How can it be

How can it be

that only now I can see

what was always there

in front of me?

How can it be

that I was so blinded 

by desire and need

that you were able to fall through the cracks?

You slipped into my life,

my heart,

my dreams,

you became everything.

But in one wicked moment

with a sharp word of good bye

I lost it all 

because I lost sight of me.

How can it be

that I was such a fool

and I let you go

when really,

I should have sheltered in your arms. 

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

 September 27/17

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Do you ever

Do you ever think of me?

On moonlit nights

with jasmine thick in the air ;

can you feel my heartache?

Do you ever hear my whisper?

During candlelit dinners

love songs playing in the background;

can you feel my sorrow?

Do you ever catch my scent?

Under starlit skies

diamonds glitter in the night and hand

can you feel my despair?

Shards of time

slivers of silence

dreams that turned to dark ashes.

I was on my knees,

begging for one more chance

only to be cast aside with casual disregard.

Do you ever…….

©Jay-lyn Doerksen.

September 27/17

 

 

 

 

Was he a girl?

This picture is the only one I have of my dad as a child. I once had more but they became water damaged and I had to dispose of them. My dad is the one on the left. With the blonde curls. He kinda looks like a girl.

My Amma (Icelandic for grandma) really wanted a girl. She had my dad and my Uncle. Did she try to hide my dad’s masculinity for the formative years of his life? Or at least some twisted boy-girl version?

The only children my Amma bore were her two sons. And she so desperately wanted a daughter. Ironically my Uncle had two daughters. My dad had me. And my brother.

I have a couple of stories about my Amma from my uncle. My Aunt was not a fan of her mother-in-law. My mom has different stories and me, well I was her favorite so my glasses are rose colored.

Every time I have a thought regarding this character I am building I write it down. Thus far I have only had the two but I am beginning to view my dad differently. Or rather the fictional version I am building of him.

I must not paint my Amma as an evil villianess. I can only speculate as to what happened in her earlier life. We have no real on her.

My Afi (Icelandic for grandpa) is but a shadow to me. He passed away 1 month and 6 days before I was born. Came home drunk and fell down the basement stairs. Broke his back. Died of pneumonia.

My Amma and Afi shaped my dad.

Were one to look at my Uncle, respectable, looked after his family, never abandoning them to fate, you would never guess the family connection.

My dad? He is not an enigma. Not when I take my own reality of him, my mom’s and my brother’s and meld them.

He was a drunk. He left his family to fend for themselves. Never did he think how his actions affected his children. His wife.

Even as I worked to lower my expectations of him I was continually disappointed. The once sympathetic character I saw is now evolving into one you would most likely disdain.

This challenge I have set for myself is intriguing. I originally thought this was going to be a tale of a father who abandoned his children. Who chose alcohol to be his companion.

And with the turn of a phrase I suddenly found sympathy. Today as I wrote I may have had a small pain in my heart because I do believe my Amma may have treated my dad as a girl for the first while. And she babied him.

The great thing about this….I get to make it all up. But at the same time I am going to pluck my mind, my mom’s and my brother’s for memories and stories. For I realize that I need a clearer picture of the man who was my dad.

I’m Sorry…..so very sorry

When I met you our time was so brief

but a moment in our present

that quickly became the past,

a silent kiss of desire hidden within a secret.

It was you I turned to during times of trouble

and even from afar

you strove to be my hero,

you worked to build my dreams.

I filled my head with thoughts of fancy

waiting and biding my time

til boredom and neglect

did make me seek out others.

The pain inflicted

wanting and yet trying so hard

to remain true and dear

when really, all you had to do was beckon.

I sowed my truth

and now must pay

for although I offered penence

you did not come near.

I lost you to delay

to fates interception

I lost more than you

I lost a way of life.

I am sorry.

I broke your heart.

I made you feel so low.

I made myself a prize for second place.

Good bye.

Til once more we meet

maybe this time will be different

maybe this time I can reopen your heart.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

September 6/17

Not Always Pretty

This sits on my fridge. T wrote it in grade 2. It is more fitting.

Beginning at the end of July and for three weeks I did not have T with me. He spent that time with his father. Three weeks. Originally I thought that I would be wild and free but the truth was that I was just a boring old mom, sitting at home without her child, living it up by reading and cleaning her house. And writing of course. It harkened back to the days of being childless but not quite (I mean my home was clean, no pee on the toilet, no lego waiting to maim and disfigure me in the middle of the night) but I missed T something fierce. The last time I was away from him for any extended time was in February of 2016 when I went down to see mom in Mexico.

So hedonistic I am not, most of the time I was exercising, reading or working. I would arrive at work earlier than I needed to (especially when I was opening) and stayed later than I needed to. I got to see T for two brief moments when they came in to work to pick up some groceries and spent an hour and a half with him on his birthday.  And when he stopped at work T said hi mom and than was off on a new adventure with his dad. I was glad that the two of them were getting some good quality time together and besides, it was only three weeks and than my darling boy would be mine for 3 weeks.

Needless to say despite having a fabulous day at work on August 19th, and who wouldn’t when they only had to work 6 hours and freedom beckoned at noon? my afternoon off started with a bang. I had implied via text that given my shift ended at 12 and that was when T was coming back to me, he should be dropped off to me at work. I waited half an hour, standing next to my car, cursing and fuming my ex. Firing off texts like ‘I am on a time line here, where are you?’ ‘Really? 2o minutes late and you can’t text me?’ to ‘Wth are you?’ There was steam coming out of me ears and curses from my lips.

Received a text from M who informed me that T and my ex were waiting for me at home. The ex had forgotten his phone. Well I raced home, squealed into my parking spot and went into full rage mode. I was foaming at the mouth and angry, so very very angry. I had wasted half an hour of my time waiting I screamed. I wanted T dropped off at work. I was on a time line and now it was going to be pushed back. My ex kept telling me I had never said I wanted T dropped off at work while I insisted that I had.

The apology after I went back over our texts was galling. As I said, I never actually came right out and stated ‘I am off at 12 please drop T off at work to meet me.’ I inferred that as I was off at 12 I would like T dropped off at work. It made sense in my woman mind I am done at this time so I obviously will not be at home, bring him to work. It was pointed out to me that despite having been married to me for 14 years, a man’s mind hears, blah blah blah, 12, drop him off-blah blah blah. So yes I said I was sorry.

Finally we are on the road, I have calmed down and all was right in Jay and T’s world. We sailed out to the lake. Got there before anyone else and settled in. As the family poured in, jokes and laughter were the most prevalent noises heard. And the family birthday party was a total blast. Up to and including the baby bro setting off fireworks and nearly killing everyone in the family as the finale went off straight up and than straight out in a burst of sparkles. I wish the picture of him just standing there, curled into himself like a giant bear, had turned out, because it was really too good not to share.

T came back to me not the T I had left with his dad. He was surly, belligerent and obnoxious. He back talked mom, he was not pleasant to me at all and it cumulated on Sunday with a horrific row when we arrived home. It took me a week and leaving his birthday presents at the lake to make him somewhat the polite helpful young man that he is with me.

I fairly danced through the week. T and me were getting there. There was less whining when I asked him to feed the cats and more ‘sure mom’. And holidays they were acoming. Two weeks of bliss while I vegged, hung out with T and lived the hedonistic lifestyle I thought I would indulge in back at the beginning of August. Than comes Thursday night.

T is annoyed with me because he has to be in bed early. I started work at 5 a.m. and had to be up and out of the house by 4:35 to get T to babysitter and myself to work. I tuck him into bed and sing him his lullabye and crawl into my bed, ready for sleep. And as I lay there, I hear this noise. A small sniffle, a gulp, a heave. And than T calls out in a wavering voice: ‘Mom?’

He is in bed sobbing his heart out. And he wants me to call his dad and have him come give him a hug and a kiss. Right than. And I admit I was not thinking about T when he spoke those words to me. I felt a sudden breaking of my heart, and a brutal anger rip through me. I live for T.  He is my heart and soul. I am only half alive when I am not with him. But it is his dad that he wants.

I made a grave parental error that night. One I am sure I will make again and again as T grows and changes. I demanded to know why he needed to see his father to give him a hug and a kiss. Had he cried when he was away from me for three weeks? He had not text me or stopped by to ask me for a hug and a kiss.

I was vile. I was jealous. I was angry. I was hurt.

Friday I ‘forgot’ to text his dad before we left for the cabin. And when T twigged to it I placed the onus on him for ‘forgetting’ to remind me. What type of a person does that to a 9 year old child? A jealous spiteful bitch that is whom.

I did arrive at a theory that helped calm me and when I have expounded on it to others (my inner circle lol) they are all quick to agree with me. Which now that I think about is really only the right thing to do so clearly they could all be wrong.

I thought long and hard about the differences in myself and my ex. I thought about how T does not call or text me when he is at his dad’s for the week. I thought about how often he asks to come home to me early on Sundays. I thought about how I told him every day how I loved him, how I hugged and kissed him always. How T is so secure in my love of him, that he knows that I will always be here for him. That he does not really miss me when away from me for an extended time period. Because I will always be where he looks for me.

It does not soothe the sting I felt again on Wednesday this week when Tember sobbed his eyes out wanting to see his dad for another hug and kiss. Nor did it keep me from asking T if he wanted to live with his dad because well, selfish and bitch again come to mind, but it is there.

This must become my talisman. My mantra if you will. So I can stop hurting T with my anger and jealousy when he needs to ensure himself of his father’s presence. So I can be mature and reasonable.

Ha! As if……..but I will use it to keep T feeling safe and secure. And not as though there is anything wrong with his desire for a hug and a kiss from his dad, even when it is my time with him.

 

Birthday Eve

Today is August 28th. In slightly more than 24 hours I will be 45 years old. I did not actually arrive in the world until 8:20 p.m. so am not “really” 45 ’til than. 

I am looking forward to turning 45. I am not the same woman I was when I turned 44 last year. I am by far a much better and stronger version of her. I have taken my life and where I could have continued along the path of destruction I was on I changed. Slowly at first. But as the changes became good changes, as my outlook and feelings became harmonized and less disjointed I welcomed the changes.

I have documented my cycle of depression and how I had to claw my way back. I have an amazing support group who have been with me since I started on the new journey to me.

A journey that has seen me rise high enough to realize I was in an unhappy marriage and find the strength to leave. To my mistakenly believing all my problems were solved by the dissolution of my marriage and I went off my meds. I began to rely on alcohol to get me through the days. 

My crash, which scared me so badly because I had allowed myself to be tricked into believing I was okay. Our brains are wicked when presenting one with deceptive illusions.

Even after I resumed taking my meds I still continued to self-medicate with alcohol. Finally July 1st I decided to stop. I went six weeks without drinking. And when I did, I woke the next morning disappointed in myself. 

I have had some again but there is a difference. One that I can see and feel. It is no longer a need. There is no desire to negate the feelings I did not want to face. 

So tomorrow I am turning 45. 

 I am eating better. I am sleeping better. I am exercising. I have quit drinking to self-medicate and find that I do not miss it. 

Best of all I am writing again. I am more secure in the voice I have. I am letting those wonderful words combine and emerge like a waterfall from my finger tips. I believe in magic again. 

At 45 I am beginning to emerge from the cocoon of the past. I can see my present but the future….that is a dream still waiting to be dreamed.

Better Days

Lost in the malestorm

sucked down the eddy

braving bleak thoughts

seeking always that peace.

Knowing that there will be a day;

when the pain,

the angst,

will no longer be in control.

Days when I shall see the sunshine,

hear my own laughter

and not be crippled 

by anxiety and depression.

Those are the goods days.

The ones I cling to.

For when that blackness enshrouds;

I remember that there

will always be 

a better day coming back to me.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

August 27/17