It's Complicated

Traumatic injuries can cause mental stress that can make it hard to heal physically and emotionally.

This is her story.

I feel useless. Worthless.

On January 30th, I hydroplaned off a country road and into a tree at nearly 50mph. I'm a damn good driver, but when your brakes are so coated with water they refuse to work at all, there's just not much you can do but pray and say oh shit when you realize you won't miss that thing hurtling toward you at high speed.

I was very lucky.

I got out of it with only two broken bones and a crapton of bruises. Unfortunately, one of those broken bones was my tibia. I had my foot so hard on the brake when I hit that I managed to break the very bottom of my tibia vertically.

Imagine pulling apart string cheese but stopping just short of the middle, and that's basically my bone. Split right up the middle from where my ankle joint is almost halfway up. Originally, they thought I'd need surgery. I avoided that, thank god. Lucky again. So why do I feel so bad?

Because I've become a burden.

No, the accident wasn't my fault, no I didn't ask for it. But the results are the same. My poor girlfriend is left to care not only for me, but our three young girls, one dog, three cats, three bedroom home, and all the shit that comes along with all of those things. Sometimes literal shit.

I cannot walk.

I cannot put our children to bed.

I cannot do most of the daily/weekly household cleaning.

She is left with all of it.

I watch her struggle knowing I cannot help, and knowing that 95% of what she does cannot be put off or ignored entirely. It has to be done, so she has to do it. I've priced out hiring a maid service to help her while I'm down and out -- our budget just can't stretch that far.

Doing so much for such a prolonged time is killing her body. She goes to bed in more pain each night. I can't even hold her while she cries at being overwhelmed, because between my ribs being so severely bruised and aching and having a club of a cast attached to me, it's just plain impossible to find a position that won't hurt one of us. She goes to sleep at night and I cry. If I cry when she can see me I only add to her stress.

I feel useless.

I'm a burden.

And I can't fix it.

In my church, we don't date until we're 16 years old. I watched as lots of my friends started dating as soon as they started liking boys (although at 11 years old, "dating" usually meant holding hands on the playground). As I waited for what felt like forever for my 16th birthday to arrive, that First Date became a REALLY big deal in my mind.

I had a friend - a member of my church - who was seven months older than me. His family lived several states away and we usually only saw them once a year. What I did not know was that the summer he turned 15, he had a conversation with my mother.

He told her that he really wanted ME to be his first date. He asked for special permission to take me out after his 16th birthday, even though I would not officially be old enough to date yet. She gave her permission.

Then she promptly forgot about it.

He spent the next year thinking about it.

The thing with this particular boy was we had both liked each other a lot when we were 11 and 12 years old. I used to write his name in my notebook and dream of the day when we would get married. He and I would talk about the house we would own together and what we would name our children.

By the time I got to high school, I had outgrown that crush and had moved on to different romantic interests. I no longer had butterflies for him.

In fact, by the time his 16th birthday rolled around, I was heartsick over another boy. Ah, the angst of unrequited love!

We had planned a trip to visit them, which coincidentally happened to be in the weeks just after his 16th birthday. Our mothers were talking on the phone a few days before our trip, and his mother mentioned that he was looking forward to our date.

Since my mother had forgotten about her promise the previous year, she had never told me. As soon as she was off the phone, she told me.

I was less than thrilled.

On one hand, I liked the idea that I would be allowed special permission to have a date before I was 16.

On the other hand, I really didn't like that boy THAT way, and wanted my first date to be with someone I had more romantic feelings for.

I grudgingly picked out and packed an outfit I felt would be appropriate for a first date.

We drove straight through and arrived at their house in the late afternoon. Apparently, he had been so excited about our date that it had never occurred to him that maybe I wouldn't WANT to go out after such a long day.

When he informed me we were going out THAT night I was less than thrilled. I had been in a car all day long. It was late July. I was hot, tired, and felt gross. The last thing I wanted to do was cram myself into semi-uncomfortable clothes and spend alone time with a boy I wasn't crazy about.

Grudgingly, I changed clothes.

Grudgingly, I joined him in deciding what movie to see.

He wanted to see "What About Bob?" I thought the movie sounded stupid. (I finally watched it a few years later. It was really funny and would probably have been a better choice for that night.)

But I really wanted to see "Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves." Always the gentleman, he let me make the decision.

In his state, kids couldn't get a driver's license until they had turned 16. He had not gotten his yet, which meant his dad was going to drive us to the movie. A little awkward, but I could live with that.

Little did I know the awkwardness was only beginning!

He was a good son, and his parents were very proud of him. Of COURSE they would want to capture the magic of his first date on video! As we got ready to get in the car, his mother grabbed the gigantic, 90's era video camera. She hung out the kitchen window with the beast of a camera on her shoulder so she could film the whole exciting thing!

My date was a gentleman. His mother had raised him that a gentleman ALWAYS opens the door for a lady. I was fully aware of the situation from a few summers earlier when we had spent a day going around their town visiting multiple interesting places. We all had to wait our turns as he went around the car opening and closing all four car doors as his mother, my mother, his sister, my sister and I would get in and out of the car. At every different location. The. Whole. Day.

So it was no surprise when I went to get into the car and he opened the back door for me. We stopped to turn back and wave when his mother requested it as she hung out the kitchen window with the giant camera on her shoulder. I got in the car, wishing we could just hurry up and get to the movie theater.

Then he felt bad that his dad would have to be a chauffeur and thought maybe we should all sit in the front seat instead! So he opened my door. I got out. He closed that door, opened the front door instead. I got back in. Meanwhile, everyone kept waving back and forth. I scooted into the middle of the bench seat. He got in, his dad got in, and thankfully, we were finally on our way.

The theater was PACKED. Everywhere around us, there were cute young couples holding hands and snuggling. Directly in front of us was a group of good looking boys our age who had come to the movie as a group.

The movie was romantic and I just kept wishing I was there with someone else. I wished I could sit with the cute boys in front of us, and I especially wished I could be there with the boy back home who was ignoring me. And throughout the movie, I kept hoping that my date wouldn't try to kiss me good-night and I wouldn't have to punch him for it.

Movie ended, his dad was there to pick us up. I was thankful the whole ordeal was over and we would go back to their house where I could go to sleep.

But no!

He determined that we needed to have some kind of memento for our wondrous first date.

Unfortunately, most stores were closed.

Except the grocery store!!

Off to the grocery store we went. His dad waited in the car while we wandered the aisles looking for the PERFECT thing to buy for this momentous occasion.

And the he found it.

He bought us each a rubber bouncy ball.

Thankfully, now we really were headed back to the house.

We pulled up to the house, and his dad quickly went in the back door so we could have some privacy.

Have I mentioned my date was a gentleman? A gentleman always walks his date to the front door at the end of the night. And thankfully for me, a true gentleman does NOT kiss goodnight on a first date. Apparently, a gentleman SHAKES HANDS on a first date!

He went to open the door. It was locked.

He made me wait at the front door - because that is the door a gentleman takes his date when walking her home - while he hurried to the back door, through the house, and opened the front door for me.

Thankfully, there was not a second hand shake.

It could have ended there, but it didn't.

The next day, I went out to the yard. They had a wonderful swing hanging from the branch of a huge cottonwood tree. The yard was shady and cool, and I had escaped to be by myself to journal about my awkward first date and how much I missed the boy who didn't care that I existed.

The peaceful silence was broken by the words "Oh there you are! I've been looking all over for you!" He spent the rest of the day talking my ear off and repeatedly asking me if I had enjoyed myself on our date.

I'm glad to report that he's happily married with six kids now.

We all have letters we'd like to send, but know that we can't. A letter to someone we no longer have a relationship with, a letter to a family member or friend who has died, a letter to reclaim our power or our voice from an abuser. Letters where actual contact is just not possible for whatever reason.

Do you have a letter you can't send?

If so, send it to The Band.

I struggle with how to open this letter.

"Dear" implies that there are nice warm words involved and I honestly have nothing nice to say to you. "To whom it may concern" is really too formal and I need you to know this letter is intended for you. So I am just going to write in hopes one day you will stumble across this and just know that this letter was meant for you. 

It seems I have known and loved you forever. We met when we were younger than our children are now. I always thought of you as my best friend, always the one I could come to with a problem. I thought the day we were married was the best day of my life.

Then life happened. You were always a dick to me and everyone saw it except me. I was blinded and stupid. 

We have been divorced for 6 years now, longer than we were together when we were married. And until last week I would have taken you back in a heartbeat.

You had me convinced I didn't deserve better than you, that I was worthless and a terrible person. For some reason I always believed you.

When you would tell me you hated our family, that my family would always side with you, I believed you. Some parts of me still do. But those parts are getting smaller and smaller and slowly I am realizing I do deserve better. And while I am not a perfect person I am a good one. I have my faults just like anyone else. But I will never intentionally make someone feel worthless like you do. 

Last week, you see, was the deal breaker.  

Once again you left me in care of your son, the one I didn't give birth to but have raised mostly alone since he was five. I am the one who has signed him up for school every year, gone to the conferences, signed permission slips, packed lunches and taken him to the doctor. But according to you people this is not what makes a mother. 

Even though you are facing jail time for being an idiot, you decided family is not the best place for your children to be with. You sent a stranger to my home to take my son in front of your other children who had just started getting their happy back after losing you for who knows how long. And THEN I was threatened with a restraining order if I ever contact him again. 

I don't know how either one of you who claim to be 'real' parents can do this. You especially, claiming DNA is what makes a family? You were adopted. Have you ever pulled that card with your parents? No, you haven't cause they are who raised you, which makes this even harder on me. Worse than that you broke all of my babies hearts that day. No warning, no anything, just gone. That makes you an asshole. 

I want to fight.

I want to call lawyers and get custody of this child that neither one of you seem to care about. I mean, his mother couldn't be bothered to care for him for whatever reason she has this week. You certainly can't in the position you are in. And I am not allowed because I didn't birth him.

But I can't afford a fight. I can barely afford to support MY little family as it is. I want him to know he is worth fighting for, that I want him, I love him, as my own. Even when I am told I cannot. 

I have high hopes that one day very soon, when he is all grown up, he will remember who did everything for him. He will know I tried my hardest even if it wasn't always the best. That I loved him. That I love him. And I hope that he sees you 'real' parents for what you really are: selfish and only out for yourselves. 

In the meantime I will be here again, picking up the shattered pieces of my other three babies' hearts off the floor, which happens when you are hurt by the ones you love most. This may be good for them, though. They will realize that you don't care about anyone but yourself and your...can't even say reputation cause you have ruined that all on your own. 

Until last week I loved you and would have done anything for you. And I have done a hell of a lot for you. But I am done. You hurt me for the last time.

Just as I struggled with an opening, I struggle more with a closing. I have always signed everything to you "love, Me" but there is no love anymore. You have killed it. I am assuming you have no love for any of us either. No real love anyway. Just a fake "I am going to pretend I love my children so I don't seem like a bad father." You have been gone two months and have not so much as asked about your children. That does in fact make you a terrible parent. 

So all I have left is "good luck to you."

And I am not even sure I really mean that. 

***

Band Back Together has been nominated for Best Group or Community Weblog in the 2013 Bloggies! Visit their site to vote and check out the other categories!

I have something to tell you. 

I have a crush on my UPS man. 

There. I said it. 

I mean - you would, too, if he was YOUR UPS man. 

First, he's easy on the eyes. 

I mean, that's not even the point, really.

The point is that when you're home, ALL day, EVERY day and your grown-up interaction is minimal? The UPS man does it for you. 

Um, me. 

I have tried to feel the same about my postman. It doesn't work. 

He's probably just as cute as the UPS guy, but he never rings my bell. 

Really. He just tosses the packages onto the porch and runs. 

How can I feel something for someone who discards our connection in that way? How can I love when all I feel is shunned?

I'll tell you something, though. I'd love my UPS man more if he'd stick around and not run away after ringing the bell. 

Because seriously, is it that hard to stand still for the five seconds it takes me to get to the door? You KNOW I'm home. I'm ALWAYS home. 

You loved the cookies I made you last year for Christmas. Maybe it's because I did less baking this year and by the time I saw you I didn't give you any because I was afraid to give you stale cookies and ruin our relationship? 

You bring me goodies regularly and I wanted to thank you. 

Was that so wrong? 

Sigh. 

So. There you have it. 

I have a crush on my UPS man. 

I'm not standing around in a housecoat or negligeé waiting behind the blinds or anything. No curlers in my hair. Just me. Doin' my thang. Waiting for that bell to ring. 

I can't be the only one, can I?

We all have letters we'd like to send, but know that we can't. A letter to someone we no longer have a relationship with, a letter to a family member or friend who has died, a letter to reclaim our power or our voice from an abuser.

Letters where actual contact is just not possible.

Do you have a letter you can't send?

Why not send it to The Band?

Hey You,

When I talked to you two nights ago, I meant what I said: I miss you. I can't convey just how much I mean that.

There are so many things unsaid between us. I've been thinking really hard about us for months. I was going through some family letters that my sister had saved, and I found a letter I had written when you and I were dating. I was STUNNED by what I read in that letter.

I'd forgotten all about it.

You were the first man who ever told me he loved me.

I feel badly that I didn't feel the same way. I loved you immensely... but not the same way. I know it broke your heart when I ended things.

When we first met in 8th grade, I couldn't stand you! Soon, the mutual hatred for our science teacher bonded us and we started to get along. By the next year, we would talk in the halls. Sophomore year, we had many classes together, and I could finally see how much fun you were! That summer, I found myself missing you.  

Then came Junior year of high school.

The chemistry between us was immediate as soon as we saw each other again. It took you a couple of months to work up the nerve - I'll never forget what you looked like when you asked me out. Your eyes that day are forever ingrained in my mind.

Quite honestly, it was one of the sweetest, most romantic moments I've experienced.  

So much of our short-lived relationship was sweet and romantic. I can still feel the spot you kissed me on the cheek that day at the pet store. The night that you told me you loved me was very special.  

But things were different between us. As my friend, you would do absolutely anything for me. I never doubted that. Over the years I'd remembered that, as a couple, how selfish you'd been. Looking back, I can only recall one incident - and it's highly possible that was all my fault - I remember being pretty bitchy that day. Maybe I was hormonal and took things the wrong way. Even if you were being selfish that day, maybe you were just reacting to my behavior.

After that day, though, I began feeling as though things were coming to an end between us. I'd watched you go from girlfriend to girlfriend for a long time. It felt like you were getting restless and ready to move on. 

I broke up with you before you could break up with me.

I cried for days.  

You didn't talk to me for six months.

That was the hardest part. You meant so much to me and you wouldn't even talk to me.

Eventually, though, I got you back. It had to have been so hard for you when I did fall in love for the first time. You were right there to pick up the pieces when that relationship ended.

You went out of your way to take care of me. We were so, so close back then. Everything was so comfortable. My most cherished memories from high school involve you.

We graduated, life took us separate ways, and we drifted apart. We'd cross paths now and then. The biggest change, though, happened when I got married. He was jealous and controlling. I wasn't even allowed to invite you to the wedding.    

I missed you.

After a few years, I began daydreaming about finding you. Three or four times a year, for five or six years, I dreamed of you. I secretly started looking for you. I must've sensed that my marriage was about to end, and I needed My Rock to help me through it.

The timing was odd. My marriage was ending and you were just a month away from your wedding.

I'll admit, when you told me things weren't going well and you were debating an annulment, I was thrilled. I didn't want to share you. I wanted things to be the way they were. Just you and me getting into trouble, talking all night long.  

Thankfully, you and your wife worked past those rocky few months. In my post-divorce insanity, who knows what kind of decisions I'd have made? I might not have been open to the idea of a relationship when my sweet husband came along. He and I are so great together; I can't imagine my life without him. Your wife? She's adorable and I love her. I'm fiercely protective of her and I want to see your marriage succeed.

The problem is, there are things that remain unsettled between us. They're not the kinds of conversations that would be appropriate for a married woman and a married man to have.

I'm sorry I took you for granted all those years. It took me more than a decade to realize that you did everything you did for me because you loved me. I've seen so many things I wish I could ask you about, but it just doesn't seem right.

I don't know if it will ever feel appropriate for me to tell you "I love you."

Maybe I don't in the way that you loved me all those years, but I do. You've always been the most caring and loyal friend to me, and I'm so grateful that we both have spouses who understand our friendship. I know I'll never have to lose you again.

I can only hope I've been half the friend to you that you've been to me.

Love, 
Me