Melly Was Here

wife, mother, teacher, runner, writer, lover, fighter


on April 18, 2013

April is a strange month for me.

First off, I was born in April. I love my birthday. I have not ever expected a lot of gifts or anyone to make a big deal out of it, although they always have. First my mom, then my girl friends and now Lance and my coworkers. I can’t count the number of surprise parties I’ve had. A lot. I had to tell Lance that I was good for surprise parties for the rest of my life. This year, I am turning forty. It is the first birthday since 21 that I am really excited about. My friends and I are doing a mud run and then we are having a party at the house. It should be a pretty cool weekend.

My birthday has always been a time, even when I was a kid, to reflect on my life and my goals. And, this year, I feel good. I feel like I am at a good place. I don’t necessarily *feel* forty – however that is supposed to feel (most days, I still feel 15) – but I feel good. I am in pretty good shape, I love my job, I love my house and my family and I are all doing well. Of course, I have a few regrets, but nothing that keeps me up at night.

But, then, on the 14th, we mark the death of my big brother, Jimmy. I think about him everyday. I miss him everyday. The day takes me back, 12 years ago, to the day we lost him. And, it makes me sad. Because he was my brother and there is so much that only he knew – that only he would understand and remember about me. Saturday mornings watching cartoons while our parents slept, video games on the Atari, nights that our mom worked and our dad drank. He was a good guy who struggled much of his life with what I now think was Asperger’s Syndrome. He loved me, even though I was the typical bratty little sister. I loved him. He was taken too soon.

Then, on the 15th of last year, my dad died of lung cancer. I can’t believe it’s been a year. He went so quickly. He was not the perfect father – there are days I would even had said he wasn’t a very good father. He was a good person, though, he really was. He did not have an ounce of malice in his bones. But, I believe he was broken. I believe he loved us the best he could and was never even was self-aware enough to realize that he was an alcoholic. He missed out on so much life. A life that *could have* been so special. I miss him too, but the truth is, he wasn’t a huge part of my life for many years. He literally phoned it in. He called, which is more than a lot of fathers, I know. He sent cards around the boys’ birthdays. He was interested in them, but he was a stranger to them. And, that is sad to me, because I think they would have loved him very much. I don’t know if it was laziness or something else – some character flaw or product of a childhood trauma I think he may have lived through. And now, he’s gone, so I will never know.

And, lastly, it is Autism Awareness Month. I hate autism. It pisses me off. Honestly, that’s all I can say about that right now because I do not want to go down that road. I don’t have the energy.

Then, the tragedies in Boston and West. Such a sad week for our country. It has just taken the wind right out of my sails. I’m just tired. And sad.

Don’t feel sorry for me, that’s not what I want. I’m writing this here to get it out there in the universe, so it’s not just inside my head, bouncing around. I need to recognize these feelings, I need to name them – own them so I can get through them. I’m almost through this week and then I can spend two solid days with my guys. I need to rest. That should get me over this hump. I have a lot to look forward to. I’ll be alright.

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