a bit of a confession

That's right, I've got a bit of a confession to share. It may not come as a big shock to some people, but it is to me. It's the first time I've felt like this since having Lovie and, well, you can check it all out over at Shell's place:

I'd really love it if you'd visit me there today.

Thanks, Shell for having me.

being an adult sucks ass sometimes.

Monday would've been Oma's 89th birthday. I'd known since she passed two months ago that I'd visit on her birthday. I visited on Mother's Day as well, but the stone wasn't in place as her "end date" hadn't yet been engraved.

Oma purchased the grave site and stone 30-plus years ago when her own parents passed away. She wanted to be in the same cemetery as them and she and my grandfather wanted to be buried next to each other. So purchase a site and stone years before they would pass they did.

I didn't know about any of this till Ota passed away in 2005. That's when I saw that the grave site was wider than most. That's when I noticed the gravestone had both Ota and Oma's names, birth year, and birth city and country already engraved. I'm not sure if Ota's "end date" was already there at his funeral; I just know Oma's wasn't there until just recently.

I've had two months to "get used" to her being gone. It wasn't so bad, truth be told. I'd get waves of emotions, but it just wasn't too bad.

Until Monday.

Until I pulled up to the area where their graves reside.

Until I got out of the car and walked a bit to locate the stone and site.

Until I saw the "end date" under Oma's name.

And that's when I lost it.

I stood at their site for a while, tears streaming down my face and onto my chest, gasping for breath while trying not to scream out loud. I stood there atop the grass and ground above their coffins looking at the engraved stone. The year 2013 under Oma's name wasn't as dirty as the rest of the engraving. Bird poop soiled the stone in a couple areas, quite noticeably in the A in their shared last name. I forgot to bring flowers. Oma loved flowers and I forgot to bring her some. I was pissed at myself. Even though I was constantly told not to get flowers because they'd be removed and tossed when the cemetery closed at night, I still wanted to bring some and I forgot.

Instead there was fucking bird poop on the stone.

Finally I took in a deep breath and exhaled and headed back to the car that held Lovie and Taye. I wanted more time with Oma but, really, what was the point? I can go back another time. Or not. It doesn't really matter. Especially since I forgot the flowers.

"Can we go see doggies now, Mama?" Lovie, barely awake, asked from the back seat.

"Yeah baby," I said putting on my seat belt. "Less go find some dogs."

I let me foot off the brake to coast away and as we were passing their site, Taye asked me to stop for a minute. I could feel him look past me toward their stone from the passenger seat of my car. I just stared ahead and stated, "There's bird poop on the stone."

Then I continued: "I didn't have anything to get it off. And I forgot flowers. I wanted to get flowers for her and I forgot to stop."

"Okay," Taye said.

"I can't believe I forgot the flowers."
"You can go now."

I took my foot off the brake again. Lovie soon closed her eyes to sleep. I drove in silence for several miles.

I'm still pissed I forgot the flowers. And that I didn't have anything to wipe off the damn bird poop. Stupid fucking birds.

if i say it enough i might believe it

“She’s got nobody else,” Taye said to me. “We’re all she has now.”

 “Yeah, I know.”

 

yeah ... no.

 

Melinda* is seven years older than me. I was the last one born and Marco is between us. Melinda was never fond of kids. She was sure to tell me this every chance she had: “You’re the reason I don’t like kids.”

It’s not entirely her fault she felt this way. I probably would too if I were forced to constantly babysit my younger siblings; Mama and Papa just put too much responsibility onto her. I get that now.

We were never close.

Never.

I tried so many times. And then I just gave up. Wasn’t that long ago when I gave up either, but I did. I kind of stopped caring. Then she got divorced for a second time, and now she lives alone and her drunk of a daughter won’t allow Melinda to see her grandbaby. I know it hurts her. I know she’s human despite not acting like one for so many years. I know it’s all a façade—her strength. I know, deep down, she’s still a little girl in many ways.

But it’s so hard for me to care.

 

I hosted a baby shower for my BFF/cousin last weekend. Melinda showed up an hour late. She stayed well into the evening despite everyone else leaving hours before her. It was very odd to have her sit there in my home without any other family there besides Taye and Lovie. It was even more odd to watch Lovie latch on to Melinda…something I’ve yearned for Lovie for so long—a real relationship with her aunt. When she finally left (when it was time to get Lovie into bed) I made mention to Taye how weird it was for me to have Melinda there so long after the shower had ended.

“She probably has nothing else to do.”

 

“Oh I know, but it’s still weird.”

 

Yesterday Melinda showed up to Lovie’s dance recital after claiming she wouldn’t make it. She showed up, she gave Lovie hugs and kisses after her recital, and then when Lovie saw the flowers in Melinda’s car (intended for our mom for Mother’s Day) and excitedly thought they were for her, Melinda gave the flowers to the tiny dancer with a chuckle and a smile.

We all went to lunch afterward to celebrate Mother’s Day and Lovie’s first dance show. It was a really lovely day. At one point Melinda was walking back to the table and Lovie ran up to her and hugged her legs. I smiled. Melinda held Lovie’s head to her to bring her in closer. Melinda smiled, too.

It was weird though...She’s all alone. She has two adult children, one 13-year-old, and a granddaughter. None of whom she saw yesterday. On Mother’s Day.

How sad is that?

And yet, it’s hard for me to care too much.

A part of me hopes that this is the thing that will bring us closer, but I just don’t know.

And.

I just don’t care.





*Melinda is not her real name

 

the Spring in my heart

“I see some flowers!” I shout while pointing out of the car's passenger side window to Lovie in the back seat. “There’s some more! Do ya see them?”

 

“Yeah! I see the flowers! I love flowers, Mama!”

 
“I know baby,” I smile.

 “I love Spring!” she giggles.

“Me too, baby.”

 

from last April- outside of Oma's house

 

I wasn’t always a fan of Spring. To me, it’s kind of ugly. Everything is generally dirty looking with specks of brightness from the new flowers. Until those flowers bloom though… yuck. Plus I hate warm(er) weather. I’m happy with 60 or below. But with Lovie’s excitement and wonderment of “is it still Spring today?”, I can’t help but get excited when I see some flowers sprouting out amidst the funk of Winter's closing. I can’t help but to fall in love with Spring.

Besides all that, Spring is was Oma’s favorite time of  year. She loved the flowers. The trees. The grass. The birds chirping. She loved every bit of Spring. And so does Lovie. And, honestly, I can’t even explain how happy that makes me.

 

It’s little moments like this when I have to wonder if Lovie wasn’t given to me to help me through this time in life; she reminds me SO much of my Oma. Always has.

 

I’m so very lucky to have her.

 

I'm so very lucky to have had them both.

hooking this up with Yeah Write

 

where i'm at right now

This year - 2013 - has been a bit intense for me so far.

It started out with a certain someone turning into this three year old.

I've come to learn, accept, believe that most of her attitude the first couple of months is a result of us all getting back to normal, because the past month or so, she's been my sweet little lovebug again all the time instead of just a very small percentage of the time.

Of course I think a lot of it had to do with my lack of ... any and everything related to patience and energy, too. Oma was dying and it was really, really hard for me to come to terms with. I felt like I was mourning for months. Actually, that's exactly what was going on--I was mourning the loss of the absolute most amazing woman I'd ever known, yet she wasn't dead.

Do you know what that does to your head and heart?

It's been over a week now since she's passed and while I'm so very sad that I'll never be able to sit with her and see her smile, that sparkle in her eyes, it's all OK. She's finally in peace and she's back with my grandfather and her parents, whom I know she missed oh so dearly. The last couple of months with her have been so very difficult (for me to see, for her to live), but all so very wonderful, too.

Kinda messed up, eh?

I don't know. Maybe. But it is what it is. We're all going to die, yes, but knowing--really knowing--that it's "any day now" is ... interesting: The waiting is beyond horrific; the watching and wondering is heartbreaking to say the least. But taking advantage of every chance you have left with that person? That's gold. If you realize it prior to their passing, of course.

And I'm lucky enough to have realized it and I'm lucky enough to have been able to take full advantage of every chance I had to spend with Oma before she passed. So much so that I was the one who was there by her side for her last breath. A moment that was both the most horrific thing I've experienced as well as one of the most cathartic things.

Am I losing my mind here? How can one feel both horrified and free at the same time?

I haven't a clue but it's where I'm at right now--sad that Oma is gone, but feeling blessed to be alive with my girl by my side.

enough already!

I admit to being totally and completely oblivious to worldly shit, let alone stuff going on in my own homeland... but thanks to Facebook, and an image I saw any time I logged on yesterday, I learned that the US Courts were going to look at legalizing gay marriage yesterday.

Then I came across this image, also on Facebook:

And really, that says it all for me.

Because, if things were like they were just 40 years ago, my Lovie wouldn't be here today.

And why? Because it would've been illegal for her dad and I to marry and have her?!

What the hell kind of shit sense does that make?

What does my relationship status have to do with you, your cousin, or your fancy uncle sitting on the Supreme Court?

It very well can be the fact that I'm watching and waiting for one of the most important people in my life to pass on... but life is too fucking short to not allow people to love whom they want to love when their love isn't negatively effecting anyone else.

It just doesn't make any sense as to why this is even an issue. I understand there's laws and shit, but ... enough already! When two consenting adults love one another, let them love one another. Let them marry if that's what they want to do. Let them have children. Let them love. And live. Because one day that life will end... and it's just not right if they can't look back and say they lived their life to the fullest because of a fucking law.



it's been a while but hooking this bitch up with the fine folks at Yeah Write. because i can!

praying... begging for peace

The evening news ended and my grandfather, 90, was walking from the bathroom to the bedroom to get some rest. My grandmother (Oma) was knitting in the living room and still watching TV. Their eyes met. He smiled at her, waved, and blew her a kiss—his way of saying good-night. Thirty seconds later, Oma heard a disturbingly loud thump in the bedroom. She called out his name and ran into the bedroom to find him lying on the floor. She screamed out to my sleeping mother (who had moved in with them just one week prior and with whom my grandfather told he was glad she was there so that Oma wouldn’t be all alone) to call 9-1-1.

He was pronounced dead an hour later at the hospital.

It was such a shock to get the call from my mother in the middle of the night.

So many things ran through my mind and every inch of me screamed in aching pain.

My beloved, highly respected, very healthy grandfather was gone… just like that.

His death changed me, that’s for sure. And, I believe, it changed me for the better: it was then that I truly realized that life is a gift that can be taken from us at any moment.

 

That was seven years ago. Since his passing, I’ve really done my damndest to live each day to the fullest. Even during not-so-great times like after I miscarried in 2008.

But now… Oma is dying.

She’s been dying for several years now. A slow death thanks to Congestive Heart Failure (CHF). A gruesomely slow death to the absolute most giving, most nurturing, most loving woman you would ever meet.

My heart not only aches for her, it bleeds.

2013 has not been kind to her at all. She really didn’t think she would see Christmas 2012 and yet here we are in mid-March and she’s still breathing… barely.

She cries to my mother, her primary caregiver, asking why she can’t die. Why everyone else can die, but she can’t.

She’s literally skin and bones.

The CHF has her breathing through oxygen tubes 24/7. It’s also destroyed any ability to eat.

Witnessing all of this… supporting my mom as she cares for her dying mother 24/7… it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. It’s downright cruel the way this is happening to her!

 

I’m not a religious person. I was raised Catholic but I haven’t practiced in a good 20 years. This is a time when I wish I did practice. Maybe then my prayers would be answered?

 

source

 

My prayers for peace.

I’m not wanting her to keep living. I’m not looking for a miracle here. I just want peace for her.

 

Dear God, Dear Universe, Dear Who/Whatever please give her peace. Please.

 

the empty chair

There's stuff I want to say here but just can't.

So much stuff.

But it's just too hard.

Instead...

this photo makes me smile so much.

It's a party Lovie created. My little 3-year-old set this table by herself for no real reason. She loves doing this kind of stuff. Always has. She's such a caretaker, this one. Always caring for her friends, and her dolls. Man, does she love her dolls.

It's not just her middle name that takes after my grandmother. It's her personality, too.

* smile *

My goodness, I'm truly so blessed.

No matter what happens and when, I'm so very blessed.

Well shit.

Here it is.

This is exactly why I can't write. CLICK ME.

Thank you, dear friend, for letting me know it's going to be OK.

xoxo

it throbs

sorry for the downer... sadly it's not fiction. inking up with trifecta.


My head.

It throbs.

If I press against the wrinkles embedding my forehead whilst my eyes are closed, the pain lessens a bit.

In my head.

I feel like I’ve been fighting a sinus infection for months now. A sinus infection that won’t quite smack me down just yet. An infection that lurks around the corner waiting to jump out at me at the most inopportune time.

 

My cell phone vibrates for two seconds and stops. Then it buzzes again. Someone is calling and my heart leaps into my throat.

My head no longer hurts.

I look down and see a number I don’t know, an area code I don’t know. I hit decline and breathe a little easier.

For a moment.

My head throbs again.

 

The tears bled my eyes yesterday when I picked up Lovie from school. I had just learned Oma has “days” left, they believe (hospice).

So now I really wait. And think of ways to doctor my appearance the next time I’m with Lovie.

“Oma’s very sick,” I’ve been telling her.  “I need you to give her a big hug and kiss when we see her,” I told her last time I brought her for a visit a week ago. “And I really need you to look at her face, look into her eyes. Do you understand?”

She nods. “Oma’s sick?”

“Yes.”

How will I tell her she’s gone when she finally leaves us?

 
 

My head.

It throbs.

Limbo

I'm not digging this state of limbo I'm in lately.

I'm lacking in patience.

And energy.

It's just so draining.

The waiting.

Thank god I have this sunshine to brighten my day.

 

 

Even if she's part of the limbo.

Even if she's leeching away at my patience at times.

The older I get, the more I truly do understand.

But the waiting game still... it's just SO tiring.

Play-doh'ing

The other day we were Play-doh’ing (Lovie-ism) when Taye dropped a small ball of yellow Play-doh that rolled just under the stove.

“Ohhhh,” I taunted. “You’re fired!”

“Quick, mom,” Lovie chimed in. “Get the hose.”

 

Three is… intense. It’s awesome and amazing, but it’s also so very trying and draining at times.

But I’m beginning to truly grasp that it’s primarily the good times that will be remembered. I mean, yes, I’m pretty sure I’ll remember Lovie pissing her naked bottom while sitting in her chair because she was too darn mesmerized by the TV to sit on the stupid froggy potty chair placed right beside her, but more than that, I think I’ll remember Play-doh’ing and the urgent request to get the hose after telling her daddy he was fired because he dropped the Play-doh.

 

The good outweighs the bad with most memories. It must. It just must.

My grandfather’s been gone now for seven years. And what I remember most about him is his firm handshakes and hugs. His big rough hands. His bald, shiny head that sometimes sported a bandage or bruise from bumping it. His warm smile. His glasses. The fact that he had two pieces of white bread toasted every morning, slathered in butter and honey. The way he’d slam his hand down onto the table to get a point across. The time he told me to use only one square of toilet paper to avoid getting the toilet backed up. The stories he told every single time we saw him. His stubbornness.

Mostly I remember his adoration for his beloved wife—my Oma.

He was a strict man who believed what he believed and couldn’t really understand how others believed differently. But he was amazing. And strong. Yet gentle and warm. Especially with my grandmother.

Oma’s eyes were flooded following Ota’s passing. All of our eyes and hearts were. He passed away after waving to Oma on his way to bed when he tripped, fell to the floor, and hit his head against the corner of the wood bed frame. Just like that he was gone. There was no warning other than him telling my mom one week prior to his death that he was happy she moved in so that Oma wouldn’t be alone. One minute he was Ota, strong and sturdy and opinionated. The next minute, he was just gone.

Oma, on the other hand, is slowly dying.

I try to visit once a week now and every time I do, it gets harder and harder to watch. She’s pretty much starving and drowning to death thanks to Congestive Heart Failure, no appetite, and wanting to die. She’ll be 89 in May and she’s lived a long life, she’ll tell you. But she’s tired.

Right now all I can think about is her current state of life when I think of her. And it hurts so much to think this way. She’s so much more than skin and bones and oxygen tubes running from her person across the room to a big pumping tank of air. She’s so much more than a shaky old lady on her last leg.

She’s art, she’s beauty, she’s woman, she’s amazing and good.

I pray that once she finally passes and finds peace, my memories will be full of the wonderful times I’ve had with her. The hot chocolate she’d make us kids when we visited after allowing us to choose which Disney cup we wanted to drink from. The honey butter toast she’d serve us on mornings after we slept over. The schnitzel. The sparkle in her eye. The most adorable smile which will live through in my Lovie.

I know I’ll remember the good because she was just SO good, but right now it’s just incredibly difficult.

But that’s Life sometimes.

 

Maybe I should bring some Play-doh with me during my next visit…

Linking up with the fine folks at Yeah Write.

My Home

I used to come here and gush all about her...

my Lovie.

I'd go on and on about all that she was learning and how fast she seemed to be growing. I'd marvel over her adorableness in photos I'd share any chance I could.

But then I kind of stopped.

It seemed like I wasn't getting as many comments when I gushed about my lovebug... not like I would when I made lists or tried my hand at fiction or other writing, which I absolutely love doing.

But the thing is, she is what makes me get up every morning.

Yeah, it used to be writing and getting all my thoughts down. And while that still does help today, there's so much more to me than writing. It's all about her.


I recently went away for three days and three nights. I left my Lovie in the hands of Taye, my husband (and her daddy). I knew she would be well taken care of. But a part of me was so afraid to leave. All the worse case scenarios popped in my head and I feared that I may not return home to my Lovie.

Mama, Lovie, Taye at the Wiggles show.

But then I realized this could happen at ANY moment.

I didn't just realize it when I went away; I've known for a very long time that tomorrow is not guaranteed. I feel like I've really tried living each day believing this- that tomorrow isn't guaranteed.

actual view from our room

So I went on that trip and I had the time of my life... and I missed the shit out of my Lovie. I watched kids and babies playing in the sand and water, laughing and having the time of their lives... and my heart ached to see my Lovie.

Lovie. with Mama poking out from behind at the Wiggles show.

And when my flight going home was cancelled for the day and another flight couldn't be booked till the next day? I wanted to just cry. Trying to find another flight home and get a hotel voucher for the night, the lady behind me was just wanting to get the voucher for the hotel room so she could "lock her kids up" when I just wanted to get home to my kid- to wrap my arms around my kid, to smother her with kisses.

Lovie and me at the Wiggles show

Lovie is my life. Plain and simple.

I am my own person, yes, but I'm her Mama. First and foremost, I. Am. Her. Mama. And there's nothing... NOTHING... in this world that could take that away from me. Nothing can make me feel guilty about wanting to watch her learn and grow every single day. Nothing can make me feel guilty for not wanting to be away from her.

Yes, my time away was very enjoyable... I slept in till 9AM one day! There was no diapers to change, no food to make for anyone. I laid on the beach and in the water for three straight days. The sun burnt my skin to the point that it's now grossly peeling. Cabana boys were at my beck and call. IT WAS FANTASTIC! I'm glad I went.

how we've basically spent the last several days- she's glued to me at all times. and i like it like that.

But I was even more happier to see that Lovie of mine when I finally got home.

She is my home.

Be Grateful

When I was a kid, my mom and siblings would tell me that I complained a lot.

"Is that all you ever do? Complain?"

And I swear that made me complain even more.

But here's the thing: it's the only thing I was able to do that would get a response out of them. So I kept doing it. I know and understand all this now, but I didn't back then- and neither did they, apparently.

I'm not saying I don't still complain today, but I don't think I'm a Complainer. No, that would be my dad whom I really do love oh so dearly and who I, apparently, take after (according to mom who divorced him 30 years ago).

I spent many many years alone in my life. (Keep in mind, I'll be 40 this year, eh.) In my pre-teen years, I had very few friends (we moved a lot, I changed schools a lot). During my adolescent years that number was even less. I'm not exaggerating either. I was a loner, the Wallflower. Even during my 4 years at college (commuter college so I still lived at home) getting my Bachelor's, I still had very few friends. And no love life (not even close).

During those years, I spent a lot of time inside my head. Yes, I had a friend or two. Yes, I did things like go out to movies, dinner, concerts. With a friend or two. I even went to a party or two and a bar or a hundred in my time. But at the end of the day, until I met my now husband in 2000, my best friend was in my head. And on my plate, but that's a whole other story.

I think spending so much time alone, truly alone, has allowed me to really grasp some things about life... my life.  And I've learned a fuck of a lot, I think.

I'm not a perfect person in any way, shape, or form. I have so many faults it's ridiculous. But it's part of who I am. All of me. And while I don't love the size I am on the outside especially since it's getting harder to get down to Lovie's level to play, I do love who I am as a person on the inside. And at the end of the day, that's what matters the most because if I'm not in love with myself, then how can I fully love others around me and they me?

That's how I see it at least.

And I also see that I'm incredibly blessed. Life is far from perfect, but my little world is pretty damn near perfect. And I do my damndest to think about this every.single.day.

Of course there are some not-so-great moments, days, weeks... hell even years (fuck you most of the 1990's and 2008, specifically), but all those years I spent alone has really helped me move past the bad and focus on the good, focus on being grateful for what I do have.

Which is so stinkin much.

Awesome, huh?

But how do I teach this to my kid?

I know she's gonna complain because we all do. But I just hope she's not one to bitch and moan all the time.  "Life's so unfair!"   "Wah wah oh woe is me."

Again, I know we all do it. All of us. But how do I teach her that there's so much more than that? How do I teach her to focus on the good? To be grateful for what she does have?

I learned it a hard way, I think, and I have no fucking desire in this world for my daughter to repeat my life. I don't wish that kind of loneliness and emptiness on anyone (and I'm bloody well sure there's deeper and darker loneliness and emptiness out there today, sadly!).  Yes, in retrospect I am grateful for all those lonely days- because it's really helped me gain perspective today- but, nevertheless, I need for Lovie to learn another way. A better way.

I know part of it is to lead by example so I guess that's a great place to start... right?

Stuff

* Lovie turned 21 months old yesterday... 1.75 years... 1-3/4 year old.

I'm not sure what to say other than she's an absolute joy to be around, day in and day out. Sincerely an absolute joy. Her "Muh You"'s kill me, as does her increasing vocabulary (dudes, we're up to 4-word sentences these days... WHAT?!?!!), and memory of ... everything. I'm in awe of her daily. And her nighttime cuddles up next to me while we watch Blues Clues (a clue! a clue!!!) before bed... make my heart swell so much. I just... she's just... AWESOME.

But I don't think I'm telling you anything shocking so I'll move on.

* I created a new Facebook fan page. Wanna "Like" it?? Then click THIS HERE. Oh please!

* Tomorrow's October. How and when the hell did this happen exactly? Really, I'd like to know!

* 08 days from now I'll be seeing Bryan Adams in concert. I can't wait. Yes, really, Bryan Adams. Yes, really, I'm that old.

* How did I make that shirt in the photos above? EASY.

• I designed the numbers and star burst thingie on Indesign (but you can do it on whatever you have, I'm pretty sure)
• then print out image on regular paper from a color printer
• then applied Rubber Cement to the back of it and let it dry (and applied more then let it dry, and again- making sure that each time it's not wet when applying more)
• then, after it sits overnight, I cut the image out and stuck it to a $3 white shirt I picked up

The stickiness of the image is very temporary and will not stick permanently or even anywhere close to permanent! Plus the kid will probably end up tearing if off anyway. But if you want to do something like this just for photos- this is for you. If you want something to last longer, move along to doing some sort of iron on.

* We kind of figured out who will care for Lovie should we both die soon. Thanks to the comments I got on the post the other day regarding this heavy topic, I was able to broach the subject with the hubs again. And we both agreed, again, that yes, this was something that needed to happen soon. And, oddly, it wasn't too hard to think of who we'd want to care for Lovie. It's one of my cousins, but not my BFF cousin. I'm kind of sad about that but the fact is that the cousin we've chosen has two boys, a great job and home, and loves parenting. We just really think Lovie would accommodate the best in that home. Now, we just have to figure out a way to bring this up to my cousin. You know?  I mean, we're not neighbors or anything and we only get together on holidays or birthdays... I was gonna email her but the hubs was like, "is that something that should be done via email?" haha, Good point, Mr. Anyway, I think we're gonna try to contact them this weekend.

* Tomorrow's October. How and when the hell did this happen exactly? Really, I'd like to know!

Have a great weekend! :)

So very sad.

[Warning: cussing below.]

I was perusing baby names for a friend and started looking at baby names that celebrities have named their kids and came across a whopper of one: Heavenly Hiraani Tiger Lily Hutchence Geldof.  She's the teen daughter of the late INXS rocker, Michael Hutchence (and looks just like him!) and the late Paula Yates.

I loved INXS. I mean LOVED. I remember seeing them when I was like 17 or so and holy hot hell did Michael Hutchence know how to make all the girls in the crowd swoon as he glided across the stage. And then he had a kid. And then he offed himself. Stupid fucker.

Okay so I don't know for sure if he killed himself or if he was just found hanging. I remember hearing that he died during some sex act where you, the man, chokes yourself in more than one way. Regardless if it was an accident or on purpose, I remember feeling a bit ticked off. He had this little baby at home, damnit!!  (I remember feeling even more pissed off when I heard of Kurt Cobain's suicide. And I don't give a shit what direction anyone points me in, he definitely killed himself. Selfish fucking bastard. Sorry but when you bring a kid into this world, it's not about you and your selfish ass anymore. I don't give a shit how motherfucking distraught and sad you are, you find a way to move past it and RAISE YOUR KID.)

So anyway as I'm looking at baby names I come across this one- Heavenly Hiraani Tiger Lily Hutchence Geldof- and then I started looking for pictures of the now Tiger Lily (I guess she legally changed her name, dropping the first two names and adding the adoptive father's last name), which then led me to this video:

And that video, folks, made me cry. Like for real. (And I don't even have sound here so it's just the images that got to me.)

I don't know this child, I didn't know her parents, but I just can't fathom the utter sadness she must feel (or have felt at some point??) over the loss of not one but both of her parents. And I know that this happens in life and it's not just to the famous and it all just makes me sad. So very sad.

This poor girl's dad was found hanging when she was like 1 and her mother was found dead due to an overdose!! WHAT.THE.FUCK?!!!



I look at Lovie every single fucking day. I study her. Every single day. I'm not exaggerating here, folks. Every day I study her; I watch as her little fingers barely touch her lovey when she sits with me on the couch just before bed watching Blues Clues. I watch how her plump little mouth turns into a smile when something goofy happens. I rub her head and feel the tight curls form little balls in my fingers. Every day, I watch and study and smile and remember and cherish and wonder and worry and... then when my thoughts drift to bad ones where I think about dying children, the tears instantly well in my eyes and heart and I quickly think of something- anything- else.

I don't watch the news anymore. Ever.

If I hear any kind of negative toned story on the radio, I quickly change the channel.

I'm clueless when it comes to the current world outside of Lovie.

I know that may not be the healthiest lifestyles to lead, but the mere brushing of thought of her leaving my world scares the ever loving shit out of me. I honestly have no doubts- none whatsoever- that my life would be over if hers would end.

And I'm guessing most, if not all parents think this way.

But I rarely think of what will happen to her when I leave. I mean, I have a private blog dedicated to her that I plan on turning into a book(s) so that she can read herself how deeply I love her... but is that enough?

I have no fucking clue who would care for her if her dad and I died tomorrow. She has no godparents. We have no will. (Partly because we have no clue who to have as her godparents or put into the will!!!) As an only child, this could be a problem. Especially if we die soon!

Gosh, I'm just so sad right now thinking about all of this. So very sad.

I mean, at least Tiger Lily had someone else to look out for her when both of her asshat parents left her... Lovie has nobody but us. And even though we're not self-loathing/destructive people, wouldn't that be like Murphy's Law or something to fuck with us and get us killed leaving Lovie an orphan?!

We need to figure this out soon.  For Lovie.