Stupid people scare me more than zombies…or ganstas, so there.

Diddy, Cancer is stupid. And people are stupid. I try to ignore the stupid people of the world the best I can, but as it turns out, I am not good at it. I guess because I’m still human. I wish I were a zombie. Then maybe I wouldn’t be bothered by stupid, ignorant people. I would just rip their hearts out and eat them, perhaps making them feel a fraction of the pain I feel on a daily basis. Auntie Kupa would be jealous; she would rather be a zombie too. Sometimes the stupid people of the world say stupid things like, “Oh, I know how you feel, because when my mom died….we ALL have the flu this week – you can’t imagine the chaos…my son had his tonsils out and it was tortuuuure…my boss made me have the worst week of my life”. Please hold on a minute while I rip out your brain; as it turns out you’re not using it. Thankfully, your good, pure, kind Daddy is here to talk me off the ledge “…everyone else’s life has not stopped just because ours has…that IS a crisis to people who still live in our old world.” I am not ignorant. I am aware other people are suffering to make it through each day. In fact, I know there are even many, many other moms and dads who have lost a child. But guess what? They didn’t lose you, Paxton. So there is no comparing or justifying. You are you, and you are mine. Therefore, nobody else knows the depth and breadth of this pain. This pain is my own, this sadness is my own, this loneliness is my own. I would never tell another bereaved parent, “I know how you feel.” Because I don’t. I understand some aspects of their heartache, but simply put, no two losses are comparable. It’s something that goes without saying amongst we “bereaved parents”. A certain understanding exists between the moms and dads pretending to live without our beloved children. Grieving Parent Street Code – I guess. (Admit it Diddy, it makes you smile to learn your Momma has turned out to be a little bit gansta.) The silver lining of today is the rainy gloomy weather. At least I have that going for me. First of all, it’s mid-January and 50 degrees…which is helpful in supporting my case that the world is truly becoming more fucked up by the day. And the rain adds just the right dirty, muddy touch to help express how I feel, without me having to say a word. I was even able to take a break from the tears on my way to work this morning. The rain strummed on my windshield, and the fog muddled my vision just enough to cry for me a bit; so I let it. Then I arrived at work, where I have to put on my fake, half-smile. Today especially sucked because I was trapped in a conference room filled with people who I can’t, and won’t, let into our world. When I’m at work, I have to use all of my strength to push the sobs creeping up my throat down to my tummy. I am better at containing throwing up than I am at containing sobs. But, I don’t want to push down the sobs anymore – just because the stupid people in the conference room wouldn’t get it. I want to drop to the fetal position and kick the shit out of the stained, blue, itchy carpet and tell everyone, in between sobs, that I am the one who needs inpatient treatment – not the kid who is there because despite loving America, proving so by saluting all things red, white & blue, is trapped in shackles and, therefore, can’t run from the bad guys who are chasing him. I wonder how different this world would be if we all acted the way we felt really felt instead of hiding everything behind our lip gloss and faux professionalism? I’ll bet it would be a complete mess; but at least it would be a TRUE complete mess, versus a FAKE and insincere mess. Truth be told, I’m not much different than my student who was ‘committed’ (again) today. Everything I say – or think, but don’t say (not because I’m trying to be polite, but because I’m too damn tired) is far from normal. I realize, and own, that I am filled with extra, spicy anger; but it goes beyond that. I don’t think about normal things anymore. No matter the conversation, no matter who it’s with – all I think about, as I lose track of what I’m supposed to be listening to, is why you got cancer. I play the game that I am so good at playing: it was the eye drops I used, the supplements I took, the physical therapy I made you go to at far too early an age. It was the changes of formula, the (way too much) Karyo syrup I (accidentally) gave you for his (non) constipation. I made you too hot from all the blankies, let you cry too long, laid you on his side instead of your back. When you were misdiagnosed; I didn’t push the doctors hard enough; I let the shock suppress my instincts to question and challenge. Mostly, I fear I simply may have determined your destiny long before you were born by choosing your name – Paxton. Daddy insists there is nothing I did other than love you just exactly the right way. He reassures me ten times a week that we did everything we could have possibly done to save you. He insists, repeatedly, the outcome would have been the same, no matter what. I still don’t believe him. (Somehow, your sweet Daddy keeps loving me all the same.) Everyone tries to pacify my “guilt”. I guess I have little credibility due to being the irrational, traumatized, broken-hearted Momma. I don’t need credibility though. I just need you back. That’s all, really. Goodnight, my love. Should you run across zombies or gangstas, tell them you are my baby; they will protect from the stupid people. I will look for you in my dreams. Stay with me, sweet boy. xoox, Momma Gangsta Love

Advertisements

One thought on “Stupid people scare me more than zombies…or ganstas, so there.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s