A Familiar Loss of a Different Kind

On Monday, morning, October 9, 2023, my dear friend, Buffy Sue, passed away unexpectedly in her home.

I have lost friends and family before, numerous times.  This loss, however familiar in some ways, is unique and different compared to those in the past.  This feels like new territory in some respects.

During my adolescent years, the internet was just starting to really become common and accessible.  In my tenth grade year, I joined a website for teens with journals, games, polls, messaging, and so forth.  It started out as somewhat of a social experiment in my mind, as well as an exciting way to explore new territory with people my age, all over the globe.  I had a MySpace page, where I found friends and new music, taught myself some basic HTML and photo editing skills, downloaded ICQ and AIM messengers, and continued to make connections.  It didn’t take long before I was fully immersed in the website I first mentioned, making friendships and relationships that many adults at the time would tell you were not and could not ever be real, true, lasting friendships.  It seemed absurd that you could have a relationship with someone you had never met. I grew up in a tiny town with amazing “real-life” friendships, as I would have referred to them at the time.  These online friends were no substitute, they were an addition to my tribe.

That website was the beginning of my online journaling (now called blogging) endeavor, and I wrote almost every day.  At one point, I had journaled every day for one or two years.  I honestly cannot even recall. I had friends that read daily, commented daily, and I reciprocated in their journals.  As we got older, we started chatting, emailing, writing letters, sending text messages, and sometimes even meeting in person.  While it may seem shocking to believe, I have made some of my most trusted friends on that website, and they know me, the real me, and love me in return, and we have had these relationships for twenty-some years.  They’ve been by my side, figuratively speaking, through high school, high school graduation, boyfriend breakups, college, college graduation, engagement, wedding, marriage, infertility, deaths in my family, births of children, betrayal from my husband, divorce, single-parenting, covid, overcoming, and so many more events in my last twenty years.

In 2012, after giving birth to one son in 2010, then losing a pregnancy in 2011, I became pregnant again and was due with our next child in August.  At the time, I was working an in-home daycare with one of my best friends, with a husband who worked long hours out of town and was away a lot.  I joined a pregnancy app on my phone, which came with message boards.  Those message boards were a bit rudimentary, and it wasn’t long after that an August 2012 Momma Facebook group was formed.  So many women around the globe joined that group, and we shared so much of our lives together.  That group still exists, and while it’s not as frequently utilized, we mommas are there and we still love each other.  Some have been fortunate enough to meet in person, and many of us developed deeper side friendships with mommas we really connected with, and have kept in touch in multiple other ways.  When we had our babies, we were there.  When they turned one, we were there.  When we have had triumphs and joys, we were there.  When lives turned unexpectedly upside down, we were there.  It is a core group that you know is going to be there even if it’s been a year and you need to rant about something related to motherhood, you need prayers or advice for any other topic, or you’re in a crisis and you don’t know what to do.  It’s been such a joy watching our children grow up together, even if we are not physically together.

This momma group is where I met Buffy Sue.  

Buffy Sue was absolutely my closest friend in that group.  She brought me such joy.  Her laughter was contagious and when she would get laughing, I may not even understand really what she was laughing about (because sometimes she would be laughing so hard her words didn’t sound comprehensible) but it would get me laughing, too.  She gave great advice when I needed it.  She said stupid funny things when I needed comic relief.  She sent me pictures and videos of herself and her daughters frequently.  She told me all about her coffee shop, when things were going well, when things would unexpectedly break down and cause messes, when things were going splendidly, all of it.  I always told her I wished she could deliver MY coffee, but joked that it would probably taste a little funky by the time it arrived, so she would just have to drink what I would order in my honor.  She blessed my children and I in big  and little ways, from surprises in the mail, to silly letters, and much, much more.  She helped me see straight through tears of confusion and anger when my marriage was falling apart.  She reminded me how strong I was, and how I was never really going crazy even if I thought it might be the case.  She encouraged and supported all my creative endeavors.  She was a champion for everyone she loved and so many other she barely even knew.  She would do anything she could to better someone’s life- not just mine.  I tried my very best to do the same for her in her life, and I can only pray that I made an as much an impact on her as she did on me.  As I’ve been reading tributes to her online, I am blown away, but also not really surprised, by the impact she made on her community, but even further, around the world.

When I read last night that she was gone, it felt like I was being punched in the chest.  I turned off my phone screen multiple times, feeling like I was just imagining what the screen said.  When I realized it was true, I wept quietly in my room, away from my sons.

You see, they didn’t really know Buffy.  They knew of her, because I would show them videos or photos sometimes when they’d ask what was so funny, but they never really met her.

That’s when I realized, in a way, I had never really met her, either.  Well, not in person, anyway.

That thought struck me in the strangest way, as I then wrestled with my own thoughts.  That lasted much of the night, and I cried myself to sleep, still feeling sort of strange to be feeling as sad as I was.

Today is my day off from work, so after I took my two littles to elementary school, my oldest and I carried out our day-off tradition.  I drive him across town to middle school, but on our way, we stop at a coffee shop of his choosing, and we play “coffee roulette” where I let him order a drink for me (so long as it is not straight up black coffee or espresso) and he chooses a bakery item for himself.  When we were picking up our items from the drive through window, I started to feel tears welling up in my eyes.  As we pulled away, I blurted out to him, “one of my online momma friends died this week.”

He was stunned.  He stared at me for a moment before he said “that is so tragic and I am really sorry, mom.”

I told him how I didn't want to burden them with my loss, and how I nearly broke down this morning when I realized if I sent her the goofy Snapchat photo I was sending some friends of our cat trying to get involved in non-cat-related activities she wouldn't ever open it anyway.

I began to tell him about Buffy and all of her great qualities.  I told him how she was really “Steve the Elf” a couple years ago who sent us tickets to For King and Country’s Christmas concert locally.  He laughed about it a while and then told me how she sounded so cool and it made all the sense in the world that we were friends.

“We really were friends,” I said, trailing off a little.  

I finally began talking aloud about all the conflicting thoughts I had been feeling the night prior- how could I possibly be so sad when I had never even been in the same room as her?  How could I be devastated knowing I wouldn’t get to hug her in person when we still hadn’t had that chance?  How could she possibly have left such a lasting impression on me when she was so far away?  

He and I then talked about how it absolutely makes sense that I was so sad.  She was real.  She was a real friend. She knew me better than many people.  Just because we had never been in the same place geographically, she was with me so often, in a few second spurts, day in and day out.  We shared each other’s triumphs.  We shared sorrow when her dad died.  We laughed when we would say or do stupid things.  We shared music.  We shared a friendship.

He and I then had a great talk about how you really can create life-long, true, deep relationships with people you have never met, but how you also have to be careful in letting people online into your life sometimes, especially with sensitive information.

I explained how I have two groups of real-life-online-friends, those who are still in my life from high school, and those who came into my life as a momma, and are still in my life today.  He knows I have amazing friendships with some of these.  He began asking me questions about many of them, and I got to tell him stories about how one friend and I would write a fiction blog about a world where we were actually together, and another friend and I would fill up a notebook with multiple letters before sending it off, and how I met one in Nashville, and stayed with one in Brooklyn, and met up with two in Omaha, and one came to Sioux Falls.

He told me I was a really great friend.  He wiped away my tears and reminded me he loved me.

As he got out of the car and I drove away, the song “Banks” by Needtobreathe came on the car stereo, and it brought me right back to Buffy, and the type of life she lived and the way she loved fiercely.

I was watching the sun rise above the trees, alone again with my thoughts and my sorrow.  I had finished my coffee, and remembered that my favorite local coffee drink, the Honey Bee Latte, was half price at that time in the morning, and I had enough pocket change in my cup holder to stop and grab one. I wasn’t quite ready to go home and sit with my thoughts yet, because my emotions were still swirling.  So, I stopped and ordered my favorite, one I had told Buffy about long ago, and decided to go to the outdoor campus here in town and go for a walk.  I dove deeper into my thoughts and emotion and decided that I needed to write.

I always find that I need to write.

This time, it was a little different.

I realized that I could search all over for a physical place where I felt my friend and I were together, but when it came down to it, the living room of our friendship was really the internet.  It was in writing, mostly.  I knew I needed to come sit on the virtual couch of our friendship and feel the emptiness in that room, and embrace the love I had for her in this life, through the screen in front of me.   I walked a couple of miles until my coffee was gone, with the gentle wind blowing through the trees, thinking about the songs she might send my way on a day like this, what joke she would make, and if her Honey Bee Latte would be even tastier.  I believe it would have been, no contest.  

So here I am, writing my heart out, wondering what she would say if she saw all of these words before us.  She would downplay her own significance for a while, but tell me how much she loved me, and turn it right around and build me up, because that’s what kind of champion she was.

This sorrow I feel is like that of any other friend or family I’ve lost, but different in that unfamiliar ache of the in-person hug I won’t get on this side of heaven.  As I sit through the grief, I realize this won’t be the first time on this path, because I am so blessed someday, potentially (unless I go, first) lose many more I love so deeply in this way.

My sorrow must only be a fraction of the sorrow felt by her mother, her siblings, her husband, her beautiful daughters, and her countless friends.  I’ll be thinking of them often and praying for their piece as they live out the immeasurable grief I’m sure they must be feeling.  I’ll continue to read the tributes to her online, and count myself so fortunate to have a treasure like her in my lifetime.  

I know you’re singing with the angels, Buffy, love.

Until someday,

-Me

A Life in few Words

Along with countless others I know, and probably even more people that I don't know, this week engulfed my heart in sorrow and challenged my emotions like no week has in recent past.

The world lost an incredible man.  I've known for years just how incredible this man was.  He had been around my entire memorable life.  I was in his wedding as a toddler, when he joined as one with my dear aunt.

I've known.

Or at least, I thought I knew.

But it turns out, it takes someone being gone forever to realize that what you know isn't all there is to know.  What you know is only the surface, and the depths of what you don't know reach further than you'll ever begin to uncover.

It's overwhelming, really.

As family and friends gathered today to bid our earthly farewell to this incredible man, I realized just how small our words are when it comes to the life of an individual.

Obituaries and eulogies are beautiful, significant, and often poetic, but they too just scratch the surface.

On my return home, I began to dwell on this fact.  It seemed to me, in a way, that obituaries trivialize and marginalize a person's entire existence into a few key facts that are out there for others, so they can get the highlights, if you will, of someone who many held dearly.

They're important.

They're inadequate.

Listening to people talk about my uncle, Gregg Edward DeSmith, born June 12, 1964, to his parents, Dorothy and Edward, who passed away on Saturday, September 9, 2017, it became all to clear to me that the man I knew and loved for my entire life was even more incredible than my small mind could comprehend.   Gregg, the devoted husband of Linda, and beloved father to Sasha (and Kyle), Carissa, who left this earth at age 2, and Hannah (and Dylan), wonderful grandfather to Kalesia, Elijah, and Miles, dear brother to many, uncle to even more, and friend to countless others, was a man of Jesus.  It was evident today, as I heard about his life and saw numerous people whose lives he touched.

It overwhelmed me, as I longed to be able to tell him that I admired that in him.

He and I spoke occasionally on aspects of God.  I never really pressed in, knowing he believed in God and was raised in a Catholic church, the one in which he was baptized, married, and said goodbye to today in the Mass of Christian Burial.  He knew more about my faith journey than I did his, and today, I felt selfish for not knowing more about what he believed to be true.

But, at the same time, I could see in the way he lived.

Gregg had a servant's heart.  He spent countless hours with those in need, in both small and large ways.  He devoted time, energy, love, and so much more to those around him.  He did so with a willing heart. He did so, expecting nothing in return, and often wouldn't accept anything in return.  It wasn't all that long ago that he saved me in a small way, where my van window wouldn't go all the way up, and it was about to rain for my two hour drive home.  He was on it in a flash and had a temporary solution that still enabled me to see, and I made it home safe and dry, so relieved and thankful for the small gift he was delighted to give me.

He went out of his way to take you aside and tell you that he was proud of you.  No matter what you had done, no matter where you had come from, no matter where you were going, or what you had been through, he saw you as you were, a human, full of giving and receiving love, and he let it be known that you were worthy.  He built you up in spirit and mind.  I cannot personally recall an instance I heard him tear someone down.

He loved and served the least of these, just like Jesus did.

His love for his family was unconditional and overwhelming.  He stood faithfully at my aunt's side for 32 glorious years that were no stranger to stress and sorrow, trials and tribulations, but also great joy and blessing.  They were one.  You could see it and you could feel it when you were with them.

Gregg loved spending time with people.  He had a jolly laugh and a great wit.  He wore a smile often.  He loved to tell a joke and hear the laughter of others as well.   Some of my best memories of him were at his farm, where my large family would gather for days on end.  He would go all out to ensure each gathering was phenomenal.  He had such great humble pride in welcoming us all and allowing us to create everlasting, joyful memories.

He was a delightful mix of manly man and teddy bear, who loved fixing things, classic cars (both real and miniature), go carts and his Harley.  He collected countless unique and older things and loved to share them with people around him.  He loved the outdoors and having a great time with family and friends.

He was adored by so many.  Children and adults alike could call him a friend.  My oldest son, who is not quite seven, sobbed this weekend, as he realized just how great a buddy Gregg was to him, and how devastating it was to know that they would not be making memories together anymore.   He told me about how Gregg helped him to be brave, and how cool it was when he finally rode go cart for the first time, and how Gregg told him he was a little man now. Gregg knew when to encourage my kids and when to be silly, and each of the three of them loved him deeply for that reason.

He was a great buddy to most everyone he met, I feel.  I heard so many claim that over the past two days.

He is going to be missed daily, wholly, intensely, by countless people who knew and loved him, who he loved in return.  Knowing that his all-encompassing bear hugs will never be given again leaves my shoulders feeling vulnerable and cold.  I know I'll receive hugs for the rest of my life, but not one will be quite like his.

Gregg loved the phrase "No Regrets." I smiled as I heard that, because long ago, I had coined that phrase for myself.  I didn't live it like he did though, as I sit here tonight, regretting that I hadn't told him one more time that I loved him, thanked him for all he did for us, and for the endless encouragement and support he never ceased to provide for me and my children.  I regret not taking more photos of him with the people he loved and not having photographic proof of the hardest working hands I remember seeing.  Even with life gone from his body, when you saw him this week, you saw the proof that he worked endlessly to provide for his family and his friends, the stain left behind on his fingerprints as a reminder of how much he gave of himself.

I know with all of my heart that he is with our Jesus now, and my children have reminded me multiple times, through tear-riddled eyes, that his soul is in heaven.  I stand firm in my faith and thankful for everlasting life and salvation through Christ, but at the same time, my human heart and limited mind is having a most difficult time envisioning our lives without him.  I see the farm, and it feels emptier knowing he will never be pulling down the driveway in one of his vehicles, never racing around on a go-kart or hauling with a tractor.  He won't be building or bringing new and exciting fun to us all, or helping the children feed the birds.  His spirit will never leave, but his body and his voice will never be with us as we sit in the summer sun.  That realization takes the wind out of my lungs for a moment and burns my eyes with tears.  I know I'm not alone in this space, missing him so much already, being devastated for us left behind, and overjoyed for he who will never again know sadness.

His body is gone, but his light can shine on.  I hope that his loss will encourage others to live a life like his, showing Jesus inside us to others.

I sit here, exhausted and weary, writing away, knowing that although my words are more in number than an obituary or even some eulogies, they do not suffice.  They will also never begin to scratch the surface of the life that Gregg lived. 

No words really will.

It would have been Tin.

Ten years. 

Tomorrow, ten years ago, I vowed my life, my love, my best and worst, my all... To the man I knew I would love until I died. I married the man who agreed that divorce was never an option. We discussed how we wished we would never have to live without the other and how it would be a blessing to live full lives together, seeing our grandchildren grow, and dying alongside one another in our 90s.

Tomorrow is our ten year wedding anniversary.

Not "would have been" our anniversary.

You see, even though our marriage died this year, that date- August 5 still lives on. The demise of our marital union doesn't negate that it existed and our wedded lives began on this date ten years ago.

I didn't understand that concept until this year.

Now, I cannot say we've been married for 10 years. We were only married for nine. So I'm not celebrating 10 years of marriage. But I am cherishing the fact that I was able to experience the love of fairytales (even if it may have been false, I still do not know and often wonder), that I was chosen as a wife, that I found someone to give my heart to and love fiercely, deeply, and unconditionally.

And I mourn the loss. I may cry over the devastation I feel over watching nine years of marriage crumble away and for the loss of what would have been another year.

August 5 was the day I dreamed and waited my whole young life for.

August 5 is now the day that could make my throat constrict, bile surge in my stomach, and tears burn tracks down my face.

I can honestly say that while I know I am better off now, not constricted and delusioned in an unhealthy marriage, the passing of this day for the first time as a divorced woman hurts the heart. 

He promised me forever. He severed the promise and crushed my heart, but in the process, he made me much stronger, more courageous, more grounded, and allowed me to deepen my faith and stance on my stronghold than I ever thought possible.  In a weird way, it's all been a heart-wrenching blessing.

I look back on the day with a heart full of joy, knowing that I was truly, deeply, full of love and overjoyed that he had chosen me to be his companion. I took time to look at our wedding photos, and I didn't cry. I smiled at the happiness beaming from my face, from his face, from the faces of our loved ones. I remembered the excitement that overcame me as I went to his ring on his finger and tried to force it on the wrong hand. I remember the anticipation of forever together, and the incomparable blessing I felt at becoming his wife.

I don't cry over that day. I may cry over the crushing loss of it all.

But then, my tears will subside as I look at myself today. I'm more level-headed than I think I ever have been. I'm part easy-going, but part stubborn, balancing when to let the punches roll and when to put up a fight. The heart that was shattered is mending, and somehow, instead of smaller, it's bigger and capable of even more love than ever before.  Even on my darkest days, there's always a glimmer of hope, and two years ago, I am not certain that was completely true. I know what it is to have the ground ripped from beneath me and my breath siphoned away, but I also know what it feels like to overcome, to really stand tall, firm, and strong.

The 9 years of marriage transitioned from bliss to a bit of a nightmare, but with each passing year, I was given so much. I was blessed with memories of love, and I was shown who I really am as a woman of God, in times of great strife. My former husband, even in his continued absence, has given me so much. 

As much as it hurts to see this day come and go, I'm so thankful it ever existed. In the pain, there's joy, and in the sadness, there's peace. It's a heartache and a blessing. The depth of meaning behind this ten year anniversary is so great, I am not sure I am able to fully discover and embrace it yet. I guess that's something to look forward to in the anniversaries to come.

Real Life?

Years ago, back in high school, I had a phase where I loved reading mystery books, psychological thrillers, and books that really made you think and question what was going on. I read many, many books, and would get caught up in the stories and how fantastical they were, thankful that no matter how engrossed I became in the story, they were just fiction.

It's a completely different feeling when you're living out one of those stories. 

My love story started out like a proper romantic novel might. The dashing, tall, dark, and handsome man caught my eye with a gleaming smile, and we were swept up in love. Over the course of a few years we went from best friends to soul mates to married.

We fought long and hard to have our first child. We lost our second before we knew whether the baby was a boy or a girl. We bounced back, and welcomed a second son into the world.  We were content. We were at peace. We were thriving.

So I thought...

Together, we fought to provide a loving home for our two sons.  My husband worked hard, long hours, so that I could stay home with our boys.  He told me repeatedly he thought it was best, financially, and for the children.  So, we made due with less than many people, renting a cute old home, not having a ton of time together, but striving to make sure our children were raised by loving parents, and a mother who had all the time in the world for them.

I had no idea there was a secret life being lived outside this scenario.  I had no idea that dark things were happened outside our home in the name of our family, until months later.  I chose to believe my husband when these things came to light, and believe that inherently he was a great person trying to do what was right, believing he loved his family deeply and would do anything for them.  I believed he was a good person who had fallen into some mistakes and bad decisions.  I chose to work through these things with him, stand beside him, fight for our marriage, fight for our family, and believe that good would prevail.

I became pregnant with our daughter in the midst of great tribulation.  It was a complete and utter shock for many, many reasons, a large one being that I was told it was highly unlikely I would ever become pregnant without medical assistance.  My husband was paying for some of his poor decisions when I found out I was pregnant, and I was devastated.  I knew the timing was horrible, and I was not sure I could handle having another baby around while dealing with everything else my marriage was throwing at me.  I cried day in and day out, even though the few people I trusted to tell all told me that "everything happens for a reason" and "it's God's plan, not ours," and other such phrases.

Knowing things were in a bind financially, I had applied for jobs, and had just accepted a position the day prior to finding out our third little miracle was on the way.  I worked long hours most days of the week while allowing my sister to spend those hours with my children, raising them as she knew I would love them to be raised.

When I found out our third baby was a girl, he wasn't with.  I went to tell him in person, and the light in his eyes and the smile on his face was genuine, thrilled, and joy-filled.  He was finally getting that daughter he had hoped for, that I was sure would never happen, believing with my whole being we would have four sons someday.

I was exhausted.  I was strained.  I was working, raising children, pregnant, worried, fighting for our marriage to prevail.  But I had faith and hope and everything inside of me believed things could and would be okay in the end.

By the time our daughter arrived, things seemed to finally be getting back to where they were when our lives were good again.  I was finally thrilled at the prospect of a daughter being placed in my arms.

She arrived, and was beautiful.  We were smitten with her, as were her brothers.  Our family felt so whole and complete.  He told me many times it didn't make sense for me to go back to work with the late night hours and expense of daycare, so I should stay home and he would provide again.  He had gotten a raise and a promotion, and so it worked out okay.  Things were good and back to normal.  It was like a dream.

Only the dream wasn't what I thought it was.

Months passed by, and at the end of the summer, out of seemingly nowhere, as I had, over the course of the previous months, confronted my husband as to his distance, wanting to work on things that seemed strained again, and straight out demanded to know if he wanted out of our marriage and he swore up and down, inside and out that he wanted nothing more than his family and his wife, he told me he wanted a break.  I was shaken.  He told me he was not going to come live at home until we went to counseling together.  I was truly relieved at the idea of counseling because I had suggested it many times and he often told me we didn't need it.  So, we made an appointment and went.  I thought we were going to continue going. He paid for the session an arranged others.  Then he decided he didn't like the counselor and we weren't going anymore.

A few nights later, creepy, scary things were happening at our house when he wasn't home.  In the dark of the night, our garage was broken into, our freezer tipped over, someone running through the yard.  Someone broke our window with a rock.  Someone turned on our outside hose and ran it through our back door into our kitchen, opening the front door as they walked through while I did laundry below.  I called the cops multiple times in a week, and they gave me a few ideas of who, what, or why it could be happening.  Uncertain and terrified, at the urging and help of a few close friends, I took my three children and left town without a word.  Someone egged my van randomly while I was gone.  When he found out we weren't home anymore because he offered someone to stay at our house a night and I had to tell him I wasn't there, things stopped happening.  It was strange, but I refused to jump to any conclusions, and to this day, I have no real answers.

While away, I found many phone calls in his call logs to a random woman all hours of every day.  He swore it was for work. I didn't believe him, but there was nothing I thought I could do to prove otherwise.

He came and brought us back home after about a week.  He didn't stay at the house although I begged him to sleep in the basement because I was terrified for our safety.  It seemed so strange to me that he wouldn't and as always, he used work as an excuse.

It was weeks later that he refused to pay rent, saying he couldn't afford it (although I found out a bit later that he could, he was making much more than I ever knew about and I had no idea where any of it had gone), and his children and I were evicted in short notice.  A friend rescued us and we stayed with her a few months, while I found a job at a daycare that the children were able to attend. Then the children and I went to the homeless shelter a while before finding ourselves in a transitional housing apartment.

Despite the very strict rules, we stayed multiple months before I was able to find an apartment for us.

During this time, he had our family vehicle, and I had to trust him to come and get the children and I for work each day, and then to return us home.  There were many times I hadn't heard from him until minutes before he was supposed to be there, and there were many times he failed to show on time at all, leaving me in a panic and having to find other rides to work. He didn't seem to find urgency in high temperatures and illnesses with the kids and it would take all sorts of begging to get him to allow me to take them to the doctor or have him take them to the doctor.  He was always busy. Eventually, the children and I were blessed with a van so that I could be self sufficient.  He visited a bit, acted like he cared and wanted to be with us, but he was still a bit distant.  The children were seeing him daily, which was a nice change, but he wasn't really there half the time he was there.

It took many months before he let me know where he was staying. He would tell me with a friend or other such things, but never specific.  Eventually, he was renting a room in someone else's apartment and the kids and I were able to visit.

He came to me a bit over a year ago to confess and ask forgiveness for the many, many things he had been doing over the course of the year beforehand.  I forgave him.  He asked to reconcile.  I agreed to try under strict guidelines.  I was extremely leery and cautious, but allowed myself to believe in miracles and to have hope that our family would be together again and our marriage could be restored.

We spent a few days together after that, Easter was one, and our daughter's first birthday party and the evening of her first birthday.  He seemed to be trying.  He seemed to really want his family.

Then, the wind was knocked out of me and the world around me seemed to fall apart when the day after her birthday, I received a random message from a guy I had never heard of, asking how to reach him.  I told him he didn't have his phone at the time, and I asked who he was.

"He told me he told you.  We've been dating over a month now."

I couldn't breathe. I thought I was going to pass out from trembling and dizziness.  There was a photo of the two of them together in a bar.  They were hugging.  My husband had a secret boyfriend, while he was trying to get the family back together.  He had never once said anything about this friend, even in his confessions he only spoke of women.

I confronted him when I was able.  He said it was a goofy drunk picture.  I could honestly understand that because he's always been one to give hugs, and I knew he was battling a drinking problem.  I chose to give him the temporary benefit of the doubt while he was going to prove it was a lie and this guy was out to destroy our family.  He swore he wouldn't talk to him or anything of the nature.

Except he did.  And he wasn't very secretive, and I found out.  He still denied their relationship was romantic and they were just friends. I knew better. I confronted him so many times and it was always the same, but I knew better.

He saw the children a few times over the next few weeks. I even allowed them, for the sake of my own sanity because I was exhausted, to have them overnight without me.  I found out he was sneaking this guy friend around them, and the children around that friend's family.  I confronted him and was given many stories, lies, and discrepancies.

I told him that he wasn't going to have the children alone until I met this guy. I told him we were over and his relationship with the other man didn't really matter, but since he couldn't be trusted to be honest and I didn't know this guy or anything about him other than they went to bars together and I was being lied to, he couldn't have the children alone.

And then he disappeared.  Completely disappeared from our lives. It's been almost a year.

In the following months, I found so many more secrets that he hadn't confessed to.  More lies, cheating, and so forth.

He made it nearly impossible to find him.  He worked under the table so he couldn't be tracked for child support.  Anyone that I new he had contact with prior or during refused to help me or would lie to my face about him.  I was hitting wall after wall.  But I was persistent.  In December, he was finally found and served with divorce papers.  It devastated me to have to file for divorce myself.  I was the one, all along, fighting for our marriage, never wanting to be out.  I wanted to fight.  He clearly didn't want to be married to me, but he wouldn't divorce me. I had to.  It was a hard pill to swallow.  Come February, everything was finalized, and I felt some relief.

I thought the crazy plot twists were over, but every once in a while, something new and obscure still pops up and I live through the emotional storms all over again.  Thankfully, through it all, I've had some consistent support systems, and I've had God.  I have places to lean when I feel like my legs are going to fall out from under me all over again.

I've never felt the world crumble as many times in my life as I have in the last two and a half years.  It's been exhausting.

As I sit here this morning, writing, because writing is my therapy, I scrolled through photos to find one to add to the post.  I watched my crazy, psychological thriller of a story unfold before my eyes, although you cannot see that in any of the photos.  The photos so clearly depict the deep, dark story that I had kept hidden for so long to keep my pride in tact and my life guarded never really existed.  There's mostly smiles and hugs, baby chaos and other such things.  You don't get to see the terror, the exhaustion, the tears, and the agony that existed simultaneously.

The past years have been the most exhausting of my life.  It's been years since I've had consistent, quality sleep or relaxing days.  And for the most part, I'm okay with that, because I've fought to keep myself surrounded with happy thriving children and a job that I love.

I find often that I'm unsure who I can really trust, still.  I know that God has me, and I can lean on him, and I know there are some people walking beside me on this earth that I can truly trust.  But I find many times that some I start to trust I find I cannot.  It cracks the heart a little each time, but such is life.

I find myself putting down my guard to new friends more often now.  I spent the last year or so feeling like I shouldn't, couldn't, wouldn't be loved by people.  I felt like if the one person who spent over ten years telling me I was the best friend in the world, the most loyal person they knew, the most compassionate, tender hearted, loving, hilarious, all around wonderful person could up and walk away from me without a word in any form, despite the promise to be friends no matter what happened... well, than anyone can or probably would leave me too.  I mean he knew me best, inside and out, and he couldn't stay, so no one else would want to.  He promised to and no one else ever made that promise in front of family and friends and to God.  Surely, I'm not worthy of love from anyone.  God is the only one who could love me, because he loves everyone.  No one else really could, and I expect them to disappear too.  I battle this still, knowing it's a lie, but often feeling it's the truth.

 I'm so thankful for the support I have that prays over and for me and reminds me to turn to God when I feel he's too far away.

I question my mothering often.  I put such pressure on myself to be a good mom, because I'm the only parent they have.  If they don't know I love and care about them, then they are completely devoid of good parents.  I know that I'm not a terrible mom, but this is another attack I deal with, especially over the course of the last three weeks where I've been so sick and in so much pain that I can hardly function by the end of the day.

That enemy, he's a sneaky, vile one.  He definitely knows where and when to attack and he latches on deeply, my friends.

I spent many months feeling like I must be crazy.  I was sure I must be mentally ill to have missed the first instances of my former husband's betrayal, let alone his cheating, wanting to take a break, alcoholism, and whatever else that has gone on that I either haven't spoken of or do not know about.  I must be crazy to believe he loved us and wanted us.  I must be completely insane and making all of this up, because it cannot be real life.  It's just a messed up movie, right?

Unfortunately, it's not.  It is real life.  It's a day by day challenge.  Sometimes it's a breath by breath marathon.  I'm living those novels I read, and it is not nearly as entertaining as reading them.

Yesterday was rough on multiple levels, and I poured my heart out to a friend. She prayed for me. Immediately after, the lyrics "Jesus is my strength, my shield, and He will never fail me." Came through the radio I hadn't realized was on. They've been my mantra since.

Fortunately, I know God has a great ending in store for my children and I. So, I'll make it through each plot twist and wait for boring and commonplace things to happen instead.

Symptomatic

When I was a little girl, before puberty, I dreamed of a wedding someday. As many little girls do, I went through periods of dreaming of marrying a prince. I dreamt of a movie-type romantic love.  I dreamt of being a mommy someday.  

When I hit puberty, I still had these dreams, but they were tainted with fear and worry. As many girls do, I suffered from self-esteem issues related to my appearance. I worried people thought I was ugly and fat. 

But, I also had added worries, and they haunted me for years. Well, they still haunt me sometimes. 

As most teens encounter, I began developing some acne. I felt so gross, because nothing seemed to help clear it up. I was sure people thought I was crazy hideous.

Next came a change on my arms. I started noticing the hair on my arms was darker and thicker than it once was. I thought maybe I was part man. It sounds stupid, but I had nightmares. I tried shaving my arms a couple times, but felt it worthless because it would just grow back, quickly, dark and coarse. I resigned to wearing long sleeves as much of the year as possible and just cry about it. I was certain I was a freak. And I was pretty convinced no one would ever think I was pretty.

And then toward my 20s, I started gaining weight. I wasn't really any less active in college than in high school. In fact, I would argue I was more so, walking campuses constantly, for example. But it didn't seem to help.

However, by the time the weight gain had started, I had met a new friend. His name was Jake. I thought he was pretty good looking. I had a crush on him I his from myself, or tried to ignore, for over a year. I met him in 2001, and the crush started a few months later when he caught a ride with his best friend and surprised me for my 18th birthday party, having traveled hours to get there. He wrote the sweetest, longest message in my birthday card (I still have it), and after, we emailed, talked on the phone for hours, wrote letters, and visited as much as possible. He would drive five hours to come see me for one night. He would kidnap me for a weekend. 

I just never imagined he could love me. I was too nerdy. Awkward, ugly.

But, in the fall of 2002, as I lay on my dorm room bed, he told me "I love you, Nicole." And I confessed that I had fallen in love with him, too.

It was surreal. There have been countless times since then where I have doubted him. Not necessarily his love, but his attraction to me, and whether or not I could believe if he said I looked great, or was beautiful, or sexy. And I would doubt whether or not he could just honestly love someone he wasn't really attracted to.

I love myself. I've gotten there, by the grace of God and support from family and friends. I do. But I still suffer from self-esteem issues. Especially from the symptoms of PCOS that I suffer. These things that haunted me since puberty, made me question if I was really a woman (or if maybe at birth my parents just decided to raise me as a girl). These things I didn't understand until college when I researched them more, and after college when I was diagnosed with PCOS after we began trying for a family. (Oh, I married Jake, in case you're new to my blog).

These symptoms cause me the most self-doubt and negative thoughts when  meeting new people for the first time. At job interviews. Around groups of kids. I still opt for long sleeves if the weather allows it. I try not to show my arms or full body in photos, if I can help it. Kids, as blunt as they are, sometimes ask me about my arms, or if I'm part werewolf. (Depending on the kid, sometimes I say yes, and they think that's so awesome.) I worry that one day my kids will get made fun of because their mom looks like a gorilla. Or is hairier than their dad.

I worry that the first things everyone notices about me when they see me in person is that my arms are hairy, my skin isn't clear, and I'm pudgy. I worry they are embarrassed to be seen with me. I hate it. But I am pretty good at hiding my dear and carrying on. 

Last night, I took this self-portrait for my August Moms group, because someone asked the pregnant mommas to show off. I was in a hurry and not paying a lot of attention, and uploaded it without "proofing" it to hide my flaws- those ugly symptomatic arms especially. In my caption, I apologized-ish for showing my gorilla-esque arms because they're unsightly and embarrassing.

And one momma replied she hadn't even noticed until I said something.

And this morning, she reminded me that there are some people who see me as beautiful, for whatever reason, or who don't see what I see in the symptoms that cause me so much self-doubt. She reminded me that my husband thinks I'm beautiful, and attractive, even if I don't see it. He even told me I was last night (or it may have been the night before). 

It reminded me that some people really like me for me.

On my blog, I sometimes wrote serious topics. I write for me, but also on behalf of the countless others who may relate but not be able to express.

I cherish every comment my blog receives. If you wish to comment, but prefer anonymity, you may comment that way. If you need someone to talk to, but don't feel comfortable commenting here, you can reach me at Nicole.m.worthley[at]gmail[dot]com

Blessings!