Poems, home and perspectives

Big's Poem
Big’s Poem

Yesterday was Valentine’s Day. My shanah maidehlahs (little sweet girls) made Valentine’s for their classmates, their teachers and for me and my Mrs., and Gatsby too! When I came home from work, I was stunned by the artwork left for me to see, the prizes of love. Notes, cards, pictures, 2 boxes of Egyptian Licorice Tea (OMG!!!) and a bag of black licorice. They know me well.

I read Luka’s poem and I couldn’t help but tear up. I cried I bawled Her perspective is so different from my own growing up. My only wish is that Little and Big, my beautiful kinder (children), may we do our very best to do right by you, always and forever.

My poem at 8 years of tender age would be very different:

When I Think of Home

by Lisa

When I think of ‘home’ I think of cleanliness and order

When I think of ‘home’ I am not allowed on my bed until 8pm

When I think of ‘home’ my sister is wisely absent

When I think of ‘home’ I smell the stench of pine-sol

When I think of ‘home’ I think of disappearing

When I think of ‘home,’ I am unhappy

When I think of ‘home’ I think of entering through the garage

When I think of ‘home’ I hear the voices that tried to shatter me

When I think of ‘home’ I think of the dis-ease that was enabled

When I think of ‘home’ I see rooms not to be entered

When I think of ‘home’ I think antiseptic and sterile

When I think of ‘home’ of think no life lives here

When I think of ‘home’ I am dirty and wrong

When I think of ‘home’ I don’t matter as much

As the things we acquired or the rooms we can’t touch

To all the kinder (children) everywhere, live out loud, make a mess, make beautiful and loving memories. That little ones, you so deserve.

You know what? After a good cry, your heart is lighter. (Az mi veint rich ois, vert gringer afn hartz)

Thank you my friends, for letting me share. To dare to be open and vulnerable among you.

Linky’s:

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Mother’s Day: A new lifetime of uncompromising love

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With Mother’s Day right ‘round the corner

Looking back, I was quite the performer

Be perfect, keep smiling

Underneath I am dying

It’s a wonder I made it out stronger

 

Look Mommy, Ema!
Look Mommy, Ema!

Growing up with maternal unwell-ness

And he who’d simply abide and acquiesce

While worthy of love

I fell under the thumb of

The source of my own hell and unique stress

 

Mental illness is still quite the conundrum

With stigma, best we steer clear away from

Listen up dear ol’ Dad

‘Cause it makes me so mad

For her life deserved a happier outcome

 

As the one tossed out underneath the bus

There’s a matter we all should discuss

A pill could have fixed it

He instead nixed it

And I am the one they mistrust?

Look. I'm a tree!
Look. I’m a tree!

 

Well the Mrs. and Me, don’t dare parent like thee

For we’re building foundations as strong as the trees

Mighty girls we are rearing

Whose personae we’re cheering

Love and happiness are what we foresee

 

As I look at our kinder each day

I’m kvelling in every which way

Prouder? I couldn’t be

That’s fact, actuality

Nothing could possibly take that away

 

Dear Little and Big, always realize

The love from your momma’s only magnifies

It will never, ever leave you

No matter what you may say or do

For you both make our hearts, super-sized

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P.S.

Little and Big, please make bedtime go smoothly

Your mommalah’s can’t stand each night, you’re acting so rudely!

The crazies, please end them

We’re tired of bedlam

And yes, we still love you both, hugely

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Wishing all the Momma’s and kinder-caretakers a very Happy Mother’s Day!

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Thank You so much Su, from EthanEvelyn.com! #FabFridayPost
Thank You so much Su, from EthanEvelyn.com! #FabFridayPost

 

Bloggers Pit Stop #22
Proud to be at the Bloggers Pit Stop #22
TY domesticatedmomster!
TY domesticatedmomster!

Reason to Believe? Reason to Question?

Attachment-1

I have a good mind to trust in the fact that things do not happen for a reason. This, despite everything my father has ever taught me. Good stuff would happen. Bad stuff would happen. His response was always, “Everything happens for a reason.” He literally put the kibosh on my investigative, pre-Google era, inquisitive mind.

I tried to grasp this mantra of his around in my mind as a child often, completely unknowing that this was his, and was pure hooey. This was just another way for the sweeper to keep sweeping. I would watch my mother in astonishment from the corner of my eye as she would methodically turn the electric oven in our kitchen on and off for some 45 minutes to an hour daily, ritualistically. “Warm. Off. Off. Off. Warm. Off. Off. Off.” Was there a purpose here that I was missing? Did other oven users do this? Was this behavior described in the manual for best use? Interrupt the ceremony, and it would begin again. Okay, let’s have turning off the oven; TAKE 2—and, ACTION! “Hey Dad, why does she…” “Let her be, everything happens for a reason.”

The front door lock brought a similar practice for her, following the oven. “Click, opened. Click, locked. Click, opened. Click, locked.” I can vividly hear the clicking noise now if I close my eyes. I can see the blank look on her face as she tested that lock without limit. I couldn’t bear to put a time on this this behavior. It felt endless. One evening, after a few too many clicks, the lock stopped working. The emergency locksmith came out that night to fix the overworked doorknob. Once newly installed, “Click, opened. Click, locked. Click, opened. Click, locked.” So the game began again. “Hey Dad, why does she…” “Let her be, everything happens for a reason.”

butterflyTrimming the lawn with scissors, after the landscapers mowed. Raking the carpet after the vacuum left its pattern. Straightening the creases in the sofa pillows after someone sat down. Getting the dust ruffle just right under the bed so that the pleats read evenly. Rearranging the jellybeans in the bowl because someone ate one or three. Hiding the wires from the television behind the leaves of the plants. Straightening our personal desk drawers. Having a trash can in the bathroom that was not to be used for any trash–verboten. These were the things that filled her days. Every day. “Hey Dad, why does she…” “Let her be, everything happens for a reason.”

This response was not saved for just my mother’s mishegas (later known as extreme, undiagnosed OCD). My grandmother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer the exact same week I learned in high school about how cancer begins with improper cell division. “See, everything happens for a reason.” Suddenly, I was terrified to further my learnings about science, health, and biology. Who of my dear relatives would fall next? Was my Nanny victimized to further drive home the point of my father’s absurd refrain? This just could not be so.

The AIDS crisis began in 1981. I had just graduated from high school and this new, terrorizing disease was killing the gay community by the masses. “See, everything happens for a reason.” “But dad, what reason could make this happen? And out came hatred and fear and bigotry. And a greater understanding of the dreck from which he spoke.

politifact-photos-12113317_920729551350503_850292094829865796_oI think now on so many things throughout history, life. Slavery. War. The Holocaust. Terrorism. 911. Racism. Mental Illness. Columbine. Sandy Hook. Aurora. San Bernardino. Oregon. Black lives matter. All lives matter. Ebola. AIDS/HIV. Cancer. Heart disease. Stroke. Hypertension. Driving while texting. Drinking and Driving. Addiction. Chronic pain. Malnutrition. Hunger. Homelessness.

What I have learned was Dad was wrong. He still is wrong. Bad stuff happens. Good stuff happens. Someone, somewhere cannot possibly make these horrid things occur with intention. I have reason to believe that we, as people, are better than that. Oh, and my mom could have been helped with tremendously by medication. Yet she continues, “Click, opened. Click, locked. Click, opened. Click, locked.”

Zie gezunt. They should live and be well.

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This post is in response to the Daily Prompt Reason to Believe