I was called to the city for a birthday celebration
Monday evening, and asked to stay the week.
I have been missing little handsome … so, I
agreed to go. I went trepidatciously; because I know my family. I know Stacey
is a loose bullet and at some point everyone will be ducking for cover and
grandma will be thrown under the bus to stop the verbal and emotional violence.
The first 24 hours went good – everyone was
having a good time, the grandkids and I were enjoying ourselves. The birthday celebration
was a success.
And right on cue … after the presents were
opened … Stacey started her shit. Because there was no other reason for me to be
there: she wanted me gone and needed
to create a scene to get me out. Pronto.
So, she did.
In typical Stacey fashion.
I couldn’t leave Tuesday night, because Alyna wouldn’t
allow me to be put out of the house and expected to get home in the dead of
night. Tuesday night was not a happy time for anyone.
And, when Wednesday morning rolled around,
Stacey went into action. Over a stupid and aimless argument, she insisted on
having about Green Hill Detention Center in Chehalis … and the Naselle Youth
Camp, in Naselle. She needs to be right even though she is wrong (she is wrong:
they both are still in operation). I said I wasn’t going to argue with her:
she said, “You need to pack your shit and get out.”
No rhyme or reason.
She just needed to be right and in control of
the situation … which was a stupid
argument that meant nothing. Other than she needed to be the voice of authority
on a topic she knew nothing about.
Alyna was there; she saw what unfolded. Liam was
not there: Liam would become Stacey’s new pawn. Alyna and Liam are still
newlyweds – Liam doesn’t need to be put in the position Stacey was forcing him
into.
I quietly packed and left before the phone convo
had ended: I sent a couple texts to some friends asking for prayer before I
pushed the ignition tab; and turned out of the apartment complex parking lot, into
a scary undertaking.
Family time can be hard when crazy is involved.
I made 2 wrong turns turns ...
Downtown was not the direction I needed to be going: had to backtrack. Twice.
… and went back to the apartment complex to have
Alyna explain the directions more clearly. Alyna, had printed detailed
instructions of which roads to take, for me earlier in the morning – when the
morning was still good. She had planned to ride along with me since this would
be my virgin solo lobo drive in the city; she would be coaching me through the
backstreets to home … where a planned small scale 4th of July
celebration would take place so little handsome could safely set off fireworks.
But, because of Stacey’s crazy, I would be
trying to get back home alone – and 4th of July excitement was
drowned out.
Each time I backtracked, Stacey answered the
door when I knocked.
I refused to go back a 3rd time,
and be faced with my smug-faced-tormenter.
I determined to bite the bullet, plow
ahead; and let happen whatever would happen. Driving
emotionally while hanging onto 2 pages of printed instructions for areas I was
not familiar with – and trying to keep an eye on crazy Oregon drivers, stoned
and brainless, was working my nerves … and making me strengthen my backbone
with a steel determination; daring life to get any more complicated.
I hate Portland with a passion; never even liked
being a passenger when Bob drove there. And now, I had to get myself home.
Solo Lobo; without a passenger who knew their way around.
I NEEDED Bob – he was my human GPS; and he
never failed to be accurate.
But Bob is no longer here
Getting a crash course in city driving.
I hate crying - It's so fricking 'helpless' feminine!
I hate that our child reduces me to a crying mass of
human flesh.
I dried my face and plowed ahead: like I’ve had
to do all my life. Survivors are not crybabies.
And I am a survivor: 63 years of daily
survival. Against all odds, I am still alive, and determined to make a good
life for myself.
Because I am not shy (survivors can’t afford to be shy),
I even pulled over and asked some fellas dinking with their car to help me out
with the instructions. Bob and the kids would have been shocked I was asking strangers
for help … especially in Portland, where people in general are wild cards … but
I needed help. And Bob is no longer available to go to for help; and the kids’
are throwing me under the bus: there is no more “safe” help. I was desperate
and fearless: I needed help. From anyone available. I boldly approached them,
and they explained to me where I needed to be. I thanked them, jumped into my
car and went on my way.
This is supposed to take me where I'm supposed to go. The paper said so: The paper and my brain were not communicating …
Still hopelessly lost.
This does not look like anything Alyna and I passed Monday afternoon …
Something is not right.
When Alyna had picked me up at Sauvie’s Island,
Monday evening, and drove my car to her home: she deliberately and patiently
took me the long way to their home because she knew I wanted to try my wings
solo loboing "next time" so the out-of-the-way pick me up at Sauvie's
Island could be avoided in the future.
Looking at things as I passed them, I was pretty
sure I was not going the right way towards home at this point.
Trudy called to ask how I was doing. I explained the situation to her. She
said, “Use your GPS”, and if you feel after a while that you need us to come and
get you safely home, call me. We’ll come.”
Hearing her comforting voice was an answer to prayer – I hadn’t specifically
asked for that, but Elohim knew I needed to hear a comforting voice.
It was a genuine offer, but she and Ed are in their
late 70’s; I wasn’t going to ask them to babysit me. I was determined to learn
to walk (or in this case, drive) with my shaky fledgling legs under me; so
I could move forward confidently.
I thanked her for her prayers and offer, assured
her that I’d let them know when I got back home: pulled over, ditched the printed
instructions, and punched my home address into the GPS. I know that google GPS
is not 100% foolproof, but I trusted it to get me to some landmarks I would be
familiar with and gain confidence to get myself home from there; and fervently prayed
to God I would get home before I ran the car out of gas in some God-forsaken backroad
pit stop with shattered security lights and roaming vagrants.
Further down the road, I found myself in
Beaverton - but not where I needed to be in Beaverton.
I decided at this point to just settle in and
let the car go where the GPS was taking it.
This was not the way Alyna planned for me ...
but I was determined to avoid the freeway at all costs, and stick to the “alternate
route”.
Super Tramp's song, "Take the long way
home" was going through my thoughts.
”
I was seriously out of my depth.
I refused to give into fear.
I refused to allow another onset of frustrated
tears.
I refused to let Stacey’s poison to spread any further
in my life.
Instead I fed my righteous and justified annoyance
with irritation directed at Stacey to burn off anxious nervousness. That may be
wrong with some Christians ... but I think Yeshua understood. And
sympathized.
My own child – our love child, conceived in a passionate act of true love; wanted,
doted on, and lavished with high hopes for a bright future – had instead
morphed totally into society’s child and gleefully delights in being my
tormenter; intent on destroying me at any and all costs: and pulling her
children into the chaos. Just because she can. She, Alyna, and Azariah are
my ONLY living ties to Bob. And they are shaming themselves … and Bob
and I … with their continual bullshit behaviors. The little one is innocent
– he just gets sucked into the mess and doesn’t understand what is happening.
Alyna should know better; I honestly believe she does, but Stacey is her mother:
and she will stick with her come hell or high water.
And grandma gets thrown under the bus to keep
peace in their household.
Stacey is not a pleasant person to live with.
Beaverton
The death of any relationship is hard to live
through.
But this relationship had refused ALL CPR
exercises: every time there is the slightest chance for a gasp of life, Stacey
smothers it.
Time to let it go ...
Aloha
My decision. For peace in my life.
Alyna and I, Wednesday morning, planned a route
that I was sure I could do. She printed it off, I read it, put it in my purse
and Alyna said she'd ride shotgun passenger and let me drive all the way home
Saturday.
We were excited - and laughing: it would be a
reverse driving lesson ;-)
Then ... Stacey came home.
And saw our grandchildren enjoying time with Grandma.
She couldn't stand it. She just cannot stand the
fact that her kids enjoy me.
She was not the center of attention. It’s
ridiculous.
The green-eyes monster sprung to life and Stacey
went on a 24-hour rant, upsetting everyone in the house: and of course, it
was my fault.
Under any other circumstances, I’d have been
happy to be out-of-house – enjoying the backroads.
Not the planned route ...
When I reached Hillsboro, I felt I was in
familiar territory; my lifelong best friend had lived in Hillsboro. This portion
of the journey should have been easy-peasy-simple. And for anyone else, who
hadn’t had to deal with morning insanity … it would have been.
When the Hillsboro Pioneer Cemetery came into view,
all I could think was: “Marla is dead; Bob is no longer in my life as a man in
the flesh – and any whimper of a hope of a relationship with our daughter is now
officially dead; Stacey killed it.”
Hillsboro
Definitely not in the planned route ... but pretty symbolic of what was taking place.
When I saw a road sign for Cornelius: and saw
that I was in a small town by the name of Cornelius, I realized that GPS had
screwed up and was leading me on an alternate route avoiding the freeway …
and on an alternate route that had led me away from the Pass.
Apparently, GPS MISSED the "Pass" part
of Cornelius Pass while planning it’s course of route; the Pass was where I
wanted to be going.
Cornelius, Oregon – the town – is waaaay off
the route needed for the Pass.
You can always trust GPS to take you out of the
way.
???
For road virgins, a faulty GPS is not good.
Totally out of my depth 3/4th of the way home ...
I wish I could have viewed the landscape with
excited eyes - instead of angry eyes.
Bob would have known by looking at the gas gauge
if the stress level was warranted or not.
But ... I am not Bob.
My brain does not compute mileage from here to
there – and the gas ratio needed to breathe easy.
I am a road virgin: my 1st time city driving/urban
areas outside my own familiar territory was freaking me out a bit. I couldn't
afford any mistakes that would complicate the uncertain outcome of the day; and
compromised future.
On any other day, and under different
circumstances, the drive really could have been exciting and enjoyable. But
on this particular day; under those particular circumstances … I was stressed
to the max. Wednesday was the tipping point.
Before, when I would find myself in these types
of situations, I could always call Bob at home and tell him where I was and ask
him to “talk me home” – tell me how to get from A to B: he had that ability –
the ability to picture where I was and compute the route I needed to get onto.
Bob was like a human computer.
But Bob is not here anymore.
And I am at the dubious mercy of his asshole
children and their mid-life angsts they feed with unrealistic imagined childhood
infractions they “feel hurt by”.
D.O.N.E.
With a seriously stressed "D"!
Past angry; fed up. My give-a-damn is permanently busted.
I love my grandkids. BUT – if they want to see me
again, they are going to have to come to me. I will never go where Alex and
Stacey are. Never again.
So help me, God.
I will never find myself in this
type of situation again; where I am told, “Please come – the grandkids miss you”
… and then find myself kicked out after the presents are given and Alex and
Stacey insist on arguing over pointless and aimless issues because they feel they
are “right” in talking about things they have no accurate information on.
It’s a narcissistic insanity on their ends.
And I don’t want to get sucked into that game
anymore because the love for my grandchildren causes me to hope there will be
some different outcome: there never is; there never will be.
I saw a road sign saying I was headed towards
Newport. Then I ended up in Banks.
I knew Newport was going towards Lincoln City –
a beach resort town along the Oregon Coast: definitely NOT where I wanted to be
going! The Oregon Coast was the total opposite of the direction I needed to be
going in. I was getting frustrated … and mentally trying to juggle the balance
of the checkbook in case I needed to hole up for the night.
Bob was the peacenik. I believe in physical discipline – MHO is that she should have been exposed to more if it.
I think, by this point in the journey, I had amped the "savage" up to 75% - possibly 80%: sweetness had soured miles back ... and was quickly evaporating with every mile forward.
Seeing the Vernonia sign post calmed me down -
but it was seriously waaaay past Cornelius Pass.
And I knew now, that GPS had not even factored the
Pass into its route – I had been looking for a road sign that I had no hope of
seeing along the convoluted alternate route I’d been traveling for hours. No
hope. At all.
Thanks a lot, GPS!
GPS totally blew off the Pass.
I didn't mind heading towards Vernonia - it's a
nice drive; BUT, it irked me that GPS was soooo faaaaar afield.
Under the best of circumstances, doing small
exploratory solo lobo road trips are a major undertaking for me – I work my way
into it, slowly; psyching myself up for weeks before actually doing it. This
road trip was a baptism by fire: a literal sink-or-swim situation.
Bob's old truck route ...
I didn't mind driving through here – this was
one of Bob's Chip Truck routes when he
drove truck for Lemmon’s Trucking. I kinda felt like he was moving along this
road with me.
I've never been this way by myself before, but I have been
this way with Bob.
I was still pissed with Stacey; but, I felt strangely
comforted knowing that Bob had traveled this same route.
His presence was definitely there with me, while I drove the
North Plains Highway.
Aha! Something familiar!
By the time I saw the "Lil' Stub Stewart State
Park" road sign; I was eyeing bushes along the roadside looking for an
acceptable spot to pull over for a pit stop. My jostled bladder was screaming - and I was noticing
it after the angry steam burned off.
Bob and I had stopped here many times when we made the day
trip to Lincoln City to pick up, or drop off, our oldest grandchild when she
would come spend the week with us.
So, I nipped into the Ranger Station and asked it the
Restrooms were open: they were; up at the top of the hill.
I had noticed some hiking trails when I pulled in
... I purchased an Oregon State Discovery Pass, and plan on coming back.
I felt emboldened by passing through the fire of the day’s ordeal – I was
singed and smelling like smoke, but the hiking trails appealed to me. And I
know how to get home from here ;-)
The Restrooms were open; but privacy was not
allowed.
I had to pee.
I didn't fricking care at that point!
If someone wanted a peek at my 63 year-old fat
'white' ass, I didn't care.
All caring seemed to have evaporated when my heart
broke in 2 earlier in the day.
Now, I seriously had to pee.
THAT was ALL that mattered at this particular
moment in time.
I was glad to see Vernonia! Vernonia meant home
was getting closer.
((((YAY!))))
Vernonia was a logging town until logging was phased out 3 decades ago.
Leaving Vernonia, I came upon a pretty bad wreck
between Vernonia and Mist.
Right in the corner of the road; a cop was
securing yellow tape around it. It was a tricky spot for him to be
standing it, but there was no help for it.
There were 2 young women standing along the ditch edge, and
there was no emergency vehicle; so, I don't think anyone died. But they
definitely took the corner way to fast.
MY stomach lurched remembering my own car wreck 34
years ago - I didn't end up upside down - but I was facing death straight on
with a log truck coming at me before I slid backwards onto a ditch. I can still
feel the slow-motion surreal feeling – and remembered myself begging God not to
let me feel the impact; and to spare Bob from having to claim my mangled body.
Not sure what those 2 girls were thinking; but I'm
sure it was something similar.
Kinda put my problems today into perspective …
You know, some people joke about their “crazy life”;
but I’ve lived it with my brain-damaged parents … and I’m living it with Bob’s
drug damaged children (they’ve ruined themselves with the lifestyles they’ve
chosen in rebelling against us), and it’s no freaking joke. A crazy life
hurts.
People
will never get the help they need until they face reality.
With themselves.
With their counselor.
With their families.
If they insist on lying, they will never heal because lies destroy.
The lies will ruin their lives - and the lives of everyone they touch.
Their counselor cannot effectively help them if they are dealing with cleverly
crafted false issues. The narcissistic charade is worthless. And fruitless.
A "crazy life" is nothing to laugh about.
It's sad.
It's destructive.
Bob was my stabilizing anchor in the crazy world I am continually thrust into –
and Bob is no longer here. I don’t want to deal with it anymore; or be
constantly thrown under the bus.
What happened today when Stacey started going off the rails yesterday and
totally went over the cliff this morning, is not okay. Alyna and Liam enabling
her to continue her abusive behavior the way she is … is not okay. Throwing
grandma under the bus as a living sacrifice to try and salvage eroding peace,
is really not okay.
The whole environment is not healthy. For anyone.
The whole situation is not okay.
And I am totally out of it, now – I am removing myself. I am not responsible
for them; but I am responsible for me – and how I choose to live my life
peacefully.
The kids do not get to create chaos and havoc in my life anymore. The kids do not get to randomly blow my dreams to hell and back just because their whims are not being catered to.
My life is big enough to include them ... but they have to be big enough to include me for more than the presents I bring. My new life doesn't make room for chaos and temper-tantrums.
I was never so darned happy to be back in
Longview!
Alyna's whole life was constant turmoil because of Stacey's craziness.
I'm not leaving space in my life anymore for anyone to dump their hate into.
I'm choosing happiness and peace in my life; that is ALL I will have time for now.
Everyone else will have to make their choices for their lives.
But they cannot use me as their personal whipping boy
anymore. Those days are over.
I'm not going to get sucked into anyone's madness
anymore.
The recent turmoil was uncalled for; the fallout
was unnecessary.
Stacey doesn’t respect herself, and she doesn’t respect
anyone else either.
The crazy train does not plow into my personal
space anymore - I've rerouted that sucker!
When I got home, Trudy invited me for Supper; I changed
quick, washed my hair, and went. She and Ed are good people. I feel lucky to
have them in my life.
And they said a hike for me has been planned for next week if
the weather is agreeable: down by Cannon Beach. It will be fun: I can’t wait
for next week to arrive!
Pam called a few minutes
ago to invite me to their family 4th of July BBQ; I accepted. I’m
going to move on with living.
