Jacquelyn's Space

No one can say it like Shakespeare can! Love this quote from King Lear, oooh it cuts deep into the heart of a few situations. Why have I not read this play before?

Cordelia:

“Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides,

who covers faults, at last shame derides.

Well may you prosper.”

That makes a great prayer!

I really need to write a book.

I have been writing up a storm this semester hence why I have not been posting to my blog. I added about 10 pages to an essay on Saturday that was already to long. It is 20 pages total and not even complete yet. The challenge is to cut it down but I am a little burnt out with writing today (and yesterday). Probably because I am extremely tired after a challenging week-end (not enough time to write – too many birthdays this time of year). I stayed up Monday night/Tuesday morning researching and working on a couple of essays (wrote at least 9 pages between the two), then I had to stay up last night and work on a presentation (more research, analysis, and writing). I have only gotten about 5 hours of broken sleep over the last two days – it is taking its toll. I just don’t feel right. I should go home tonight and start on one of the 3 essays I have due, or finish up that 20 essay but all I want to do is crash. Oh wait, I can’t, I have a concert to perform tonight. I know I will be ready to pass out after that.

On top of all these damn essays, I have to keep a journal for my creative non-fiction class. I should be writing at least 300 words a day – not too difficult by itself but there is all the other stuff to do. I have been writing that much everday, just not in my journal. I wasn’t able to get around to it last week and I don’t even want to deal with it today.  Plus, I have written a crapload of stuff already – over 34, 000 words for that journal; I am not sure of a page count but it is probably 35 -40 pages. Wow, no it is actually something like 65 pages -I just checked- after I combined my two journal documents.  Writing takes a lot out of me but I do love it once I get going. It seems all I want to do is write these days.

I have gotten many lovely compliments from my writing professor. She very nurturing and has something positive to say each piece of writing she gets. It is easy to write for her – I don’t get all junked up thinking my writing or my idea is trash. Although the compliments make me feel really good about my writing, I didn’t think it was anything extraordinary. I still have a lot of work to do on my writing. There are some really talented people in my class and when I read their essays I wonder why I didn’t thing of that or why can’t I phrase stuff so well, etc.

Yesterday, I had a conference with my writing professor. She likes to meet with all her students at least once, one on one. We had a great conversation, mostly about my writing, and then she paid me the greatest compliment. I want to keep this one with me, especially when I write. I had asked her if my writing was okay – it wasn’t to dense, too much? – I wasn’t quite sure how to word, only that I had been throwing a lot of pages at her and it is not all happy stuff – This prof, who  is a published author (a little ethos for you), asked me it she could ‘reveal’ something to me. Of course. She then told me that she doesn’t read my essays until last – she saves them. I had noticed she was doing that with my online journal. She told me she saves my essays because I was a great writer and I had a lot to say, so my writing is dense, thick, but that wasn’t bad. It was grown-up writing. She said that there are Hemingways and there are Faulkners types of writers; Hemingways write simply with short sentences, Faulkners are more complex, have a lot to say about everything. She said I was a Faulkner. I was like, wow. I almost cried. That lifted my spirits last evening for sure. Now I need to go read me some Faulkner and keep plugging away at my writing.

Tuesday October 4

Wahoo! This is going to be the week of performance. Yesterday I did a scene from Richard III in my Shakespeare class. It was Act I Scene ii where Richard is trying to seduce Lady Anne. He had killed her husband and father in law so in the scene Lady Anne is pretty angry. It was fun to do the scene and I think I did a pretty good job of it. Me and my scene partner (he is a theater major) met outside of class a couple of times to practice and so we were prepared. I tried to say the lines naturally, with the appropriate emotions, not wooden-ly or grandly like some pompous caricature of a Shakespearean actor. The professor told me it was awesome then I saw some classmates after class throughout the day and they were so nice and complimented my performance.

I love Shakespeare, I love his writing and this class is fun because I am getting more into his work. It can be difficult but I think once you get what the character’s are saying it is worth it. We are working on Richard III (which I did not know) now but the first play we read this semester was Titus Andronicus which is great because I knew that play. I was in the Flint City Theatre’s production of it in 2008 so even though I didn’t have a speaking part I knew the story and remembered a lot of the lines.

I miss acting. I was in plays and drama in high school and that is originally what I wanted to do with my life. I didn’t pursue it because of my issues (depression, obesity) but now it is good to have a second chance to perform. I wish I had pursued it, I wish I would have just said “F— it!” and went for it or even when I returned to school a few years ago. I was silly to let stuff stop me but that is done and over. I get more nervous about acting now than I used to. Maybe I am more afraid of making a fool of myself – but I still push myself because I don’t want to slide back into letting my ‘issues’ keep me from doing  things I enjoy. Maybe once I graduate I can still pursue acting – take some classes, get involved in the numerous theatres that are in Flint.

Thursday October 6

Still in the week of performance, yesterday was Musicollage the annual music department concert at UM-Flint. I play trombone in the Wind Symphony. Musicollage gets the symphony and jazz bands, plus the choirs and individual students together to put on a nonstop show of music. No applause in between acts, just music. It is pretty cool and the music was lovely last night. Wind symphony played three pieces.  I wish we could have done more but it is a lot to prepare with only 4 or 5 weeks of class (2, 1 hour 50 minute classes a week).

I am an okay trombone player. I decided it would be fun to be in band after 20 years of not playing. Ha ha. It is fun at times but it is a challenge. I used to be a better player. I don’t have the chops for it anymore. That and I don’t have time for much practice outside of class. Every semester that I play I get slightly better but I am nowhere near where I should be. I forget too much – like how the notes are supposed to sound and how to count complicated rhythms and time. I was never really the best at reading music, usually having to listen to the rhythm first before playing. Luckily they let anyone in wind symphony – no auditions – ha. We actually have a large band this year and 5 trombone players! In the past it has only been 3 of us, which means one person per part. I really get frightened (I freeze up or get really nervous and shake when I have to play by myself, don’t know why music does that too me) to play a part by myself but I try. For the most part it is a fun challenge.

One of the trombone players is really awesome. He is a music major of course. I am so envious of his playing. I want to play like that but he has worked hard to be the player that he is – he plays whole pieces by himself, on his own, no qualms and it sounds beautiful. I am not that dedicated of a player. He is in jazz band too. I would love to be in jazz band but I need more practice, more confidence and more skills. Ha, more time too.

Well anyway the music was beautiful. I wish I had time to be in choir too. I loved the jazz band performance; some talented kid played a Rachmaninoff piano concerto – loved it! There was also a flute solo – another ultra talented musician. I loved his piece too. There was a marimba solo that was lovely too. Lots and lots of stuff. My parents and my husband went to the concert and I guess they enjoyed it. I was glad my parents went. They had not been to one of my concerts since I started playing again. After the concert we went out to dinner. Then I had to go home and stay up half the night to get my homework done.

Oh poetry how dost thou suck?
When I am in no mood for you –
Upon forced reading for school,
Turns my poor brain to muck.

***

My little poem inspired by my mood of the day.

October 15, 2011

Total BS

The nerve of some people! My stepson asked his father if he was going to the football game next week – it is the last football game for the seniors and the parents walk their child across the field (My stepson is in marching band – it is a band tradition). Well my husband hadn’t thought about; I don’t think we even knew about it so I am glad my stepson mentioned it to his father.

My stepson then asked his father if he wouldn’t mind if his stepfather walked instead. My husband told me he started to get mad until my stepson said, “I really wanted you to do it, but stepdad got mad. I didn’t think he would get mad (or care)”. The stepfather thinks it should be just him and the mom because they helped out with band stuff – they worked as roadies off and on helping move the band equipment and scenery for the competitions. Well YAY for them.

According to my stepson, his mom told him he should ask is dad if that was okay. I am not quite sure I believe that. I wouldn’t put it past his mom to have said not even mention it and it was my stepson, trying to smooth over the situation and still make his Dad feel a part of it. He wants his Dad to be a part of it, dammit!

My husband’s (and mine too when I first heard) response was NO! My husband is the kid’s father and should be part of it. The stepdad is not the father. Yeah, they helped with the band as roadies and my husband didn’t (nor I). We didn’t because we knew it would cause drama – we didn’t want to step on their toes. IT IS MY PERCEPTION THAT, If we tried to help out the mom would have totally been a bitch asking my husband why he was participating, it was her town not his. Then she would move on to bitch about me, she would have asked why I was participating, I had no right, I was not my stepson’s mom; she would have told my husband I didn’t need to be there (she has done this in the past – you can gather why, first for jealousy and territorial issues and then because I don’t agree with her, the way she acts and I write about it. I have to go where my husband goes because I drive him, he can’t drive. My husband has never acted that way toward her husband even though he has just cause to); she would have also badmouthed us behind our back (which I am sure she has done already). This I know from her past behavior – more than one or two instances; from a whole lot of incidents and observations. IT IS MY BELIEF THAT, She has done things like this in the past and all along has tried to keep my husband out of his son’s life as much as possible (except for the money part).

Now I am thinking we were silly not to because this whole territorial thing is wrong, wrong, wrong – basically we just feel into her dumbass way of thinking. Perhaps we should have participated anyway but we did think that since it is their town and community and we knew what kind of trouble the mom would cause, we didn’t need to be a part of the band roadie thing. I thought it would be a good way to bond and spend time with my stepson (maybe, maybe not) but I also thought it would be more trouble than it was worth, causing too much drama in which my stepson would be thrust in the middle of. We went to the competitions (most all of them except for this year) and supported our son that way. We were content with this – it was fine and kept everybody at a ‘safe’ distance.

Now, this is a little different. It is something the parents do and my husband, as the father, should be a part of it. He should not be cut out of it nor asked to bow out. The nerve! My husband asked his son what if all four of us walked with you. My stepson said that would be something different. My husband is so generous – he doesn’t mind if the stepdad is a part of it, he doesn’t think the stepdad shouldn’t be a part of it. IT IS MY OPINION THAT: Now the mom on the other hand, is not generous, her reaction will probably be (and has been in the past) I shouldn’t be a part of it at all so I bet it will be either none of us walk or it is just the bio-parents. THE WAY I SEE THINGS: If I had pulled the shit that the stepdad is pulling we would never hear the end of it from the mom. She would have been on the phone bitchin’ my husband out.

When my husband told me about this today I was so pissed I wanted to throw the book nearest to me across the wall. Then I wanted to really kick someone’s ass (I wonder who’s?). Then I wanted to call the bio mom and stepdad and yell at them – ‘you have some nerve mother f’ers’. How dare they try to cut my husband out! I am also pissed that the bio mom hasn’t contacted my husband about this – she let the kid do the explaining, as usual (then when things don’t go HER way she usually calls and bitches). Now this leads me to believe that she really didn’t want my husband to know at all and was hoping the kid wouldn’t mention it, but then again communication has always been almost nonexistent between them unless it is her calling and yelling at my husband.

Once I sat down to write about the situation and calmed down a little I began to have my doubts – maybe they are right, maybe it should be them to walk with the kid because they helped with band. But then I thought not – it is not about who helped with band (there has been banquets and whatnot that recognize that contribution); it is about supporting your child and being proud of him. It should be the parents. My husband should walk with his son.

He has and continues to support him and is proud of him. He loves his son and is a good father. He has always been involved in his son’s life like a father should be. It is not as if he recently came on the scene. It is not as if he is trying to make a SHOW of how ‘wonderful’ he is – he truly, truly is a wonderful parent and wants to be a part of his son’s life.

Then I was thinking I don’t need to walk with my stepson if that is going to cause problems – let the stepdad walk if he wants too but I don’t need to. How would I feel about that? How would my stepson? What would that say, what message would that convey if I didn’t walk?

Now I am thinking, dammit, all four of us should walk. I have supported the kid too, I am proud of him and I care about him. I have been in his life almost as long as his stepfather. I have sacrificed and made contributions. I should not be cut out simply to appease the bio mom and whatever issues she has. I also think it would be cool if all four of us walked because it shows the changing face of today’s family. Kids often have more than two parents that love and support them and that should be recognized. If my stepson thinks it is a good idea then I would be honored to walk. If he does not like the idea and only wants his BIO-PARENTS, I can and will RESPECT that decision. It isn’t about me after all, it is about HIM.

Monday, September 19

There was a baby girl but she died this past spring.

Writing that line broke me up yesterday. I started to cry. I wanted to hit the computer, I wanted to yell it around the house and tear stuff up. I guess I wanted to go crazy but I held it in. Writing about it now really makes me feel the same way again. I feel I am going to explode – such anger and sadness.

My brother’s woman, Nicole, had a baby girl the end of March. The whole family was happy though they didn’t need any more kids; they were still living with my parents. But after three boys we were happy to welcome a baby girl into the family, the first granddaughter for my parents and for Nicole’s too. My husband and I went up to the hospital the day of the birth – everyone was there eventually and was so happy. My brother came with flowers and balloons that played a silly tune when tapped. We waited outside Nicole’s room to see her and the new baby. I have video of us waiting, excited and happy. I took video of the baby’s first bath as my brother looked on. I took video of my nephew’s (the big brothers) reactions to their baby sister. My oldest nephew Kenny was so excited and enthralled by his sister. I think I captured that silly little look of love on his face in one of my videos or photos. So cute.

Nicole named the baby Angelina Nicole – Angel.

The poor baby lived just 6 weeks. I saw her briefly at Easter. I held and fed her but she went with her Mom to the hospital. Nicole was sick with high blood pressure issues and a friend took her to the hospital along with the baby.

I saw the baby one other brief time when I baby-sat my nephews. My Dad came home with the baby after visiting Nicole in the hospital – blood pressure issues again. I held and fed her again. I listened to her wheezing, worried. All the kids were sick, stomach flu. The baby had been to the doctor a few times but they always said her wheezing was nothing to worry about, it would clear up eventually. It was normal for a c-section baby.

I changed her diaper twice – green poopies. While I fed her and changed her diaper I told her about how she was going to have to hold her own with her 3 older brothers – they were little hellions. She would have to learn how to be the boss.As I held her, I thought that she and I were going to be best friends. I thought of all the things I wanted to share with her – dolls, books, favorite places. I thought about all the fun times we were going to have. Were we bonding?

She was a little fussy but finally she slept. I had to leave, too much homework to do, too much to study at the end of the semester. I hoped I didn’t get sick, too much to do.

*

It was a Tuesday morning in May. School was done, I was happy that I got to sleep in. I was exhausted – we had went to Mackinac over the week-end and walked many miles. I had thought about going over to my parents the evening before but I didn’t go. I dozed but there was someone knocking at the door. It was my nephew Danny. He blurted out “The baby’s not breathing!” I stared at him confused. He said again, “The baby’s not breathing”  and then something about hospital. His Mom, my husband’s sister, is on the fire department in my parent’s township and had responded to the 911 call – she called my husband and then had her son come over to tell me.

I shut the door and hurriedly dressed, praying to God that the baby would be all right. I think I called my parent’s house. I think Nicole answered. I asked her what was going on. She said she woke up and the baby wasn’t breathing. The ambulance was there and she had to go. I thought about how devastated my parents, my brother and Nicole would be if the baby died. Maybe everything will be all right. I didn’t want to think but of course thoughts were going round in my head – please don’t let the baby die, please let the baby be all right. I thought about how Nicole had waited for a girl, and now couldn’t have anymore because when they took this last child, they also tied her tubes.

I drove to my parent’s house. I passed my Dad and brother on the way, on their way to the hospital in my Mom’s car. They were grim-faced. There was a lump in the back seat – ‘the kids?’I wondered.

I got to the house two cop cars were there – township and state police. My Mom was there talking to the cops. No sign of my nephews. The cops got word from the ambulance that they were taking the baby to a different hospital. I called my dad to let him know. On the phone I heard crying in the background, it sounded like my nephew Alex but it was Nicole. Poor baby. The cops left, and my Mom sat on her bench and cried. I hugged her. She told me she had heard the baby in the night, crying. She heard Nicole get up with the baby so she didn’t go and check on her. When Nicole awoke in the morning the baby wasn’t breathing. She came in and woke my parents up. My Dad performed CPR but the baby was so cold.

Horrible.

There seemed to be little hope in my Mom that the baby was alive.

Grim.

My nephews were in their room watching TV. When I went in the first thing little Alex said to me was “The baby died.” The youngest echoes, “The baby died.”

Heartbreak.

I didn’t know what to say. I still hoped that it wasn’t so. The boys weren’t too sad, just excited and they wanted to play. My Mom and I tried to get them breakfast, tried to get them to eat. My Mom told me how she rocked the baby the night before, how the baby seemed mesmerized by the clock, the pendant going back and forth, tick tock, tick tock. She had smiled at it and my Mom thought that she was beginning to fill out and be aware of her surroundings. Time, always time, time, time, no time, out of time -time is my enemy.

Knife to my heart.

Finally a call came; my Mom answered and took the call in the foyer. I followed. She sat down and started to cry again, “No, no, no.” It was done. The baby was dead.

Numb

I tried to hold it together while I talked to my husband. We needed to go up to the hospital, need to take the boys up there so CPS could check them out. Standard procedure when a child dies. It would be better if it were done that day, rather than a home visit.

We got the boys together. We took them. Finally I saw my brother and Nicole. My brother was crying but he was angry, especially over the whole CPS thing. We tried to calm him down. Nicole was like a zombie and she wanted to leave – I didn’t blame her. Her stepdad took her home while we, my Mom, Nicole’s mom, Brent and my husband and I waited for the boys to be examined. My Dad – I needed to see my Dad to make sure he was going to be okay. He had left – something to do for my brother’s business.

My sister-in-law had told me my Dad stayed with that baby, he stayed with her until they zipped her into a body bag.

No words…

Everyone at the hospital and the CPS workers were so nice, they just took forever. Finally we went home. I drove my brother and one, maybe two of the boys. My brother hugged his son and cried quietly in the back seat. The boy didn’t cry. The boys hadn’t cried. It hadn’t sunk in yet. Not with me yet either. We drove through the empty, broken streets of Flint from the hospital to the freeway. The day was gloomy. My brother sobbing, my husband and I trying to grasp at the right words to say. I tried to hold it in. I cried silently… I had to hold it in… keep it together.

Unbearable

We went back to my parents. My brother disappeared in the basement. Time to get dinner. I went to pick some stuff up – it was good to be useful. I waited for my Dad to get home. Nicole sat on the porch and cried. I sat next to her and rubbed her back, not having any words. She had packed up the baby’s clothes that day. I helped her stuff them into a brown paper bag to give to a friend who had a little girl. Regretfully. I wanted to grab something to keep of the baby’s but I didn’t…afraid to make it worse.

I waited for Daddy, couldn’t leave until I saw him, had to make sure he was going to be okay. Soon it was night, I was about to leave – it had been a long day. Finally Daddy came home. He didn’t say much but he looked tired, face drooping, his eyes were bloodshot. He had been crying. I thought about him, working, driving around alone, trying to deal with the grief. Poor Daddy, but just like him. Kinda’ like me too. He should let us in once in a while. Before I left I gave him a hug and told him I was sorry. He started to cry, his face twisted in pain. “It isn’t fair!” I cried. Daddy didn’t say anything, maybe just an “I know” or a “Well…” then put his hand to his face to clear away the tears and pain. He straightened up. He didn’t want to show his pain.

Had to be strong…

It was time for me to go home.

*

The funeral… how do you plan a funeral for a baby? Someone who hadn’t had a chance to live yet, someone you didn’t really know. It wasn’t fair! That is all I could think. How do you choose the proper flowers for your niece – the first and last you will ever give her? I chose a heart made of baby’s breathe…

Anger, anger, anger, and concern and sadness for my family. Why couldn’t it have been someone else? Someone evil.

The heartbreak of watching your parents grieve the loss of their only granddaughter. The frustration, helplessness of not having any words, not being able to make any sense of the situation. The anguish of seeing your nephew’s tears, grappling with death. The first time he cried for his sister – it had finally sunk in that she wasn’t to be. The one he was so excited for. More sorrow, thinking back to his silly little look of pride and love when he first saw her.

The horror of sitting in the hallway of a funeral home and listening to a mother sob on first seeing her baby, her only girl child, her last child, in a coffin. The little coffin my brother carried out to the hearse only after much convincing that he had to her go – it was time to let her go.

*

I am still angry. Nothing helps get over this loss. There is nothing to describe the death of a child. How it seems so incomplete; how it makes no sense. The only thing is to pretend it never happened but it did. It hits every once in a while but I can’t cry – I can’t give into it. If I do there is no relief from it. I tremble but I move on.

It isn’t fair. All the hopes and dreams for that child, all the love, where do they go?

I put all the pictures and videos I had taken on a disk for Nicole and my parents. They didn’t even take half of a dvd – it isn’t right that someone’s life could fit on one little disk. ~

Instructor’s critique:

There isn’t much more to say about this heart-breaking entry — you’ve really covered it all so beautifully — the anger, the grief, the grim and sad details.