what you do with that experience to become.