One Day At A Time

Well, the depression is definately lifting, slowly but surely. I still want to hibernate, here, in my bed, and sleep my life away. But it seems that the meds are allowing me to attempt to do anything but. I'm not saying that I don't sleep most of my weekends away. At least the weekends when my little guy is with his Dad. But at least now I can at least "do" something with him on my weekends with him.

I doubt very much that he considers me an exciting Mom. Today, I am 7 years alcohol free. So considering I was drinking the first 2 years of his existence, at least we can say that I do remember most of his childhood. And most of it was either doing opiates, or even worse, trying to come off of them. Then the was the 4 years on Suboxone, when I was doing okay. Just not really really interested in too much child-raising.

Which brings me to my reason for posting today.

I thank God for my father. He took us in, when my second husband left us. I was planning on staying for 6 months, while I got my act (and head) together. That has never happened by the way, lol.

But here I still am. My, my kids, my Dad, and my fiancee.

My father is an enigma.

ENIGMA
Pronunciation: \i-ˈnig-mə, e-\
Function: noun
Definition: Strange/mysterious person; hard to explain/understand


My Dad is going to be 78 years old in a couple weeks. Throughout my Mom's illness and eventual death there were days when I knew for sure he would never live much past her death. He was the best husband a woman could ever hope for. She was spoiled....rotten perhaps.

He did all the grocery shopping, cooking, not to mention being her personal chauffer. My Mom didn't drive anywhere besides her job which was 2 miles from our home. And then there was her long-standing Thursday appointment at the salon to have her hair "done". Something that is foreign to most of us. She didn't drive on any highway or byway. Refused to drive anywhere that had to be reached by a bridge or had anything to do with an on/off ramp. I doubt she she even knew what exit we lived off of on NJGSP.

She never knew what it meant to walk from a parking space for that matter. He dropped her off at the door of every mall, shopping center, doctors office, etc. And then picked her up at the door when her business was done.

He took her to the most beautiful places. Hawaii, Aruba, Mexico, Vegas. He showered her with jewelry. Now mind you, she didn't have the jewelry box of Liz Taylor. But he was her Richard Burton, for sure.

Looking back at it all today, I wonder if the reason I have never found "Mr. Right" is because I compared anyone and everyone to my Dad. I based my relationships comparitive to how he treated her. And I have yet to find anyone even close.

Although Tim is by far the best man I have ever been with.

I am the youngest of his two daughters. I am his favorite. I know that. My sister knows it too.

Well, that's enough about me. What is happening with anyone out there?

Oh, and HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!

Suboxone Mom