Overcoming Obstacles: The Foreclosure & Being Robbed

So many things have happened to me since I last posted. I'm surprised that the blog has kept a fair amount of readers coming back. To those of you who just kept coming back, and perusing my older posts...thanks.

I wasn't exactly sure where to begin, with what has been going on with my life. And that initial "not knowing where to start"  quickly became overwhelmed and just deep-bone-tired. I didn't want to look back at what I had just gone through. It was too painful and too fresh. I just wanted to move forward with my life and just keep going. But even those intentions seemed to befuddle me. I've been waiting to write, so that when I did, it would be something positive. Something useful. I didn't want to seem like a sad or broken person. Or like someone who whined a lot or was constantly down. So I waited. I waited for the wisdom and the beauty of life to occur to me. I waited to see the deeper life lessons that could be gleaned from tragedy. I know they're there. But honestly. I am a little wounded. The things that I've been through *did* hurt. A lot. And they still do. Don't feel sorry for me folks, 'cause I'm making it through just fine. But denying the pain of it, just isn't helping me any. So it's time I just get back to trying to be real. The real me. With everything that entails. -Including being hurt and sad at times. So here it is: my childhood home, a place which should be mine today, was foreclosed on. The bank refused to speak with me, after my mother died, and refused to acknowledge me as the rightful owner. They wouldn't accept any payments from me. And in the end, stole my family home. A place, where my grandparents lived and died. A place where my own mom, lived and died. A place where in some ways I have lived and died a little too.

I never thought I would see this day; when my home was not my *home* anymore. The word "home" has so many connotations. And I've been struggling with it ever since the move. When my mother died, I struggled with it then too. I didn't feel like that house was home anymore, without her there. It was hard coming home to an empty house, with no one to greet me, and no one to love. The place that I live in now, is so different. The people are very different, and not very warm in the way my family was. So it's hard. I miss that. I miss feeling like "I belong" here, and that "this is my home" because my heart tells me so. My heart keeps telling me that this current place is not my home. It's just a temporary place. A tent in the desert..but not the promised land. I know that I should be grateful for what I've been given, and I am. I just also, feel very alone and adrift right now. And I *want* to feel that wonderful feeling of *home* again. The feeling of love, and warmth, and comfort. It has very little to do with the actual house really, and so much to do with the people. -I miss my family. Deeply. Every day.

I am loved. I know that. And I do experience joy, and happiness. But not in the same quantities or frequent daily occasions that I used to. Not to the same depths either. It's a hard adjustment to make. And I get stuck on how to appropriately express this grief, while not insulting those who actually do love me and are here for me. -I don't want to hurt their feelings, but I know that I do. Just by being sad, I do.

Somewhere in this whole ordeal, I was robbed. The robbers took everything of value. It's been several months since this happened, and the things that they stole that I was most upset about (my grandparent's wedding photo's) -which I'm sure they weren't *trying* to take, but unfortunately were stored with other things that they did want; have luckily been replaced! How can a wedding photo be replaced you ask? Well I'll tell ya! Luckily for me, in an old antique chest in the garage, my grandparents had ONE duplicate copy of their wedding picture inside the church

...and to my surprise...ANOTHER photo that was taken of them *outside* the church!

YAY! Awesome discovery!!! Also...since my mother was adopted, I thought for sure I would never get another copy of her birth parent's wedding photo...but because it was an adoption within the family (the woman I know as my grandma was biologically my great-aunt) there was a copy of that photo given as a gift to my grandparents. :)) YES!

So the most priceless things have been replaced. The diamonds, the gold, the money, the china, the furniture, the antique silver, my photography and computer equipment are all replaceable. Sure it won't be the exact same pair of earrings that my mom gave me, to remind me always that "you are special".  But it doesn't need to be. I know I'm loved. I know I am special. And I know that I will make it through this period of my life and onto greater things. And when I do...I am getting myself a pair of diamond earrings to celebrate. In the mean time...I'm back, I've got my fighting spirit back, and I'm ready to enjoy what there is to enjoy about life.

...Just for good measure...I'm including another awesome photo I discovered in the trunk:

This is my Grandpa when he was a little boy. The year is 1922. The woman with him is his mom, Edith. From what I've been told, Edith was a very loving woman. She used to make fresh whipped cream (whipped by HAND in those days!) EVERY DAY to go with whatever dessert she made. Talk about love!

Daddy

March 17th, 2009; 1:11 AM
Mom was really confused today. Sweet as always. She leaned back into my arms and said "I wanna hug." So I sat there and hugged her for a while before making dinner. She asked for "Daddy." "Where's Daddy? Is he here?" (My grandpa's been dead for years.) "I miss Daddy." 
I need some anti-anxiety medication. Seriously.

Chicken Soup...A Litmus Test of Good Boyfriends

I remember once, having a boyfriend who I loved caring for. When he was sick, I would stroke his hair, get him warm blankets fresh from the dryer, get him his favorite video's, and of course...cook him chicken soup. His personal preference was for chicken noodle soup with rice. I would head over to his place with a bag full of groceries and make him his soup fresh in his kitchen. I would even make the chicken stock which was the base for the soup; this process would take all day long.

His roommate -a lovely young woman, fresh from a break-up, caught me off guard one time while I was making my beau his soup. She commented on what a great girlfriend I was, and how nice it was for me to come and cook for him when he was sick. Then, she said that she used to do that for M (her recent ex) when he was sick. She followed it up with the fact that M never took care of her when she was sick. It was one part observation, one part warning. She was telling me essentially to not expect my boyfriend to do the same when I needed it. I shook it off, as her just processing her recent break-up...sure that my boyfriend at the time would be far more nurturing to me then hers was to her...I was wrong. That boyfriend never took care of me when I was sick. He left me to fend for myself. He wouldn't even bring over a bag of groceries. Never mind the fact that during those years, I also had to care for my terminally ill mother. When I was sick then, my boyfriend kept his distance. I took care of myself and my mother when I was sick. I made myself my own chicken soup.

After experiencing a boyfriend like this, I told myself that the man I marry...my dream man, would have to be of the same quality as my grandfather. My grandpa showed us how much he loved us in every way he could -with both words and actions. It was demonstrated in the love and care that he took from dropping me off at school, to growing my grandma's favorite vegetables in his little patch of garden, to the loving smile that would spread over his face every morning when he would greet us. The love just seemed to beam out of that man. And I told myself that I was going to search for *that* kind of love. Someone who would be genuinely happy and loving with me, especially when I was sick and needed that kind of nurturance.

The Cute Boy -my current beau is exactly that kind of man. I was ill this weekend, and he took the Barefoot Contessa cookbook that he bought (we've been cooking recipes together out of it...in fact, we have a standing date to cook dinner together every Monday night.) anyhow...he took the cookbook to the grocery store and bought all the fixings to make me chicken soup, from scratch...including the chicken stock. :)