Days Like This - I am the first to admit that there are certain days which affect my emotional state profoundly.  Some days mean nothing to anyone but me - the anniversary of  the death of my unborn daughter, the day my Nana died - well you get the idea.  Today, this Monday is Memorial  Day here in the states....a day which holds a host of memories and is of profound significance to  many people. Today I went with my sister and 'the man' to the local VFW chapter  to view the ceremonies. Sister also went to promote the program so near and dear to her heart. 

The day did not start out well...without getting too far into ancient history....let me say that I, like many, have ghosts in my past...and some days they haunt me more than others.s.  Some would call them flashbacks and in a real sense they act like they are.  Sometimes I wake up panicstriken, not knowing where I am, only that *he* has woken me up and that the next words out of *his* mouth will be "where the f**k is my breakfast bitch", or some such statement with a backhanded slap accross my face or worse.   Now granted this hasn't happened to me in over 30 years and I know *he* has no power to ever touch me again, that *he* is dead, but that doesn't stop the 'flashback' from happening when I am overtired, haven't slept well, not eaten or under stress, or a particular unrelated instance sets it in motion.  This morning 'the man' walked in and simply said, "Better get your ass out of bed it's 8:00".  He was waking me up, as I had asked him to do, and had no way of knowing how his words would  affect me...and in many ways I don't want him to see how deep some of my scars are.  I jumped like I'd been hit...and after he saw my face said, "You don't need to jump...I'm here now."  I know he meant it to reasure me...but 'the man' also has to be woken in a certain manner so I know he understands and can relate.  Some ghosts can't be banished so easily by words.   I got up...dressed and we went over to Sissy's still feeling seriously disoriented and trying not to let it show. 

Now 'the man' insists on his 30 minutes of morning calm and quiet as he wakes up to the day.  By this point ';the man' has been up for over an hourand is in a great mood.  Sissy and I however, are just waking up and are basket cases for different reaons.  I snarl at the dogs, get Sissy and I both coffee (with dolops of Irish Cream in them) and 'the man' makes one more statement to me, "that I'm too f**king emotional.".  Part of me is still back in the past , I'm NOT awake and anyone who knows me knows that I need my coffee - or they can expect to have their head handed to them....I break....into little pieces and leave the porch to go into the livingroom where I can be alone.  I  wrap my arms around myself and rock and cry - transported back 30+ years to a different room, a different place where all I wanted was to be allowed to crawl off and die...to not be hurt again....willing to do anything not to be hurt again and knowing that not one thing...not anything I did or did not do or say would make one bit of difference...because my pain turned *him* on.

"The man' doesn't know that for much of my life everytime I showed how I felt I was mocked....my tears especially were laughed at....particularly by those who enjoyed making me shed them and part of my gift/curse is feeling doo damn deeply, I wear my heart on my sleeve so to speak, so his words hit a nerve and after I composed myself I went back out on the porch. 

Normally it wouldn't have gotten to me so much, but between it being THIS DAY and the stress of moving, dealing with Thomas (yeah - 7 messages yesterday alone on my cell phone and 5 calls on the land line but who keeps count?), change in the time zone, dealing with the weather/humidity....etc....added to the last few days, I admit that I overreacted.  (A bit of background info on the last few days....'the man' has been a putz and not just to me but to Sissy as well.   In his defense he has his own 'ghosts' and while I understand, the last several days have not been easy ones at times.  I've tried my best to give him space,  privacy.;...to 'understand and accomodate' but it isn't easy for me either.  (Why is it such a difficult concept to understand that just because it comes easily to them that sometimes even the strongest woman finds it damned hard to be brave all the time....that all we want is someone to hold us when our darkest fears and worries consume us without judgement or questions?  Even the bravest and strongest of us break and are weak at times because yes, we ARE human and women...that doesn't mean that we don't pick up the pieces and go on...we do.  Just nice to know that its noted and appreciated.)

Well, 'the man' after being taken to task by Sissy for being a putz said he was sorry.....not in words but by deeds.  He assembled the 2 new bar stools, he put up the light over the kitchen sink, he cleaned up the mud on the livingroom rug that he tracked in the other day, he hung up the windchimes that Brandon gave him as a 'house welcoming' present and he replaced the 'knucklebuster' doornob with a lever type.  I came home to all of this...plus the clean clothes laid out in neat stacks on the table and music playing.  And the song that was playing when I walked in?.......a song that for some reason has come to be linked in my mind with 'the man'.... probably because he's sung it to me several times and his voice is like raspy dark chocolate. I admit it choked me up, that he cared enough to do the little things to make 'our home' more of one. I'm not used to a man who doesn't believe that a home is something only women can create.    It's an oft repeated statement around here that 'actions speak louder than words' and its truth.  "I'm sorry" is easy and cheaply bot by most...and it means less than nothing if it doesn't translate into actions.  I was in a word....overwhelmed and humbled by his appology.

So...after I pull myself together and go back on the porch he takes one look at me and says, 'Don't ever shut me out like that again."  How can I open my pain, the old wounds and share them?  I don't know if I even know how...no one has EVER wanted to go into the depths of my personal hellish past.  And this is the man who alternates between "I'm not used to and don't like that touchy huggy stuff' and then falling asleep with his arms around me.  The dichotomy confuses me and I think, him as well.   Twice he's told me "Stop treatimg me like I am Thomas" and I've shot back, "I'm not like Nancy".  We are both feeling our way in this 'relationship' for which there are no words to completely describe.

I accompanied 'the man' and Sissy to the VFW ceremony...and I was fine...until 'the man' asked me to pick up some small flags - to put in the yard.  He wanted 2 - one for Steve in Kosovo and one to represent our Sissy - who is one of the bravest 'civilian soldiers' serving here at home it has ever been my priviledge to know.  He took one look at my face as I picked up 7 flags not 2 as he had asked and I got the 'don't get all emotional on me.' speech.  I said, "i'm not." and he said "You know you can't lie to me."....and he's right.  I can't and I don't want to.  Its a relief beyond words to be able to show how I truly think and feel without fear...and I want 'the man' to read how I feel in my eyes and my heart so he KNOWS.  If he cannot deal with what and who I am....well then there is no hope for any futere where there is an 'us'.  I refuse any longer to be any less than what I am....nor would I expect him to be any less than all he is.   Still the old ghosts laugh sometimes at us both..and this day...Memorial Day, 'the man'  being a Vet, he has his own to deal with....he doesn't need mine and I am well aware of it.  I've not spoken of those I've lost in any depth to him....he knows I've lost people and that is enough.  I am content on many levels that he has come to trust me enough to open up his past and speak frankly to me about people and events in his.....its a complement that I am fully mindful of and honored by...just not sure he's ready to hear mine. At the moment 'the man' is at work, after venting all over me about how he 'hates' this day...I know it brings back old and bad memories.  Sometimes its harder to be one of the ones who lived...and I know this well.  The lucky ones are the ones who died...who don't have to live with the memories, the 'ghosts', the aftermath of those they loved who have returned damaged and different.  I know he'll be full of his own demons when he comes home and without a word I'll open my arms and welcome him home without questions...prepared for wherever his mood takes us - putzy man or not.