I am Michelle D. Carter

Every weekday, I work out at the YMCA across town. My route takes us past the cemetery. The boys always ask about it. I believe in being honest with my kids, so, of course, I tell them that is where dead people are buried. The conversation began:

Alex: “Dead?”

Me: “Yes, everyone dies. And when you die, we can’t bury you in the backyard, you have to be buried in a special place like a cemetery.”

Alex: “Why?”

Me: “Because those are the rules. Grandpa is buried there.”

Andy: “Mommy, did Grandpa die?”

Me: “Yes, honey, he did. Daddy’s Dad died, not Mommy’s Dad.”

Tim’s Dad died exactly 6 months before we got married. So my Dad is the only Grandpa they know. Although we were just getting to know each other, I miss him. I hate the fact that he’s not here to be with our kids. I hate that they don’t know him. He reminds me of my Grandma. I have so many fond memories of my Grandma. My kids don’t have that. We live 5 ½ hours from my parents. We don’t talk to Tim’s Mom. She used to live here, and then she moved to Alabama. We heard she’s now in Wichita, KS. I tried to reconcile while she was still here. After I spoke with her, Tim said he didn’t know if he wanted to reconnect with her. He didn’t want to put the kids through it. So that’s just the way it is.

My Dad and my brother, Jim, came to Kansas City for training. They were invited to Tim’s parents’ home for Sunday dinner. Tim’s Dad’s name was James Lawrence; he went by “JL.” Upon introductions, my Dad thought he said his name was “Jail.” My Dad didn’t know what to think. On the way back to their hotel when we were able to talk more, Dad was relieved. He didn’t know what kind of in-laws he was getting. We still laugh about it today.

Andy: “Why did Daddy’s Dad die?”

Me: “Because he didn’t take care of himself. He smoked and that’s what it does to you. Would you like to go see where Daddy’s Dad is buried?”

I don’t remember all the facts exactly, but this seems to be how I recall things:

Before I knew him, JL had heart problems. Years before, at the age of 42, he had his first heart attack and was air lifted to the hospital. He died in the helicopter but they were able to revive him. As with most people with chronic heart problems, he eventually needed to have procedures, including angioplasty. After inserting a stint into clogged artery/vein, the surgeons were unable to get blood flowing through his heart. There wasn’t any reason why it wasn’t flowing, the veins were open, it was just his time. It was also the day Tim picked up my engagement ring. He almost didn’t go to the hospital because he had already taken a long lunch and this was a simple surgery, compared to everything else he’d been through. But for some reason he did, thankfully.

While saying “I love you” was an extreme rarity in Tim’s family, they were the last words he ever spoke to his father. As silly as it may seem, these 3 words, made up of only 8 letters, have brought a lot of comfort to Tim for the past decade. It helps to erase all the things you said but shouldn’t and wished you had but didn’t. Keep this in mind the next time you tell a loved one good bye. You never know when it is just “their time.”

Alex: “Yes. But we aren’t going to unbury him, right, Mom?”

Me: “No, we definitely won’t unbury him.”

Andy: “What are the names, Mom?”

Me: “That tells us the names of the people who are buried there.”

Andy: “What’s this one say?”

Me: “Turner.”

Alex: “Like Timmy Turner.” Yes, we watch Fairly Odd Parents.

I love the innocence of kids. What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger!! If it does kill you, we promise we won’t unbury you.

I have always felt the need to be in control. I need to know what is going on at all times. And for most of my life, I had control. While growing up, I was required to visit my sperm donor (and his family). Lucky for me, it wasn’t often. What I remember most was the night before I was to return home, to MY HOME, with my Mom, I would cry myself to sleep. It would be the night I would hear how much better off I would be if I moved with them. I knew I wouldn’t be better off. My Mom has always been honest with me. When I was old enough to ask why they divorced, she told me it was because he beat her. When he died a few years ago, we discussed it more. She wanted to stay. Right after I was born, he wouldn’t hit her as long as she was holding me. Then it got to the point where it didn’t matter. She knew it was only a matter of time before he started hitting me. She knew, at that point, she had to leave. Years later, Mom would occasionally run into my step-mom’s family at the grocery store. They discussed the beatings and how they continued with Nancy. One of my half-brothers is divorced now. The records say it was abuse. One thing is for certain, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. After Mom left the sperm donor, one of his sister’s said, “she (my Mom) must not be much of a woman if she can’t take a beating every once and awhile.” Nice, real nice!! I am extremely proud of my Mom for having the courage to leave. Anyway, I always returned to my Mom. It was my decision and I always chose my Mom. She needed me. He had a wife and family. If I lived with him, my Mom would be all alone. I couldn’t do that to her. I controlled the situation and was with my Mom.

When my Mom re-married, I wasn’t too fond of the fact that I would now have to share her, not only with a man, but with his five kids. On their wedding day, I was “difficult.” They wanted the girls to stand up with Mom and the boys to stand up with Dad, just like the Brady Bunch. Before the ceremony, I sat in the back of the court room (they got married at city hall). Only after all my aunts “talked” to me that I agreed to stand by her. That evening, at the reception, I kept saying that I didn’t want to be there. As if my protesting would some how make the events of the day null and void. I needed to get up extremely early the next morning for work. This was true, I was de-tassling corn. We were typically in the fields by 5:30, which means we had to be picked up around 5:00, some times earlier. De-tassling is fun! You get up way before the sun, head into wet cold corn fields, walking up and down the rows hoping not to get cut by a leaf (it hurts way more than a paper cut), reaching on your tip toes to get the tassle (this is why I have calves of steel). Going home was way more fun than staying at some party. Finally, I was allowed to go home. Of course, Dad drove me. But, in the end, I had control, I got what I wanted.

Then I had kids. They are little beings, I can control them. Yeah, right! While sometimes, they let me think I have control, I really don’t. I love candles. I have several and, until recently, haven’t lit them – you know, saving them for a special occasion – what the hell is that about? So a couple days ago, it’s a rainy spring/summer day. I decided to light some candles. I got out a new one. My son, Andy, wants to try to light the candle for me. We use a kid-proof lighter. I tell him, “go for it” knowing full well that he won’t be able to start it. Let him try I tell myself, that’s part of being a kid. After just a couple tries, I see the flame. Oh my God! My five year old is now Lord of the Flame. Can I come live with you when he burns my house down? See, control is just an illusion that we create in our on mind. I have NO CONTROL!

Just remember, surviving a house fire, or hosting my family until our house is rebuilt, will only make you stronger!!

I’m a bitch, I’m a lover, I’m a child, I’m a mother, I’m a sinner, I’m a saint, I do not feel ashamed. No, I’m not Alanis Morissette. I am Michelle D. Carter and this is my website. Today is May 28, 2008 and this is my first post.

I’m a bitch – I’m an evil hateful bitch. I am vindictive (although I’m trying not to be, so much anyway). Do not cross me, take advantage of me, or you will pay the price. Either through my hands or karma. Since I’m trying to be better, I’m hoping karma will get you. But sometimes, I still have to step in and help karma out.

I’m a lover – I love my husband. We’ve been married for 10 ½ years, together for 11 ½. I never thought I would find such a wonderful loving man with whom I share my life. My Mom quit school when she was 16, got married when she was 17, had me when she was 18 and divorced when she was 19. She didn’t get married because she was pregnant. She got married in August 1967 and I was born October 1968. She remarried when I was 12 ½ to an incredible man whom I consider my father. I always thought that’s how my life would be. I’d marry, have a kid, then divorced. The older I got, the more I thought I’d never find that special love. But at age 26 (almost 27), I met Tim. After two weeks, we were living together (yes, in sin). I was a month away from 29 when we wed. I am so lucky to have him – and he’s lucky to have me.

I’m a child – technically an only child. However, I have two half brothers, two step brothers and three step sisters. My biological father (will be referred to as “sperm donor” from here on out) remarried and had two boys. My step-father (will be referred to as “Dad” from here on out) had five children. I was the oldest of the whole bunch. I lived with my Mom, Dad and his five kids. More on that later.

I’m a mother – I have three children. My daughter, Alyssa, is 8 ½ and is quite the drama queen already (I know she gets it from me, but I will deny it as much as I can). I also have twin boys, Alex and Andy, who are 5. All three were pre-mature. Alyssa was 6 weeks early and spent 6 days in the hospital. My water broke around 3:00 in the morning. I was cussing myself out, here I was 31 years old and couldn’t control my bladder. Then it hit me. An hour or so later we were at the hospital. Tim is VERY big in surprises so we didn’t know she was a she until 9:28 that glorious evening on January 4th, 2000. Remember, she was 6 weeks early, so NO, we weren’t planning for a New Millennium baby. We didn’t want a birthday too close to Christmas, Valentine’s Day was the plan. Tim wanted three years between our kids, I wanted two. Obviously, we went with three. We debated whether we were even going to have another one. Life was just getting easier. We could pick up and go without too much to worry about. It took me three months to get pregnant with my daughter, so I went off the pill. The first freakin’ month I got pregnant. Holy shit! I had wanted a May birthday, however; my due date was April. What have I done?! I’m sicker than shit and went from “let’s see what happens” to “crap, I’m pregnant.” Around my fifth month, I started thinking, “another one around the house, I can handle it.” Then we go in for the sonogram. We take Alyssa so she can see her new sibling. Again, we didn’t want to know the sex. The technician scans my stomach. Tim says, “that’s a boy.” I have trouble making those pictures out, but I knew that was a penis. Then she says, “I have something to show you.” I thought if it’s anything bad, it would come from my doctor. So I looked at her and said, “there’s two.” “Yes, and when there’s two we look for three, but there’s only two.” I never heard a thing she said after that. The nurse said, “you didn’t know, no wonder your blood pressure was up.” Ya think?! I’m just adjusting to the fact I’m pregnant and now I’m having two babies!! Twins run in Tim’s family. Curse them! At my six week check-up, we find out that the boys are fraternal – that means there were two eggs out there that were fertilized. I am responsible for the boys. They were born 7 weeks early. Alex spent 3 weeks in the hospital, Andy, 4 weeks. The worst preemie in the world to be is a white male. All three are healthy now. You’d never know they were preemies. I am thankful for that.

I’m a sinner – oh man, I’m a sinner. I’ve stole, I had a long-term affair with a married man. I’ve… there are several things here that I’m sure you’ll learn about later.

I’m a saint – I’ve… well, I’ve… ok, maybe I’m not a saint. I am not ashamed of myself. Are there things I’m not proud of, sure! But I believe that you are the person you are because of the things you experience in life. And what doesn’t kill you, only makes you stronger!!