Gesuschic

Two years and four months since he left our home.
Yet still, here I am trying to get back on my feet.
To some people that should be more than enough time but everyone is different and things can run one of two ways, smoothly…and not smoothly, haha
I can only go as fast as life will allow me. Ya know, after he left, the kids and I did pretty good our first year alone. Yeah we were devastated to say the least, but we made it through that whole first year. But then I lost my job…then…with that…our home…and then our gypsy life began.
The kindness of friends and strangers has blown me away. I can honestly sit here and think of everything my church family, friends and complete strangers has done for the kids and I and in a matter of seconds tears will begin to fall down my face. 
But sometimes the bad things have a way of overshadowing the good. I don’t think I’ll ever know if God is in fact teaching me a lesson, I have pissed Him off, or…for some people life will always be a struggle. I tend to believe it’s probably a bit of all three.
I come from a family of survivors. Sitting back remembering the story’s of my mom’s childhood, I didn’t grasp how truly strong and amazing she was to even make it through. My dad…same way. His three tours of duty in Viet Nam…OMG…
My mom being hit on by some motor cycle leader and taken “down to the river” when she rejected him…
My pops mistakenly looked upon as dead, being thrown in the back of a truck with all of his dead platoon…I can’t even. Two of my brothers diagnosed HIV Positive in their mid 20’s…
Survivors.
In their own way, they all faced their demons and learned to live with and tame them.
Leave it to me to be the last girl standing and being completely dumb and clueless. It’s like being in a family of over achievers and not graduating high school. (which I too, never did) But that first year my husband bounced out on me, I was doing it. I had an apartment, for the first time in my life a matching living room set, pictures of my babies on the wall, an Ohio State Buckeye flag, complete with an area rug and flat screen television…life was good. Then…BOOM. I lost my job, blah, blah, blah….
So technically it’s been a year and four months.
STRUGGLE.
Survivor to surviving in literally, an instant.
Fuck my damn life.
I see the little glare at the end of this warped dark tunnel though. I’m almost afraid to even allow myself to become excited. But how can I not? What would that say to the legacy of survivors I’m left to represent? Holding my glass half full and forcing smiles to the world around me…Adventure, risk and laughter is how my family lived and came at life. My parents never adapted to change, they simply loved anyone, everyone…and made change adapt to their rules. I’m trying so hard to be that example to my own kids. But man, it’s so hard. To get back on your feet while trying to live life and create a laid back atmosphere at the same time I can hear my own demons getting a kick from every set back, every shed tear, every relationship and friendship that’s severed and not to mention the anger I have towards God. I feel as though I’ve been treading oceans and this is all new to me. I don’t know how to deal. I’m spinning…withering…
But another year is about to burst through and I’m okay with hoping good things will come busting through right along with it. This new job is enough, just enough for the kids and I to begin again. I can’t help to think though, why we’re not enough for some people. My own heart has been crushed and broken two times too many, my babies have a skewed view of friends and family, we’re nervous. The kids and I are a bit scared to breathe because so much loss has happened with us. I have to take this lead though. I have to step up and start being more vocal about the good things that are happening and stop dwelling on the bad. I can’t outrun my shadow, and my demons will always haunt me, but I can certainly keep marching to the tune of MY OWN drum.
It may take longer than most but who cares…? Nobody matters but the four people who call me mom. The little things matter to us. The things we long for most people have.
Our own living room.
A couch.
Beds…
A place to call home. A place we can retreat at, rest, relax, laugh, blow off steam, be ourselves…
It’s in arms reach.
And trust me…even if this last mile I have to crawl, I’m grabbing a hold of the new year and as it comes in I’m gonna collide right smack into it on my own wrecking ball! (that’s right Miley Cyrus, MY wrecking ball)
I’m not picture perfect. I get it.
I’m exhausted. Spiritually numb. Angry…Everything I have no right to be.
But my roots run deep.
I have strength deeper than any ocean, I still believe, and I find moments to laugh.
This too shall pass…
So there you all have it. My new year new me blog post.
This time next year I have no idea where I’ll be but I can honestly say that wherever I am, I’ll be holding the trophy of a SURVIVOR.