Yeh... I stole that title from Eminem's "Not Afraid"... and this is why:
There was a time when I would blog about my past, tell my sordid stories of growing up in the inner city of Edmonton and over share WAY too much of my life with anyone who felt comfortable reading about it. I haven't done that for a while, mainly because my life is off limits as far as posting about it (plus you would be bored to fuck reading about my dinner menu or how I purged Lola's room for the 10th time this year, seriously who GIVES a shit about that shit?)
But what I have always been open about is my past, my battle with depression and my grief over losing too many people in my life WAY too soon...
So.
Tonight.http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/edmonton/story/2012/08/08/edmonton-cromdale-torn-down.html I come home from a *shrugs* meh metiocre tweetup only to be thrown into the Tweets of Fire about the demolition of THE CROMDALE. For anyone who knows me or has read my story, you will KNOW what this means to me.
This tweet came through:
Selffop9:07pm via Twitter for iPad
Then, my dear friend Jaimie Clements (who I met three years ago BECAUSE of this whole Cromdale bullshit) sent this: Jaimieclements9:49pm via Web
Watching that building come down brick by brick, layer by layer, I can only equate it to how the Cromdale stripped away my own mom's life. She left her heart and soul in that building 30 years ago.
I remember.
I remember because I watched it happen, layer by layer, brick by brick, and to watch on video the slow, torturous demolition of the Cromdale Hotel was fitting because in so many ways, it reflected how my mother's life was stripped away; slowly, painfully, and layer by layer.
My 10-year-old son came into the kitchen while I watched this video and put his arm around me, asking, "Mom, did you know the people who lived there?"
I smiled through my tears and said, "One day, you will know why I'm crying about this."
He held me tightly and kissed my cheek.
"I love you mom." "Yeh," I said, swatting his ass. "I love you too." I didn't want him to see my pain or question why the demolition of this building he had never seen, meant anything to him. One day he will know what happened to me and why the demolition of the Cromdale Hotel has me in tears at 10:30 p.m., but tonight is not that night.
We all have our demons, our stories, and our baggage; it's what we choose to do with them is what matters.
Lola just came in and saw my twitter stream and said, 'Mom, I came to say goodnight but did you know that YOU ARE FIERCE?" (she says 'fuhse' some sort of accent I can't explain). I said, "Why do you say that??" She pointed to my Twitter stream and said, "Because you tell everyone else that THEY are FIERCE but really YOU are FIERCE!"
*sob*
I broke the cycle.
My kids are happy, content, and brave.
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