It comes in the most unexpected moments. I'll be having a great day, ok maybe not great, but good...and then there it is. Hate. Pure, bitter tasting, unrelenting hate. I know people who will judge and say "you can't live with hate in your heart" or use some Bible verse to tell me how wrong I am for allowing it to fester. But the truth is, no one has the right to say anything. No one person has the right to judge or say they would do it better. Unless you're reading this knowing exactly what this life is like, knowing in your heart it could have been prevented if only people weren't so careless in their jobs...if only people looked out for one another instead of pretending not to see the signs of a deadly illness. Possibly only because my husband was good at his job. Possibly because it was too much work to process the information and find a replacement "down range". And even before that, because they were too lazy or stupid to know the answer before it spread. You have no idea where my hate comes from. What it is to only have room for one little human being that you and the love of your life have created together. The only piece you will have left when this awful disease finally has the last word.You have no idea where my hate comes from. You have no right to judge a hardened heart. So lashing out may not be classy or right, but some days...some days people ask for it.
Once in a while a friend will ask "what are you doing for yourself?" There isn't much except retail therapy and filling up my Nook with novels to escape my every day life while the Tink is at school and the Major rests. One constant is getting my hair done about every 6 or 8 weeks. It's a totally mindless activity, done for the pure enjoyment of something new and someone massaging my scalp until I'm all but asleep. This time I had decided to get bright burgundy highlights to change it up a bit. Something different not done in vanity, to fit in, or to please anyone but myself. I look forward to my salon time. I don't like to talk, but I will engage in conversation that has little or no meaning. Usually the topic of why I'm living in this area comes up and ultimately results in me explaining about the cancer. The need to leave our assignment in Alaska quickly and get to a place with better health care. Last night was no different. I hate having to say it. I hate the word terminal. I hate the look, the pity look. I see it every time...the person scrambles for something to say, but the only thing anyone can ever come up with is "I'm so sorry". Yeah, so am I. Usually after that we talk about our kids or the weather or this crazy city. Restaurants or activities.
It seemed my stylist had not known what she was doing when she was mixing the highlights. As she was blow drying my hair, I heard her say "Well, this is more purple than I had intended..." I put on my glasses thinking, maybe it's maroon. Nope. Purple. And not the pretty dark purple I used to have in my hair...a more bright cotton candy version of the color, with some hints of pink. She continued blow drying while I sat staring and she stated how pretty it was anyway, and once it faded I could come back and she would make it red for free. Stunned, tears sprang to my eyes and I told her to stop. Seeing how upset I was she asked what was wrong. As I explained I didn't care how pretty she thought it was, it wasn't red, she promised to fix it. The Major's favorite color is red and I was really looking forward to seeing his face when I surprised him with the change. This meant me sitting in the salon for another 2 and a half hours. Of course she had other clients to tend to. I sat in the freezing cold shop with wet hair while she chatted up her other clients. If this mishap hadn't happened, if it had been done the right way the first time, I never would have heard the thing that made my skin crawl, and my heart ache. I wouldn't be sitting here questioning how in the world I'm going to keep my child from thinking the way some people do.
Once I was back in the chair, having my now beautiful espresso hair with red peekaboos blown dry I was right in the middle of a conversation between the stylist and her friend, also having her hair done by the person drying my hair. The one who screwed up my hair in the first place. The one who pretended to care when she found out my husband had a terminal cancer that anyone, any age can get. All of a sudden the conversation turned to tanning, and how she wouldn't use ProActiv because she couldn't lay out without getting a sunburn on her face. That she "didn't want to be one of those poor, ugly Albino looking people with pale skin walking around with an umbrella". Here comes my friend "hate". Rising up out of me like a protective snake, ready to take down any source of pain. I looked her square in the eye and said "I guess that's what you would think of me and my daughter then? Ugly albino people? People who are now extremely careful in the sun because my husband is dying from a cancer caused by UV rays, and he never tanned a day in his life." She went silent. I didn't try to hide the rage on my face.
Is this what my daughter is going to hear in school? No matter how many times I tell her how beautiful she is, no matter what happens to her father, no matter how much proof I have that pale skin is beautiful skin, it is no match for the words of petty, self-obsessed little snotty brats who go around making others feel bad about themselves. This I know from experience. I know what I'm up against having a daughter. Other daughters. Girls who will make it their job to tell anyone who doesn't look like them that they are ugly, fat, pale, and different.
I hate thinking of doing it alone. Tackling all the problems we're going to face. Problem solving and convincing a beautiful little girl that she is just that...inside and out. When you think about starting a new life it's supposed to be happy. There is supposed to be hope. Not dread. Not anguish. Maybe a little dose of a positive fear that propels you forward, but not one that has you frozen in place wondering which way to go next.
I've learned from past experiences. I've taken heartbreak and turned it into fuel. The only person on this earth who can save you is yourself. The only instinct I have that is stronger than self preservation is that to protect my child. I keep the negative shoved down, kept at bay by the happiness that comes from seeing my child enjoy things, from having her near, from every single day we get as a family of three right now. That happiness balances out everything else and makes for the hurt to just be numb. But last night, in a rare moment, someone was able to knock me out of that security. Like when someone asks me how my day is and instead of complaining, I say "Ok, how is yours?", and they start rambling on about how dreadful their Monday is because of whatever minuscule inconvenience has come their way...some days I am able to smile and reply with how sorry I am, and hope their day gets better. Some days I look them square in the eye and say "My husband has terminal cancer and he's only 37." Just as I tell the Major he's only allowed to pull "the cancer card" once a day, I am only allowed to use it in extreme cases...some days I do admit there's a part of me that gets some joy out of them realizing the fact that their lunch hour was cut short by a few minutes, or had to do some extra work is nothing compared to being told you won't see your daughter graduate high school, and probably not even kindergarten. Yeah, I'm a total vindictive bitch, right? Oh well. I can live with that. I'm actually pretty open about it. Warning anyone who gets close to me what lies beneath the caring and giving person who will do anything for you until you cross them. Until you push too far.
No it's not right to project onto other people. It's not right to unleash a fire that was set by someone or something else. But there it is anyway. Like I said, self preservation. Turning the other cheek is great until you've been slapped so many times that you finally duck and come back with your own right hook.
The people who know and love me will not think anything of this silly little rant. Those who are horrified, well, you've gotten a glimpse of someone's heart who has had their hopes and dreams torn away by uncontrollable circumstances. Someone who has been knocked down and keeps getting up, and you ask them how they do it. It's doesn't come without a price, not giving up.
I hate thinking of doing it alone. Tackling all the problems we're going to face. Problem solving and convincing a beautiful little girl that she is just that...inside and out. When you think about starting a new life it's supposed to be happy. There is supposed to be hope. Not dread. Not anguish. Maybe a little dose of a positive fear that propels you forward, but not one that has you frozen in place wondering which way to go next.
I've learned from past experiences. I've taken heartbreak and turned it into fuel. The only person on this earth who can save you is yourself. The only instinct I have that is stronger than self preservation is that to protect my child. I keep the negative shoved down, kept at bay by the happiness that comes from seeing my child enjoy things, from having her near, from every single day we get as a family of three right now. That happiness balances out everything else and makes for the hurt to just be numb. But last night, in a rare moment, someone was able to knock me out of that security. Like when someone asks me how my day is and instead of complaining, I say "Ok, how is yours?", and they start rambling on about how dreadful their Monday is because of whatever minuscule inconvenience has come their way...some days I am able to smile and reply with how sorry I am, and hope their day gets better. Some days I look them square in the eye and say "My husband has terminal cancer and he's only 37." Just as I tell the Major he's only allowed to pull "the cancer card" once a day, I am only allowed to use it in extreme cases...some days I do admit there's a part of me that gets some joy out of them realizing the fact that their lunch hour was cut short by a few minutes, or had to do some extra work is nothing compared to being told you won't see your daughter graduate high school, and probably not even kindergarten. Yeah, I'm a total vindictive bitch, right? Oh well. I can live with that. I'm actually pretty open about it. Warning anyone who gets close to me what lies beneath the caring and giving person who will do anything for you until you cross them. Until you push too far.
No it's not right to project onto other people. It's not right to unleash a fire that was set by someone or something else. But there it is anyway. Like I said, self preservation. Turning the other cheek is great until you've been slapped so many times that you finally duck and come back with your own right hook.
The people who know and love me will not think anything of this silly little rant. Those who are horrified, well, you've gotten a glimpse of someone's heart who has had their hopes and dreams torn away by uncontrollable circumstances. Someone who has been knocked down and keeps getting up, and you ask them how they do it. It's doesn't come without a price, not giving up.
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