So we made a selfish decision this year for Christmas.
And I don’t regret one single thing about it.
It started as a conversation several months ago about how exhausting the holidays are. Every. Single. Year.
Holidays are supposed to be about family. They’re supposed to be about togetherness. They’re supposed to be about reconnecting with relatives you haven’t seen in a while. They’re supposed to be fulfilling and soul enriching.
But here’s the thing – they’re also about stress. About traveling the entire day. About missing nap times. About kids not being able to play with their newly opened Christmas presents because of the time commitments that were made by everyone else to ensure we made it to all of the expected places that day. About worrying who we’re going to upset by not being to make it on time or if we’ll make it there at all. About sacrificing the ability to make our own traditions for fear of ruining someone else’s.
Super fun, right?
What a joyous occasion.
Not so much.
No doubt – holidays are about family..but what about our own little families? What about creating our own traditions? What about actually spending a holiday without anyone else’s expectations? Without anyone else’s obligations but our own. Without any rushing. Without having to end the morning of present opening so we can , “hurry up and get to so-and-so’s house”.
So we decided to “selfishly” spend this holiday meeting only our own expectations and obligations.
We decided to rent a cabin in the woods. Because where else is the perfect place to spend a week over Christmas??
Surrounded by trees. Surrounded by silence. Cozy Fireplace. Amazing Sauna. Sledding hills And, of course, on a lake.
I recognize there were some disappointments had by others. I recognize we didn’t follow other’s agendas this year. And I recognize, for some, we “missed out on spending the holiday with our family”.
But I don’t regret it. I don’t regret making a healthy decision for my family. I don’t regret spending Christmas morning in a beautiful cabin, fireplace aflame, watching my kids open their Christmas presents in front of a beautiful Christmas tree.
We stayed in our jammies all day..because we wanted to.
We played games..because we wanted to.
We went sledding..because we wanted to.
We went ice fishing..because we wanted to.
We napped..because we wanted to.
We worked on a puzzle..because we wanted to.
And we finished off our day with a delicious dinner and a cozy fire.
We made memories.
Our own memories.
With our own family.
I will always, with no uncertainty, make sure my children have a life they find fulfilling and enriching. I will make sure my children understand they have the ability, and the freedom, to find their own happiness and what fills their heart. I will continue to show my children how to be honest with themselves, how to set boundaries in order to live a life they’re proud of, and how to live life without regret.
This year – I know that I decided to show my children how to surround themselves with love from the people that we consider closest in our lives and exactly how to make memories that we will always hold close to our hearts..no matter anyone else’s expectations. And definitely without any regrets.
So we get home late last night and he, and his sister, had both fallen asleep in the car.
I brought his sister in first..got her all settled and tucked into her bed.
Then I went back out to get him..and he was passed out SOLID. Like – sucker hanging from his mouth, snoring..and had apparently taken his socks and shoes off?
Without hesitation I reached in there as I had done so many times over the last 7 years..removed the sucker from his mouth, unbuckled him..and attempted to hike him up on my chest to carry him to bed.
But I couldn’t.
You guys. I couldn’t lift him up.
I half-walked (slightly dragging..lol) half-carried him in the house, up the stairs, and into his bedroom doorway where we both collapsed. His arms still wrapped tightly around me..trying his best to just cuddle his face into my shoulder..
By this point I’m hurting. Physically – my back thinks I’ve broken myself in half..and emotionally – this really sucks. I can’t carry my child..
I finally get my sweet boy to his room and, here I am – unable to even carry him to his bed.
You guys – I just wanted to swoop him up in my arms..lay him on his pillow..help him put on his pajamas and tuck him in tight..
Don’t get me wrong..I still helped him into bed. Still did his tucks. Still made sure he had his Foxy and his Tigey. Still made sure he had his fan on..and still made sure I kissed his sweet forehead before turning out of his room.
But last night was one of those really hard..gut punching..onion cutting..just stupid-hard moments.
It was one of those times that I was forced to acknowledge that my little boy is becoming his own independent person – who isn’t really all that little anymore.
It was one of those times that I was forced to acknowledge he may not need me to tie his shoes anymore..
It was one of those times that I was forced to acknowledge he can make his own damn PB&Js now..
And it was one of those times where I was forced to acknowledge he will always, and forever, need his momma – but just in completely different..ever evolving ways.
Tonight I’ve been able to acknowledge that without any uncertainty, I will always, and forever, be here with a shoulder for him to cuddle (even though he will eventually be bigger than my shoulder..lol)
No matter his size, his age, nor his level of independence I’ve been able to acknowledge that I will make sure he always knows how fiercely loved he is..so much so that he never has to question his worth in this ugly world..
And I will most certainly make sure he always knows just how damn proud I am of him – Every. Single. Day.
It’s all about the taffy and the chicken, my friends.
“We all have 24 hours in a day. And we’re all busy. And yet, some people are busy and fulfilled, and some people are busy and constantly searching for the next thing.
It’s like this: you can eat a two pound bag of saltwater taffy or you
can eat two pounds of chicken breasts. Both are two pounds and yet we
can probably all imagine ourselves dipping into that two pound bag of
taffy and finishing it off before we’d willingly sit down to eat two
pounds of chicken breasts.
Why? Because two pounds of chicken
would fill us up — most likely before we got through it. But taffy?
That two pound bag is never gonna fill us up. You just keep unwrapping
and eating and…
That’s how we’re living life. We keep filling
it with the saltwater taffy things. And yet at the end of the day, we
aren’t full. We’re not satisfied. And so we just keep searching for more
stuff that’s going to fill us up.
Before you (or your kids) add
that next thing, commitment, board/committee/volunteer position, class,
etc., know this: it can be the most awesome, helpful, needed thing in
the world, and to your life it might just be another piece of taffy. And
it’s not going to satisfy you.
So choose carefully, because your plate is only so big.”
I suppose I should preface what I’m going to talk about..the road I’m about to go down..because it’s huge. For me anyway.
It’s something I’ve been avoiding because I haven’t known how to deal with it and..admittedly – I was afraid (yes, afraid) of what other people would think..or how this may hurt them. But you know what? I’m tired.
I’m tired of the unknowns.
I’m tired of the loose ends.
I’m tired of avoiding this part of my life.
And I’m damn tired of trying to make it seem like this part of my life doesn’t even exist.
So now I’m choosing to be vulnerable. I’m choosing to share my story with anyone who wants to hear it..and this is terrifying.
I’m certain that all of this will be worth it..even if I can help one single person find some clarity to get through their own situation.
But mostly? I’m certain all of this will be worth it..for me.
I’ve been working on these words for quite some time and I know it’s a lot. It’s heavy. Please bear with me and please be kind.
There are only a handful of memories in my childhood that involve my father..OK, maybe two handfuls.
My parents were both very young when I was conceived and I don’t ever remember a time when they were actually “together”.
What I do remember, however, is what a “deadbeat” he was, well – according to some people..I was a child – I could never come up with this on my own. It was always explained to me that my father was merely a, ‘sperm donor” and was never really involved in my life – by his choice. I don’t remember ever really having an explanation as to why he wasn’t around – because maybe there wasn’t a good one?
Or maybe because my parents were 15 when they had me..
Or maybe because neither of them knew how in the world a baby would fit into their TEENAGE lives..
Or maybe because they were just completely stunned..overwhelmed..scared.
Let me be clear – the last thing I want to do is give him any excuses – but I can’t be surprised this is the way it played out. I just can’t be surprised there was a LOAD of animosity towards my father.
But despite everything – my mom CHOSE to keep me and raise me..
She CHOSE to give up her life for me.
Just like my step-dad CHOSE to accept me and raise me as his own.
And with the help and support of their entire tribe they all helped to raise this little brown-haired, brown-eyed baby girl.
And I think they all did a pretty damn good job.
I have one vivid memory (around the age of 6? 7?) of waiting in our apartment by the sliding-glass door..just waiting..hoping the next car that pulled in would be my dad’s. I didn’t even know what kind of car he drove..I was just waiting to see him step out of that car..walk up to our door..and happily greet me with a tap on the head (he wasn’t much for hugs). But you know what? That never happened. His car never came..he didn’t show up. I can still remember how much that hurt..how I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t want to come see me. As an adult I still don’t know what happened that night and to be fair – I’ve never asked. I think this was such a critical moment for me..and must be, right? 30 years later and I’m still carrying this around.
But here’s the thing..all of the hurtful memories still pale in comparison to the few good memories I carry with me.
No surprise, my dad was still living with his parents when I was young. I remember often sitting in their living room watching Puff the Magic Dragon.
I remember their house, the upstairs – playing video games with my dad (in his room?). Must have been Atari?
I remember the backyard (and that one time he dropped a cigarette ash onto my head..oops).
I remember the huge slope of their front yard which happened to be directly across from a park – Sanborn Park. I remember my dad often taking me to that park and teaching me how to swing. He taught me how to pump my legs to keep myself going – and I remember how excited and proud I was of myself. And how excited and proud HE was of me.
I remember my dad taking me to work with him – or maybe we just stopped in to grab something? He worked at Carbone’s Pizza and I remember how he would let me sit on the counter as I watched him..not a care in the world. He was so proud of me..showing me off to everyone at the restaurant.
I remember how excited I would feel when I would get together with my dad and his family for holidays – not always, but every once in a while I would get to see him and it always felt so nice..just so..whole.
Looking back – I wish I had more pictures. Something to help remember these really good moments.
As I got older it seemed the time between having any contact with him would get longer, and longer..There was a time when I would only hear from him once or twice a year. I never knew where he was or what he was doing. But you better believe – when I picked that phone up and heard, “Hey Ash! It’s your Dad!” I felt as if I could fly. It was one of the best feelings in the world.
1997ish
I remember having someone swab the inside of my mouth with this giant Q-Tip. I was told the county was requiring it in an effort to establish paternity.
A short while later – and now in my best Maury Voice, “With 99.9% certainty YOU ARE the father!”
My dad called several days after we received the results and I was so excited to tell him.
PAUSE.
(Looking back on this situation as an adult – what in the hell?!!)
CONTINUE.
“Hey Ash! It’s your Dad!”
“Oh hey! Guess what! We got the results back and you are my dad!”
Seriously though. Is this normal? Who has these conversations as a child?
2000ish
Fast forward to my mid-teens. I was probably around 15 – I had my driver’s permit at the time. My dad offered to take me out driving that day..and OF COURSE I was ecstatic. I hadn’t seen him in quite a while and jumped on the opportunity.
We spent several hours that day just driving around. Talking. Listening to music. Getting food..It was actually my first time going through a drive-thru and I was FREAKING OUT. I remember him talking me through it; even in the midst of our hysterical laughter.
Shortly thereafter – we were sitting in the parking lot of the restaurant eating our food when he started talking about Samurai swords. He explained that he had been gifted a few from a relative that recently passed away.
Huh? News to me.
He continued to explain how this deceased relative used them in the Vietnam War and how he was planning on leaving them for me when he passed.
Oh boy.
And herein lies my earliest memory of when I noticed it all starting to fall apart. I had no idea how bad it had gotten and just how bad it was going to get.
Admittedly, my timeline is PRETTY fuzzy during my teen years (different story for a different day) so I’ll try to do the best I can.
A short-time after our drive-thru adventure my dad moved down to Iowa to be with his mother. I don’t know why. I was never able to really ask, either. I don’t know details of what transpired down there but I know it didn’t start out well.
It had been a few years since I had heard from him when one morning I got a phone call. He explained that was still living in Iowa but was now in some type of of sober-living and/or mental health treatment facility. I remember him sounding so great..so clear. After that he would call me about once a week to see how I was doing. It was the first time in a while that I really felt like he was coming back together.
He’s going to be fine.
He’s going to get better.
I was still guarded though, no doubt.
Which is why I think I always turned him down when he would ask me to come and visit.
“It’s only about a 3-4 hour drive from where you are..it wouldn’t take long!”
“It’d be nice to see ya! If you ever want to come down..I’ll be around!”
Looking back – I don’t blame myself for being guarded. I DO, however, regret not ever going down to visit him during this time. It was obvious how hard he was trying. He held together quite an impressive period of sobriety. He was finally addressing his demons. It seemed like he was TRYING to put his life back together.
And he was only 35 years old.
Wow.
With a 20 year old daughter.
(Insert heavy sigh)
(Side bar: What a crazy reality check. I had never thought about this until this very moment as I’m sitting here – in my kitchen, staring out the window, listening to my dogs snore – I’m almost that same age at the present time. To think of having a 20 year old daughter. Completely blows my mind)
And gosh – wish I would have been more empathetic.
And I’m sad about the time I missed out with him..because at that time – I had no idea those would be some of his last moments of clarity.
Eventually though, with enough sobriety under his belt, he decided to move back to Minnesota. He moved into his own apartment about 10 minutes away from where I was living with my parents. I actually seen him quite often while he was living there. He had been in contact with his dad and we both made sure he was – maintaining..for the most part.
Until that communication stopped.
I was worried.
I was worried enough that I grabbed my mom and my, now husband, and we drove over to my dad’s place.
And it was bad.
I respect him enough that I won’t go into any further details about that. I will say, however, that we tried. All three of us tried..really hard.
But he didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want help.
There are several times in your life when you just have to take a step back and assess the situation. Do some self-inventory. Ask yourself, “What in the hell am I doing?”
This was one of those times.
I knew I was losing my dad. Again. And probably for good this time. I knew I had tried to help him a thousand times over. I wasn’t sure there was much else I could do. I mean – I was starting my own life..I was trying to get through school. I was just trying to be like every other 20 year old finding their way in this crazy world.
And he had been stable.
And he had the opportunities to reach out for help.
And he had the resources.
And it didn’t work. None of it worked.
But you know what? At the end of the day.. I had to remind myself that he has the right to be mentally ill. And he has the right to not take medications. And at this point – he wasn’t a clear danger to himself or others..there was nothing I could do.
So I chose to let this be.
I left.
I left that apartment and knew I wasn’t going back.
I was hurt. I was disappointed. I was scared for him. And I felt completely helpless.
***
Fast forward – three years later. I hadn’t spoken to my dad since I left his apartment.
I was now moving on with my life. I was newly engaged and just starting to plan my wedding.
And yep. You guessed it. This unresolved (for me anyway) part of my life reared its ugly head. Yet again.
