As I sat down to write this blog a flood of emotions overwhelmed me. Pride, sadness, gratefulness were among some of the feelings which flickered through me. I remembered my Nana saying this was a day to be solemn and honor those who saved the world from one of the evilest regimes the world ever saw.
My grandmother was particularly aware of the significance of Memorial for a very personal reason. On April 29, 1945, the 42 Infantry Division of the United States Army liberated her from the Nazi death camp known as Dachau. In her name, in their honor, I write this blog.
My grandmother was born on January 14, 1926. Her parents lived in a suburb of Berlin. She had two brothers and one sister. My grandmother was 15 when she entered the camp, on July 7, 1941. Upon entering the camp she was separated from her parents and two younger brothers, all of which she never saw again. She and her sister spent the next 4 years just trying to survive. Unfortunately 6 months before liberation my grandmother lost her sister to typhus, which was rampant in the camp.
Rather than have this be about the Holocaust, I wanted to write a blog to show just how personal today is for me and my family. On April 29, 1945 the brave men of the 42nd Infantry Division walked through the gates of Dachau and liberated the camp. My grandmother always got a little emotional on this day because in her words, "Wenn nicht für die Männer ich tot wäre. Ich war tot aber sie sparen nicht nur meinen Körper aber meine Seele. Sie haben uns hoffen gegeben. Hoffen Sie, der nicht alle Männer waren, wie des Nazis. (if not for those men I would be dead. I was dead, but they saved not only my body but my soul. They gave us hope. Hope that not all men were like the Nazi's.)
She was grateful for America and her brave, honorable men who came to save Europa from the grips of the Nazis. She remembered seeing some of the men cry as they witnessed all the horrors the camp had to offer. She was shocked by how these rough and tumble men were so gentle, caring and compassionate with her and the other prisoners. My grandmother left the camp in September of 1945. She never forgot the "boys of the 42nd". She would tell us grandchildren funny stories about some of the boys and how they made funny mistakes trying to speak German. She remembered some names and even from where a few of them came from.
Nana is gone now. We lost her in 1996. Not a Memorial Day goes by that I do not stop and think about how I would not be here if not for the men of the 42nd Infantry. I wonder how many of those "boys" really know what kind of impact they had on the world?
In 2002 I was given that chance to let one veteran know how he changed the world. I was living in Washington D.C. It was a Memorial Day. I was at the World War II Memorial. While there, I overheard an older gentleman talking with his wife. I heard him say "we in the 42nd ..." It immediately caught my attention and I worked up the courage to turn to him and ask the question. I said to the man, "excuse me, I couldn't help over hearing you say you were in the 42nd Infantry Division?" He replied he was and asked "why?" I asked if he was part of the liberation of Dachau? His eyes grew big and again he asked "why?" I then went on to explain to him my grandmother had survived the camp and had immigrated to America in 1947 and that I was her grandson. I think I shocked him or he thought I was crazy. He told me he had been part of the liberation. I think we both welled up. I stuck out my hand to shake his.
I don't know if he had ever come face to face with anyone from that time. We sat down and talked. It was one of those moments in life that are imprinted on your soul. I thanked him. I think it embarrassed him. His wife listened and I think he never really shared with her what he saw or did while in the service. We parted and I always wonder if Tony is okay? Alive? I always hope he, that his family knows just how grateful my family and I am for him and the 42 Infantry.
I am sure there are many other stories similar to mine. This is why Memorial Day is so important to me. Its a day I have life because of the heroic and brave men and women who have fought to protect America and our freedom. Its a day that I try to keep solemn, in honor of my Nana.
I will be going to the ceremony in the center of my little town today. Its my duty, my honor and most certainly a privilege to let our veterans know just a little how much I appreciate what they did for me. I will also spend the day with some saucy VFW (Veterans of Foreign Wars) boys and be placing American Flags on the graves of those brave men and women who are no longer here. Its important their families know their loved ones are honored.
I hope in sharing my Memorial Day story it brings home the importance of this day. Today is about so much more than a day off from work. Burgers on the grill. Its about life and those who fought so gallantly so we could enjoy ours. Thank you to every service member of the past, present and future. Thank you to all the families of all those who serve in our Armed Forces and make sacrifices every day too! Please remember to stand when a veteran marches by in a parade. Remember to take a moment and really let the full impact of what our servicemen and women give to us filter in. Again, thank-you to all our servicemen and women.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Saturday, May 11, 2013
The Other side: The Sequel To An Open Letter To Mom
Last year I wrote an open letter to my mother and posted on my blog. I sent her the very same letter. I had mixed emotions in finally letting go. Somehow the crazy, the emotional and physical abuse was familiar to me and in actually standing up and saying no more, I knew the familiar was going to be gone. This year on Mother's day I want to talk about what it feels like to heal from the abuse of a mother/parent.
I have spent many years feeling angry and playing the victim. I was angry at the world for not helping me, angry at G-d for making that woman my mother, and angry at everyone else who'd had a better childhood than I did. Everyday I would see the scars on my body from Mom and rage would fill my body. I would spend nights crying. I would spend Mother's Day starving myself out of guilt for not calling Mom. I would cry every birthday when I didn't get a birthday card in the mail from Mom.
I know it must sound silly, after everything that Mom did to me, that I had feelings of guilt, shame or expectations of love from her, but for a long time I still had hope. I needed and wanted a mom; someone to call for cooking advice, for housecleaning advice, and someone to lean on and for help when I needed it. I felt ashamed and embarrassed when a holiday or event rolled around and no one in my family showed up or called to congratulate me. I started thinking and believing I was the problem; maybe I was as bad as she had said for all those years.
Then I allowed Mom back into my life, ever so shortly, and I finally realized I was never the problem and that she was never going to change or admit that she had done anything wrong. When I came back to Connecticut to help her, I was hoping she was a new woman; the mom I had always dreamed of. But talk about a pipe dream. Mom was never going to change because she doesn't want to change. I would like to think that she is so ashamed of what she did to me as a child that she has blocked it out and maybe really has forgotten everything she put me through, but my gut tells me that she remembers and thinks she was justified in everything she did.
I haven't spoken to Mom since she decided to have me arrested. After the charges were dropped because the Police realized she was just a huge liar, I decided she was no longer welcome in my life or home. It was a hard decision but a right one. Last year I sent her a letter taking back my power and letting her know I remember and was no longer ashamed.
I still think of my mother every day. I think of her now with pity, not anger. I pity her for throwing away her life. I pity her for losing out on a relationship with me. I pity her for being so sad and miserable that the only way she could deal with her feelings was to torture her own child. If my mother taught me anything, it was how NOT TO PARENT and how to NOT live my life.
Writing that letter to Mom last year helped me release years of anger, hurt and shame. Writing these blogs helps continue the process of healing, helping me to finally shut the door on that chapter in my life. I can move on now! I am a handsome guy, strong man, a brother and a friend. I am proud of what I have overcome, what I have accomplished and what is yet to come. The future looks bright.
My sincere hope in writing and sharing last years letter to Mom and this years blog is to show those people out there, who feel alone, full of shame, anger and hurt, they can heal. They can heal and actually move beyond the legacy of pain which I know they feel separates them from the world.
There are so many of us in the world. We are the freaks, the losers, the ones who have dirty clothes and everyone loves to tease. I am constantly amazed every time I share my story just how many people come out of the shadows to say they too suffered at the hand of a parent. I always extend my hand and just hold theirs and look deeply into their eyes. Letting them know I know and its going to be okay.
So many people take for granted they have a good, kind and loving parent. Don't. Hold them tightly and be very thankful, grateful even. Many don't. In telling my story I have claimed my power back. My mother no longer has a hold over me. I am not sure if I completely forgive her yet. I think on some levels I do but its an on going process.
My life is good. My life is what I make of it. I am not a victim anymore. I am the defender of my life, my feelings and my heart. I am thankful for all those women who showed me a mother's love and all it could be. This blog is in honor of them. Thank you ladies! Without you I would never have known what a mother's love felt like. Happy Mother's Day!
I have spent many years feeling angry and playing the victim. I was angry at the world for not helping me, angry at G-d for making that woman my mother, and angry at everyone else who'd had a better childhood than I did. Everyday I would see the scars on my body from Mom and rage would fill my body. I would spend nights crying. I would spend Mother's Day starving myself out of guilt for not calling Mom. I would cry every birthday when I didn't get a birthday card in the mail from Mom.
I know it must sound silly, after everything that Mom did to me, that I had feelings of guilt, shame or expectations of love from her, but for a long time I still had hope. I needed and wanted a mom; someone to call for cooking advice, for housecleaning advice, and someone to lean on and for help when I needed it. I felt ashamed and embarrassed when a holiday or event rolled around and no one in my family showed up or called to congratulate me. I started thinking and believing I was the problem; maybe I was as bad as she had said for all those years.
Then I allowed Mom back into my life, ever so shortly, and I finally realized I was never the problem and that she was never going to change or admit that she had done anything wrong. When I came back to Connecticut to help her, I was hoping she was a new woman; the mom I had always dreamed of. But talk about a pipe dream. Mom was never going to change because she doesn't want to change. I would like to think that she is so ashamed of what she did to me as a child that she has blocked it out and maybe really has forgotten everything she put me through, but my gut tells me that she remembers and thinks she was justified in everything she did.
I haven't spoken to Mom since she decided to have me arrested. After the charges were dropped because the Police realized she was just a huge liar, I decided she was no longer welcome in my life or home. It was a hard decision but a right one. Last year I sent her a letter taking back my power and letting her know I remember and was no longer ashamed.
I still think of my mother every day. I think of her now with pity, not anger. I pity her for throwing away her life. I pity her for losing out on a relationship with me. I pity her for being so sad and miserable that the only way she could deal with her feelings was to torture her own child. If my mother taught me anything, it was how NOT TO PARENT and how to NOT live my life.
Writing that letter to Mom last year helped me release years of anger, hurt and shame. Writing these blogs helps continue the process of healing, helping me to finally shut the door on that chapter in my life. I can move on now! I am a handsome guy, strong man, a brother and a friend. I am proud of what I have overcome, what I have accomplished and what is yet to come. The future looks bright.
My sincere hope in writing and sharing last years letter to Mom and this years blog is to show those people out there, who feel alone, full of shame, anger and hurt, they can heal. They can heal and actually move beyond the legacy of pain which I know they feel separates them from the world.
There are so many of us in the world. We are the freaks, the losers, the ones who have dirty clothes and everyone loves to tease. I am constantly amazed every time I share my story just how many people come out of the shadows to say they too suffered at the hand of a parent. I always extend my hand and just hold theirs and look deeply into their eyes. Letting them know I know and its going to be okay.
So many people take for granted they have a good, kind and loving parent. Don't. Hold them tightly and be very thankful, grateful even. Many don't. In telling my story I have claimed my power back. My mother no longer has a hold over me. I am not sure if I completely forgive her yet. I think on some levels I do but its an on going process.
My life is good. My life is what I make of it. I am not a victim anymore. I am the defender of my life, my feelings and my heart. I am thankful for all those women who showed me a mother's love and all it could be. This blog is in honor of them. Thank you ladies! Without you I would never have known what a mother's love felt like. Happy Mother's Day!
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Hello Kitty
Just a couple of days ago I adopted a rather large cat. Cinnamon, aka Moose, is a mature kitty of 7 years and approximately 18 pounds. I found him on RescueMe.org . I am enjoying have the pitter pat, okay, who am I kidding, he sounds like a line backer running through the house, but still....I love having him around. Moose is clean, quiet and extremely loving. I am very blessed to have this little creature, whom by the way, I think can take me in a street fight.
His family had proposed this whole "foster family" thing on the rescue sight. I bought it. I was looking for a mature cat, no kittens and one that was in need of a home. I don't necessarily like shelters because of the attitudes of the do-gooders that normally work in those places. They are like the women who work at battered women's shelters, they hate men. The folks, and this is another generalization, who work at animal rescue shelters tend to hate humans and therefore make adoptions very difficult. Why? Because they can. So I thought I was doing a good thing. I would get an animal more my speed and someone would know their animal would be in a good, loving home. That is where the feel good part of this story ends.
I emailed Moose's family. The very next morning I was emailed back. We decided to speak on the phone. I spoke with, I will call her Jane, to protect her identity (although I should out her for the liar that she is) and she seemed to be a very normal, sweet Mother and Wife. We chatted a little bit about the kitty and I told her about how I lost mine a few years ago and had not wanted to adopt again until recently. I was told Cinnamon, aka Moose, was in good health, 18 pounds, was fixed and was up to date on all of his shots. Sounds good right? Wait...its gets better. I was told about his sick Mom and how Cinnamon and his brother were the only two to survive birth. How her sons allergies were really forcing them to place this foster cat they loved so dearly. My heart strings were being played like a bad fiddler at a whore house now. So now you have the picture.
Jane offered to have me come to her house, which is over 2 hours away. When I emailed her and said I couldn't get out to her house to meet Cinnamon her response was quick and decided. She offered to bring the cat here. She also professed to have "immediately connected with me" and would bring all of Cinnamon's things with her, her husband and son, just in case I really fell in love with Cinnamon. Again, huge, big, red flag that either I decided to ignore or should have my head examined to see why I didn't find this at all peculiar at the time. Anyhow, I was over joyed and thought how wonderful this family was to go through all of this extra effort to find their kitty a home
They, Jane, her husband Jeff and their son were standing in my driveway about 3 hours later. Kitty in the carrier, couple of bags of liter and some food and a tower that Moose couldn't have possibly fit into since he was say, a year old. (Insert major eye roll here)
I met Moose and he was just the sweetest, shyest little guy. I immediately fell in love with him. They stayed about 15 minutes. The vet records she said she had, she didn't. She did have the name of the vet, well maybe. She couldn't remember the vet she used for the last 7 years. Go ahead, say, "Lucien, you big dumb fuck." Go ahead, say it, I have.
So they left and Cinnamon spent the night on the bottom shelf of one of my kitchen cabinets. Looking like Adolf Hitler was after him and he was Jewish. He growled and was timid. It was sad. I made sure he had some food and water and knew where his little box was and left him to settle in. The next morning is when everything that I missed started to settle in. The questions in my mind were starting to pile up and it was not looking like this was going to be as wonderful as I thought.
Firstly, how in the hell would a mother make her children suffer through 7 years of allergies only to decide to get rid of a beloved pet, aka foster animal? Why wouldn't you know the name of the vet who fixed and gave yearly shots to said beloved family pet? Why in the hell would both husband and wife take a day off from work to rush the cat to a person they didn't even know?
I decided to call the vet on the only piece of paper I had. Moose's mothers paid receipt for Rabbies Vaccination. Freak chance, yes they knew of Cinnamon. They had treated him since birth. He was a healthy, large cat and was last seen in 2011. Yes, he was fixed and then the question of the hour was asked of me. The vet tech asked, "can you tell me why they adopted him out to you?" Stunned I gave the vet tech the same bullshit answer I was given. Allergies. She didn't buy it. I could tell by her stunned silence. "Yeah lady, I am thinking the same thing too!" I was thinking to myself.
It was at this point I got angry. I was angry because I was feeling like these people had lied, skirted around the truth and there was still something very "hinky" about this whole affair. As Cinnamon was brushing against my legs, I text Jane. The response I got wasn't so friendly this time. When I confronted her about his not being up to date on his shots, she told me he was. Lie. When I asked why his teeth were not taken care of, she said there was no problem. Again, LIES. When I asked why she lied about her kids having allergies and if they did have allergies, why wait 7 years to place the cat? I was told she didn't like my tone and click, she hung up on me. That was the last I have heard from her. I don't expect to hear from her again. Loser that she is.
I know a few things about cats. First off, I need to get Moose his shots. Not a problem. I noticed though, his teeth had a lot of plague build up on them. I also noticed his rear nails were very long. This is what clued me up to the fact he hadn't seen a vet in a while. I have since made the necessary appointments with my vet. They can do a complete screening on him and make sure he is healthy. He seems very healthy. Eats well, drinks fine and does his business in his box (thankya Jesus).
He has since come into his own a little more. Take now for instance. He is sitting beneath my chair and purring. He is extremely loving and is very sweet. He is still very shy about noises and seems to have an extreme fear of the front door. Its okay. My home is very quiet and I am sure he will settle in to a nice little routine in the coming weeks and will hopefully learn that fear is not needed here. We offer only love and really good kibble here at Chez Lucien's.
What bothers me the most about this whole affair is the fact that a grown, professional woman would stoop to lying to get rid of a cat that I obviously wanted. I am not seeing any particular behavioral problems you would think of as reasons for getting rid of an animal. Like peeing on the carpets, shredding furniture, etc. None of that has happened yet. Her husband seemed to be very unhappy with giving up the cat and the son seemed very medicated. I am happy to house, feed, love and take care of Moose. I guess only time will tell if I adopted a special needs animal or just a cat whose family was tired of him. Everything they gave me was dirty. The carrier, the little carpeted tower and the 3 food bowls. All were filthy. They even brought his liter box with dirty liter in it. These people do not strike me as a family who take care of their animals. I am more than happy to take Moose off their hands. At least I know I will provide good care for him.
So, please welcome Mr. Cinnamon, aka Moose to my home. Gift cards can be sent c/o of me, LMAO. I am excited and hopeful the two of us will make great roommates. I love forward to getting to know him and love him.
His family had proposed this whole "foster family" thing on the rescue sight. I bought it. I was looking for a mature cat, no kittens and one that was in need of a home. I don't necessarily like shelters because of the attitudes of the do-gooders that normally work in those places. They are like the women who work at battered women's shelters, they hate men. The folks, and this is another generalization, who work at animal rescue shelters tend to hate humans and therefore make adoptions very difficult. Why? Because they can. So I thought I was doing a good thing. I would get an animal more my speed and someone would know their animal would be in a good, loving home. That is where the feel good part of this story ends.
I emailed Moose's family. The very next morning I was emailed back. We decided to speak on the phone. I spoke with, I will call her Jane, to protect her identity (although I should out her for the liar that she is) and she seemed to be a very normal, sweet Mother and Wife. We chatted a little bit about the kitty and I told her about how I lost mine a few years ago and had not wanted to adopt again until recently. I was told Cinnamon, aka Moose, was in good health, 18 pounds, was fixed and was up to date on all of his shots. Sounds good right? Wait...its gets better. I was told about his sick Mom and how Cinnamon and his brother were the only two to survive birth. How her sons allergies were really forcing them to place this foster cat they loved so dearly. My heart strings were being played like a bad fiddler at a whore house now. So now you have the picture.
Jane offered to have me come to her house, which is over 2 hours away. When I emailed her and said I couldn't get out to her house to meet Cinnamon her response was quick and decided. She offered to bring the cat here. She also professed to have "immediately connected with me" and would bring all of Cinnamon's things with her, her husband and son, just in case I really fell in love with Cinnamon. Again, huge, big, red flag that either I decided to ignore or should have my head examined to see why I didn't find this at all peculiar at the time. Anyhow, I was over joyed and thought how wonderful this family was to go through all of this extra effort to find their kitty a home
They, Jane, her husband Jeff and their son were standing in my driveway about 3 hours later. Kitty in the carrier, couple of bags of liter and some food and a tower that Moose couldn't have possibly fit into since he was say, a year old. (Insert major eye roll here)
I met Moose and he was just the sweetest, shyest little guy. I immediately fell in love with him. They stayed about 15 minutes. The vet records she said she had, she didn't. She did have the name of the vet, well maybe. She couldn't remember the vet she used for the last 7 years. Go ahead, say, "Lucien, you big dumb fuck." Go ahead, say it, I have.
So they left and Cinnamon spent the night on the bottom shelf of one of my kitchen cabinets. Looking like Adolf Hitler was after him and he was Jewish. He growled and was timid. It was sad. I made sure he had some food and water and knew where his little box was and left him to settle in. The next morning is when everything that I missed started to settle in. The questions in my mind were starting to pile up and it was not looking like this was going to be as wonderful as I thought.
Firstly, how in the hell would a mother make her children suffer through 7 years of allergies only to decide to get rid of a beloved pet, aka foster animal? Why wouldn't you know the name of the vet who fixed and gave yearly shots to said beloved family pet? Why in the hell would both husband and wife take a day off from work to rush the cat to a person they didn't even know?
I decided to call the vet on the only piece of paper I had. Moose's mothers paid receipt for Rabbies Vaccination. Freak chance, yes they knew of Cinnamon. They had treated him since birth. He was a healthy, large cat and was last seen in 2011. Yes, he was fixed and then the question of the hour was asked of me. The vet tech asked, "can you tell me why they adopted him out to you?" Stunned I gave the vet tech the same bullshit answer I was given. Allergies. She didn't buy it. I could tell by her stunned silence. "Yeah lady, I am thinking the same thing too!" I was thinking to myself.
It was at this point I got angry. I was angry because I was feeling like these people had lied, skirted around the truth and there was still something very "hinky" about this whole affair. As Cinnamon was brushing against my legs, I text Jane. The response I got wasn't so friendly this time. When I confronted her about his not being up to date on his shots, she told me he was. Lie. When I asked why his teeth were not taken care of, she said there was no problem. Again, LIES. When I asked why she lied about her kids having allergies and if they did have allergies, why wait 7 years to place the cat? I was told she didn't like my tone and click, she hung up on me. That was the last I have heard from her. I don't expect to hear from her again. Loser that she is.
I know a few things about cats. First off, I need to get Moose his shots. Not a problem. I noticed though, his teeth had a lot of plague build up on them. I also noticed his rear nails were very long. This is what clued me up to the fact he hadn't seen a vet in a while. I have since made the necessary appointments with my vet. They can do a complete screening on him and make sure he is healthy. He seems very healthy. Eats well, drinks fine and does his business in his box (thankya Jesus).
He has since come into his own a little more. Take now for instance. He is sitting beneath my chair and purring. He is extremely loving and is very sweet. He is still very shy about noises and seems to have an extreme fear of the front door. Its okay. My home is very quiet and I am sure he will settle in to a nice little routine in the coming weeks and will hopefully learn that fear is not needed here. We offer only love and really good kibble here at Chez Lucien's.
What bothers me the most about this whole affair is the fact that a grown, professional woman would stoop to lying to get rid of a cat that I obviously wanted. I am not seeing any particular behavioral problems you would think of as reasons for getting rid of an animal. Like peeing on the carpets, shredding furniture, etc. None of that has happened yet. Her husband seemed to be very unhappy with giving up the cat and the son seemed very medicated. I am happy to house, feed, love and take care of Moose. I guess only time will tell if I adopted a special needs animal or just a cat whose family was tired of him. Everything they gave me was dirty. The carrier, the little carpeted tower and the 3 food bowls. All were filthy. They even brought his liter box with dirty liter in it. These people do not strike me as a family who take care of their animals. I am more than happy to take Moose off their hands. At least I know I will provide good care for him.
So, please welcome Mr. Cinnamon, aka Moose to my home. Gift cards can be sent c/o of me, LMAO. I am excited and hopeful the two of us will make great roommates. I love forward to getting to know him and love him.
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