The Warrior

 
the warrior
sat on the blood stained earth
a sickly sweet stench of death hung still in the air around him
in the dim light he stared in silence
breathless
as if the air had been violently sucked from his lungs
his stomach was hard and empty
he was numb
he was a stone
his bronze sun-touched skin was drenched with battlefield dust
sweat poured to the ground in an anxious crawl
his bloodied sword lay at his side
he lacked strength and desire to pick it back up again
the sun was blackened by a dark haze that rose from the ruthless battle
men lay slain all around him
death lay all around him
their lives and their souls lost forever
this is war
and this man
it's prisoner
the warrior

The Shack

The old, dusty, worn-down shack was inviting to a couple of adventurers. It looked like it had been condemned. The old wood was wilted and cracking. It was the color of rusted night. A broken glass window next to what used to be the door, shone in the dying sun. it reflected hues of reds, bright yellows, and oranges. We walked up to the shack on a drought-stricken, dirt path. Dust kicked up all around us. It looked like a tiny dust storm. The dust storm around us caused a whooshing sound. It was calm, and had gentle qualities about it. We reached the old steps of the beaten-up shack and went on.

The creaky, unstable steps held, yet buckled under our weight. The dusty rail groaned as it aided us to our destination. Through the old, abandoned doorway, we stepped, to hear birds. Chirp chirp, whistle whistle. tweet tweet. Once inside the dark room, our eyes began to adjust to the darkness. The smell was unforgettable. It was breathtaking. It smelled of damp wood and dirt. Like earthworms and mothballs. My throat became dry, as dust climbed slowly into my mouth. We walked through a low-hanging doorway to our right.

This room smelled as though it might have been used as a kitchen. Deep in my mind, I pulled memories from childhood. Coming downstairs to breakfast. Each step brought me closer. Each step another breath. And each breath a whiff of soft, white bread, transforming, melting, into lightly, browned, sandy toast. Or sizzling eggs, that produced a sharp grease odor. Or frying bacon. Crackling and popping. Creating the smell of home. An unattainable stale breeze. But this wasn't mother's kitchen, and there was no breakfast cooking. the smells of the previous trip down memory lane, quickly disappeared, leaving the damp, stale, mothball odor.

We walked out of the kitchen and made our way slowly into what might have been the living room. A big picture window stared silently, lonely, at us. One end was injured with a crack, that allowed a slight breeze to come in. The breeze filled my lungs and crept up my nose. It tasted of sweet fall, and dying grass. He kicked at a rusted box on the floor which enlivened dirt and dust. It began to dance and move as it tickled my nose. Not thinking, I breathed in deeply, taking in some dust. It tasted dry, and sour, somewhat chalky. I sneezed violently freeing my lungs from the sticky, frantic dust. Snot and spit came with the liberation. My mouth now tasted of death. I brought forth from my pocket a buttery, caramel Worther's Original, that my Grandpa had given me. I popped it into my mouth and was instantly relieved. The dust was gone and sweet richness now replaced it.

The living room was the last room. There must have been an out house out back for taking care of business. We made our way out of the little, bright living room. I nudged the wall on my way out and found that the surface was smooth, yet bumpy in some places. It was chalky from being cover in dust. The walls were covered in a cheap, dull, wall-paper. It had little red triangles all over it. I rubbed my hand steadily over it. The lumps had been created by not smoothing the surface underneath. In some spots there was no wall-paper.

My fascination quickly left and soon I did also. We walked out of the abandoned door, and as we left, out of who knows what instinct, I reached up over my head and was snagged by a sticky, silky, spider web. It stuck to my fingers and hung there. Stringy, swaying in the breeze of the night. We walked out into the fading sunlight, and rejoiced. We then made our way back through the dust trail and then on into the night.

A Broken Heart

One of the doctors took us all into a special room. He shut the door, and slowly turned towards us, head down. I do not know what he said next, because I could not hear, I just remember seeing my grandpa’s knees give out as he fell to the floor screaming, “NO!!!” Suddenly the quiet, still room filled with loud sobs and pleas. I could finally hear, when the doctor said, “Would you like to see him?” The walk to the room where he was, seemed as if it took years. Every emotion flooded in, overwhelming me, numbing my skin so that the very tears that surged from my eyes, came unnoticed.

It is the most incredible, deepest, agonizing pain one could ever feel. It can only be found in the pit of the stomach. It amazes me, just how deep, us humans can feel…so despaired, so wracked with emotion, that we can do nothing else, but double over, with an open mouth uttering the most animalistic groan…OOHHH! The groan rumbles at first, from the stomach, and then it erupts, forcefully flooding forth from you, taking the very breath you intend to breathe, leaving you empty, sunken, dead. But no matter how hard I try, the feeling, the moment, could never be described by words. It is literally unexplainable.

My life had been shattered; my heart broken into a million pieces. My childish fit, the arrow I had flung, proclaiming I would not feel anything, dissolved and it no longer mattered. My heart had betrayed me. I felt everything, yet nothing. I was numb. I couldn’t see beyond my own tears. I felt as if I had been left alone. He was the only person who loved me. The only person I could talk to. Whenever I had a question, he was there…
…now, who would pick up the pieces of my heart?

In the Fall...

In the fall her hair turns dark

her eyes dip deep down into the emerald sea

the pounding waves create a

beat

beat

beat

and the music like oil       flows through her

setting on fire everything she knows

touching

fulfilling her passion

her fingers move in a rhythmic dance

strings and keys create a trance

the melodic strain rumbles down low

reaching around and rising

away toward heaven

does this incense flow

it reaches His presence and tickles His nose

melts His heart            upturns His lips

a smile of delight        a smile of approval

"yes My child     do your dance...let it move you"

So What if I'm Not Crawling Yet!!!

Do we push our children into a mindset of failure?

 

Schedule, schedule, schedule! If we do not keep our baby's developmental milestones on a strict schedule, provided by doctors, they are deigned as having abnormal development.

I pushed my oldest daughter for months and months trying to get her to crawl. She never ended up crawling. She bounced on her butt to wherever her little heart desired, and then at 11 months she did sort of a "crab scoot" pulling one le g behind. This was as close to crawling as we were going to get. People saw this and automatically assumed that there was something wrong with her, or her legs, or thighs. I realized then, that it was just her spunky way of getting around. She went from crab scoot at 11 months to walking at 12 months.

My second, my little head-strong, fearless, adventure boy, I also pushed to crawl early. At five months, I got him up on his hands and knees, practicing crawling by pushing him forward. We did this for a few months. He seemed more interested in doing "push-ups" then getting around anywhere. He finally crawled around nine or ten months. Then walked around 13 or 14 months.

I look back now, and do not understand what all my rush was for? They achieved their milestones when they wanted to, not when I pushed. Pushing only served to stress us out. The time spent with them was the same whether they crawled or not. In other areas later on they developed just fine regardless of when they first started to get around, or how they got around. They were so young that I don't know if they felt any anxiety to succeed because of my pushing, or my desire to stay on track, but I sure do not feel good about wasting so much time on those things, when I could have been enjoying them in other ways. I should have been exploring and putting more effort into the things they enjoyed. Could I have saved us some time and tension by letting them reach their goals when they were ready?

My third, and last, was babied from the beginning. We knew that she was the last baby, so we wanted to hold onto every second of her perfect, innocent, baby-ness. She was held a lot. She seemed more interested in watching people, especially me. That was okay, because to me, there is nothing better than gazing down into those wide, trusting, loving eyes that say, "I belong to you, I feel safe with you, I know you are my mommy." Babies may not inherently know how to love, but they sure can make you feel loved when they look up at you, like you are their whole world.

She did not learn to crawl until she was 13 months old. She did however bounce and scoot places on her butt when she was eleven months, but no crawling. Then at 13 months, we sat her down, and as if by some miracle, she got up on her hands and knees and took off crawling without any effort, or needing any "educating" in the matter! I was AMAZED! What took months to do with my first two, took only minutes to do with her.

The previous month, I had taken her in for her first year check up, and because she did not fit the "perfect" developmental schedule, crawling, doctors and health professionals were concerned that she was not developing correctly. Never mind you that she had excellent, advanced fine motor skills. She had perfect finger dexterity at four months  and could use the pincer grasp to pick up minute objects with just her thumb and forefinger (normal development for the thumb-finger pincer grasp is between eight and twelve months). Her communication skills were also advanced for her age. At seven months she could say words as well as comprehend the meaning (a skill left to a twelve-month-old). Some of those words were, Kitty, which she would point and say kitty every time the cat walked into the room, Momma, Daddy, uh oh (she loved the uh oh game), and no. Many times, I found myself doing something to her disliking, and she would shrilly shriek, "NO NO NO NO," all while shaking her head no. She also learned the sign language sign for milk, which she happily expressed to me whenever she wanted to nurse.

What did the doctors say?

They told me to put her down and force her to practice, no matter how much she screamed. It was good for her they said. They checked her muscle tone in her legs and told me that if she was not crawling by 15 months she would need to have tests done.  She was advanced in so many areas, that this time I did not let myself get worried or stressed with the rush rush attitude, and urging of the doctors. I shook off what the doctors said, and knew that she was perfect, and when ready would move on her own (actually, she already was moving, she was bouncing!).

A friend of mine, Peter, said something wise to me that helped me not stress over the doctor's obsession. "Let's face it have you ever heard a mom say, 'my kid didn't crawl by (insert arbitrary date) and now the doctor says he is stunted for life!' Despite our culture's obsession with everyone progressing at the same pace as everyone else, kids are different, and their environments are different, and they develop at different paces." If she does not crawl by 15 months, so what. It does not mean that she is not going to eventually. It does not mean that she is not going to grow up, or miss something important in life. Why do we trap ourselves in these invisible boxes? We doom ourselves to a life of repeated failure in doing so. We inadvertently instill these same thoughts in our children who unknowingly carry on the obsession.

So, are we pushing our children into a mindset of failure by ignoring their needs, desires, and personal agendas, just to meet a deadline or schedule? Maybe we should start peacefully parenting and watch for our children's signs. They sometimes teach us, instead of us teaching them. I had waited until my youngest was ready to move on her own, and when she did, she astounded me with the ease and ability she had. I don't think I will be rushing her, or any of my other children into the "next stage" any time soon. I will let them guide and direct.

First Love

She is the sweetest thing in the whole world, beautiful, graceful, and lovely. I am overwhelmingly thankful for every breath that I feel her breathe. Never did I ever think that I could feel this way about a child, much less another human being. I am completely captivated with her every movement. She radiates innocence and trust. She is flawless. I crave the next smile or cheerful giggle that she might express. I wish to sing every song that I sing for her alone. Every breath I breathe, for her. I never knew true love until I gazed at her for the first time, no, held her warmth in my arms for the first time.

Families

"Nobody has ever before asked the nuclear family to live all by itself in a box the way we do.  With no relatives, no support, we've put it in an impossible situation."  ~Margaret Mead

I never before understood this concept until I went to Mexico and saw how families can function together happily, and how many less mental issues they have, than what we have here. Here we have two impossibilities that we have imposed upon society and families.

The norm has become to make as much money as you can to buy countless, meaningless material items. You are called poor and looked down upon if you cannot achieve this. What is more important, our health and well-being, or gathering so much "junk" that only serves to clutter and collect dust in our over-sized, "luxurious" houses? We work our asses off for money, to buy stuff, that we cannot even enjoy, because work does not permit time off to enjoy those things. I am not devaluing hard work, working hard is good for us- we just don't have to work as long, or as much. We should not have to place work above our loved ones. I am simply stating that we are enslaved to our own stupidity. We need to work smart, leaving room for investing time in those who are most nearest and dearest to us, our family!

Second, we insist that the nuclear family be broken up and individual members go on their own. You are not normal if you do not "leave the nest" upon graduation and find your own way, and life. This I believe is the cause of so many health and mental issues we face in our nation. We make it impossible to succeed. We cause people to be alone and isolated emotionally and financially. It is no wonder that people crack under the pressure and have mental issues, as well as health issues like heart attacks and strokes. It is no wonder that people are obese and have such high blood pressure. It is also no wonder that we have to medicate ourselves with such toxic, and unnatural medications to feel normal, or not lonely, and why depression is so rampant. We have taken what is most important, family, and pushed it aside for pride and material things; for the mere thought that it is what is expected and correct. Who are we to decide that, that is what should happen in society? And how dare we look down on those who would attempt to change this norm, in order to find their sanity and health in a different way than expected.

Is it so horrifying that we allow our families to stay together? We would succeed, and benefit ourselves on so many levels. We would eliminate stress, we would teach our children correct values, one being the value of family and staying together, and we would NOT BE ALONE! Not to mention, we would save money on harmful medication we consume in an effort to feel accepted by society, or those doctor and hospital bills we rack up from other diseases and disorders that come along with stress. Gone would be the days of paying someone to judge our mental health- psychiatrists, and therapists; we would not need them. Our therapists would be our friends and family around us. What is the larger value? Our well-being and health, or society's perception of us?

It has become second nature to push our children to succeed. But the success we burden upon them is impossible! They would be just as prosperous, in my opinion more so, if they were working for the family as a whole, than on establishing their own way and life. Why is this not considered as thriving?

George Romero was right in his views, we have "zombified" ourselves and become shabby, mindless, drones at the cost of ourselves and family, all for things and acceptance from society.

How can you say you love me?

  

My ex husband was awful to me. Not only did he cheat and lie all the time, he was also abusive.
Growing up I witnessed my dad being abusive to my mom; I hated it, and vowed never to let a man treat me that way. I thought she was the most stupid woman ever to stay with him.

In the beginning...

My story starts with one little push. I had started moving into my ex's house, and we got into a fight, I do not remember why. Out of anger he pushed me. I was taken aback. Immediately I burst into tears and left. I should have trusted myself at that point. I knew then it was only the beginning. He apologized, we made up, and he promised to never do it again.

Well that one push turned into a slap, and later more. There was also a lot of verbal abuse at first. His favorite name for me was  'Bitch'. I hate that word! Eventually, and accidentally, I got pregnant. I thought maybe things would get better, but they just continued to get worse. We would fight (mostly because I knew he was cheating and I would confront him about it) and he would end up choking me, pulling my hair, or hitting me in the face. More than one time I showed up to work with bruises on my face. I became a walking cliché, forcing the words, "I'm so clumsy."

I had my daughter finally, after months of the abuse and him hounding me to get an abortion, and things got even more horrific. For some reason, I became very afraid after I had her. Something changed in me, I do not know what. There was a time that he was jealous of one of his friends, who had called to find him. He thought that he called for me, even though I clearly stated that the friend was asking for him. We argued, and then he left with another girl and our daughter, locking me out of the house. It was night time and cold. I wandered around for awhile thinking about things. I ended up back at our car, which thankfully was unlocked, because I was very cold, and had no coat. I sat in the car for a few hours waiting for him to come home. Finally he got there, and I guess he was still angry so he took our daughter upstairs and put her in her crib and then came back down the stairs (we had an upstairs apartment) and started yelling at me. I do not remember what happened, but I think he was trying to get me upstairs. I was to upset because he left with another girl, one he clearly told me he had slept with. I did not want to be around him, this made him furious so he literally ripped my shirt off of me, and started pulling me by my hair up the stairs. We got almost to the top when he started punching me in the head. I must have passed out, because the next thing I knew I was in the house laying down.

Another time we were arguing in the car about his anger problem. He hit me in the face so I said, "stop the car". Surprisingly he did, I opened the door and as soon as I had one foot on the ground, he floored it and started driving. My foot got stuck  in the door and I fell onto my back and the car dragged me a feet before he finally stopped. Our daughter was in the backseat crying at this time. I was crying as well, there were a lot of tears, a lifetime of tears, in that period of my life. He got out and helped me up and insisted that he was so sorry, he did not mean too. I was not ready for his apology so I began to walk away, he did not want me to, so he yelled at me. When I did not return to the car immediately, he began throwing rocks at me. That showed me how sorry he was. I finally got into the car and said, "I am leaving today, unless you get help for your anger problem!" He agreed. The next few months he went to therapy. He was put on medication for Schizo-affective disorder. I thought that he really was trying to change. He ended up not linking the way his medication made him feel, so he stopped taking it and things got bad again. This was the lowest point for me. I had put so much into us and making it work, that I had nothing left of me! I was like an empty shell, so tired. I just wanted to rest for a while. I was having anxiety attacks, and felt like I had no strength to carry on. I will not say that I tried to take my own life with pills one night, but I did take them to find peace and get some "rest". I was so tired.

What was I thinking?...

If you wonder why I stayed, I simply kept hoping that the nice, romantic guy that I met in the beginning would come back. Now, I realize that he never would come back, because that is not who he really was. It was a front, a way to con me. And con me he did. I had fallen in love and thought that love endured everything! I also had immense compassion for him. When he would cry to me and say I am sorry, it would break my heart, more than it was already, and the only thing that I knew how to do was stay. It happened over and over again until I lost myself in the cycle, and didn't know how to depend on myself. My strength, and confidence had been stripped from me with each swing he took. I did not know that life could be better. Now I understand my mom. She was not stupid, as I am not stupid. She was caught in a web, wrapped up tight the way a spider wraps it's victim, slowly draining the life from it. When you are that wrapped up, you have no arms to pull yourself out. You have to rely on others to loosen the bondage. The abuse literally drains you and makes you loathe yourself!

My saving grace...She made me hate him instead of myself.
A gleam of light- a small bit of hope, shone through my dark blackness. I met a remarkable woman who became my closest friend, I have shared things with her that I have never shared with anyone. It was like a miracle that I met her when I did. I don't know what would have happened if I had not met her. Perhaps I would still be drowning in my own hell. There are no words to describe how thankful I am for her help. I was drowning and she reached out and gave me a hand, and saved me. She did not push me to leave my ex, but she lived her life and helped me see the beauty of life through example. She showed me friendship, love, sisterhood, independence, compassion and whole lot of fun. She helped me remove the hatred from myself, and place it on the correct person, him. She made me see myself through the loving eyes of a friend, instead of the monster I had become complacent with. I am the person I am today partly because of her. And the person I am, I am in LOVE with!

To make a long story short, I eventually borrowed enough confidence from my friend, to finally leave and be free. The road to my independence was long, and it was like drug rehabilitation. I had to learn to overcome the addiction of the abuse and all the drama that accompanied it, and stand on my own two feet. I had an obligation to my daughter to do this. She was the only thing that mattered to me in the world. I did not want her to go through what I had, or live in such conflict. She deserved peace and stability. Domestic abuse is terrible for children to be around. It causes brain patterns in them that are similar to military personal who have seen combat. I also did not want to be a bad example to her, teaching her that it was okay for a man to treat her that way. I lived single for about a year and enjoyed myself and my daughter. I started college, and developed a great life for us. Along the way, without knowing it, I had gained my own strength and confidence, and I finally had something to give back. Something to give a future partner, and my child, and other future children.

I learned that life is so short, it is not worth living with pain, fear, hatred, jealousy, and bitterness. Those things eat you alive! You ABSOLUTELY do not have to live with them! I also learned through all of this, that you can not depend on someone else for your happiness. You have to make yourself happy. Especially in a relationship. If you are not happy with yourself, and love yourself, then you will not have anything to give in that relationship, and relationships take a lot. Mine took everything of me, and gave me nothing in return to fill what should have been filled. If you depend on others for your happiness, they will fail you, they are busy trying to find their own. To borrow it from them, will cause you to run out, but if you plant and cultivate it within yourself, you will grow something that keeps yielding.  However, like any garden, you have to tend to it and keep it healthy.

My Happy Ending...

I met an amazing man, who loves me for who I am, and treats me like a queen. We have been together for four years now. We were married three years ago, and have had two beautiful children. Our family is complete. I can see us growing old together, enjoying each other for the rest of our lives. He has never said a mean thing to me, or even threatened raising a hand to me, or called me a name. Sure we have disagreements and sometimes arguments, but we do not fight. Fighting is mean and spiteful. Fighting is when you try your hardest to hurt the other by all means necessary. How can it be called love if you try to cause the other pain? I am not overly religious, but I follow the list/example of what love should be, from First Corinthians 13, 4-8: "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."

I now know how good life can be. I will not ever take advantage of the good I have been blessed with. I remind myself daily where I have come from. Some nights even, I have terrifying dreams where I am back in that hell, held captive. I wake up so relieved and thankful when I glance over at the incredible man snoring loudly, and peacefully next to me. I can think of no one else, that I would want as a better example for my children, of how to be, and how to live. He makes me want to be a better person, and in all things he stands by my side and offers never-ending support. Tears of gratitude come to my eyes thinking about him, and my friend, and the past. I have come to a place in my life where, even though it was horrific, I value my past as part of my life story, a stepping stone  to where I am now, and the person that I am now. I would not change a thing, especially as it concerns my daughter. She would not be here if it were not for my past. I sincerely do not think that I would value or appreciate what I have now, if it had not been for the hell that I faced.

My story is only but one...

It is heart breaking to know that there are still women out there who go through this. I wish that it was easy to help them break free, but sadly many do not want to, or know how to. They need a saving grace like my own. If you face this torture as I have, please take a look at the links, and please find someone who can be your temporary strength. You are so much more valuable than you know! You DO NOT deserve to be treated this way! You can have a happy ending also!

And if you know someone who is abused, please help them. Offer any assistance you can. Who knows, you may be the one that saves their life, or their children's life!

Below are some help links dealing with domestic violence.
http://womenthrive.org/issues/violence?gclid=CN2F86SthLcCFQpxQgod5X4A7Q
http://dahmw.org/
http://www.thehotline.org/
http://www.helpguide.org/mental/domestic_violence_abuse_help_treatment_prevention.htm
http://www.domesticviolence.org/
http://www.safehorizon.org/index/what-we-do-2/domestic-violence--abuse-53/domestic-violence--abuse-shelters-340.html

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http://www.facebook.com/realmoms101?fref=ts

Adalia and the Chicken Noodle Soup...

My daughter was moved to her own room a few days ago, and all of a sudden she is walking, talking...and opening soup cans on her own!

THIS MORNING ADALIA WAS HUNGRY... so hungry that she took it upon herself to open a can of Scooby Doo Chicken noodle soup while I did my hair in the bathroom and her dad was on the computer in the dining room.

Normally she uses the cans as toys when keeping me company while I cook. I thought nothing of the pull back lids...I mean, I can barely get them open myself! Turns out she is smart, and strong!

Misa came running to daddy screaming, "Bebita is in the cans, she's in the cans!"

Daddy commented back, "I know, she is allowed to play with them."

Five minutes later, "Daddy she is in the cans! REALLY IN THE CANS!"

Upon entering the kitchen, to see what all the fuss was about, daddy witnessed Adalia sitting by the can cupboard, unpeeled soup can lid in one hand, and the other scooping up scooby soup greedily from the floor, accompanying her was Percy (our dog), slopping it up as fast as he could also.

When approached by daddy, Adalia merely looked up with a happy, triumphant, chicken noodle soup grin, and said, "MMMmmMMMmm-MM"

Where on earth did she learn to open cans???? She is only one!