Nightmare: The end

I am sharing things very few people know. I have held these thoughts and memories very close to me over the past 5 years and only shared bits and pieces with various close friends and family. I wonder if I am going to be sharing things I will be judged for. I worry that I will lose friends or family over this. However, after much prayer I feel that for me I must get these things out of my head. Because this is a hard topic for me to write about, I will be covering it in a few parts. I don't know how long each part will be. I will know in my heart when it's time to start and stop each one….

When Tony died, I held myself together for my mom. After being there when she lost it the morning after he passed away, I came up with the brilliant idea that she didn't need to see my grief anymore. I felt that crying in front of her took away from the depth of her grief or added to it. Dumb thought process, but it’s what I thought.

Anytime I needed to cry I took a long hot shower. I would sit there on the cool tub floor and bawl. I held in the sounds; I just let the tears fall as I held my fist over my mouth to stop any sound from escaping. I would pray to God, to Tony asking them to help me stay strong. I don’t even know if I washed my hair while in there. I still go to the shower to cry when it’s too much for me. It has become a place I can talk to Tony and cry without anyone seeing me break down.

After the memorial, my parents headed back to Colorado. I was left with a man that wouldn't help me grieve. I took a lot of showers.

Two weeks after Tony died it started. After another long shower I crawled in to bed exhausted and snuggled with my dog. The boyfriend hated the dog being in bed, but I needed him to hold. I needed that warmth that only Petey could give me. I sure as hell wasn't getting it from the jackass. I fell asleep and then next thing I know I’m waking up at 3 am screaming. The jackass woke up too but he didn't care that I was having a nightmare and he went back to sleep.

I got out of bed and went to the couch. Petey followed me. And so did my other dog Trixie. She wasn't a cuddler and preferred to sleep under the bed. But that night both my wonderful dogs sat up with me. They “held” me as I tried to understand my nightmare. I didn't go back to sleep that night.

For the next two months I had that same nightmare every night. After breaking up with the jackass, I moved in with my aunt for a month and I hid my nightmares from her too. I thought people would judge me and think I was the lowest and most awful person in the world. It took me a year to tell my dad about some of it.  

I am in Tony’s apartment. He is laying there making that sound, the death rattle. I keep yelling at him to “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” I cover my ears and start to chant “I hate you, I hate you.”  He is looking at me and the sound gets louder with every breath I take. I try to leave the apartment but I can’t find the door. I scream for help but no one answers me. I feel my heart speed up and then I feel anger so raw bubbling up in me that I start to claw at Tony. I draw blood from his arms but the sound doesn't stop. I take the pillow from the bottom of the hospital bed he is lying in and I cover my head with it. The sound just gets louder. So I do the only thing I can. I take the pillow and hold it over his face and mouth. I hold it there till there is no more death rattle. There is just the sound of my sobs.

And that’s when I wake up. When I lived alone I would find both dogs in my bed licking me and my tears. I think I screamed and scared them. They came to rescue me. They were my security team and calmed me. Then they’d sit up with me the rest of the night while I watched mindless TV.

I have analyzed this nightmare for the past year. In sitting down to write all this out, I have come to a conclusion that I should have told someone about this when they first started. It took me four years to figure out why I kept having this nightmare. I feel that I kept having it because I didn't deal with the anger I felt about Tony dying. I think somewhere in that last day I wanted him to stop making that sound because I was in denial of what was coming. I was mad at him for leaving me, for thinking I could handle all this on my own. I hated that he made me go through that kind of hell at 30 years old. I hated the hole his death left in me.  

What didn't help was that my mom once asked me if I killed Tony that day by giving him the pill. I wonder if I thought the same thing because it did quiet him. But after doing some research I know I didn't. The pill I gave him was half an anti-anxiety pill. He’d taken a stronger dose while going through all the chemo, radiation and all the other treatments they tried on him. The dosage I gave him didn't kill him, his body just finally had had enough. But her accusation didn't make the nightmare’s go away, it made them intensify.

I haven’t had the nightmare in a year. The last year has lessened the haunting of the noise. I have finally come to terms with my grief and all its stages. I am healing… slowly but none the less. I sit here, now, in tears. This nightmare has been the biggest secret I've ever kept. No one, not even my dad, has gotten the entire story. You, my reader, just did. Thank you for allowing me to share this part of me with you. The nightmare has ended…

~ The Composer

Nightmare: Part Three

I am sharing things very few people know. I have held these thoughts and memories very close to me over the past 5 years and only shared bits and pieces to various close friends and family. I wonder if I am going to be sharing things I will be judged for. I worry that I will lose friends or family over this. However, after much prayer I feel that for me I must get these things out of my head. Because this is a hard topic for me to write about, I will be covering it in a few parts. I don't know how long each part will be. I will know in my heart when it's time to start and stop each one….

Writing Tony’s memorial… now that was hard. But I trusted in his faith in me to say the things he wanted me to. I had to do right by him. A good friend of mine had agreed to be the one to lead the memorial. How he made it through I don’t know. I was so grateful to him, still am.

Prior to Tony’s death this same friend sat down with Tony and helped him write letters to his son and our parents. I didn't get a letter. I got to type them up and make sure that they were delivered. I still have the copies. I don’t read them like I used to. I haven’t look at them in over a year. I don’t need to because I know he loved his son and our parents a lot. But mostly I don’t need to see them because I hear his last words to me when I need them most.

A week before Tony died I walked in to his apartment to bring dinner for mom and him. I remember when I walked in I was in a bad mood because of not being valued at work. Add to it that I had the least supportive boyfriend in being Tony’s caregiver and you've got me in a rotten mood. When I entered they were talking. Mom was sitting on his left side and they both turned to look at me. I put a very fake smile on and said “I brought dinner.”

Tony said, “Thank you.”

“Yep, no problem.” My standard reply to being thanked for anything. He’d heard that tone before. He knew me so well.

“No, I mean it. Thank you.” He pleaded with me.

“Yeah, I know.” I was setting the food down on the desk and not looking at him.

“Mom, make her understand. I mean it.” He pleaded to my mom.

With tears streaming down my face I went to him, “I know. I get it. There’s no place else I’d rather be. There’s no way I wouldn't be here for you.” I kissed him on the forehead and went in to the kitchen to sob. I never wanted him to see me cry over losing him.

You see, I didn't need to hear him tell me he loved me. I knew he did. I've known that all my life. He was my protector, my confidante, my hero. I have felt his love my entire life. I never questioned that. What I always questioned was did he appreciate what he’d been given, the bond we had, the blessing of knowing I had his back when he needed me.

In June of 2007 I was sitting in my car in my garage having a screaming argument with my brother over the phone. I had taken him dinner and even got him ice cream from Baskin Robbins. As I had left, I told him I loved him and I’d call him later to make sure he was okay. I had a volleyball game to get to and felt bad that I didn't have more time to spend with him. Instead of accepting or even acknowledging my apology for the rush, he gave me a list of things I HAD to bring him the next day. I was at the door when he said, “And don’t forget I have a doctor’s appointment that you HAVE to take me to on Monday.”

“I know. I've got my calendar. You know I won’t forget that.”

Hmmmm was all I got in return.

So I shut the door and said, “Asshole.”

He must have heard me because he called me on my ride home. In the space of the ten minutes it took me to get home he and I started what was to be our last blow out. He started out by reading me the riot act about how I was rude. Of course, I took the bait and blew up. I finally had had enough of his attitude towards me, that somehow I was his slave and didn't deserve to be thanked. By the end of the twenty minute conversation, he got my point. He understood that I didn't hate him or feel burdened by him. I loved him and that I wanted to be there for him. What I didn't want was to be taken for granted. I came to understand he was scared and felt that I’d hate him for this hell we were in. After that fight, we didn't fight again. He was much more appreciative of what I did for him. And I was much more aware of how scared he was to die, to leave us behind.

So that last “Thank you”, that’s what I hold so dear to my heart.  I know in my soul he appreciated everything I did. And that’s what comforts me to this day….

~ The Composer

Nightmare: Part Two

I am sharing things very few people know. I have held these thoughts and memories very close to me over the past 5 years and only shared bits and pieces to various close friends and family. I wonder if I am going to be sharing things I will be judged for. I worry that I will lose friends or family over this. However, after much prayer I feel that for me I must get these things out of my head. Because this is a hard topic for me to write about, I will be covering it in a few parts. I don't know how long each part will be. I will know in my heart when it's time to start and stop each one….

I stayed in the bed with Tony for ten minutes or more, I honestly don't remember how long I laid there with him. Then I took a breath, kissed him on the cheek and the forehead and crawled out of his bed. I then started making phone calls. I called my boyfriend (that was a waste), the hospice nurse- she called the coroner, a very close friend of Tony's and then I made the one call Tony made me promise to make.

I sat on the floor staring up at the hospital bed and rocking myself. I took two breaths and prayed to God for help making this call. I dialed the number and waited. My brother's ex-girlfriend answered and I asked for my nephew. I told her to stay next to him. I don't know if she guessed why I called or not. When I heard my nephews voice, I almost hung up. I took a very deep breath and told him I loved him, that I always would. He told me loved me too. I said it again and so did he. Then I said the words that I'm sure he'll never forget, "Your daddy died." And all I heard was the most gut wrenching, soul crushing scream I've ever heard. He threw the phone down I was told later. Right now as I type this, that scream is replaying in my head. I will never forget that sound. It broke my heart and still does. I am nauseous as I type because it killed part of my soul to deliver this news to an 11 year old boy. I caused that young boy's heart to break and I can never fix it.

After that call, I just sat and cried and rocked. I went in to a bit of a trance. Mom sat next to me and held my hand. I am sure she reassured me, but I don't remember. She dialed up Tony's best friend and told him. This man is more like a brother, both to Tony and to me. (He still looks out for me after all this time) I can only guess how it hurt him to hear that Tony was gone.

I don't remember when the hospice nurse showed up. She was there when the coroner got there. She walked in the hall with me while the coroner took pictures and filled out his paperwork. She must have called the funeral home director too, because he arrived just as the coroner was leaving. It was like time stood still. I sat on the floor to the left of the hospital bed again, where I'd been just before Tony died. I was rocking again and crying. George, the funeral director, was speaking to me and my mom. He was so proud of me for taking care of all this prior to Tony's passing. I honestly didn't give a fuck if he was proud or not, I wanted my brother to breath again. To look at me and tell me it was going to be okay.

We decided to have the memorial the following Saturday. This would give everyone time to get to our hometown, especially Tony's son. We discussed details but in the back of my mind I knew what was coming. I knew George was going to have to take Tony with him. Tony was to be cremated and I knew that. I had planned Tony's memorial with him, I'd picked out the urns he wanted. Per his request, I wrote his obituary and after he died I wrote the service. Just as I promised.

I didn't think I could bare to see George wheel Tony out of his apartment. The hospice nurse walked me out of his apartment and down to the other end of the building. I couldn't watch my brother leave again. This time I knew I'd never, ever see him again. I'd never hear his voice again. I'd never feel him punch me. I'd never be able to hug him again. But I turned back at the wrong moment- I saw George wheel Tony out of his apartment and out the door of the building. I sunk to the floor and bawled. The nurse held my hand and tried to comfort me.

I got up some time later, it felt like an hour but I'm sure it was just minutes. I felt eyes on me. There were people in the building that had come out to look around after seeing the hearse arrive. I got up and a few of the women I had gotten to know while getting Tony's mail came and hugged me. One whispered in my ear "Sweetheart, my heart breaks for you. You're much too young to go through this. Please know God will help you."

I walked back to Tony's apartment and took my mom by the hand and said "It's time to leave this apartment. We'll  go spend the night at my house." I don't know how I drove us to the house that night. I don't remember it. I do remember having to stop my own grief to comfort my mom. I remember putting on Tony's sweater jacket and sleeping in it in the spare bed with my mom that night. I woke up just seconds before she did the next morning.

She sat bolt up and said, "My baby… My baby. I have to go to my baby. He needs me. He can't be left alone. Why'd you let me leave him alone?"

"Momma, he's gone. He's gone." And then she broke down like I've never experienced. I held her, I rocked her. I listened to her heart break. I remember we argued over who would call who. I let her make all the calls and when my daddy called to say he'd fly in that afternoon I couldn't wait. I needed him to take care of her so I could grieve. But I also wanted my daddy to tell me this was all a very bad dream.

Later that morning, I took mom out to breakfast though neither of us ate. My jackass boyfriend didn't know what to do and wasn't any help. We went back to Tony's apartment for mom's clothes. I don't remember arriving there, walking in to his apartment or leaving. I only remember getting in the car and turning the radio up so I didn't have to talk to mom. I was choking on my own tears and my own broken heart. I didn't cry in front of her though. I stayed "strong" for her.

I wasn't paying attention to the DJ at all. I was on autopilot but the first song that played grabbed my attention so much that I slammed on the brakes. "When I get where I'm going" by Brad Paisley. It was the song Tony and I talked about a lot before he died. He was afraid he wouldn't make it to Heaven because he hadn't been to church in years. I had reassured him as best I could when we talked. I told him my faith was strong enough for the both of us. I told him this, "I know God will welcome you. He is so proud of the fight you've put up against this cancer. He has blessed me with the best gift in the world, YOU. When you see Grandpa L., he'll take you to God and God will hug you like an old friend. God hasn't forsaken you bubba, He's held you all this time." I knew that this song was Tony telling me he'd made it. He'd been received in to Heaven by God and was with our grandfather. He was Home.

The song ended and then "Lucky Man" by Montgomery Gentry came on. I smiled. I couldn't help it. My best friend was making sure I knew he was there. That he was in that car with us. That he was holding my hand even if I couldn't see him. I sang along, it was Tony's favorite song and he told me it was his life. He'd been lucky he said, that he'd had a good life even if it wasn't long enough.

It was the next song that hit me straight in the gut- "Hell Yeah" also by Montgomery Gentry. This was the song I had asked Tony to send to me when I needed him to give me an answer. I remember that just before it played I had asked him if he was okay now. I told him I needed to know he was okay and that I was going to be okay. He answered me in seconds with my song. 

My mom was just staring straight ahead and I turned the radio up louder. I sang along as the tears poured down my cheeks. I didn't shake, or let her know I was crying. If she saw my tears, I'll never know. I just know that in those few minutes, my best friend wasn't gone, he was letting me know he was okay.

After the song ended, the DJ came on and apologized for playing two in a row by Montgomery Gentry. He said he didn't know how it happened, but I did.

~ The Composer

My Nightmare: Part One

I am sharing things very few people know. I have held these thoughts and memories very close to me over the past 5 years and only shared bits and pieces to various close friends and family. I wonder if I am going to be sharing things I will be judged for. I worry that I will lose friends or family over this. However, after much prayer I feel that for me I must get these things out of my head. Because this is a hard topic for me to write about, I will be covering it in a few parts. I don't know how long each part will be. I will know in my heart when it's time to start and stop each one….

On 8/24/2007 my brother, Tony, died. It was a Friday evening. I'd been with him and my mom for the last 48 hours in his one bedroom apartment. I didn't go to work, didn't go home to my boyfriend. Just stayed where I needed to be.

Around noon Tony started making this noise. I am not sure I can explain it to you. The hospice nurse called it the "death rattle". To me it sounded like he was in pain, it was loud and has haunted me in my sleep ever since. I was allowed to push his morphine drip every 15 minutes. I did, I didn't want him to be in pain. That was always my fear, that he was in pain and I couldn't alleviate it for him.

The hospice nurse instructed me to crush a pill up on a teaspoon, add two or three drops of water and give it to him. He'd stopped speaking the day before and wasn't eating or drinking anymore. It wouldn't make the sound go away, but it would quiet it down a bit. The pill was an anti-anxiety, calming med. I remember looking into his eyes and begging him to open his mouth so that I could help him. He did because he trusted me. I told him to swallow and he did. I don't know if he understood why I was doing it, but I hope so. About 30 minutes later he calmed. He was still breathing "funny", not quite a gasp but not a full breath, it was shallow and persistent. The noise went from ringing through the apartment to only being heard if you were in the same room as he was in. 

Mom and I talked to him, mom more than I, through out the day. I was in denial. I didn't want this to happen. I didn't want to be there with him, but knew I didn't want to be any where else. I kissed him a few times through out the day and made sure the morphine was being used. I lay my head next to his and whispered it was okay to go be with Grandpa, to find my dogs and love on them. I told him I'd be okay. I lied.

I was laying on the floor of his living room looking at a mail-order catalog (funny how certain details never leave your memory). He was in the hospital bed facing the wall, with the window to his left. Mom was sitting on the couch by me when suddenly she got up and went to stand on his right side. She called my name twice… I stood up because the tone was one I'd never heard before. In that moment I noticed two things, the room had grown quite and I was shaking. I remember looking at my mom and watching tears stream down her cheeks. She held her finger to her mouth making sure I understood to keep quiet. I nodded and the tears started to fall.

The day had been overcast with little pops of sunlight on and off. Suddenly a beam of sun hit the wall my brother was looking at, it was beautiful. I watched Tony smile so big and bright and as his mouth formed the word "Grandpa" his eyes lit up. I covered my mouth with both my hands so not to scream. I felt the scream choking me, tearing at me to be let out. He took one last breath and died. In those two minutes, my world as I knew it ended.

I went around the  head of the hospital bed and in to my mother's arms. We cried and shook. She let go of me to call my dad to tell him his son had passed away. It was the worst call she's ever had to make.

As she talked with dad she went in to the small kitchen to be alone. I don't know if she saw me or not, but I went back to the left side of Tony's bed and crawled in next to his body. I hadn't been able to hug my brother for a month because every touch hurt him. I laid there holding him and bawling. I ran my fingers through his beard over and over again. I told him I loved him. I wiped my tears on his blanket. I promised I'd never forget him. I kept telling him to come back. I told him I didn't know how to live without him. I told him he couldn't leave me. I begged him to breath again….

~ The Composer

Weighing me down

There are two topics rolling around in my head. Both are very emotional for me. Here's one of them….

I was looking at photos today and found myself staring, mouth agape, at myself in these pictures. They were taken in February of 2009 and I can't believe how far I've let myself fall in the past four years. It hurt to see myself. I'm going to try explain why….

My world turned upside down on a Friday in August of 2007. I watched my brother smile one last time and go to Heaven. I had to cover my mouth with both my hands to keep from screaming. It was the worst day of my life. I replay that moment in my head… a lot. I see him smile the most beautiful calm smile and then he left. I have never felt my soul rip like that. It was the most devastating thing I've ever been through. And yet I know how lucky I am to have been there. He found his peace that evening as the sun shone brightly in to his living room just as he died.

We had his memorial the following weekend. It was Labor day weekend. I honestly only remember little snippets of the hours we were in that funeral home. I know I had a CD that played his favorite songs, but I don't remember hearing them. I try and just can't. We cleaned out his apartment and gave all his furniture away. As we were about to leave his apartment I went back to the bathroom and closed the door. It was a weird set up as the door opened outward into a little hall. There behind the door was his favorite piece of artwork. It is a painting of ducks coming into a marshy area for the night. I had spoken with Tony weeks prior to his death about wanting to get a tattoo for him, to forever honor him on my body. He told me he knew just what he wanted me to have and that he'd take care of it. I never brought it up to him again. I thought he forgot. But finding that painting, where it was, I knew it was what he wanted my tattoo to be. It is a true work of art on my left shoulder. He is always there. I had it done just a few weeks after the pictures I was looking at today were taken. It's one of the few things I still like about my body.

After my brother died the world kept moving along. I felt like I was living in a fog. I went to a cousin's wedding but my heart wasn't there. It was a gorgeous wedding but the jerk I was dating and I had a lot of tension between us. He (the jerk) kept telling me it was in my head. Two weeks later after the wedding, just two days after our 2 year anniversary, he broke up with me. He told me I had a month to move out of his house and then told me to move in to the spare room. He didn't want to talk, he told me he didn't want to "deal with my grief". At some point he told me I was overreacting to losing my brother. I should have slapped him, but I was in shock. How did I end up in love with a man that didn't love me enough to help me grieve? How could I be so blind to his cruelty to others and to me? He never hit me, but he did have a way of making me feel like shit when he needed to boost his own ego.

To spite the jackass, I went and bought a cute little house in my hometown. Tony helped me find my little place. It was 816 sq feet with two bedrooms, a full basement and two car garage. It was the perfect size for me to restart… again… at age 31. I had celebrated my 31st birthday just a couple of weeks after Tony died. It was hard because the wedding was the same weekend. When I found my house, I knew Tony had made it happen for me. I had a good job, family around and I thought I could handle it.

WRONG! So fucking wrong. I had the family Christmas party at my small home, I went through all the motions of being cheery till the 1 year anniversary of Tony's death. Then it hit me. Like a fucking freight train… SMACK. I started to spiral down. I got sick with Shingles for three weeks. I missed work. I started not giving a shit about my job. I acted like I cared but on the inside I was tore up. I screwed around with a married guy then with a guy I couldn't have given two shits about. I made excuses not to see friends or family. And at the end of January 2009 I told my co-worker he could deal with the job and that I was done. I quit. I just walked out and didn't look back. I was on a high from how good it felt, but the aftermath wasn't what I thought it would be.

I came out to visit mom and dad in Feb. 2009. I made sure my visit coincided with my niece's visit. She and her boyfriend were coming from Germany and I hadn't seen her since 2004. It was a good visit. She and I got matching heart tattoos on our ankles. I went home to WI thinking I could handle what lay ahead.  Boy was I wrong- AGAIN!

I hadn't dealt with Tony's death at all. I started eating my feelings. I stopped any "extra-curricular" activities unless I felt that I could hide my sadness; no more darts, no more boat rides with co-workers, I stayed home in my self made cocoon. In June 2009 I was getting heavier in weight and in my heart. But then I met a guy. I thought he'd be a good one night stand, a little boost to the ego, a way to say I could salvage my life. Turned in to a relationship. Turned in to a major heartbreak a few months later because I wasn't ready to deal with my own demons, let alone his. 

January 2010 brought on a depression that took me two years to battle back against. I ate. I stayed home. I stopped being me. I lost friends but gained a sister and a best friend that helped me fight back. But the weight, that just kept going up. I stopped dating in September 2010 because I had stupidly fallen for a married man. I didn't know he was married, I bought his giant ball of bullshit- hook, line and sinker. After that, I didn't trust myself to find a good man. Part of me still doesn't.

When Tony first died, I didn't use that word. I said "he left". I couldn't say "died" because my heart broke with every use of the word. I missed him. I still miss him so much that there are days when all I want to do is curl up and cry. Those are the days I have learnt to fight against and how to handle the grief. When I moved here in September I saw myself as others have been. I am not healthy at this weight. I have topped out at 174 lbs. And for my 5'3 frame that's too much. My fibromyalgia and asthma would be better if I didn't weigh so much. When Tony died I weighed 125 pounds. I was slim and looked good. I liked how I looked. Now I don't.

I'm taking baby steps to get the weight down. The doctors finally figured out that I'm gluten intolerant and taking that out of my diet has helped me feel better and lose 10 pounds. I am trying to make sure I go up and down the stairs at least three times a day. I am watching my portion size. I will be walking as much as possible starting Feb 1. Each month this year I will be adding a new habit to get in to so that I can get back to a healthy weight and a happier me. I am on meds for the depression, the fibro and asthma. I am not looking at the scale every day, I have vowed to only weigh myself twice a month because to do it more often causes me to lose sight of the little changes.

I want to not hurt when I look at pictures of myself from the past 4 years. I want to see myself happy in my pictures. All I see now is how I've let myself down. And in letting my body get this far off track, I have not honored my brother. He was an avid outdoorsman, and here I am living in one of the most beautiful places on earth and I'm not enjoying it as he would encourage me to. I want to be proud of my body again, not ashamed. I don't need to be a size 4 to be happy. I need to be healthy again, so that I can take care of my mom as her dementia worsens. So that I can do more of the lifting and physical work around here that Dad's carrying the burden of. So that I can live to be 90 and keep telling the stories of the life of my brother.

~ The Composer

P.S. I didn't know which topic would win the battle in my mind till I started typing. I'm sure the other topic will flow out next….

Commercials that annoy me

This is going to be a bit ranty, but its my blog and I can write whatever I choose. I choose commercials, specifically the ones that seem to be annoying me today.

Have y'all see the Target commercial for the baby wipes, diapers, etc? The woman is dressed all in white, has a cowgirl outfit on, her hair is braided and there are three babies. Seriously? Who came up with this ad? I do not know a single mom, let alone one with triplets, that is wearing white when she's changing diapers. And I sure as hell don't know any moms of triplets that have time to get all gussied up in cowgirl wear to "wrangle" up their kids. Why can't they show a harried mom? You know the one I'm talking about. She's got sweats on or PJ's, her hair is a mess, there's an unidentifiable stain of yellow on her shirt and her eyes are bloodshot. That's the kind of mom I want to see on commercials. The real ones. Not some advertising idiot's idea of what the mother of his kids should look like. Because if she's got time to look that put together with triplets, she has help. Target wants to sell their "every day line", fine. Sell it with every day people.

What about this Benz ad? The one that hasn't even been on yet and it's already sparked controversy. Personally, seeing a model walk around a bunch of guys washing a car isn't going to inspire me to purchase a Benz. But then again, lack of cash flow limits what kind of car I can buy.

The one that really pissed me off a few weeks ago was for a hearing center here in the Denver area. It played the sound those of us with tinnitus hear all the time. Hearing this noise come out of my TV made me drop the coffee cup in my hand and cover my ears. It caused a migraine almost instantly. I'm sure I'm not the only tinnitus sufferer that had this reaction. The local TV news station played this commercial 3 times in 45 minutes. I finally stopped watching their channel when I realized it wasn't going to stop. I even wrote the clinic on their FB page. They deleted my comment and never responded in any way or form to me. I wrote to the TV station also, no response. Guess what channel I don't watch anymore?

Lastly, it's not the ad or the company that gets me with this one. It's the song that I then find myself singing the rest of the day. Every time I see that guy on the wave board I can't help but sing along. I like Flo Rida. I wish I could go on a cruise. Nicely played Royal Caribbean!

Rant over… and I bet you're singing "Good Feeling" now. I know I am… AGAIN! LOL

~ The Composer  (new name, seems more fitting since I am the one writing my own story)

To be a mommy... or not????

Today I've been thinking about why I don't have children. Mostly it's because I don't have the plumbing anymore. I  had a complete hysterectomy at age 30. I wasn't married at the time, but was dating a man that hated- that is not an understatement-  children. I thought we'd be together forever so I wasn't worried about not being a mom. I have nieces and nephews- some are biologically mine, others are cousin's or friend's kids- that I could borrow whenever the need struck me.

Now I'm 36 and I'm single. I have a small dog that means the world to me. But I don't have children to call me mom, mommy or momma.

Will I miss out on this completely?

What did I give up? Did I make the biggest mistake of my life having it all ripped out? Should I have instead just sucked up the pain of the endometriosis so that I could have had the chance to give birth?

Ever since I can remember I have wanted to be a mom. A mother. Some little human being's world. I had planned to have at least two biological children and then adopt at least two more. I have names that I want to use.

I have been a nanny and a babysitter. I started babysitting when I was 12 years old. I am still in contact with one family that I babysat for while I was in high school. I have a tendency to think of them as little kids still- my little kids. My best friend A.'s kids- I consider them mine. My other best friend K- her kids are my niece and nephews. I love these children. I got three letters today from my sister M's daughter today. I cried because I miss her so much. She  is a wonderful child; her smile is contagious, she thinks farts are as funny as I do, she loves to hug me as much as I love to hug her and she writes me letters now that we live states apart. My 20 something niece lives in Europe. She is a mini-me. Her father and I don't talk but the love I have for her, it is stronger than ever. And my dear brother Tony gave me a nephew that looks just like him. The young man even sounds like his dad. He is a true blessing.

I had a boyfriend back in 2009 that had three daughters. I loved being in their lives. When we broke up, I mourned the loss of those little girls. I really hated him for what happened. We have since talked and accepted responsibility for what went wrong. I still miss those girls. And now he has a fourth little girl. What if I'd had my plumbing then? Would this man have given me the gift of a baby?

I think about the situation I'm in now. I'm the caregiver to my mom, she has dementia. My dad supports us both because the man is smarter than I'll ever hope to be. He has retired three times and each time some company comes begging to have him work for them. I honestly can't imagine my dad not working. I'm glad that I can be here to help. I am lucky to be making memories with her. I'm blessed that he can afford to support all of us and wants me here.

But I can't help and wonder, who will take care of me when I am old? Who will hold my hand and care about me when I'm in my late 60's? Who will hug me? Will I ever feel the joy of holding a child close knowing that he or she is mine? Will I ever be the mom on the sidelines cheering like crazy no matter what? Will I get to be the proud momma of a graduating college student? Will I ever get to hang little hand prints on the wall?

I still want to be a mom. I hope that somehow in the next years that can happen through adoption. Maybe it won't. I don't know what is in store for me. Only God does...

 ~ The Dreamer

Where's the Plumber?

On Tuesday Jan. 8, I called our landlord and the property manager to tell them the bathtub faucet is leaking. It drips no matter how hard I turn it and when you try to take a shower, 75% of the water goes down the drain, not up into the shower head.

Mr. Manager came by on Wednesday Jan. 9 to look at it and decide if he could fix it. This is the first time I met the man. He seemed very nice and told me he'd have it fixed by the following Wednesday.  He said it should only take two hours maximum to fix it. Why it was going to take a week I don't know but I was willing to wait. So mom and I stayed home all day Tuesday and Wednesday to wait for him. He didn't show or call. Strike One!

On Friday the 18th at 9 am I called Mr. Manager back. After I told him my name he said "Oh, you're calling to remind me about the shower." Seriously???? Isn't it your job to remember to get things done? Don't you get paid a monthly fee to take care of this stuff? Strike Two!

Late in the afternoon on Friday he called me back to tell me the plumber would be here today. Guess what, today is Monday and it's 4:15 pm… NO PLUMBER. Strike Three!!!

Don't think that the landlord won't know about this entire process. I have an English composition degree.  I will send him a nice letter to inform him of the lack of professionalism on your part Mr. Manager. We may not pay the water bill, but that doesn't mean water should be wasted or that it should take two weeks to get it fixed. We're still paying for the hot water to go down the drain.

4:35 pm today: The plumber just called- to tell me he'll call me tomorrow to let me know what time he'll be here. Oh and he asked what the problem was. Didn't the manager tell him? WTF!  Does this sound hinkey to anyone else?

If the plumber doesn't show tomorrow I am going to be royally pissed. Yes, I work from home. Yes, I am available most days. But sitting here waiting for you to show and then you don't… that's the express lane to my Bitch-Dom!

If you do show up tomorrow Mr. Plumber know these things:

1. I know how to fix this shower. But I don't own the property so I won't do the work.

2. If you dink around longer that two hours, I'll be letting the landlord know.

3. I will be watching your every move. See #1!

4. If you piss me off, you'll know it. Mr. Manager will know it and the landlord will know it.

5. If your ass crack is showing or you swear in front of my mother, I will demand you leave immediately. There is no need for either of those things to happen.

6. If after you leave it still doesn't work, I'll be taking pictures and sending them to the landlord. Then I'll fix it myself. The landlord happens to be a lawyer btw!

7. I can be the sweetest lady on the planet or the biggest bitch. How you act will influence how I act.

And by all that is holy, if you don't show, my bitchy wrath will fall upon you!

~ The Dreamer (AKA the Queen Bitch when necessary!)

My first blog....

Well after a nice talk with one of my BFF's, I decided to follow my heart and start this blog. I have another one that concerns my job. This one here will be about me. My life. My ups. My downs. My silliness. My dreams. I am composing my dream as I go.

I am 36 years old and divorced. I have had two men in my life since my divorce that I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with. Turns out I was wrong. Very wrong. One is still in my life, the other…. He can take a long walk off a very short pier.

I have lost my best friend to cancer on 8/24/2007. He also happened to be my big brother. He is now my guardian angel. I believe in him and look for the signs he sends. I have always believed in angels. And he was most deserving to be one. His life was shorter than it should have been, but I am grateful for every day I had him in my life. I'll write more about him as he was a HUGE part of my life and still is.

I am sarcastic. I swear. I am a sweetheart. I am a bitch. I am a die hard romantic.

My life hasn't turned out the way I thought it would or the way I planned. I don't think it could have gone more off plan than it has. That's why I am composing my dream as I go…..