About pegrowe62

About PeggyAnn Professional PC Consultant otherwise known as “The Goddess of Geek,” Researcher, & avid people watcher, Peggy Ann Rowe-Snyder started her genealogical quest at age 15 after watching the mini-series, “Roots” with her parents. This obsession has fueled her love of history, study of cultures & societies in every epoch. Today she is 55 years old with four children, who are all grown up. She’s tried to pass the love down to. This website is an attempt to share the knowledge she has gained about her family ties with others who may be interested in the same. She does not guarantee 100% accuracy and does hope that you will send corrections to her. To learn more about her, click the “about” button in the page menu. Thanks!

Happy New Year!!

2018_new year copy

Considering where I am at this moment in time, I think it is time for me to rethink a number of issues.  I need to make sure that my conclusions are not biased by my experiences.   As a survivor with PTSD, I am sure that they are. Getting to the root of the problems will be my goal.

One thing I decided in the last few days is that my oldest reminds me too much of her father and of my mother.  When I made the realization it just blew my mind.  I never realized that my ex-husband had behaviors that were anything like my mothers.  I had a boyfriend once and I joked that I was working on my ‘mommy’ issues with him.

Wow, did I have that wrong.  Anyway, I have to really, really turn this around in my mind because relationship(s) may rest upon the conclusions.  At the moment, I honestly see the relationship(s) as dead. I’ve seen it that way for months now.

I can’t live with (not physically live with) someone who is willing to talk down to me as if I were an idiot.  If I can install software on a server, and make it run, build a website including graphics.  I sure don’t need anyone telling me what the definition of ‘trolling’ and ‘lying’ are.  Duh.  Waste of time and breath.  It’s called, “Intellectualizing.”  The girl has been a master of it for many, many years.  One of her therapists told me so when she was a little girl.  The therapist explained what it was, why it was, etc. etc.etc.  It is a way to ‘escape’ from whatever it is she wants to escape from.  She’s been frantically running for years now.  But, hey, what do I know?

Two dead relationships… 2nd daughter down… returned all the photos I had of her and family.  Deleted her contact information (did the same with kid #1).  Deleted those photos from hard drives, and back ups.  She should have the answer now to how serious I take that one.  And her adoptive father, considered it all dead the moment her husband called me that name, that I would never voice.  I hate that word, it is ugly. Big waste of time and energy.  Broken dreams.  My world is just falling apart.

Fourth kid down, 19. I miss her.  I am sorry I was so rough on her.  But it all had to be said.  Her ‘horde’ was her death in the making.  She had no room to run in case of a fire.
I offered to help.  She’d gone from a room that was gutted out and renovated with her and her health in mind, i.e. extra insulation in the walls, carpet to help hold in heat, etc.  She could not/would not keep it clean.  6-7 years of that, I switched her room and put her in my ‘office’.  She didn’t keep it clean.  So, in total 10 years or so, I’ve been riding her tail to get her room clean… though, that was not daily or even weekly.  I believe in having patience.

Keep in mind while doing all this ‘riding’ that I’d go in her room to help her clean it up, and organize and that would cause my  (then) husband to get angry because he didn’t think I should help her at all.  In most situations with my children, the past few years with him–I’ve been damned if I do and damned if I don’t.   Him getting sick and being home 24/7 has been horrible for me.  Care taking is a horrendous job that I would think would overwhelm any one.  It was exhausting.  He got so sick he could not even bathe himself.  He sat in the shower and let his head hang.  I took care of everything. 

I was ready to call the VA and get him into a program where we had support services, when he started getting better.  He still has issues, but he feels a lot better.  Now because he is home 24/7, and feeling well enough to participate in life, I don’t have ‘domain’ anymore, not really.  He doesn’t understand why I just want to be alone for awhile.  He does not realize that I take his criticisms so badly.  He has no clue what position he puts me in, pushing an pushing… If I had 100% my way about my 19– I would have kept my patience and helped her out.  He had lost his patience.  He complained to me. Pressure, just constant pressure.   He (and any other human I suppose) has his way of pushing to get what he wants. And I being the very well trained subservient female still has a tendency to ‘do as told’ if I don’t think about it. I did feel pushed to do what I did.  And there is this other problem of — how he jumps right in and tells them what to do (or whatever) without consulting me.  It has reached a stage where if I feel that I should handle something that is important enough, then I’ll race to take care of the problem before he does.  Yes, I feel very, very pressured. 

When you are 19 years old, and the owner of the home you are living in tells you, you need to do something (like clean up your living space, especially considering she wasn’t paying any rent either, and promised to keep the area clean prior to us letting her back into the home).   Then that is what you do if you want to continue to live there.  I guess she did not want to live here.  There was no way to avoid this train crash.  I could have been less rash, and maybe I could have held my temper.  I say maybe because I was going through withdrawals from a blood pressure medication that I was NOT told was psychoactive.  It was so bad I was having hallucinations.   The hallucinations were so bad that I even screamed once.  As on edge and scared as I was, and not thinking too good to boot… it’s probably a wonder it wasn’t worse.   Also, remember this scene had been building for literally years.

What they do not take into account is that this is not normal behavior for me.  I’ve never, ever had it out with any of my kids like this.  Now, having said that… my oldest went through this stage when she was 12.  So, was she that far ahead of the others, or is my youngest that far behind.  I’ll probably never know.  Sometimes, I’m not even sure I care anymore.

One thing I do know about 19.  I do absolutely miss her the most. I knew the trouble with #1 was coming.  I saw it coming years and years ago.  It was just a matter of time before my moral view of the world collided with hers.  We are both strong minded, and very vocal.  In my mind, even though, I have some mental illness (PTSD, Depression)  that skews the way I see things, I still believe that I am more sane than she is.  And while she’d surely disagree,  being her mother, and seeing how clean her place was for YEARS (it was disgusting. I actually thought about calling the health department on her, and I did tell her she needed therapy) and YET, she thinks she has no problems.  The truth isAll she is mirroring her biological fathers words, attitudes, and deeds.  He was a detriment to her and her health then, and he is a detriment now.  Now, she’s playing the old messages in her head, and repeating them.  She might convince others, but she’ll never convince me.  I know her too well.  Love her, want the best for her, proud that she’s made it this far in her life, but sad, because there is so much more to it all.  I can’t even pull her aside and share what I have learned, that her MS was probably caused by the abuse by my step father and her father.  The book I read,  that would probably help.  The whole mess is frustrating, but, one that I have to be willing to walk away from to keep my own sanity intact.

It is all of this, plus the fact that she is very skilled at what was once called ‘crazymaking’ and often referred to as ‘gaslighting’.  For now at least,  on an emotional plane I view her as an abuser of people.  I see her as manipulative and cunning.  How does a mother get past that? I really don’t think I can do it other than by just being willing to walk away.  She is an adult, she’s making her choices.  Most of those choices are fine.  A couple of really major ones that I can’t live with, are not, in my mind, ok.  She doesn’t give a damn what I say, think, or feel.  So, on we go…. she can go her way and I’ll go mine.

SO….. #4:  her ‘bedroom’ (which was a whole garage) is back to being our living room now.   My old living room is back to being our dining room.  I’ll soon have wall to hang a HUGE oriental fan that was bought for me.  It is a dark purple and has tigers on it.  It is WAY cool.  I missed the dining room.  We’ve eaten at the table nearly every night since getting it back.  A very small routine that is very important to a stable living arrangement.

On another note, #3 the man/boy (27 yrs. in January) has been slowly showing signs of growing up.  I told those around me that when he gets off parole,  September 2018, if he stays consistent with the direction he’s heading now then there are no more concerns for him.  He’ll have his trials and struggles like all of us do.  But, I’m really proud of the step he is taking.

The past few days, I’ve realized that I am letting that “we’ll see” view drop.  He’s given away all of his pot clothes, in other words any piece of clothing, or decorations (on the walls), or linen that has an image of pot in/on it, as in a decoration has hit the trash bin or been given away.

He has begun to mentor his friends (although he has not realized it yet).  He’s doing his own laundry on a regular basis. He’s showing much more respect than he has for years.  And while he still has issues, my goodness, he might just be more sane than myself.  He is bipolar, autistic, personality disorder w/ learning disabilities…etc.  His deck was stacked against him from the beginning.  A ‘boyfriend’ of mine made it far worse, as did my not recognizing what was going on and being slow in getting the ‘boyfriend’ out.  That is not to say ‘boyfriend’ wasn’t asked to leave, he most certainly, asked, begged, and demanded several times over many years.  Keep in mind, he never asked to move in, in the first place.

I was in that place in my life, still trying to figure out to say NO.  My boundaries were very squishy.  I had made my mind up to move towards health in a mental, emotional, and spiritual way.  But it has been a long and painful haul.

Son is thinking about the future and is thinking about horticulture and/or psychology.  I can’t imagine it. But, I am really glad he can.  In terms of morality and getting along with kids, it looks to me like it is he and my youngest are the ones that I can get along with the best.  Who would have guessed?

(If my older children are reading this, yes, this means the house is still in #4’s name, with a stipulation that he be allowed to live on the property, and there is not a damn thing you’ll be able to do about it.  No, they will NOT be paying you rent.)

I will tell you, had someone walked up to me and said, this is how your life is going to be in a few years.  I would have had a great laugh.  I would have thought it a huge joke. I could have never imagined the mess that this family is in now.  My #1 informs me that it isn’t healthy.  But, she is not willing to be held accountable, and until she can be, I can not let her in my home for fear of being abused.  It’s just not going to happen.  This is my line in the sand.  I am drawing boundaries really loud and clear.  I’m not old enough for her to start telling me what to do just yet. (ya, she told me to “think long and hard”-she can say what she wants, but I am probably more hard headed than she is, and she is not going to like how this is going to turn out)

I have kids who probably don’t believe I love them.  But, I do.  I can not say that I like them all, but I do love them very much.  I have severe emotions about how I am being treated by the two oldest.  Considering they know that I am a good person who tries very hard to not hurt people, and as hard as I have worked for them in all my years of mothering (34 years!!! –I am 55 now.  I’ve been a mother longer than anything else I’ve done in my life.) you’d think they could see clear to cut me a break.  Or maybe they have….     A break…

There is more than one kind of break though.  I was speaking of a positive one.

And what I feel is a crash, and a crush that literally takes the breath away.  I am still,  in general, in a very bad place.

I try not to dwell, but this space that I have been in – is not safe in the least.

What I want more than anything else is release.

I just don’t want to be here anymore.

It is becoming very, very hard to ‘smile’ and go on as if everything is just fine and dandy.
I smile to convince myself, but forgot that I am not convincible.

I didn’t even decorate for Christmas this year. I saw no point. And that was before #4 decided to leave this house.


For whatever it’s worth, I am working on a ‘book’.  I am planning to put it on Amazon.

Poems, essays, my insight (ha! such as it is), photography.  Over the years I’ve had a number of poems published. Have been encouraged by a number of people to publish. A few even said that as far as they were concerned I was the best poet of our time.  That was a really nice compliment that I never took too seriously.  LOL.

My book will be breaking all the rules.  I will talk about things that I am not supposed to talk about.  I am going to have my way–one way or another.  🙂 This is normal for this particular Peggy.  Should I choose to ‘release’ myself after the book is out there, any royalties will be directed to my (ex)husband. For though, he is hard to ‘live’ with, there is absolutely no doubt that I am loved.  And I owe him.  He is the only person I ‘owe’ at this point in my life.  12/29/2017

There was a sad look even when she smiled.

RIPPED my 19, my blood pressure feels so bad I might just literally blow. You work your ass off, you tell your kid to clean her room or damn well get out. Its my house, and I get to decide how I want it and I am mean… HA, you think that you’ve had it rough before….fuck it, no one compares to me when I’m this worked up.  Don’t worry aunt Pam I’m sure you’ll hear what a horrible person I am very soon. I DON’T CARE. The only way there is in life to tell someone they are making horrible choices. I’m sorry but laying in bed most the day, chatting with friends doesn’t get the disgust in your room gone.

This month has been utterly terrible —hell this year has been rough. And last year, and last year. I’ve drunken too much grape juice. ha. I’m going to leak all over.

Severe mental harshness.
Some thing is just way, way wrong.
Please don’t pressure me.
For it feels as if I might break,
OOh, wait!! I remember!
It was him throwing plates.
O yes, I was really scared that day.
The day I watched my daddy beat up my mama.
It hurt so bad, I felt like I might break.
That is what happened last week.
PSTD – Peggy Staged a Truama, Dammit!
I’ve tried to tell the whole world what was wrong
There was a sad look even when she smiled.
What could be so wrong?
The people that I want to believe,
can talk up, down, and around,
And not address her shame.
How much would it cost,
To make the old and deep, dark and cold
space
be gone.
I was that little girl.
I tried to leap, but I fell down.
I am sorry for being here,
I’m sorry I really do want to go.
But, I am stuck in this deep, dark spot.
I often try to believe in God.
Sometimes I can, often can not.
I try not to say,
God let it happen.
I can not blame them.
They walked in some dark place, too.
I heard the story, of being taken behind the wood shed,
But it is ok, cause he’s MY kid.
In general, the culture of
today’s mental torture
doesn’t work.
Did I get it all wrong?
What is new,
I’m sorry about that request
Can you just hold it?
Do try to be discrete.
Something really black and deep,
creeps itself forward –
There is nothing any one can do.
The pain in that hole,
it screams
it’s command.
Why is there tomorrow?
She looks sad, even when she shares her smile.

Shit I think I just wrote my best poem….

A Thread from Facebook…

First off, let me just say, that I did start this…. but the outcome totally surprised me.  I’m sorry that it hurts so many people, but I have a right to say what I need to say.  I have a right to shout it to the tree tops if I choose, and I do.  There is not one person in this world that can stop me.  Though, they can try.  I’m not the ignorant 30something I used to be.  Threats do not mean much to me anymore.

“I’ve always loved Thanksgiving and Christmas. Those were the two major holidays of our childhood lives. There were always aunts, uncles, and grandparents present. It was always at our house. Mom always cooked. There were the Thanksgiving parades, and football. It is what I patterned my adult life on for the holidays. The holidays are all about family. My kids got presents, but what I tried to make important was family.
I have mostly very warm feelings for the holidays as a child. The only dark spot on those memories is remembering when dad would get on a tirade, make a fork or plate being dirty be all my fault. Twice while everyone ate, he yelled at me for my horrible misdeed threw every dish from the cabinets into the sink, and sometimes breaking them, and in front of my mothers family.
In someways, I wish I were not so insightful. I realized yesterday that those scenes were meant for my mother’s family. My mothers brother who dared to speak up for his niece and teach my dad a lesson. At some point there was a bad physical altercation between them over a little girl… me. It taught my grandparents, and my uncle that he could treat that girl anyway he wanted, and they were powerless to do anything about it.
Having realized that yesterday… it kind of makes the holiday feel a little melancholy. So, I am concentrating on today — being there for my kids, and still trying so hard to not repeat the past. Acknowledging that a piece of the puzzle has fallen to. Thanking my uncle for giving me a piece to hang it on. Thankful for a family and dear friends that I have. Thank you!”  (Original post, Thanksgiving 2017)

Answer from cousin01: I’m so sad for that little girl. So proud of the woman she became and how she stopped that cycle. (Nov. 23, 2017)

Answer from girlfriend from school years: My dad was a jerk too! We could have gone only two ways…be like them or not. You and I learned a lesson on how not to be. Most people don’t get something from that…merely use it as a crutch. Kudos Peggy! Happy Thanksgiving and Merry Christmas!

Answer from cousin02: Happy Thanksgiving Love to you all.

Answer from step-mother: i completly under stand.he took the joy out of life (I have not corrected the punctuation or spelling, because I wanted it to be true to form.  Also note that step mother was being supportive.)

Answer from sister:  I for one am Thankful for my father who has been gone for 30 years now. I miss him terribly and wish he were here.  Until someone has been thru the military and knows what it may be like for that person…or horible health issues. Nobody is perfect. And most don’t deserve to be blasted on face book where other family members can see. So @ joan rowe….I dont aprreciate you blasting my father on face book….not where I can see it. Unless you would like me to blast the stories about you that I know on face book !!!! Let the man rest in peace!! Happy Thanksgiving Dad ♡♡ (my comment: a hurt little girl comes shining through, while she makes it clear to step mother that the divorce between our parents was all her fault.  A reminder here—Dad made choices too.  And him being dead does not make him so scared that I will not punch and punch again if it relieves me of my PTSD)

Answer from me last night (11/26/2017): My sister and I have completely different realities when it comes to our parents. We were raised in the same home with completely different styles. Just before my mothers brother died, he told me about how my grandparents and he, and our aunt would sit around the dinner table and talk about how differently we were treated, and how worried they were for me. I asked him why they didn’t say or do something. His answer was that they were all afraid that they would not be allowed to see us girls. My uncle a few weeks later asked if I remembered a fight he and dad had. Apparently they were trying to hurt each other. It was a serious issue. The fight was over something that dad had done to me. That something is probably why I could tell people when I was little that I loved my dad, but did not like him. Something my mother was quite proud of. I’ve heard that story countless times. I asked my uncle what dad did to me. He just looked at me. He looked sad. Over time he reiterated that as far as he and my grandparents were concerned the Rowe’s were uncivilized. I cant hurt them now. They are all dead. My mother’s brother could tell me about his bar brawls, and his ‘fights with the universe’ and how he lost. I heard a lot from him before he passed away. With all the stories full of drunkenness, and violence and a young mans stupidity, he could not tell me what my dad did to me. There had been a conspiracy almost from the day I was born. He could say and do as he pleased, and mom protected him instead of protecting her daughter. The same scene played out again with my daughter because I did not have the conscious memory enough of the past to stop it from happening. This IS MY struggle, and it’s going to ‘leak’ out on occasion because on occasion, I get triggered, and some ‘realization’ hits me like a ton of bricks. I am way, way beyond angry with both of my parents. I’ve studied psychology along with computers in college. I’m no expert, but I have a pretty good clue. The genealogy hobby, and the love of history– is a tool for learning about the people in ones family. I am smart enough to know that none of it was really my parents’ fault. This shit has been going on literally for GENERATIONS. They came from somewhere, and had their own crosses to bear. But, when they knew right from wrong, then I take issue. My guess is that if my 20 something year old uncle knew that my dad did something wrong, that means mom told her parents, and knew dad was wrong. And over the years, they just let the crap pile on. The only thing that dad did different, is that dad apologized to me before he died. Mom just won’t face a daughter who wants answers. I will take this crap to my grave with me. My mother, when she cut off ties with me, wrote a letter and told me that my daughter would “survive” just like she did. She (my daughter) did not need the insurance money that I was suing for (and gave up) — a judge at one time awarded my daughter 1.3 million dollars for what my daughter went through at the hands of my step-father. He and my mother counter sued. I got emotionally exhausted and I dropped the suit. But, I have to tell you–that daughter is 34 years old and she is angry. She is so angry she is literally SICK. Literally dying. She looks at life through shit colored glasses. And it all of this…. is intertwined–history repeating itself. My mother was incapable of being there for me, and she was incapable of being there for my daughter. What my daughter lives through is not being a survivor. Not yet. My daughter is still fighting her demons. And so am I still fighting with mine (I’m 55 years old, and the flashbacks are not gone yet!). Dad did what he did. I have a right to express how it affected me. And ya, he could take the joy out of things. Like the time he ran over a dog to get back at mom…. the stories could go on all day and all night and well into next year. He was very, very capable of taking the joy out of things. But, on the other hand, he was the one who would let us sit on his lap, and put barrettes in his hair. He sang us songs, he danced with us, he tried to show us right from wrong. NO one is completely evil, or wrong. Even Charles Manson had a good thing or two within him (what, I have no idea). I liked my step father so much I named my little boy after him. It’s been going on for generations — and it’s my generation now. I get to have my say, I get to try and stop the cycle of abuse of all sorts.  I refuse to be silent.

More from me: (11/26/2017): But she (step mom) said it because she is on my page. That means, I am ok with it. I asked Joan, years and years and years ago why she got involved with our father at the time she(they) did. She gave a completely honest, and pragmatic answer. “If it wasn’t me, it would have been someone else.” And that was the truth, was the truth, was the truth. It took two to dance that little dance, and dad was apparently fully consenting because he is the one that left us. He was and is as guilty as anyone else. In fact, he’s more guilty…. he’s the one that choose to break up the family. Not me, Not you. We will NEVER know what really happened between mom and dad. I over heard dad talk about mom one night. I know of at least one big reason he left her. The truth is, if it wasn’t Joan IT WOULD HAVE BEEN someone else. That is not her fault. I for one, am not going to stay any more angry at my step mother as I am at my own parents… yup, been there done that. Joan is not at fault that Dad left home. Dad left home because he wanted to. Because things between mom and dad were not good for him. And if the truth be told, based on things mom said to me over the years, that if she were not so busy putting on a show for the world about how perfect our little home was–that she’d realized she was probably much happier without him there. That is after she got over the fact that you can love a mean person, and she should have seen that train wreak very EARLY on. And yes, you can say that about me. The difference is that I am authentically me. What you see is what you get. I already know that I did see my train wreak in the making and I relived my mother’s life–and fought it. I am exhausted as she is, I promise!!!

Additional Notes: A childhood such as the one I had often sets a child up to be an adult that is incapable of functioning in their own home, or even in society at a high capacity.  Sometimes the emotional  fall out is just too great.  I do not have to forgive and forget.  Neither do my kids, whom I failed over and over again. (11/27/2017)

And the conversation went on into the night– and nothing was resolved.  I am not going to shut up under any circumstances.  I may, if I can ever get through certain situations without being triggered by flashbacks from the past, I might slow down.  I might be more quiet.  But, I will not 100% quit until I am dead.   Everyone can literally run to their corners.  Let me say this really loud, clear and simple:  I WILL NOT STOP!

There is freedom of speech in this country, and I am going to take 100% full advantage of it, and I dare anyone to stop me.  I do this for the kids who grew up in compete and utter insanity.  For the kids who’s father showed them a big bowie knife, told them how much like their mother they were, and how much they deserved to die because of it. There is no belittling, no shaming, no pretenses of “I’d do it this way (*if I were you,* was the clear pretense…”) that will ever shut me down.  The grown ups that stood around me as a child created drama that went well into my adulthood.  I am fighting to be 100% conscious of all of that, so that I can heal from it. It is my right, it is my mental health.  It affects my life to this day, as it affects the way I treat my children.  It affects the way I treat my significant other(s).  It affects my ability to keep a job, and to keep relationships.  It takes an incredibly patient and  forgiving person to deal with me and my issues.

If you have a comment that you would like me to see, please email me at pegrowe 62 @ g mail dot com.  (with no spaces).  Depending on how nice you are…  I might or may not answer.  Thank you.

Boundaries, change, and being irrational.

I think I’ve been called every name in the book last night..including but not limited to: ” a psychotic cunt.”

Them is…fighting words. LOL

I’m pretty sure that I will never talk to my two oldest kids again. I’ve done my best to be a really, really good person. I’ve GIVEN myself away, over and over and over again…trying to tell the whole frickin world how sorry I am that I ever fricking existed!

The kids are quick to judge, quick to act, they don’t question anything to see what is going on from another persons view. They think they are right and with arrogance to boot. 

They told me what was “right”. And they are wrong, and they are wrong in such a way that this is becoming unrepairable. I’m not going to lie down and die anytime soon. I’m not into giving myself away so much anymore. There comes a time, when you have to look at a person and say, “you know, you are just too toxic to be a part of my world.”

These thoughts are not the words of an irrational psychotic cunt.  They are the words of an educated woman who is trying very hard to put the pieces together in order to understand her children (her GROWN children).

You know, I’ve done it before, and I’m going to do it again.  My health is far more important to me than their lies and manipulations.  The drama has no place in my life.  And the name calling… well, that is just infantile.  Have a good life kids, hope the pay off is worth it for you.  P.S. Stay off the comment area or I will lock you out.  In fact, think I’ll just do that now. LOL

For my friend again…

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twobooks      trouble200

9/26/2017

To Our Customers –
Due to technical difficulties, we are only able to offer 1 free program. However, we will extend the free program offer from 2 days to 4 days. The free downloaded program is your choice and there is no purchase required. This offer includes Core Reading which in print sells for 149.00*.

We are happy to share our programs and hope you will see the quality of the programs at StrugglingReaders.com.  Please email your program requests to Peggy at orders@strugglingreaders.com.  Offer good until September 28, 2017.

Thank you for your patience,
Matt Glavach, Owner/Author
Peggy Snyder, Program Distribution & webmaster
Glavach & Associates

*All programs included except the audio programs.

Glavach & Associates
P.O. Box 302
Cloverdale California, 95425 – US

 

StrugglingReaders

Doing this for a friend of mine, who for years has been working on getting the word out on his products.  He is a Phd., a doctorate who studies brains and reading.  The “buy” buttons on the site are set to NOT charge for the programs for today and tomorrow.
If you have a problem, email: orders@strugglingreaders.com

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5 FREE PROGRAMS!  You Choose!

SEPTEMBER 25 and 26 – 2017

5 FREE PROGRAMS! 
​Choose Any Program to Download and Print.
No Purchase Required.

Choose any program on the StrugglingReaders
website from 48 Different Programs.

GA123-200px_smallWordRoots2small 
(Audio programs not included.)
About the Author of the programs, scroll down!

matt-glavach
Matthew Glavach, Ph.D., teacher, researcher, and writer, has authored and coauthored over 40 educational programs, including Reading with Donny and Marie Osmond, an original music based reading program for younger readers, and research articles, including “Breaking the Failure Pattern” in the Journal of Learning Disabilities. More recent research articles include “The Brain, Prosody, and Reading Fluency” and “A Reading Strategy for Content Area Teachers, Parallel Reading Intervention” published with the National Association of Special Education Teachers. In 2005, his reading program Core Reading was among programs chosen by the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development, NICHD, for a possible visit by First Lady Laura Bush.
 Struggling Reader Programs meet
or exceed Common Core Standards.
Dr. Glavach  is currently on the editorial board of The Journal of the American Academy of Special Education Professionals (JAASEP) an online peer-reviewed journal committed to advancing the professional development of special education professionals. With his Northern California company Glavach and Associates, (StrugglingReaders.com), Dr. Glavach is committed to improving student literacy.

Glavach and Associates 
Email for more information today!


My Dream Life

I told a psychologist about four or five years ago that I do not dream anymore, and if I do, I don’t remember them.  I can say that the state of my dream life hasn’t changed much.

Last night I had a dream and I remember it mostly.  The dream did not come to any conclusion because I was woken up by a ‘charlie horse.’

At first I thought it was a fun but weird dream. I had not thought of a hint or perhaps myself talking to me, until I was driving down highway 5, going home from running my dear youngest child to her appointment.   Something, I’m thankful I won’t be doing much longer.  She is getting the Subaru, and I am getting a PT Cruiser.  A beautiful blue PT Cruiser.  I will post a picture when I actually have it.  Not that this information has anything to do with my dream, but I am so impressed with this car.  It’s probably the lowest mileage car I’ve ever owned.

Anyway, back to my dream.  It was interesting.  I’d gotten a job as a nanny.  A job I would never take in real life, not now.  I’ve raised my kids, and I want and need a break.  I became a nanny to maybe an 18 month or so toddler, who was behind developmentally.

The baby was behind in her growth because her parents were not caring for her properly.  She should have been walking, or at least trying.  She should be sitting up, and babbling away.  She was all smiles, but she did not make any attempt to roll over, play with her feet, get up, walk, or babble.  This child who should be at the very beginning of taking her place in the family and figuring out how to get things done to her satisfaction was still pretty much a smiling but helpless infant.  It was my job to bring her up to speed developmentally, and to protect her.  I have no  idea who she needed protection from except maybe her parents.

I was about to pick this beautiful baby up.  I just so wanted to hold her.  She was just irresistible.  But, then I love babies. There are two stages in (my) a child’s life that are my favorite.  The baby stage, and the grown up stage.  LOL.  LOL When *MY* kids are in the grown up stage.  They get to walk through their hard stuff, and I get to cheer them o when they come out the other side.  I have learned over the years that I can never really stop being mom, but  being friend as well, can be introduced with care.  I probably made the that particular transition best with my youngest.  But, then… I really never had a chance with my oldest, she was stolen from me years, and years ago.  [And a note to my mother, if she happens to be reading this: Yes, she has survived this, but it doesn’t mean that she is “okay” — and it sure as hell proved that you were NOT right.]

On my way home this morning, it dawned on me that maybe my dream was a message to me.  Maybe it was a sort of instruction.

Back in 1993 or so, I was in some really, really heavy therapy.  The goal then was more about my kids.  How could I make myself healthier so that I’d see danger coming before my family was hurt.  To do this, I had to, I felt, educate myself about everything and anything that comes into the sphere of  childhood sexual assault (or in short form, “molest”)

It was during this time that I discovered just what Domestic Violence was and that I was living with it every single day and had lived with it almost all of my childhood.  I basically learned the names of, and definitions of a whole set of messy things that exist in the world, and in my world.  I was in my early 30’s when all this information came into my consciousness.  I look back now, and it seems as if I were cramming for a final. Probably from the school of hard knocks.

Eventually, I learned about art therapy. I thought I’d give it a try.  I enjoyed coloring before it was ‘cool’ for meditations.  I made collages.  Sometimes I made collages of things I enjoyed and sometimes I tried to explore a specific theme.  But, no matter what I was doing the bottomline was a very targeted goal.   What experiences, what people, what culture — the who, what and why of what I am deep down inside is what I was trying to work out.  Why was my little girl a target, what weakness did I show that allowed   anyone to take advantage of who we were.

Some of my questions were answered and some were not. Lucky for me, the brain never quits. I am a curious person who likes to learn. I want to know what goes on in the world, especially in my little world.

While in the art therapy mode, I did a LOT of journaling. I mostly used the ‘free thought association’ (I think, its been a long time since I’ve used this language).  Occasionally, I’d get an image in my mind and I’d draw it and/or color it.  I’d put it aside or in my note book.

Two images come to mind now.  Both of them were done in black and white.  There was no color.  Both seemed to be associated with the same situation.  One was a black monster with many arms.  It was black with a beak.  Today, I’d say it was a squid with an octopus head, a very black squidopus.  hehe.  My artwork is on a 4th grade level.  For me the ‘monster’ came out pretty well.  The message I took away was that  I felt there were many arms around me.  I’ve never really understood it, but thought it would mean something eventually.

The second image was drawn after some very physical therapy.  My father was dead already, I could not ask him questions.  My mother had basically booted me out of the family.  I was angry that I had been treated so poorly as a child.  In the therapy, I put a t-shirt on a chair and screamed obscenities at it will I punched it.  A safe way to have a temper tantrum.  I worked myself into exhaustion, and laid down on the couch.  I was very relaxed, and I have never believed I was asleep. I had a dream– I was in my white crib, looking around my bedroom.  I remembered what the curtains looked like.  In this ‘dream’ or probably in the ‘memory’ I was big enough to stand in the crib.  I later asked my mother about the details of my room. She confirmed for me that I had remembered right.

Sometime later, I had a similar ‘dream’ or ‘memory’ — and then drew a picture of it.
There was a helpless baby, all swaddled up tightly.  The baby was wiggling and could not break free of it’s cocoon of flannel.   There was a feeling that the baby was not liking what was happening to her.  Something wet and warm kept hitting her face.  It made her feel as if she might be smothering, and yet, all she could do was squiggle in her fortress of flannel.  In the dream stood a man that I identified as an uncle.  My then husband, not in the dream, and not even in the house while this was going on, decided that I had my uncle confused with my father.  I knew I had not confused anyone.  But as a young, young person there is a chance that maybe I wasn’t ready to see my father in that place.

I have interpreted this already.  In the past I have interpreted it in two different ways.   If it is a memory, then I as a baby did not understand what was going on.  I am sure that while I could not name fear, I certainly felt it.  I questioned if what had happened was a form of sexual assault.  Or maybe just a little boy experimenting.  I may never know.  What I do know is that it was a very uncomfortable experience for me.

Fast forward to last nights dream whose dream theme was similar to that explained above.  A baby, a helpless baby.  Only this time, I was there to work on making things better.  In light of the past work I have done, including some work that I am doing now in a PTSD group, and in individual therapy – I have come to the conclusion that those dream memories from the past are connected to last nights dream.

I knew last night, in the dream that I was going to have to take up the baby, and help her learn to sit up, and stay sitting.  I’d probably have to put her feet in her hands to help her realize she had some toes to play with.  She needed to learn to crawl, to become curious enough to want to climb, and to take her first steps.

Maybe, once I have supported the baby enough, and she feels safe enough, and realizes that exploring life can be a fun and happy thing, maybe then she will share with me what is inside her.  So, now it is time to talk to this baby at her level, on her terms, with quietness, confidence, and a loving tone. Maybe I just need to lead the baby down her path and protect her from all the things she was/is afraid of.

 

For June 2, 2017, my graduate, & youngest girl…

May 20, 2017

Diane—

So in less than two weeks you will be a high school graduate.  I am hoping that your little graduation present gets here in time.
I’m writing this letter for you so that you can get the little ‘bump’ you need to send you out into the world and make it big—but make it big in your way and in the process making YOUR dreams come true.
I bought a CD for you today.  There are two songs there that are the reason why I bought what I bought.  There are two songs that are my personal gift and message for you.

My Wish

 I hope the days come easy and the moments pass slow,
And each road leads you where you wanna go,
And if you’re faced with a choice, and you have to choose,
I hope you choose the one that means the most to you.
And if one door opens to another door closed,
I hope you keep on walkin’ till you find the window,
If it’s cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile.
But more than anything, more than anything

My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to,
Your dreams stay big, your worries stay small,
You never need to carry more than you can hold,
And while you’re out there getting where you’re getting to,
I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too,
Yeah, this, is my wish.

     Suppose it could be said better-but, when you are in doubt just remember that at least your mom is cheering you on.  I realize that I have made a lot of mistakes.  I’ve realized that being a mom to one child doesn’t make you good mom to all kids.  My weaknesses with my oldest were sometimes still my weakness, and sometimes by the time I got to you, I had a whole new set of weaknesses.  No matter how poorly I have said, “I love you.”  Know that I always have, & that my dreams for you were always big, even if I couldn’t provide you with a great jumping off pad.
There will be times when I still have to be a ‘mom’.  Unfortunately, that is just the rules for engagement between you and I.  But, I am hoping that we can always talk about any problems we have and work them out.    The thing that I am really best at and can still do for you, is to be your cheerleader.    And I always will be that.   And I want all the same things for you as I ever wanted for the other three:

  1. Be Happy. Be Healthy.  3. Follow your Dreams. 4. Don’t hurt others.

That last one is the hardest one for me.  That’s the one I choke on.  It’s the only one that can ever get between you and I.  It’s really important to me because so many people have worked so hard hurt those around me.  I’ve lived the fall out; I’ve seen the emotional devastation.   That is where I draw my line in the sand.

But, having said that I cannot imagine you hurting someone on purpose, for the sake of fun or anything else.  You are a really good person. The one kid who actually turned out the way I hoped all my kids would.  I see a happy life for you.  That is not to say you won’t hit bumps.    Sometimes those bumps really hurt.  Sometimes the days will get really dark.  It’s just how life goes sometimes.  Light a candle, say a prayer, take some really deep breaths, take a long bath, listen to music, paint, and call your mom.

One thing to remember is even when you feel really, really alone, the truth is that you are not.  You have friends and family who love you and want the best for you.  Even if all they can give you is a hug, and probably that’s all you’d need anyhow to be able to get out there and face the world again.

“Stand”

You feel like a candle in a hurricane
Just like a picture with a broken frame
Alone and helpless
Like you’ve lost your fight
But you’ll be alright, you’ll be alright

‘Cause when push comes to shove
You taste what you’re made of
You might bend, ’til you break
‘Cause it’s all you can take
On your knees you look up
Decide you’ve had enough
You get mad, you get strong
Wipe your hands, shake it off
Then you stand…

You come from a LONG LINE of really tough people.  Not perfect people….just really tough people. People who have faced all kinds of situations—starvation, witch hunts, wild bears, wars, homelessness, extreme cold, rape, molest, abuse.  Each one not only survived but succeeded in some way, or else YOU would not be on this earth today.  Each of us alive today on this earth can believe this because it’s true!  And, it is all the more of a reason to celebrate YOU!
You have been handed the gift of life.  Each person in your life is a gift.  Maybe there will be times when you can’t see it, but EVERYONE who crosses your path will share something with you, even if all it is ‘just’ a smile.  It might be a small or a great gift: wisdom, fact, love, a hug, a meal, a theory, maybe someday a child.   Never take it for granted.  There might be a billion of us here on earth, but there is only one me and only one you!!  That makes us special. It makes being your mom special!

Thank you for choosing me to be your mom.  Thank you for the GIFT of being YOU!!
I do LOVE YOU!!!  & I always will!!  xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

The Time I Almost Killed Myself…

Talkin’ to myself and feelin’ old
Sometimes I’d like to quit
Nothin’ ever seems to fit
Hangin’ around
Nothin’ to do but frown
Rainy days and Mondays always get me down
~Carpenters, 1971

IMG_6590

Two weeks ago, give or take a day, I had a really a no good, really bad day.  For that day and the next I struggled with life and death, and the importance of my life as it intersects with other lives.  The short version of the story is that a lot of pain that I try very hard to ignore on a day to day basis hit me all at once.  I described it later, like a stack pancakes, one on top of another, until the stack became so big that it just fell apart.

At the base of the pain, one might call the biggest and heaviest pancake was the pain that came from a perceived rejection of my want to help my (mentally challenged) son.  In my mind, I had to choose one over the other:  my partner or my son.  I told my friends that if I wanted a really real divorce all I had to do was invite my son to stay on this property again.  That is STILL the reality that I contend with.  The truth is though, that this was not at the base, this was the straw that broke the camel’s back.  The pancake stack was probably leaning, and someone threw this big, heavy pancake on the stack—and what we got was this big emotional train wreck.

My son, is currently 26 years old, and has a laundry list of diagnoses now.   Bipolar with psychosis which by definition includes depression and mania, Autistic Spectrum Disorder (not long ago referred to as Asperger’s Syndrome or High Functioning Autism), PTSD, borderline personality disorder …..But wait, there’s more…. (Learning disabilities galore also are on the list)

And it is certainly no laughing matter.  He’ll probably need professional help the rest of his life.  And there is no amount of denial or turning one’s back on him that will change what he is, who he is, and what he needs.  Keeping this mind, knowing that I DID bring this kid into the world, there is absolutely NO chance in hell, that I will EVER turn my back on him.

One of his older sisters flat out told me I needed to “cut him loose.”  A judgement made from a person who can very easily distance herself from someone she perceives as a “looser”.  In her mother’s mind however, there is a difference between a ‘looser’ and someone with a condition that came built in with the package.  One never ‘cuts loose’ their children, if they can help it.  To be able to “cut loose” even a grown child, the emotional price tag has to become bigger than the perceived ‘worth’ of the child.  There has to be some mighty painful situations come up to force a good mother to let go of even ‘grown’ children.

I could not understand how someone who supposedly loved me could not understand my dilemma.  In order to keep the man around that I loved, I had to “CHOOSE” to not help my son (again).  I felt about as misunderstood as a person could feel.  I felt let down, as if the world’s biggest rug had been torn out from under me.  The one person in the world that I had chosen to throw all my trust into (after deciding he was pretty healthy-emotionally) basically let me know my son was not going to live on his property.

He let me know by showing his anger.  He doesn’t stomp around the house. He just makes the household know by the way he carries himself, and with this huge frown that shows he is very unhappy.  His body language, his lack of conversation, it is all made quite clear.  And it’s not like I didn’t know what was wrong. I did.  I didn’t need his “passive aggressive” messages.

But he sent them anyway….

The more I tried to figure out what to do for my son, without letting him come back to this property, the more this ‘partner’ of mine sent out the signals that he was pushed out of shape.  Over and over again—as my son’s situation led to him becoming more mentally unstable, so it pushed me more and more into a feeling of helplessness.  I had no realistic way to help him except to listen to him and try to help ground him.  Even that wasn’t working very well.  I told my son he could not come and live on this property; else I’d be divorced for real.  He asked me if it was really that bad.  I could only answer him honestly.  “Yes, it is really that bad.”

On the heels of this, came, the news that my 2nd eldest daughter would not be attending my 18 year old’s high school graduation.  Take into account, that this 2nd eldest daughter is adopted.  Her own biological mother did not show up at her graduation.  I did.  She has made it clear over the years how much that meant to her.  I simply could not fathom how she could not show up at her younger sister’s graduation considering how important her own was to her.

My two oldest daughters do not speak to me.  Each has their own reasons.  To be honest, I don’t see the reason in either of their stories.  They are both in their own way and for their own individual reasons laying an awful lot of blame onto me for things that may or may not be going right in their own life.  And so they have the right to treat me like shit.  It doesn’t mean I’m going to give into whatever it is.  It’s just what they think they want from me.  It doesn’t mean I’m going to change a thing I do in my life.  Not for them.  Not anymore.

That Saturday morning, my “partner” and I had had a major argument.  He offered to leave.  I told him to just go then.  I have to say here and now, that living under his cover of anger is too much for me to take.  I have informed him more than once that we need professional help.  If I don’t leave this time, I sure will leave another time, if he continues to ‘rule his roost’ in this manner.

Nevertheless, feeling that perhaps the 2nd eldest was staying away from the graduation so that she’d not have to confront her feelings about our non-communication, and in essence making her little sister pay for anger that she feels towards me, I offered to not go to the graduation so that she would go.

Almost instantaneously, though it may seem silly to those who read this, I felt absolutely the failure and unneeded, unworthy, and unloved.  I was suddenly moving, at least in my mind in slow motion.  I felt like I’d been run over by a Mack Truck.   My reality at that moment, suddenly, and too my great surprise, IN MY FACE:

1 Mother: Not speaking to me
2 of 4 Children: Not speaking to me
1 adult (mentally challenged) child: In need, I cannot help.
1 partner, whom I considered the love of my life: Offering to leave, and obviously angry.
1 child, who I’d just offered to not go to her graduation, a once in a lifetime ceremony, and rightfully should be the happiest time of her life at least for now.  I gave that up.
= It all came to be ONE MASSIVE FAILURE in my mind.

If anyone knows me, they know that I have worked very hard to be where I am in this life.  There has been nothing come without struggle in one form or another.  Either I literally worked hard physically (as in providing for my family as a single mother), or literally trying to learn enough about people, psychology, and myself to FORCE myself to be the best that I can be: to be a very good person, who takes everyone’s feelings into account, to give without the need to receive.  I have lived it: “The children always come first.”  I did not and do not want to be accused of ever abusing another person…. Well except perhaps a rapist or molester.

Everyone always came first. I wonder now, if anyone even considers what I might want or need when they make their final determinations about me and who I am, and why they think they are so damn angry with me.

Consider my EGO-growing from a little girl to a young woman:

I am a daughter
I am a granddaughter
I am a mother
I am a wife
I am a domestic engineer
I am a worker
I am a volunteer
I am a writer
I am a student
I am a gardener
I am a genealogist
I am a photographer
I am a lover of music

These are written in the order of priority in my life, at least to a certain point.

I have noticed the past couple of years that my boundaries and priorities are changing. It is my understanding that this is a natural outgrowth of a woman who is coming face to face with the ageing processes.  She feels her body beginning to fall apart.  She is losing her physical strength and endurance.   She is coming to terms with mortality and the time limits of life come screeching to the consciousness.  In my case, the thought that I am actually pushing 60 years of age, is just mind bending.  I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d live to see the age that I am let alone anything beyond it.  And while I am grateful for every day that I live, I also know beyond a shadow of doubt that my days are now most certainly limited.

And so over the past year or so, my priorities have changed:

I am a lover of music
I am a photographer
I am a genealogist
I am a gardener
I am a student
I am a writer
I am a volunteer
I am a worker (no longer realistic)
I am a wife (Retired?!)
I am a mother (Retired?!)
I am a granddaughter (no longer realistic)
I am a daughter  (no longer realistic)

But these turn overs in priorities do not come painlessly.  They do send ripples out on what can often times be perceived by others and myself as a very calm sea of needs, wants, desires, —and demands from those all around me.    I hope their children never treat them the way they have treated me.  They are blind if they truly do not see, just how hurt I really am.

So, that Saturday morning, feeling like I had been run over by the world’s largest vehicle, I determined to have my very own last supper, and to go by the local ER and ask for my pacemaker to be turned off so that when I found the wall of snow that I was determined to find, I could plow into it, and die quickly.  I had no desire for my pacemaker to keep me alive while the 911 crew raced to save my life.  I was going to drive out of state in a quiet and determined manner.  I had a plan, and I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

This is how seriously I felt my failures.  That I just wasn’t worth the air that I breathed. There was nothing left to give.  I suddenly had no reason to live.  It was time to just go away, disappear—eventually, it would be taken for granted that I was dead.  That is how far up a mountain I was willing to go.

But, I realized that if I asked for my pacer to be turned off that I’d more than likely be put into a 72 hour hold.  I had no reason to let anyone force me to want to live.  So, I chose not to ask for my pacer to be turned off.

I began my long drive. And even in my dark mood some things about me are truly consistent.  “I always wanted to see if I could find that little town, maybe today is the day,” and so I took of the exit to Anluf.  I wound under I-5 and wondered at the scenery.  How in the world had I missed this road!  It is my curiosity that feeds me and keeps me utterly alive.  I have always, as long as I can remember, wanted to see it all, feel it all, hear it all, taste it all, know it all.  Suddenly, as I realized I was on part of the Applegate Trail, I began to form photos in my mind.  I also began conversations with my ‘partner’ about encouraging him to take this drive with this camera.  But, it was also a good bye conversation: Find yourself a good woman, enjoy and celebrate life, but tell her that I have dibs in heaven.  After a little drive I ended up in Venetta, and first thing I saw was an FCR office.  One of my kids works for that company, or at least did.  I thought perhaps she should transfer there; she’d be closer to the big city, and lots of fun things to do.  I got myself a chocolate, chocolate, chocolate blizzard.  I bought paper, envelopes and stamps.  I wrote two letters: one letter to the man that I thought was my beloved.  To him, I put down in words my conversation with his perception.  One letter to my youngest, letting her know that I loved her so much, and that I knew she was going to be ok.  That I was glad that she was growing up to be a really good person.  I ate my blizzard, I wrote, stuffed, stamped, and mailed the notes.

I headed towards the driveway and took notice of a sign that pointed to Eugene going one way, and to Florence going the other way.  I was very much away from my original plan of ‘visiting’ my great grandfather in Springfield, my great great grandparents in Eugene and the rest of the family in Silverton at Miller’s cemetery.  I’d already had a conversation with my father.  I’d let him know that I’d see him really soon.  It was and still is hard not to see it as a reunion, when the time really comes.  I turned away from my plan and towards Florence.  I decided that it would be ok to see one last sunset from the beach.  In my own quiet way, I was throwing myself a good bye party.

Where I made my mistake, and it’s one I will not make again.  Is that I called Clyde to just let him know that I was ok.  Except that I was not ok. During the conversation he let me know that my youngest was worried about me. I had not given my plan away, at least not blatantly, until now.  Without any forethought to it at all, I told him to tell her that my dad died when I was 21 years old, and my sister was 18 at the time.  The message was that we both survived it and are doing ok.  His response almost sounded unreal, “wait, what are you thinking? What are you going to do?”  I told him I loved him, I hung up, and I turned off the phone.  (My battery was getting very low, and I had no charger, and I did not want to be deterred from my goal)

Either way, from that moment on, no matter how badly I did not want to face the next day I knew that my kid now knew what I wanted to do, and I could not live with her “knowing” this.  Looking back on it, I really don’t why this bothered me so much.  But, it did.

You know, it’s two weeks later, and I still am rather flat feeling about the whole mess.  I do not feel like a successful person, I am fairly sure that soon I’ll be looking for my own space, and will begin to end my life—spend the last days, weeks, month, or years on my own terms.  No matter how much I love someone, there is nothing left in me that says, “I must change him.”  It is just not happening.  If you love someone, you love them as they are.  If one cannot accept his/her other as they are, then it’s just time to move on.  It boils down to, “to thine self be true…”

I got to Florence.  I found a battery charger.  I found a road along a jetty where I could watch the sunset.   I watched a bird literally surf the water.  I saw at least two seals.  I saw a small fish jump.  Florence has a great radio station. The sound is just high quality.  I wallowed in the music, I wallowed in the sea breeze, I absorbed the flight of the seagulls, I took photos with my eyes of the clouds that were breaking up the light from the golden setting sun.  The tide was raising, and I noted that the water was coming closer to me.

What do I do to make you love me?
What do I have to do to be heard?
What do I do when lighting strikes me?
Sorry seems to be the hardest word…..   ~Elton John

It was getting dark and it was time for me to get somewhere.  I thought maybe a room.  I could always kill myself tomorrow.

I turned my key, and the engine did not respond.
I was in Florence, but don’t ask me what road I am on!
I turned my key – now, who do I call for help?

I called Clyde.  I told him my predicament.
The long story short, he drove three hours to jump the car
and then he chaperoned me into town, offered me a room.
And that I took.

I absolutely tried to make the best of the situation.
I invited him into the shower where he let me know how attractive I am to him.
Where his soft and loving words turned almost instantly into another pancake-
“I can’t wait for you to lose weight, so that I can ”   -You know… do this, or do that.
We got clean with hotel provided toiletries.
He made love the best he could.  I knew he was tired.
We went to sleep on a huge kingsized bed.
I was not and had not been sleeping well.
Tears kept interrupting my sleep.  No matter how much I wanted to be with him the truth was in those moments, it was terribly painful to be there, knowing that separation was probably inevitable.  I ended moving to a chair in the room, to cry, trying not to wake him.

I tried to contain the tears, and to keep them quiet.  But the pain was really, really big.  And somewhere in there I turned to a little girl….  Who was just fighting to stay alive, who just did not want to be trampled by someone else’s anger…

No matter who they were and who they are…  I’m tired of dealing with all the anger.

He woke and came to me.  He tried to comfort me.  By this time, I could tell him how specifically I was feeling pressured, and I let it all out except the remark made in the shower…. I realized that I had again attached myself to people who were going away, I missed my friends who were not really gone.. yet.

While my children hurt me, and it had become quite obvious that I needed to stop the bleeding on an emotional level, the biggest hurt that I  am still not sure is recoverable is the hurt of lack of understanding, along with lack of love and support once he decided to show his anger.  It still really hurts. I can wake up tomorrow, and swallow it, and pretend it never happened.

Except that it did

I agreed to go home the next morning.  Every mile was a fight.  I had absolutely NO interest in going home.

My plan at the moment, is to go on, at least until my youngest is graduated.  Her plan is to live with her dad. He is closer to the college and jobs.  I think that is a smart way for her to go.  I cannot in good conscious discourage her from that choice.  She graduates in two weeks.

Nine school days left.

Then the wait for her to move.  Helping her move… and coming back to a house where I get to pretend everything is ok, until the next time he gets angry, and I can’t live with it.

I have reminded him that we need professional help.

He has not answered me.  I think that he disagrees.

With no kids to keep me tethered to a certain place,

It’s about guaranteed that the next time I leave,

It will be for good.

 

 

 

 

 

IT-S-HARD-TO-PULL-YOUR-FOOT-OUT-OF-YOUR-MOUTH-WHEN

April 27, 2017

Victoria, Just a short note:

Something that I somehow left out of previous notes:   Of the things that I requested from you for us to talk again, I failed to mention that we were only requiring that you change your behavior in OUR HOME.  We won’t go into your home and expect you to change (though if you had any real respect and love for us you would).  I do not expect you to change your ways in any public place or anything like that.  We simply will never go into your house, or any public place where you are and be where you can abuse us, which is all I am trying to control.  You, nor anyone else in this world, are going to abuse us, period.  If I give in on this now, then you’ll run roughshod over us the rest of our life and it’s just not going to happen.  I’m not interested in your opinions, I don’t need an apology, this is how it is, it’s how it is going to be in our home, and if you don’t like it, well, tough shit.

Someday when you are getting older and someone disrespects you or someone you love, and you feel the need the stand up and be heard—you will understand.

So, in that light— We both got the message that you would show up to the hospital when Clyde is dying.  The answer to that is NO, you will NOT.

Our message to you—Clyde and I, together:   Is that if you cannot be a part of our normal everyday life, then there is NO reason for you to show up when either of us is dying.  As long as this is going on as it is, YOU WILL stay away from both of us at any hospital regardless of our health status, even if we are dying.     I simply will not tolerate abuse, and that is what baiting is, it is abuse. You are not treating us like family, therefore, you will not be allowed in this process like family.

Diane & the rest of the family have been instructed to not let you know of our health status until further notice.  My feeling is that while I will always be your mother, and you will always be my daughter, that this is the 100% complete end of any sort of meaningful relationship.

You really need to get your head out of your ass, and grow up.  Just so you know!
headoutofass01

Our wills will be notarized and filed with the court within days.  You will NOT receive a copy.  Simply stated, you have no responsibilities in the matter at all to worry about and you will not need a copy.  You will be notified at the appropriate time of any inheritance you might receive.

Do not answer this.
I will not read anything that will make the situation worse or will hurt us.
Your letters, so far, have gone into the garbage
can.