Breathe (This Too Shall Pass) Pt. 1 of 4
I can't believe I'm about to share this with you...
It took me 2 minutes to write the sentence above because I'm nervous and honestly afraid to share these thoughts and feelings with the world. Blogging used to be another form of expression for me: a way for me to creatively share my life with the world. I could open up at any time of day or night and bare whatever thoughts or feelings I had on a subject (making sure my grammar and punctuation were correct), hit "publish", and take comfort in knowing that there was a small group of people out there reading this blog because they enjoyed it.
Then...
I got a little too honest and one person didn't like what I had to say. It hurt me because I valued this person and their opinion(s) of me and my work. I loved this person and had known them all my life to be my biggest supporter and number one fan. We fought their breast cancer together and took long rides in the car with the windows rolled down in the summer listening to music. We sang songs on the back porch. We went to movies. We joked and laughed and gave each other life. We were best friends and we would but heads from time to time because that's what Taurus do- we're strong-willed and tend to have soft bottoms because of our hard heads. This person was... my mom.
Her being hurt/offended by what I had to say caused me to ultimately stop writing in 2014.
Life has thrown a lot at me since then: my amazing girlfriend moved into my apartment and we moved to the other side of the park and got a dog who needed immediate hip replacement surgery. She and I took our first trip that required a passport as a birthday gift to her from me. We got engaged. That was a HUGE step for me. I have never had the best luck with the ladies. I either loved too hard and got hurt by being cheated on, did the cheating myself, or my all-time favorite, was stuck in the dreaded friend zone. The timing was rarely right and when I did seem to get it right something would always go wrong. To finally have found someone who checked all the boxes and passed the ultimate test of my mom's approval, I thought I had hit the jackpot and life was about to be lived happily ever after.
That's what I get for thinking!
We got married. My mom grew distant. I reconnected with my ex, THE ex and she was going through a divorce and somehow, some way we ended up messaging each other and going down memory lane talking and laughing about the handful of good times we had in the 10 years we spent together damaging each other. The thing is, I don't know why I continued to message her. I was a newlywed and was the happiest man on the planet. I was booking work, my wife was supportive and we were winning at life. Why did I still need to communicate with the ex? Then it hit me, she appeared in each of my relationships prior to meeting my wife. My inability to let go of her and the toxicity of that relationship prevented me from being fully present in those relationships which ultimately failed. I needed to detox. I needed it ASAP. I could not allow my addiction to pain and abuse and self-loathing to permeate and destroy my marriage. I told my wife that I had been in contact with the ex. She had previously requested that I not communicate with her and I said I wouldn't. I let her down. I broke her trust. I let myself down. Again.
Too nice. That's been an often used phrase to describe me. I don't know if it's because I was a chubby kid who sought the approval of others or if I'm just a genuinely nice person who cares for people and likes to let them know. I love being told that I'm loved or cared about or thought of. I treat others the way I want to be treated in that respect. If you're in pain, I'll listen and give you as much time as I can spare even if you've wronged me and are ultimately using me. It's a character flaw, I suppose, but it's who I am. I'm a sucker for pain and a sucker for kindness and humor. I used to love making my cousins laugh as a kid. I'd do impressions or just say and do silly things because it'd keep them from talking about my weight or the gap in my teeth or my glasses. Yes, I was smart, I was a good athlete, I was fairly well-liked, but I was chubby. I wore husky sized jeans. I carried secrets of wetting the bed until I was eleven, and being sexually molested by family and family friends. I never told a soul. I was told that if I did tell on someone I'd be in more trouble so I kept the secrets inside until now. Don't worry, I'm not going to name folks; some of whom have passed away- this isn't about them. I wanted to feel liked and loved and appreciated, especially by females. You can imagine how much play I got being the chubby kid until I was 14. I had no game and STILL have none. Just ask my wife. Girls never liked the smart nice guy. Girls wanted the bad boy who would cheat on them and treat them like shit. They wanted the guy who would fight or had been to juvie or jail. They wanted 2 Pac and I was Carlton... without the money.
I voluntarily went to therapy to detox and for once deal with the issues I had that prevented/are preventing me from having the life I desire. I was doing the work and making strides and even started to like the person staring back at me in the mirror. I was still booking work.
It was my birthday! My wife decided to take me to see my favorite baseball team, the Boston Red Sox, play at their home field: Fenway Park. The Sox have yet to lose a game I have attended to this day so... if anyone in the front office happens to read this, and we make it to the World Series this year, hook a brotha up! We won't lose!
Forgive the tangent. Back to the point!
My mom loved birthdays. Her birthday, May 17th, and really the whole month of May was, in her mind, a national holiday(s). That meant she loved also celebrating my birthday. But this one for some reason was different. I usually heard from her first thing in the morning. I had heard nothing. No phone call. She always called on my birthday. She sent me a text message. That was it. I thought surely she would call at some point. She never did.
I had a great time in Boston at the game with my wife and our two friends. The Sox obviously won the game and I got to see Big Papi (David Ortiz) his a homerun. I know it took a lot for my wife to put that trip together and to this day I am so thankful she did. If you're reading this, thank you again. I know it wasn't easy and I probably didn't deserve it (in your eyes) but you took one for the team and I recognize that.
As I stated, I was booking work at this time. I was filming on my mom's birthday and took time to call her from set because that was mandatory. She didn't call me on mine but for her birthday it is mandatory to send a card that arrives by her birthday and you MUST call on May 17th (same for Mother's Day), or be shamed and disowned or given the coldest of cold shoulders until she has slowly warmed to you and allowed you back in her good graces. I always called on her birthday and Mother's Day. My cards didn't ALWAYS make it to her mailbox by the desired date but she ALWAYS received a card for both days. This year no different. I actually sent the cards on my birthday before going to Boston. Only one card arrived. The birthday day card.
Mother's Day came. I called. No answer. I left a message and even called back because I wanted to speak with my mom on Mother's Day. No answer. I received a long text message re: her not receiving a card and that she was no longer doing birthdays, or holidays so that this wouldn't be a problem anymore. I never got to speak to her that day.
June 6, 2016. I filmed a scene in a cemetery in New Jersey. Therapy had been going well. My wife and I seemed to be improving. Life was pretty good. Mom sent a text asking why I don't call more often.
June 8, 2016. Mom and I joked about Rick Astley making a comeback. She hated his music. Sorry Rick. I had a great therapy session at 6:30 PM that evening. I went home and had dinner with my wife and it was a good night.
June 9, 2016. 4 AM. I got a phone call from my aunt. She usually on called on my birthday. It was also VERY early. Maybe it was a butt-dial. I ignore the call and tried to go back to sleep. There was a voicemail. I knew. I knew before I even listened to it. I reluctantly listened to the voicemail that told me to call because my aunt had some bad news about my mom. I braced myself for what I already knew and made the call. When my aunt answered and told me that my mom had died, I had no reaction. I already knew. I just listened hoping to find out how, when, where. I had to go home and plan a funeral. Mom left me in charge of everything and it was my responsibility. It was also my dad's 60th birthday. I called him to let him know what had happened not realizing that it was his birthday.
I could hear the hurt for his son in my dad's voice. He and my mom had divorced over 30 years prior, but something tells me you always have love for the person who brings your child into the world. I then realized it was his birthday and I had just called to tell him my mom died. I wished him happy birthday as he tried to help me plan a bereavement flight home. My wife stayed by my side. I had yet to shed a tear. Once flights were booked, my wife came to me and said, "It's okay to cry." She hugged me and I let it out. I felt that I should have called her. I would never again get to hear her voice respond to me.
We flew to Kentucky and planned the funeral and laid mom to rest in her hometown next to my grandparents, her parents. It was hard because I hadn't seen my mom face to face since she had come to New York for my engagement party. When I saw her in the casket, she looked like she was just taking a nap. She looked like she was going to get up soon and we'd go to the movies or take a ride and listen to music like we did hundreds of times before that moment. As immediate family viewed her body and touched her, I just stood over her and wept. I couldn't touch her. It didn't feel real. Even after the funeral and even after I threw the first dirt onto her casket after it had been lowered into the plot.
We came back home and resumed life slowly but surely. We had a summer reception for our wedding that took place in January. The day after the reception my wife and I had a serious argument that lead to us walking around our neighborhood discussing whether or not we were going to stay married. Some hurtful things were said but we remained married and kept trying to grow our family. Later that month, my wife would break my trust on a night out with her friend. We talked about it. I don't know that we resolved it.
I booked a show in North Carolina in the fall and the day before I left, my wife informed me that we were pregnant. She recorded my reaction. I don't know what the video shows as I've never seen it, but I remember feeling terrified but excited and relieved that I wasn't too old and that everything was still working. We had been trying since January and it was September.
After being away for a 4 weeks, I returned to New York and my beautiful pregnant wife. We celebrated the holidays and seemed to be finding our way back to love and trust.
A new year.
Winter passed. Spring came. My first birthday without mom was spent in the park with my wife, her mom, and my dear friend P who was also a close friend of my mom's. Twelve days later my wife's water broke as we were getting ready for work. It wasn't anything like you see in the movies. No huge puddle or gush of fluid. No panic or hysteria. We had an appointment scheduled for later that afternoon. We almost waited but decided to go to the hospital just in case.
Her water had definitely broke and she was already 2 cm. It was real. Our baby was about to make its entrance into this world! I was going to be a dad! Would I be a good one? Would the baby like me? Would he look like me or get lucky and have his mom's looks? Would he be healthy? What would his cry sound like? Am I ready to see this happen?
My wife was impressive. She stayed calm and cool and refused the epidural until she dilated to 7 cm. Once she signed all of the paperwork (while in labor), she received the epidural. While holding her right leg and coaching her to push, I found myself falling in love all over again with this tiny mountain of a woman. As the baby began to crown, my concern was, "how can the baby breathe?" Then my mind went to is my wife going to be okay because this baby had a big head. I mean, I know I have a big head but damn.
A few more pushes and the baby was born. It was a boy. He opened his beautiful eyes and we made eye contact. He spread his long arms and let out a wail that put us all at ease. My wife did it. She brought life into this world. I would love her forever for it. My life changed forever. Father's Day would be different this year.
Our son was born at 8:27 PM on May 12th, 2017. I thought he would be born on my mom's birthday but she loved that day too much to share it. She was born on the 17th. In a peculiar way, so was our son:
8:27 (8+2+7=17)
May 12th (5+12=17)
2017 (17th year of the millennium)
Life changed forever that day and more major changes were on the way.
It took me 2 minutes to write the sentence above because I'm nervous and honestly afraid to share these thoughts and feelings with the world. Blogging used to be another form of expression for me: a way for me to creatively share my life with the world. I could open up at any time of day or night and bare whatever thoughts or feelings I had on a subject (making sure my grammar and punctuation were correct), hit "publish", and take comfort in knowing that there was a small group of people out there reading this blog because they enjoyed it.
Then...
I got a little too honest and one person didn't like what I had to say. It hurt me because I valued this person and their opinion(s) of me and my work. I loved this person and had known them all my life to be my biggest supporter and number one fan. We fought their breast cancer together and took long rides in the car with the windows rolled down in the summer listening to music. We sang songs on the back porch. We went to movies. We joked and laughed and gave each other life. We were best friends and we would but heads from time to time because that's what Taurus do- we're strong-willed and tend to have soft bottoms because of our hard heads. This person was... my mom.
Her being hurt/offended by what I had to say caused me to ultimately stop writing in 2014.
Life has thrown a lot at me since then: my amazing girlfriend moved into my apartment and we moved to the other side of the park and got a dog who needed immediate hip replacement surgery. She and I took our first trip that required a passport as a birthday gift to her from me. We got engaged. That was a HUGE step for me. I have never had the best luck with the ladies. I either loved too hard and got hurt by being cheated on, did the cheating myself, or my all-time favorite, was stuck in the dreaded friend zone. The timing was rarely right and when I did seem to get it right something would always go wrong. To finally have found someone who checked all the boxes and passed the ultimate test of my mom's approval, I thought I had hit the jackpot and life was about to be lived happily ever after.
That's what I get for thinking!
We got married. My mom grew distant. I reconnected with my ex, THE ex and she was going through a divorce and somehow, some way we ended up messaging each other and going down memory lane talking and laughing about the handful of good times we had in the 10 years we spent together damaging each other. The thing is, I don't know why I continued to message her. I was a newlywed and was the happiest man on the planet. I was booking work, my wife was supportive and we were winning at life. Why did I still need to communicate with the ex? Then it hit me, she appeared in each of my relationships prior to meeting my wife. My inability to let go of her and the toxicity of that relationship prevented me from being fully present in those relationships which ultimately failed. I needed to detox. I needed it ASAP. I could not allow my addiction to pain and abuse and self-loathing to permeate and destroy my marriage. I told my wife that I had been in contact with the ex. She had previously requested that I not communicate with her and I said I wouldn't. I let her down. I broke her trust. I let myself down. Again.
Too nice. That's been an often used phrase to describe me. I don't know if it's because I was a chubby kid who sought the approval of others or if I'm just a genuinely nice person who cares for people and likes to let them know. I love being told that I'm loved or cared about or thought of. I treat others the way I want to be treated in that respect. If you're in pain, I'll listen and give you as much time as I can spare even if you've wronged me and are ultimately using me. It's a character flaw, I suppose, but it's who I am. I'm a sucker for pain and a sucker for kindness and humor. I used to love making my cousins laugh as a kid. I'd do impressions or just say and do silly things because it'd keep them from talking about my weight or the gap in my teeth or my glasses. Yes, I was smart, I was a good athlete, I was fairly well-liked, but I was chubby. I wore husky sized jeans. I carried secrets of wetting the bed until I was eleven, and being sexually molested by family and family friends. I never told a soul. I was told that if I did tell on someone I'd be in more trouble so I kept the secrets inside until now. Don't worry, I'm not going to name folks; some of whom have passed away- this isn't about them. I wanted to feel liked and loved and appreciated, especially by females. You can imagine how much play I got being the chubby kid until I was 14. I had no game and STILL have none. Just ask my wife. Girls never liked the smart nice guy. Girls wanted the bad boy who would cheat on them and treat them like shit. They wanted the guy who would fight or had been to juvie or jail. They wanted 2 Pac and I was Carlton... without the money.
I voluntarily went to therapy to detox and for once deal with the issues I had that prevented/are preventing me from having the life I desire. I was doing the work and making strides and even started to like the person staring back at me in the mirror. I was still booking work.
It was my birthday! My wife decided to take me to see my favorite baseball team, the Boston Red Sox, play at their home field: Fenway Park. The Sox have yet to lose a game I have attended to this day so... if anyone in the front office happens to read this, and we make it to the World Series this year, hook a brotha up! We won't lose!
Forgive the tangent. Back to the point!
My mom loved birthdays. Her birthday, May 17th, and really the whole month of May was, in her mind, a national holiday(s). That meant she loved also celebrating my birthday. But this one for some reason was different. I usually heard from her first thing in the morning. I had heard nothing. No phone call. She always called on my birthday. She sent me a text message. That was it. I thought surely she would call at some point. She never did.
I had a great time in Boston at the game with my wife and our two friends. The Sox obviously won the game and I got to see Big Papi (David Ortiz) his a homerun. I know it took a lot for my wife to put that trip together and to this day I am so thankful she did. If you're reading this, thank you again. I know it wasn't easy and I probably didn't deserve it (in your eyes) but you took one for the team and I recognize that.
Mother's Day came. I called. No answer. I left a message and even called back because I wanted to speak with my mom on Mother's Day. No answer. I received a long text message re: her not receiving a card and that she was no longer doing birthdays, or holidays so that this wouldn't be a problem anymore. I never got to speak to her that day.
June 6, 2016. I filmed a scene in a cemetery in New Jersey. Therapy had been going well. My wife and I seemed to be improving. Life was pretty good. Mom sent a text asking why I don't call more often.
June 8, 2016. Mom and I joked about Rick Astley making a comeback. She hated his music. Sorry Rick. I had a great therapy session at 6:30 PM that evening. I went home and had dinner with my wife and it was a good night.
 |
| courtesy YouTube Rick Astley Vevo |
I could hear the hurt for his son in my dad's voice. He and my mom had divorced over 30 years prior, but something tells me you always have love for the person who brings your child into the world. I then realized it was his birthday and I had just called to tell him my mom died. I wished him happy birthday as he tried to help me plan a bereavement flight home. My wife stayed by my side. I had yet to shed a tear. Once flights were booked, my wife came to me and said, "It's okay to cry." She hugged me and I let it out. I felt that I should have called her. I would never again get to hear her voice respond to me.
We flew to Kentucky and planned the funeral and laid mom to rest in her hometown next to my grandparents, her parents. It was hard because I hadn't seen my mom face to face since she had come to New York for my engagement party. When I saw her in the casket, she looked like she was just taking a nap. She looked like she was going to get up soon and we'd go to the movies or take a ride and listen to music like we did hundreds of times before that moment. As immediate family viewed her body and touched her, I just stood over her and wept. I couldn't touch her. It didn't feel real. Even after the funeral and even after I threw the first dirt onto her casket after it had been lowered into the plot.
We came back home and resumed life slowly but surely. We had a summer reception for our wedding that took place in January. The day after the reception my wife and I had a serious argument that lead to us walking around our neighborhood discussing whether or not we were going to stay married. Some hurtful things were said but we remained married and kept trying to grow our family. Later that month, my wife would break my trust on a night out with her friend. We talked about it. I don't know that we resolved it.
I booked a show in North Carolina in the fall and the day before I left, my wife informed me that we were pregnant. She recorded my reaction. I don't know what the video shows as I've never seen it, but I remember feeling terrified but excited and relieved that I wasn't too old and that everything was still working. We had been trying since January and it was September.
After being away for a 4 weeks, I returned to New York and my beautiful pregnant wife. We celebrated the holidays and seemed to be finding our way back to love and trust.
A new year.
Winter passed. Spring came. My first birthday without mom was spent in the park with my wife, her mom, and my dear friend P who was also a close friend of my mom's. Twelve days later my wife's water broke as we were getting ready for work. It wasn't anything like you see in the movies. No huge puddle or gush of fluid. No panic or hysteria. We had an appointment scheduled for later that afternoon. We almost waited but decided to go to the hospital just in case.
Her water had definitely broke and she was already 2 cm. It was real. Our baby was about to make its entrance into this world! I was going to be a dad! Would I be a good one? Would the baby like me? Would he look like me or get lucky and have his mom's looks? Would he be healthy? What would his cry sound like? Am I ready to see this happen?
My wife was impressive. She stayed calm and cool and refused the epidural until she dilated to 7 cm. Once she signed all of the paperwork (while in labor), she received the epidural. While holding her right leg and coaching her to push, I found myself falling in love all over again with this tiny mountain of a woman. As the baby began to crown, my concern was, "how can the baby breathe?" Then my mind went to is my wife going to be okay because this baby had a big head. I mean, I know I have a big head but damn.
A few more pushes and the baby was born. It was a boy. He opened his beautiful eyes and we made eye contact. He spread his long arms and let out a wail that put us all at ease. My wife did it. She brought life into this world. I would love her forever for it. My life changed forever. Father's Day would be different this year.
Our son was born at 8:27 PM on May 12th, 2017. I thought he would be born on my mom's birthday but she loved that day too much to share it. She was born on the 17th. In a peculiar way, so was our son:
8:27 (8+2+7=17)
May 12th (5+12=17)
2017 (17th year of the millennium)
Life changed forever that day and more major changes were on the way.
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