Happy Sad

One of my guilty pleasures is watching military homecomings. Whether it’s with their never-before-seen newborns, pets or family, I could watch homecomings for hours on end.  Could be a surprise could just be at the airport, docks, base, whatever.

One of the reasons I love these so much is because I’ve been there. My first husband was a U.S. Marine. He is a great man. I remember waiting for him at K-Bay (Kane’ohe Marine Corps Base). My stomach in knots. Nervous. I don’t know why you’re so nervous about seeing them again. It’s like you’re worried they won’t recognize you or be happy to see you. The biggest fear is they won’t be there. I scanned faces, frowning, you always get so depressed when you don’t see them immediately that fear they missed the plane/boat/bus or something much worse becomes palpable. I had my leis, my gifts in the car. There’s this monumental build. At any moment you feel like you’re just going to crumble to dust. Somehow, he got behind me. Tricky bastard. He wrapped his arms around my waist and whispered softly in my ear.  I spun around on my heels so quick I was dizzy and I fell into him and there was such a release in me. I clung to him like if I let go I was going to lose myself.  My body quivered and heaved and shook. I cried and shrieked and wailed and clawed at him.  I crushed the leis in my hand and couldn’t find words. There are no words for the relief, for the joy of a safe return. I was scared to let him go. We stood there for a long time while the tears slipped out and my voice was foreign to me. Even when he was putting his bags in the car I clung to him. His friend, who we called “Fez” had no one waiting for him, so I brought him a lei and a gift too and hugged him but kept one hand on my husband.

We spent nine months apart from each other. I wrote him letters every day and he told me some weeks when the mail got backed up he’d get a literal garbage bag full of mail from me. He was in Okinawa, Tinian, Philippines, Guam. When he was in Okinawa we could talk on the phone.  Sometimes I’d drive to the base to be able to have video chats (this was 2002 after all). I’d leave parties or friend’s houses early just to race home and be able to talk to him on the phone before he’d be out in the field for weeks.

It takes a special breed to wait and stay dedicated. The only reason I could do it that time was I had my family and friends as a support system. I lived in Hawaii (where I grew up) and my routine wasn’t demolished by his absence. When his next big deployment to Iraq rolled around in 2007, we had moved to North Carolina. I had no support system I had a few friends, no family and was looking for work after graduating college. I couldn’t do an indefinite deployment. I just couldn’t do it. 

I’ll never forget what that marriage taught me. I watch those videos because I can relate to what I see in their eyes. The mixture of love, relief, joy. I cry when I see these reunions because I know how scared they were. When they’re gone you’re terrified all the time. At least I was. I interacted socially. I kept myself busy but I was truly afraid every minute of the day. I slept with one of his dirty PT shirts on a pillow so I wouldn’t forget his scent. I kept pictures of him everywhere so I wouldn’t forget his face. I was recording TV shows on VHS tapes to mail him so he knew he was in my thoughts.

When you have a loved one in the military and they are deployed it’s life consuming. It’s in your thoughts minute-to-minute. You have nightmares, you have intimate dreams, you talk and talk  and talk about them until people stop coming around. Then you act like you’re fine, give the semblance of normalcy, but you cry at night and when they call, you breakdown.  Hearing their voice creates a physical response. My body would shake.

Their return to your life is like a gift you never thought possible. I tricked myself into thinking him being away was normal; this was how it was going to be forever. When he was standing, in front of me, grinning, I never thought I could be so happy.

My husband now, was a submariner in the Navy when we met. We dated long distance and through his underways and when I’d see him at the airport it was that same euphoric happiness. It was the I-never-believed-this-was-going-to-happen relief. 

The military has a way of putting that finality in your thoughts. The depressing, consuming thought that This.Could.Be.The.Last.Time. It’s heart-wrenching. It’s nerve-wracking. It’s life-altering. When they return. When you see their face. When you can hug them, kiss them, smell them again. There is no greater bliss.

The Reality of the Situation

My mind played a dirty trick on me. A few nights ago, I had a very vivid dream where Tim and I found out we were pregnant and we were trying to decide how to tell our loved ones. We were happy. When I woke up it was evident this was not the situation. The next day was followed by granny panties and a strong need for chocolate, reaffirming the no-baby situation.

I understand a lot of couples don’t want babies or are grateful for that monthly reminder that they are in fact baby free. I used to be excited about that too. Until I was diagnosed with Poly Cystic Ovary Syndrome. Until I was told odds of me conceiving are silm. Until that option of having kids was taken from me.

My husband and I have been attempting this whole “let’s start a family” thing for well over a year. We’ve faced a lot of hardships in that year. To the people who get knocked up on the first try or within the first month, fuck you. Fuck you in your happy fucking faces. I know I’m not the only woman who faces this. Who weeps when she gets her period or feels a pain in her chest when she sees people with strollers. I know. I know it’s not just me. To all my friends pregnant or with newborns, trust me I don’t hate you, I just wish I was you. It’s just tough for me to see the pictures of your babies. To hear the antidotes. To know all the ins and outs of your pregnancy. It’s hard. It’s really, really hard.  To be honest it’s like a slap in the face. But at the same time I can’t stop looking at your pregnant bellies and your baby pictures. It’s a very painful addiction. I know I comment on all your photos and like all your statuses  and seem really interactive and I am genuinely happy for you. It’s a punch in the guts. Your children are all so beautiful. I will never stop admiring your children and commenting on your statuses.

There are couples who have tried for a lot longer than Tim and I. There are couples who have tried everything. We’re new to this. We’re new to the feeling and the understanding that pregnancy is not an easy, automatic gift.  That the equation isn’t always first comes love then comes marriage then comes a baby in a baby carriage. Sometimes it’s  love and marriage and an empty carriage.  Or love only. Or dogs. Or cats. Or nothing at all. And that’s okay. That’s life. It’s no one’s fault. It’s no one’s responsibilities. It’s no one’s defect. It’s just life.

To those with children, I don’t think you’re lucky or blessed or favored. I think you’re a family, same as mine. I think you’re happy, same as mine and I think you’re grateful for them. 

The Times They Are A-Changing, The Tides They Are A-Shifting

There’s a change coming. A continental shift. A third option. I can feel it. I hope it’s a good one but I can never be certain. The last few months I have been on the verge of tears everyday for seemingly no reason. I’ve packed on 10 pounds of stress weight. I’ve taken on more than I can handle at one job while not demanding more pay. I’ve completely dropped out of the loop of the second job because it’s taken them 6 weeks to replace my laptop. My finances because of the aforementioned situation is dust, cobwebs. I find myself pondering how to make a meal out of $5 (The Answer: Hamburger Helper). I find myself sacrificing my health to afford to eat and yet I sense something new within me coming to fruition.

LA is a make or break you type of city. Right now, it’s breaking me but that’s because I let it. I will find my niche. I will find my center. I will find a place that fulfills me financially, emotionally and creatively. Right now I allow myself to suffer for convenience. My current jobs are either from home or less than a 10 minute walk from my house. My voice is not heard at either job. My projects go unrewarded. At the last meeting of my full-time job, the owner asked us to look for other jobs to prove that he was compensating us fairly. I looked. For what I do, I am not being compensated fairly. I am over stressed, over worked and unable to make ends meet. It’s time for me to put forth some damn effort instead of allowing myself to be beaten down. I’m stronger than I will ever admit. Than I will ever let anyone see.

Tomorrow I will be home in Hawai’i and there is a calm that always embraces me there. I hope when I go home to bring this calm back with me and face this change, whatever it may be with huztpah! I will work hard and I will be patient and I will find a place for me amongst the millions of fallen stars in LA. I will not be broken. I will not cry out of frustration. I will not pity myself. I will throw down some roots, I will grow strong and tall and beautiful and not even a California earthquake will shake my spirit, this time around. You’ll see.  

Allow Me to Explain

It was becoming my life’s motto. Allow me to explain why I don’t follow the career I want. Allow me to explain why I can’t afford to travel. Allow me to explain why I can’t go out with you to dinner. Allow me to explain why my shoes have holes and my pantry is empty and my bills are overdue. Sometimes there isn’t really an explanation it’s just a stall tactic to buy me some thinking time before the pity wave washed over me like warm piss. Often times, no one is judging me at all. In my mind, though, I read things that don’t exist. Every mouth twitch, every time someone looks away. I read into it what I secretly fear.

In truth, I shouldn’t have to explain any part of my life to anyone, including myself. I shouldn’t need to defend that I work sometimes 60 hours a week and still can’t pay my bills. I shouldn’t have to explain that while my life is not what I expected it doesn’t mean it’s not fulfilling. I don’t make a career with writing, like I always dreamed I would. I can’t afford the high quality products I want and in some cases need for health reasons. I work two jobs that are not fulfilling. My body is not physically where I’d like to see it. My diet is on occasion an oral exam on chemical warfare. My husband and I will probably not be able to have children. My home is in an almost constant state of half-done chores. There’s always dishes in the sink, piles of laundry, dirty carpeting, cobwebs, pet hair tumbleweeds, a ring around the tub. I mean really, I can continue.

At the end of the day, I’m still happy. Despite my bitching, my “first world problems,” my  menial complaints. I’m happy because I suck breath in and out. I have a loving husband. I have my ridiculous pets. I have my exercise keeping me sane. I have a house to go home to. I have friends who check in on me. I have a car almost fully paid off. I have a family.

If you are living the life you’ve always wanted, congratulations not everyone works hard enough to do so. I know I didn’t. I am scared of risks. I am scared of no safety nets. I am terrified of life a bit I suppose. I’m a person with an irrational fear of birds and doorknobs. I’m a person who builds ants to monsters in her mind. I’m a mad scientist with fears. Yes, I could abandon my ship and work hard to live the life I think I’m destined. Life is what you make of it. I’m happy where I am. I will always strive to be better. I will perpetually make excuses that never need to be uttered. Perhaps someday I will look at my successful, smart friends without envy but as equals. People work hard for their lives. They do all they can for what they have etched out in hard work, risks, dreams and love.

Let me explain why I’m okay. Let me explain why I love to laugh. Let me explain how much I love the sun. Let me explain why I’m great.

Taking a Paige from Lyme Disease

Many might not know but I spent my junior year of high school in Wilton, Connecticut. It was a total game changer for this island girl. Saw my first snow fall, had to stop speaking pidgin, had to wear pants and shoes. Was a great year; I made some amazing friends that I still hold close to me today. One of the things I had to become super aware of was deer ticks and Lyme Disease.

In Hawaii our dogs always had ticks but in Connecticut the ticks were sometimes the size of a freckle and carried one hell of a punch. I remember my aunt freaking out because she found a tick on my cousin and they had to save the tick and send it out for testing. I remember a friend had to get an IV put in her arm and once a day she clutched a ball of medicine as it hooked into her IV. I remember being scared. The worst thing you caught in Hawaii was sings from Portuguese man-o-war or catching Leptospirosis from swimming in some stagnate water.  For my friends living with Lyme Disease a tick bite turned into lifetime of medications, treatments, therapy and struggles.

But what is Lyme Disease? It’s a bacteria. It can be cured with early detection but for a long time doctors kind of ignored it as a valid illness. It mirrors so many minor things like the flu or a cold or even allergies. It starts with a rash from the tick bite, fever, headache, fatigue. These symptoms are easily overlooked and ignored and the longer the proper diagnosis stalls the more it takes over. Your joints, heart, central nervous system. After months of not being treated the symptoms become chronic and severe it can cause widespread pain and numbness throughout the body, paraparesis, chronic fatigue, arthritis, inflammation of the brain and spinal cord, and a myriad of other symptoms that make everyday life not only a challenge but some days impossible.

There’s a vaccine out now and there’s antibiotics but for those diagnosed late. For some where the disease has found it’s home inside their bodies the treatments seem endless, expensive and exhausting. Lyme Disease grips tightly. It grips tightly and it spreads. People with Chronic Lyme Disease can pass it onto their children.

I’m writing about Lyme Disease not because I have it, not because it was a passing thought about my past but because I have friends. Yes, I know, it’s hard to believe. I have a lot of friends diagnosed too late who are suffering through the effects of Chronic Lyme Disease.  It breaks my heart to see them strain. To know they are getting IVs put in, needle pokes daily, to hear the fatigue in their lives.

I have one friend in particular whose strength astounds me. Her name is Paige. She has 2 beautiful children and her diagnosis of Lyme Disease was give years too late. She has good days and bad days. She has gone through a divorce and raises her two kids lovingly.  Paige’s struggles are constant and her worry, pain and hardships are real. There is no option of giving up for her.  Living with her disease, fighting through her divorce she has gotten hit with another shattering blow. Both of her two wonderful children also have Lyme Disease. It took a lot of time and effort for her to get her children tested and diagnosed. Paige is a beautiful, strong, independent woman. Me saying it doesn’t make it true but me knowing her since 11^th grade, watching her daily exertions of being a single mom with Lyme Disease and still being a drop dead gorgeous, smart woman is just awe inspiring.

Paige has been through a lot and she’s only 29. I’m writing this as a call, as a hope,as a voice that my friends and family who read this might take the time to understand this disease and help a very brave woman. The treatment to help her is a staggering amount of money. If you can find it in your hearts and souls please take the time to give this mother some much needed relief. Please visit and donate on this site. 

Help Paige

This is Paige with her beautiful Children Sienna and Caleb.

HER Life

It was when her perceived world shifted that she began to understand. Life was not about money or love or her dogs. Life was about breathing and putting her feet in front of her. Recognizing that they are her feet and they’re weird and unique and hers. Worlds shift and crumble and shake and fall apart. Worlds are formed and melted in a day. They’re fluid. She was fluid. She had to be willing to feel the tides, taste the wind, see the obstacles and smell the decay. Everything was temporary except for her will, which carried her out the door.

She dragged her feet. She dreaded her steps. Slow but willing her feet met the ground one step at a time. Her life was not what she wanted but it was the life she made. No one had a life exactly like hers. In many people’s eyes, she was a failure. She knew this. It was an accepted fact.  Living with the fact didn’t make it any easier but she continued down the path she made. Her low pay, working several jobs and still not making ends meet. People saw her degrees, her hard work, as trash. That’s okay. She used it as temporary fuel. Burned her papers to keep her warm for the hour, for that one job interview, for that one moment. People suggested changes, other career paths. They suggested she read books and follow what their sister’s daughter’s cousin did who now makes such a substantial amount of money more than her. She smiled, said “Thank You.” Moved on, moved away. Maybe her life isn’t measured in dollars and cents. Maybe it’s not measured in children or careers. It’s not measured in coffee spoons and sawdust restaurant with oyster shells.

Her life is measured in cooking meals, not elaborate meals, not fancy meals but meals made with her heart for people who appreciate it. Her life is measured in hikes and long walks with her dogs and kindred spirits. Measured in laughs and smiles and singing.  Measured in conversations and debates. It’s measure in kisses and hugs and feelings and ideas and expressions. Her life is her own. Her world is being torn down and rebuilt daily.  She takes the pieces of her world and tries to reconfigure them. Daily. To see if there is another way. Out.