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Your lips did speak

sublime lies.

Pulling me in

making me believe in castles in the sky,

men in the moon

in love that can be true.

With broken heart

and tears of gold

I fell for the lies you told.

Never once did you deny

you just continued to build

one lie upon another.

Until finally the castles in the sky

fell at our feet

to be built nevermore.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

June 9/17

 

 

Solace

As I lay in your arms

tears flowing down my cheeks

I realize that all this time

I have been looking for solace.

For someone to hold me near

and support the dreams I have

For someone to help me dance,

treading among the starlight.

Had I not met you, I would still be in the dark

had I not met you, I would have lost a piece of myself.

Had I not met you, I would still be dreamless

had I not met you, I would never have realized

The secret parts that I hid.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

June 9/17

 

Did you know you are my hero?

My mom. She has always been my rock. My support. She doesn’t pull any punches with me, she never sugar coats it, the truth as she sees it is always laid bare for me to absorb. For me to learn from. When I was that horrid teenager I really did not care for her much and I made her life hell. Even in my twenties, we had a very rocky road. Now though, now we talk about everything and I realize just how many of her lessons I absorbed throughout my life.

As I have mentioned before my mom was the first and probably only woman on our block to be on her own in 1979. I remember when I was older she admitted to feeling guilt at leaving my father because some of the mothers of my friends would not let me play with my friends after that. But can you imagine how strong she had to be?

She left my dad, kept the house and began to raise not one, but two children. On her own. Without any help at all.

She learned how to drive a standard with my grandfather as her teacher. I am sure that I can imagine the conversation, the yelling that came from my grandfather, but she did it and got her license to boot.

She became the Nursing Unit Director of the psych unit at one of our hospitals. And than proceeded to work her way up and into career choices that to this day hold me in awe. She is so smart my mom. Anything she decided she wanted, she worked her ass off and got.

Her reward. The ability to retire at age fifty-five and move to Mexico. This was her dream and this she did at the end of 1999. I cried when she left. I cry every year that she leaves. I cry when she comes home. She is my mom, my best friend and I hate leaving her.

When I am with her, she gives me courage. She walks me through the plans to make my life happy. She steers me in the right direction and than wipes her hands clean and tells me that I am to get off my butt and just do it. JDI, her favorite three letters.

However, there is one thing my mom has given to me that I am failing to see in the younger generation that resides in the town I live in. I will not paint all those in this generation of 20-27 year olds with the same brush, but I see a lack of independence and cutting of the strings.

My mom, she never wanted me hanging onto her apron strings. She never wanted the bro to hang on. He just chose not to let go until she booted him out. Granted she probably did not want me to move out of the house at age eighteen but she allowed it. I mean how could she stop me?

I have stood on my own two feet forever it feels like. My mom fostered a strong sense of independence in me and a desire to do it on my own. I have some difficulty in asking for help because I should be able to do it on my own. My mom did how come I can’t?

I look at the dreams that I have. To write. There really is no other dream. I just want to write. Maybe make enough money so I could at least go down to Mexico to see my mom. Even if I do cry when I leave. (As an aside, every time I leave and I am sobbing, tears rolling down my cheeks, my middle aching with pain everyone is so concerned about me. And there is mom, assuring them that really I am fine, this is just me.)

I misinformed you. I have one other dream. My dream is that I will be a hero for my son the way my mom is my hero. We all imagine how our lives would be different if small things changed, but I know what I would be without my mom. I would be a selfish whiney girl child who blamed others for the misfortune in my life. I know this, I know she resided in me at one point and time. But mom drove her out as sure as if she was exorcising the devil.

She taught me to stand tall and firm in my beliefs. She taught me to have the strength to admit when I am wrong but to fight when I am right. She taught me to accept my weaknesses, embrace and learn from them. She did not teach me how to cook though, I can tell you that one! (Asked for the recipe for her banana bread and cookies and she could not remember either)

My mom, she has taught me all I need to know about being a strong independent woman. A woman who still needs her mom sometimes to reassure her all will be fine. A woman who has still crawled into her mother’s lap and cried her eyes out. My mom, she is awesome.

I am not the perfect mother

I am not the perfect mother. Hell I do not even come close. I am the mother whose car is a disaster, who although I have all his shit packed, will still forget to pick up her son at the sitter’s before heading off to soccer practice. Because well that just happens when you are single mom and you need to be in six places at once.

When I was a child I hated my mother’s punishments. And truly they weren’t punishments they were corrections to my behaviour. As an adult omg my mom is my hero. (Having said that mom read ahead with caution). She set boundaries. She made me responsible for my actions. She made me the incredible person that I am (okay so that is tooting my own horn) But I am following in her footsteps so she must have done something right.

So this evening I am having a conversation with a friend. We are discussing boundaries and how her kids seem to ignore hers. So I am listing off all the things that she can do. All the things that my mom implemented with me. Things that worked. And as I read over my suggestions I start to envision what she is seeing.

She sees that little old lady with her glasses perched on the end of her nose. Steely eyes glaring. Pin curls that were contrived in the 1950’s and have never changed a bit. Her bosom is a shelf that cannot be breached, her waist thick and barely there. Her stockings roll up at the knees because she can’t be bothered to pin them up at her thighs.

Oh my dear god, that is so not me. So I needed to enliven the conversation. I needed to let her know that I was not the perfect mother that my voice portrayed in the messages I sent. So, I told her the following story.

I am a single mom. I have needs. I have desires. I have an eight year old son who at this point and time does not need to know that his mother is a being with a life beyond him. (He will learn, but right now I can hide this aspect of my life) So when T is around I am the celibate single mom who lives for her child.

Alright folks (mom I suggest you stop reading here) I am going to admit the truth. I may be single. I may not want to introduce a multitude of men to T’s life which would only serve to confuse him, but I am a sexual woman. And I have a drawer full of toys. Yes mother if you are still reading I have toys!

So and I am absolutely positive that I am not the only one that this has happened to, but I am putting this out there. I was having a rough night and T was being a little shit. Arguing and fighting. Telling me how great his father was. I was incensed and a little pissed. He would not go to bed. Finally after a bath at 10 and listening to him chant mom over and over and over again I caved and told him go to sleep in my room! I can move him back to his when I go to sleep.

Silence ensues and I lay back on the couch, ready to watch another episode of whatever I was watching when T comes into the living room.

‘Mom what is this? I found it at the end of your bed?’

I look over and omfg he has my vibrator. I cannot even be ashamed at this point and time; because this folks, this is why we as parents have boundaries. He is flicking it around and I bolt off the couch screeching ‘give that to me.’ Poor child thought that he had done something wrong.

As he stares at me with tear stained eyes, confused and unsure as to what he has done wrong I implore him; ‘Buddy I have never ever asked you to lie or say nothing to your dad. But baby this is a secret we need to keep okay?’

‘Mom what is that?’

‘That is a toy for mom.’ I admit lame ass reply but what the hell else am I suppose to say?

‘Oh so do you use that when you are sad? You play with it to make you happy?’

As I choke on my laughter and shake my head, tears glisten in my eyes. Oh yeah I am still waiting for my ex to confront me about the fact that T found my vibrator. I am still absolutely horrified that he found it. But this leads me back to my mom, who set boundaries so never once did I ever find her sex toys. (Sorry mom please forgive me.)

I am not the perfect mom.

 

 

What Do I Do?

I get an hour for lunch every shift. I have to take an hour for lunch or 2 1/2 hours no matter what. I cannot work through my lunch because we are busy and I have work to do and than leave 1/2 hour early. So I do. And I live 5-7 minutes from the store. I have begun to come home for my lunches.

Many would be surprised to learn that I make myself a light lunch. I plug in my phone if it needs to charge and sit myself down in front of the computer. I check my email. I play games on Facebook. I listen to the silence. It is a wonderful thing. I do not answer my phone in this 50 minutes of free time. I think. And I ponder and lately I have been creating.

By nature I am a rather gregarious person. By career, I am a constant talker. Not a stalker although if you pique my interest I might peek around that corner of the aisle just to see what you buy. I talk for 40+ hours a week. Never mind when I run into someone outside of work. Dear lord you would never know that silence is something that I crave.

My brain overloads badly when there is too much noise. When I have no time to breath and everything needs to be completed but oh my god there are line ups! As you can tell I was a little short staffed today. I talk. And talk. And talk and everyone leaves a little bit happier and I am happy too. I made someone smile.

When I come home for my hour lunch it is to regroup. To calm my brain so that we can do the next 2 1/2 hours without my swearing at someone out loud. I will get everything done that I have to. While I do, a small portion of my brain is working on a poem I started this morning. Imagery is of a crazed clown. Not sure where that is coming from but I am going to run with it.

My silence is about to come to an end. Thus I must head back to work. I take a deep breath, grab my phone and out the door I go. I’ll be back because well the crazed clown wants to get loose.

Do You like to be Scared?

****As a child, my uncle would tell me about Postavesula, he lived in the upstairs closet near the attic in my grandparents house. Turned out he just didn’t want us going upstairs. My grandfather use to use Postavettula who lived beneath the basement stairs to scare us from going down there. Is it any wonder that I see boogeymen everywhere?’

Yesterday T and me get home after school/work. Soccer had been cancelled due to rain so I was looking forward to a nice evening at home.

We arrive at the apartment, gather up all the bags that are required and head into the apartment. T stops when we get to the bottom of the stairs and looks at me. ‘Did you leave the t.v. on?’ ‘What? You were the last one watching it you were suppose to turn it off!’

We look at one another. Shrug our shoulders. T starts to watch Youtube as I putter around getting supper. I am replaying our morning over in my mind and realize that the television was not on when I came home in between dropping T off and leaving for work myself.

The hairs on the back of my neck start to stand up. Omg there might be a serial killer in the apartment? Would M have come in and watched my t.v. as opposed to laying in the comfort of her own bed? Never (and just so we can be clear, I did ask this question of M.)

Without alerting T, I slink into his room to ensure that 1) his closet doors are still open and 2) there is no one there. So far so good. I enter my room. T.V. borrowed still here, so J did not come and pick up. I stand back from my closet, reach out and push the door open. Jump about two feet when I realize that the satanic clown is not about to jump out from behind my dress and stab me.

Last but not least, I check the linen closet. Thank goodness, I sigh a deep breath of relief, there are no killer clowns in my house.

But wait……I head in to the storage area where the cats litter boxes are. I need to do my daily scoop. It is dark. Only one little light. And nothing under the stairs.

My breath catches in my throat. I can hear breathing, a wet gasping breath coming from beneath the stairs. I squeak and rush back out into the hallway. All of two feet away.

T is sitting at the computer. Nonchalantly I lean against the counter and appraise my eight year old son. Yep, he can do it.

‘Hey buddy. I need you to come with me. But I cannot tell you why. Not until I am done.’

‘Where am I going mom?’

‘I need you to come with me. I have scared myself. But I can’t tell you right now just come with me.’

And he does. Yes my eight year old son is my knight in shining armor. As I hovered over the litter boxes scooping the poop and pee, T is chatting away behind me. About how smelly the big chunks of pee and poop are. And what am I scared of? And are we almost done yet?

Finally I am finished. We head into the kitchen. T looks at me quizzically. Do I, his mother admit that I scared myself with my own imagination? Or do I ask him to just……oh hell gotta admit the truth.

So I did. And T looked at me. Looked at the storage space. Looked at me again and shook his head.

In my defense, when I was a child I was easy to scare. And I may have mentioned before but I love it. Going down the hallway to the bathroom I would turn on my bedroom light, the kitchen light, the light in my mom’s room and just as I was about to hit the light to the bathroom my mom would call ‘Jay, are you okay?’

Every time. And every time she would scare the shit out of me and I would run screaming back down the hallway to her. We would both laugh.

I have an overactive imagination and I can scare myself without even meaning to. Yes I admit that I am using my son as my defender. Yes I admit that I love to scare myself. And it is all in fun. Rationally I knew no one else but us was here, irrationally, a mad clown hid under my steps.

Evolution

It has become very apparent to me that I like being solitary. I enjoy my me time and making my own decisions. I like how I only need to consciously think of myself and T. I may be becoming a finer version of myself! Having said that there is nothing wrong with a little male company now and again, so long as they don’t stay too long. 😍😍😂😂

Of late I seem to have these wonderful insights within myself. There is usually a trigger but today as I sat sipping my coffee and checking my emails, I realized I like being alone. I can sit in silence, enjoying my coffee, stalking my friends on Facebook, playing games. Reading other blogs that I follow. It is not a busy day, I did all my housework yesterday as I wanted today to be just a simple day for me.

It is 2:18 p.m. and I am still in my bathrobe. So decadent. This must be what the life of luxury I have only read about, is all about. My home is clean so why not just have a day of me. That aside, let me get back to my thoughts about myself. After I wrote the above post I had the following conversation with a friend. (I will only post my half. He did think the line that they don’t stay too long was hilarious.)

“You know what I mean. Become clingy and whiney or don’t appreciate me. I am a damn good woman who has wants, desires and needs. I am not going to waste my time with someone who wants to mold me into their idea of me.

I learned a lot about myself in the last little while. Reflecting on who I have morphed into solely for the gratification of others. So they would not be uncomfortable with the woman that I am. I realized that I cannot be that person. That I need to be myself. True to myself. And I realized how lost I had become. How hidden the real me was. Much like when I was with my ex.”

Never mind that I am more creative when I am not dispensing so much energy on being the false me. My poetry is ever evolving and not always about me or my feelings. But about the scenes that I see in my mind. I find that I am finding my voice as I write my blogs and am able to see more within myself.

Insights that would be the word. And with each insight I evolve, and I grow. I am so far away from the woman that I was just one year ago as I stepped into my new life. And I am even further along than that woman of just a few weeks ago.

I am choosing to embrace life. I am choosing to embrace myself. All of me. The deep depressions, the empathy and caring spirit. The fact that I enjoy being happy. (What a weird concept, having to learn to enjoy being happy) My laughter is so much freer. I am learning about my own wants and desires. I am learning how to just be.

Forever evolving I hope to be, for stagnation I do not want to see.