�I�m having a glowy skin day. Yay! It�s not all Mary Kay.�
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I sincerely believe children can see things we cannot and that many have knowledge of things we are not aware of. If you�ve ever watched a baby look and giggle at something behind you, if you�ve ever heard a baby laughing when they are by themselves, you may have had the feeling that they were playing with an imaginary friend.
Now, before I share this with you, I will reiterate that I am NOT a religious person. It�s just not me. But, I am deeply spiritual, and this is why I very much believe what my daughter told me.
When Jackie was three, we lived right next door to a firehouse. Often, I would take her and my Godson down to sit on the truck. Jackie really loved that, and especially loved the firemen. When a firetruck would go by, she�d mention her favorite firefighter, a brown haired cutie that took to Jackie. She�d say, �There goes Brian�.
As time went on, Jackie sort of became obsessed with the firehouse and quite often we�d have it out because I couldn�t take her down there to see the firemen every day.
Jackie turned four in March, and I remember, the week after September 11th, Jackie asked me who was hurt when the buildings fell. I told her, lots of people at work, many firemen, and policemen. She�d say, �That�s sad, because my friend is a firefighter. He must be sad.� I�d always think she was talking about Brian, the one who was stationed next to our old house.
I never could understand Jackie�s thirst for knowledge about September 11th. I tried to shield her from it but she always wanted to know about it. It broke my heart to think about it, but she always said that she�d send her angel, St. Gabriel, to dig them out. I�d always told Jackie we all had angels around us, and a guardian angel. After that, Jackie started telling me that she had three guardian angels. St. Gabriel, and St. Michael and Grandma Joann. We�re not Catholic, and we usually don�t call anybody St. anything so I was stumped as to why Gabriel and Michael were saints.
When she was five, she still hadn�t forgotten about the buildings.
One day, she was playing Lego�s while I was watching TV. She kept referring to Michael. She said, �Mommy, St. Michael is one of my guardian angels.� I said, �I know honey, you�ve told me that.� Then I got curious.
Jackie, what do you know about St. Michael? She said, well, he�s a fireman. I thought that was pretty funny. A fireman angel and a saint. She then said, �He�s got white hair, like God.�
Oh, my hair stood up on my neck. I calmly got up, walked into my closet, pulled out the September 11th box that I had on the top of the closet. This was a prized possession, this box of information I was saving for when Jackie grew up.
There was no way she�d be able to pull out that 50 pound box and not break her neck trying to do so, and then try to put it back. She would�ve hurt herself. I�d never shown her anything in the box. I pulled out the articles I had saved about Mychael Judge who was the priest who had died in the world trade center. I�d always thought his hair was gray. I guess I�d never paid attention, because his hair, at the time of his death, was white. He was the firemen�s chaplain. He�s been nominated for sainthood, since he died doing what he loved so much, and miracles have happened in his name. I wanted to cry. The thought of that fireman being my daughter�s guardian angel was more than I could bear. I feel so lucky.
If you want to see what Mychael Judge looked like, please cut and paste this into your browser www.saintmychal.com
In a world like ours, true heroes are few and far between.
I haven�t showed Jackie Mychal�s picture yet. I don�t know if she�d freak out. But I�m going to tonight.
I�m worried about my sister, Renee. It�s strangely unsettling to talk to a
25 year-old who�s already given up on her dreams. She feels she has nothing to look forward to, and I�m very sad about it because I know there is LIFE to look forward to.
Renee�s life controls her, she doesn�t control it. Things just �happen� to her randomly, through no fault of her own. I don�t think she�s figured out yet that owning your mistakes empowers you to do better. She seems absolutely befuddled as to how she ended up with three babies, an abusive leeching ex-husband (father of two kids) and one baby daddy (father of one to be born this month) sitting in jail for assaulting her while she �takes responsibility� and will raise her child alone. She says it like she has a choice. I�m exasperated. Well hon, welcome to Earth. As a mother, I know this happens to women a lot. It just does. It�s not fair. You can hold baby daddy responsible when he�s released but right now he�s sitting in jail. And he has a history of setting up baby mamas and putting them in jail and his worthless butt ends up with the kid. Tread lightly little mama! You just might end up raising this one alone anyway.
Accept you made mistakes, but recognize the positive things you�ve done also. See the best in every situation.
I know my little sis is hurt that this baby daddy hit her. He crossed the line and threatened to kill her the way her mama was killed. FYI, if I ever get my hands on him I will cut his scrotum off with a hatchet for that. Anyway, she is hurt. Yes, that cuts deep. I know. Honey, I feel for you.
But sissy, if you are to get on with your life, you must deal with this anger and hurt. Don�t push it down and ignore it. Talk about it. Send me a letter. Do something with it.
When I am angry, stressed or anxious, I throw myself into cleaning, or gardening. Sometimes I just take Jackie somewhere green to play. I write in my journal while she plays. I also have a paper journal. I shudder to think of all the reading Jackie will have to do when she�s of age. I have, like, 8 of them. But I put whatever I�m thinking about in words. It helps me come to terms with it. Am I angry? Yes, I�m very angry. I recognize the anger. I take a few minutes to revel in it. Then, I dismiss it. Dealing with it is paramount to my emotional recovery.
I�m worried about my sister. I tried to tell her that perpetual frown will cause early wrinkles, but she actually snorted when I said that. Uh-oh. She�s in the trenches of her anger. She�s wallowing in it, her head protected by a helmet of wariness, only to come up briefly to fight the ongoing war against laundry and housework and parenting. She�s living it. She�s furious.
So, when she comes to visit, eventually I get her alone and sort of verbally provoke her into talking about her feelings because she loves NOTHING more than to pretend everything is FINE. It is not fine, Sissy. Life sucks. But that�s why this is life; because we experience painful things and then beautiful things. We also have to make choices about our future. Often, the path we really need to take is narrow and hard to walk on. If you miss the turn-off, well, turn around. Take the next exit to the path. Don�t give up.
Don�t miss a chance because it�s dressed up in overalls and looks like work. Don�t be like I was in my early twenties.
What can I do? Be an example I guess. Serenity is something familiar to me. Occasionally, I grasp it. I hold on like hell, and then it�s gone, but the feeling lingers for a while. I am feeling more content in my life lately because I know how lucky I am to have a good job. I know how lucky I am to be able to feed my child and to do little things for her. I get crabby like everyone else but I don�t stay crabby.
I feel blessed that my family feels they can come visit when life gets tough. Even if they leave a big awful mess behind.
I told Renee that we make our own luck. You have to believe things will get better. A sourpuss only invites bad juju.
11:16 a.m. - 2003-07-17
Recent entries:
What you missed - January 16, 2012
%%older_entries%%From hell - October 19, 2010
%%older_entries%%a rant from a few weeks ago - August 17, 2010
%%older_entries%%Tired - June 20, 2010
%%older_entries%%A beautiful lie - March 11, 2010
%%older_entries%%
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