So today's Father's Day... naturally this post will be about all the dads in my life.
First I have to start with the man that was ALWAYS there for me, even after he passed away - my Grandpa.
Lessons I've learned from Papa Cobb:
- Never go to bed angry.
- Always say what's on your mind, never leave anything unsaid.
- ALWAYS Love unconditionally, no matter what. That's what real love is.
- Whenever you need to blame someone for something, there's always the dog ;)
- Stick with your team, whatever team you choose- The Yankees - no matter what happens in the season.
- Always do your best, give it your best shot, and be your best. You will be remembered for it.
- Always smile.
Lessons I've learned from Papa Blakelock:
- Never forget where you come from.
- Love with all your heart and nothing less.
- Find a good guy and you'll be happy for life.
- It won't always be easy, but it will always be worth it.
Lessons learned from my Dad - Jim Cobb
- Never quit, only quitters loose.
- Even though sometimes it doesn't show as much as others, it doesn't mean that you aren't loved and appreciated.
- Always carry chapstick. :)
Lesson learned from my brother-in-law, Jonathan, and father of my niece, Cora:
- Never be ashamed of what you've done or didn't do in the past. You can always learn from the past. Lesson learned form my Step-dad, Tim:
- Everyone needs some love in their life, so love them - whether they are blood or not, love them like they are and you'll be loved back. <3
Lesson learned from Uncle Glenn:
- Sugar cookies are best when frozen and snuck into church on Christmas Eve.
- Making people laugh feels 100 times better than anything else, for both of you.
- Always stick by your family, they are blood and will always be there.
There have been times when I haven't had the greatest, best, or even a good relationship with my dad. Those times I cannot change, and part of me doesn't want to change them because I've learned from many that whatever has or hasn't happened in the past, has made you into who you are today and who you will become tomorrow. And I like, no love the person that I am right now. I can feel proud of who I am, so no I wouldn't change those. I also wouldn't change them because it allowed other people to step into my life and show me the love and support that I needed, Papa Cobb, Tim, Uncle Glenn - another dad, my God father... So this post goes out to all the dads that have helped me get through anything in my life, whether they know it or not. I love and appreciate every one of them and will never forget what they taught me.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
Continuation of the "rambling"
Continuing my previous rambling ...
Perhaps I did love Brandon then. I remember being horribly heartbroken. I knew that our relationship could not last much longer, even though I wanted it to more than anything. I knew that it was going to come to an end soon, and that if I didn't end it myself, I would be horribly heartbroken. And I couldn't see past the heartbreak. But I couldn't end it, I couldn't think of what words to say.
This was the fourth time in my life that I had been truly heartbroken, when I could literally feel my heart ache as it was shred into tiny pieces. The first time was when I realized that I would never have a "normal" relationship with my father. the words he spoke to me - in anger, fear, disappointment, sorrow, truth?, I don't know - still ring in my head. The second was when my Grandfather passed away. The first man that I truly loved. That I gave everything for and to. His last words - I love you, Kate. Make me proud! - echo in everything I do. The third was the third time that my Grandmother battled cancer. I get my courage, bravery, and strength from her - the strongest woman, no, person that I ever knew.
And then there was the fourth. Brandon. The words that he spoke to me that night were not in anger or hatred but in pity and sorrow. He knew me better than anyone else, save for myself and my mom. He knew that by breaking up with me, by breaking my heart, he would be breaking me (or at least the part of me that was then). he learned, grew, and matured in the five and a half years we were together. There were times when he tried to end it before - through anger, words of hatred and disgust, and cheating - but he always came back. This time was different. His voice wasn't steady, it shook. I could hear his tears fall simoltaneously with mine. "Call your mom, Iaisha, friends. You're going to need them." He told me. "Don't try to contact me in any way, or my friends or family."
The words "I fell apart" do not even begin to describe all that happened after he hung up the phone. While on the phone, I cried, like he was dying, I begged him not to do this, I directed words of anger and hurt toward him. But I was still in a state of shock. It was like I was watching it all happen from inside a bubble. As soon as he pushed END, the bubble popped and everything rushed in on me. I felt all of the emotions at once and didn't know what to do. I just sat there. And cried. For thirty minutes straight.
Then, I called my mom - at midnight, while crying hysterically. Naturally, she was immediately worried and all I could get out was "He broke up" "Who? What? What happened?" "Brand." (I couldn't say his full name). "He dumped." - More crying. - "Me." This was followed by "Oh honey. I'm so sorry. Look. Try to get some rest tonight and I will call you tomorrow." (Rest, just like the 19th century doctors always said, was always her solution.) In her head, she was probably saying, "That son of a bitch. I'm going to kill him if I ever get the chance." And despite the "get rest" advice, I didn't get any. I went into work the next day with half an hour of horrible sleep. So when I wasn't crying, I was falling asleep at my desk. My co-workers - who knew the on-going problems and continuously tried talking me into breaking up with him - saw my face and the following scene ensued:
Denise: You finally did it?
I shook my head.
Jamie: He didn't...
Tears started rolling out of my eyes and down my face.
Denise: That Bastard...
I nodded my head and started bawling.
I was sent home after two hours of this - crying and sleeping, no work being done. Well, not really sent home but taken home, Jamie drove my car and Denise followed us. As soon as they left, my mom called and I tried to explain everything that happened.
Perhaps I did love Brandon then. I remember being horribly heartbroken. I knew that our relationship could not last much longer, even though I wanted it to more than anything. I knew that it was going to come to an end soon, and that if I didn't end it myself, I would be horribly heartbroken. And I couldn't see past the heartbreak. But I couldn't end it, I couldn't think of what words to say.
This was the fourth time in my life that I had been truly heartbroken, when I could literally feel my heart ache as it was shred into tiny pieces. The first time was when I realized that I would never have a "normal" relationship with my father. the words he spoke to me - in anger, fear, disappointment, sorrow, truth?, I don't know - still ring in my head. The second was when my Grandfather passed away. The first man that I truly loved. That I gave everything for and to. His last words - I love you, Kate. Make me proud! - echo in everything I do. The third was the third time that my Grandmother battled cancer. I get my courage, bravery, and strength from her - the strongest woman, no, person that I ever knew.
And then there was the fourth. Brandon. The words that he spoke to me that night were not in anger or hatred but in pity and sorrow. He knew me better than anyone else, save for myself and my mom. He knew that by breaking up with me, by breaking my heart, he would be breaking me (or at least the part of me that was then). he learned, grew, and matured in the five and a half years we were together. There were times when he tried to end it before - through anger, words of hatred and disgust, and cheating - but he always came back. This time was different. His voice wasn't steady, it shook. I could hear his tears fall simoltaneously with mine. "Call your mom, Iaisha, friends. You're going to need them." He told me. "Don't try to contact me in any way, or my friends or family."
The words "I fell apart" do not even begin to describe all that happened after he hung up the phone. While on the phone, I cried, like he was dying, I begged him not to do this, I directed words of anger and hurt toward him. But I was still in a state of shock. It was like I was watching it all happen from inside a bubble. As soon as he pushed END, the bubble popped and everything rushed in on me. I felt all of the emotions at once and didn't know what to do. I just sat there. And cried. For thirty minutes straight.
Then, I called my mom - at midnight, while crying hysterically. Naturally, she was immediately worried and all I could get out was "He broke up" "Who? What? What happened?" "Brand." (I couldn't say his full name). "He dumped." - More crying. - "Me." This was followed by "Oh honey. I'm so sorry. Look. Try to get some rest tonight and I will call you tomorrow." (Rest, just like the 19th century doctors always said, was always her solution.) In her head, she was probably saying, "That son of a bitch. I'm going to kill him if I ever get the chance." And despite the "get rest" advice, I didn't get any. I went into work the next day with half an hour of horrible sleep. So when I wasn't crying, I was falling asleep at my desk. My co-workers - who knew the on-going problems and continuously tried talking me into breaking up with him - saw my face and the following scene ensued:
Denise: You finally did it?
I shook my head.
Jamie: He didn't...
Tears started rolling out of my eyes and down my face.
Denise: That Bastard...
I nodded my head and started bawling.
I was sent home after two hours of this - crying and sleeping, no work being done. Well, not really sent home but taken home, Jamie drove my car and Denise followed us. As soon as they left, my mom called and I tried to explain everything that happened.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Ramblings on "Someday my Prince will come"
So was up reading last night, cause I couldn't fall asleep and suddenly I had this urge to write. So I found my notebook and started writing away. This is what I came up with:
People are always trying to give me advice. Some say cliches that I have come to love. "Always listen to your heart. Follow your heart." "Find what makes you happy, not others." Some things I have always questioned, even tried to resist at times. "Love will find you when you least expect it." If I am not expecting it, then how do I know if it's there? "Don't go searching for love, let it find you." If everyone had this mentality would there still be love in the world? If everyone waited for love to find them, what would happen? Doesn't there have to be some aggressive to the passive int he world?
When I grew older (and supposedly more mature) I worried more and more about the idea of love. As a kid I learned of love as a prince coming to save the day on his white horse. My sister and I watched Sleeping Beauty so much I still remember the words Aurora sang to her forest friends, "Some day my prince will come..." People have even said this tome, while in my head the music was playing in the background. In my pre-10 year old years I had dreamed of marrying a prince (or John Wayne). Then I became devastated when I found out the Duke had died of cancer (why hadn't anyone told me this when I dreamed of marrying JW before?) and the princes took center stage. For most girls that age, and even older into the early teens, they loved the idea of marrying a prince because that would mean that they would become a princess. This is probably the reason that makes the most sense. For me, though, it wasn't the idea of becoming a princess that I dreamed of most, it was the idea of marrying the prince. The prince was the perfect love, the perfect man, and they ALWAYS lived happily ever after. I wanted that love, the devoted love.
Throughout my later teens and early twenties, the phrase "your prince will come someday" had transformed. At 13, I dreamed that my very own Prince Phillip was going to come riding along on his trusty steed and we'd instantly fall in love. My worries about love began at 16. I started to worry, wonder, fear... "Not many people ride horses anymore. None around here. What is he, my prince, going to do now? How is he going to ride in on the horse, how will I know that its him without the horse? By the time I turned 18, I had give up on the fairytale image and instead I turned to finding the "modern-day" version of a prince. To me, "some day my prince will come" now meant "some day, my love will come."
But this is what worried me the most. Will he come? Will the love of my life ever find me? And if so, how will he find me? I was a senior in high school when I met Brandon. When we first met I could have (and probably did, in my head) mistaken him for Aladdin, he looked just like the Disney prince! I didn't really know what love was at that point (even though I thought I knew several times, or claimed that I did), but I thought that this had to be it. I had to fall in love with Aladdin, I mean Brandon. After dating for only three months, he said "I love you" first. I convinced myself for the next five and a half years that I loved him, also. However, by the end of our relationship I had learned what love was and what it wasn't. I knew that it wasn't real love anymore (or maybe never was) but just in love with the idea of being in love, hanging onto love.
People are always trying to give me advice. Some say cliches that I have come to love. "Always listen to your heart. Follow your heart." "Find what makes you happy, not others." Some things I have always questioned, even tried to resist at times. "Love will find you when you least expect it." If I am not expecting it, then how do I know if it's there? "Don't go searching for love, let it find you." If everyone had this mentality would there still be love in the world? If everyone waited for love to find them, what would happen? Doesn't there have to be some aggressive to the passive int he world?
When I grew older (and supposedly more mature) I worried more and more about the idea of love. As a kid I learned of love as a prince coming to save the day on his white horse. My sister and I watched Sleeping Beauty so much I still remember the words Aurora sang to her forest friends, "Some day my prince will come..." People have even said this tome, while in my head the music was playing in the background. In my pre-10 year old years I had dreamed of marrying a prince (or John Wayne). Then I became devastated when I found out the Duke had died of cancer (why hadn't anyone told me this when I dreamed of marrying JW before?) and the princes took center stage. For most girls that age, and even older into the early teens, they loved the idea of marrying a prince because that would mean that they would become a princess. This is probably the reason that makes the most sense. For me, though, it wasn't the idea of becoming a princess that I dreamed of most, it was the idea of marrying the prince. The prince was the perfect love, the perfect man, and they ALWAYS lived happily ever after. I wanted that love, the devoted love.
Throughout my later teens and early twenties, the phrase "your prince will come someday" had transformed. At 13, I dreamed that my very own Prince Phillip was going to come riding along on his trusty steed and we'd instantly fall in love. My worries about love began at 16. I started to worry, wonder, fear... "Not many people ride horses anymore. None around here. What is he, my prince, going to do now? How is he going to ride in on the horse, how will I know that its him without the horse? By the time I turned 18, I had give up on the fairytale image and instead I turned to finding the "modern-day" version of a prince. To me, "some day my prince will come" now meant "some day, my love will come."
But this is what worried me the most. Will he come? Will the love of my life ever find me? And if so, how will he find me? I was a senior in high school when I met Brandon. When we first met I could have (and probably did, in my head) mistaken him for Aladdin, he looked just like the Disney prince! I didn't really know what love was at that point (even though I thought I knew several times, or claimed that I did), but I thought that this had to be it. I had to fall in love with Aladdin, I mean Brandon. After dating for only three months, he said "I love you" first. I convinced myself for the next five and a half years that I loved him, also. However, by the end of our relationship I had learned what love was and what it wasn't. I knew that it wasn't real love anymore (or maybe never was) but just in love with the idea of being in love, hanging onto love.
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