Mensis Horribilis

My apologies to everyone. Mea Maxima Culpa. I have been remiss about posting and I am regretful. The family has suffered some blows recently and the writer's corner of my brain just shut down.

Mensis Horribilis is Latin for terrible month and November has been that at the very least. But come to think of it, this bad streak of luck, if you will, had started much earlier, in September, by someone's betrayal. But we all survive betrayals--big and small. We may not see how we could ever recover from it at the point of impact because of the overwhelming hurt and pain, but boy, it becomes so small and irrelevant, like a speck of dirt really, when the dust all settles and you realize, s***!, people who commit treason are consenting adults, period. There is nothing you can do but let go. And once you realize that, you start living again.

So all was well and good until Early November when Kitty's bank account in Sydney, Australia was hacked of 7,000 dollars. And not only that, her credit card was maxed out as well. She is now working with the bank and police officers--they had assigned a case officer to her--to uncover the mystery behind all that computer fraud. The thing is, they say it is possible that a friend or acquaintance who had access to her account and credit card numbers is the culprit. Everything is up in the air right now. We are all angry but I think this anger is what keeps us strong and willing to fight the fight until the culprits are apprehended and justice is served. Until then, Kitty has dusted herself off and soldiered on and she continues marching to the beat.

And then just last week, that dreaded early morning phone call from Maverick in the US, distraught and desperate, because of a break up from her boyfriend descended on me like an asteroid. She was inconsolable and I was 30,000 miles away, utterly helpless on the other line. She kept saying, "I need you here, Mom, please come." She is 25 and I thought, she should fight her own battles, go at it on her own, and be the grown up that she is supposed to be. But then she is my daughter--always will be even when she is 60. And each time I hear those words, "Mom, I need you, come over," I think I will be there. Many say it's wrong and I agree with them at some points but I will follow my instincts on this one. I mulled over it for three days and the image that kept coming back to me is the one of Natasha Goulbourn, the beautiful 20-something daughter of Jeannie Goulbourn, who committed suicide in her apartment in HongKong after a breakup with her boyfriend.

That is extreme and tragic, yes. Maverick is strong and is a fierce fighter, yes. But am I willing to take a chance and live with the consequence later, no.

And so I am off to Los Angeles tonight and will be posting from there. As I write this I'm thinking, gosh, I hope nothing else happens. Not soon, at least. I have lost eight pounds and a month's worth of sleep, the heavens should grant me a reprieve so I can have the strength to tend to Maverick. My good friend, M, who thinks in her first language--Spanish--said to me that they have a saying that bad luck comes in threes. She said, "Don't worry, it comes in threes and you've already had three so you're in the clear." I pray she is right.

I was hesitant about posting all these because of the nature of the subject--highly personal and intimate, stuff we were taught to keep to ourselves as children. But then I remember telling myself when I started this blog that it must be more than shallow, self-indulgent musings on the pimple on my nose or the lint on my belly, let's say. I wanted it to be purposeful. I wanted readers to get something out of it. And when I decided that it should cater to mothers and mid-lifers, I made the commitment to be truthful at all costs so that I may bring into the open things that we normally discuss in hushed tones, if at all. To help? Absolutely! But if not, then just to show others out there that they are not the only ones going through these things, that we all make mistakes, get hurt, stumble, grope in the dark. But ultimately, we all endure. And to all else who have not experienced it, to give an awareness of what mothering or being middle-aged may be like. And at the end of the day, when we come into a clearing, that we may just all laugh about it and charge it to destiny.