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Happy Birthday Andy…Rest In Eternal Peace
Haven’t done this in a bit, but today is a special day. Today is the day my husband would have been 35 years old. Some of you who have read my past posts know that he passed away at the age of 30, leaving me with two of his beautiful daughters. I woke up this morning, ready to start my day with positive thoughts and memories of good times I spent with him. We had our ups and downs, that’s for sure, but today was a day to remember the ups; the day we met, our first dance, our first kiss, the first time he told me he loved me, the day we held our first daughter in our arms, the day we held our second daughter in our arms, the days he proposed (yes days, he proposed twice), our wedding…his 30th birthday party… I woke up just like any other morning and, being the social networking being I am, checked my Twitter and then my Facebook. Scrolling through my FB timeline, I saw a wonderful post by my brother-in-law. It was a video made for the third anniversary of Andy’s passing. I had never seen it before and I was excited to see it. That excitement quickly turned to anger and then complete and utter hurt. No where in that video were the words “his wife, Michelle”. I understand that after Andy passed his family and I didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye on a number of issues. I tried my best to “smooth” things over with them. I realize that today we may be passed most of those issues, but this video brought back a range of emotion that I haven’t felt in a long, long time. I may not have grieved the way they wanted or expected me to. I was 27 when he passed, young. I dealt, and continue to deal, with his death the way that suits me. No one, but my pillows (and Chunk, my teddy bear), know the tears I’ve cried. No one knows the nights I’ve stayed awake staring at our children, angry at God, at the world, for taking him from us. No one knows the breakdowns I’ve had at his burial plot. No one knows the complete hole he left in my heart, a hole that will never be filled. No one knows how often I replay that night in my head…I saw him die, they didn’t. He was my first love and for someone, anyone, to belittle that is just cruel. I’m going to continue to remember the good times, even those good times we spent with the family that abandoned me when I needed them most. I will continue to talk to my children about him, tell them stories, never let them forget how much he loved them. I will continue to mourn…in my way, and I will never allow anyone the opportunity to minimize the love I had, and continue to have, for my husband. Rest in eternal peace Andy. It’s a shame that some people just won’t allow this to happen. #RIP #happybirthday #death #love #marriage #children
First post since my vacation
And what a vacation it was! Trinidad Carnival 2012 will forever be written in my book as the best vacation I ever had. For those that don’t know, I’m Canadian by birth, born to Trinidadian parents, however, I am a Trini at heart and recently learned that I am a citizen of that beautiful country (thanks to my mother who regained her citizenship not too long ago). I have always felt at home on the island…ah so from since ah small. Did a short stint there growing up, attended school (wasn’t spared the rod there) and generally enjoying a part of my childhood there. As a matter of fact, my best Christmas memory is one from when I lived there. I was maybe 9 years old. My cousin worked for a supermarket in St. James and I tagged along to help. At the end of the day, the owner paid me some small change. I saved up maybe two weeks worth of that small change and bought my grandmother a pair of bedroom slippers and my mother an inspirational hanging plaque (we still have it). That year I received nothing but a pencil case box with a couple pencils, an eraser, a ruler and a sharpener and an imitation Barbie doll…it was all my mother could afford at the time and it was the best Christmas I ever had. I didn’t get any video games, fancy clothes etc…what I got was a life lesson. It’s not what you receive, it’s how you receive it - it’s not what you receive, it’s what you give. My mother and grandmother showed me a love that surpassed the value of any material item. This lesson continues into my adult life. Visiting home, my family doesn’t have the material items I have here. Hell, where I stay doesn’t even have hot running water…but they are happy…happy. They don’t wish to have what others have. They are content with having what they have and the love of their family. It’s what carries them through their days and nights. My cousin works hard for his family so that they have the necessities and anything extra is more than appreciated. Sometimes I wish that I can instill this in my children, but growing up here, in Canada, in a place so focused on what you do or don’t have, it’s near to impossible. Anyway, back to my vacation… It was twelve days of complete happiness. I don’t think I have ever felt so relaxed and calm, even with the pace that Carnival brings. It was great meeting new people and spending time with friends from here there. Most importantly, I was able to spend time with family that I only see once every year or so and met my baby cousin, Leah, for the very first time (although I kind of met her last year while she was still in her mummy’s tummy). The beach limes, the AVENUE! Did I say the AVENUE?? La Habana is a definite must when on the Avenue…the food, mmmm, the food…Me Asia, doubles, KFC, cow heel soup, curry…oh my gosh the list can go on! I also got to see an old friend I haven’t seen since 2004…it’s funny how time, distance and circumstance didn’t change the love (and I’m not speaking of romantic love) between us. Leaving him that morning was one of the hardest things I had to do since 1997 when I left him the first time, cried all the way to Ft. Lauderdale (and even on the way back to TO)…but because our friendship is so strong, I know that it will last, from now until eternity. All in all, my most memorable trip to Trinidad yet…thanks to my family and my friends, new and old.
Killing the Stereotype
I’m accustomed to walking with my daughters and it being assumed that I’m their older sister. I’m okay with the stares…I’m even okay the comments “oh, you’re too young to be the mother of such big girls”; “you must have started early”; “you’re only __ (insert whatever age there)?” What I am NOT okay with is the stereotypes attached to being a young(er), single mother. Those who have read parts of this blog know my story. Those who haven’t, here’s the brief rundown: I became a mother at 16 to a beautiful daughter. Her father and I had another daughter when I was 22. We were married when I was 25 and he passed away when I was 27. My husband and I were together for a total of 13 years before he was taken. The bullets below are answers/responses to actual questions/comments I’ve received over the years. It boggles my mind that people still think this way. We live in such a diverse society that you’d think people would be more understanding of “non-typical” families.
This little rant started because of a meeting I had this morning with the people that are supposed to be assisting in the education of my teenager. I was in a room with two men, both of whom were much older than I. One made it very clear that he has been teaching since, well, since I was a toddler. I felt that because of my age and circumstances, this man did not take my concerns or solutions seriously. He tried to quiet me with big words and when that didn’t work, he simply ended our meeting. My concerns not dealt with. My solutions shoved under the rug. I am a very involved parent…I always have been and I will continue to be. My children’s education is one of my top priorities. So this little situation this morning only strengthened my drive to do more for my girl. When I have my mind set on something, I am a force to be reckoned with, particularly when it comes to my kids. I am in no way advocating teenage pregnancy, but it happens. I was lucky because I had the support of my children’s father, my family and my children’s father’s family. So I’ll add, my story is different, most teenaged-mothers do not have the support I did and continue to have. I am not a stereotype…and neither are my daughters. I’ve worked hard to get us to where we are, to break away from those stereotypes. So when looking at me and my “non-typical” family, don’t judge, remember your comments do hurt and your judgments sting.
→ Kobe vs Vanessa
The title says it all. Two views from two women. Read and comment. #kobe #vanessa #divorce #wtf #millions
Breaking Dawn
Scene:
Bella & Edward just finished doing the do (Neiva's eyes and ears covered thru out) Upon opening her eyes, Neiva: why are there feathers everywhere? Me: they had a pillow fight Neiva: that must've been a crazy pillow fight Me: it was an intense pillow fight Kids are so sweet : oD
Baggage…
Ya, I got it…lots of it. I’m a mother, a single one at that, not by choice, but by fate. It is what it is, and I’m dealing. I’m a daughter, an only child. Taking care of aging parents is not an easy task, but it must be done, and each of us will have to do it at some point in our adult lives. I’m also a woman, a friend, a lover…a person. Sometimes my baggage is much to carry, it gets heavy and my arms feel like they’ll break off at the shoulders, but I carry my load, with a smile and with grace. Sometimes it’s overwhelming and I don’t know how I’m going to carry on, but I always seem to. This baggage, it’s what makes me who I am. So ya, I have baggage and anyone who would even consider being a part of my life will have to understand that although my baggage is my own, every once and a while, I may need a hand. #baggage #mylife #sucks #oneday |
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