My Life is a Kaleidoscope-Adoption and Putting the Fragments Back Together.

Fragmented moments really. That's what I mean by kaleidoscope. From childhood until now, my life has always been in pieces. Not that I'm upset about that, because I feel that all of those fragments have come together to help mold me into the woman I am today.

Let's take a step back for a moment, okay? Back to 1986 when I made my debut in this world.

My biological father was in the Army, stationed in Germany, my biological mother was a teen living in Germany. They met, fell in love, found out she was pregnant, got married...lived happily ever after.

Okay, the last part was a lie. They were both young, neither ready for such a committed relationship. Nobody told them just how hard life was as an adult, not to mention an adult with a family, a child...it was too much. Without going into too much detail, I'll sum it up with this: Not every whirlwind romance ends like a Disney movie. Not everyone lives happily ever after.

My grandparents on my Dad's side ended up adopting me and they became my parents. My Momma and Daddy. The two people who would've done anything for me..no matter what it cost them. They loved me unconditionally and looked at me as their own child. I was never their granddaughter, only their daughter.

Fragments.

I remember bits and pieces. The court house on the day of my adoption when the paperwork was finalized, I can't remember my exact age, but I was around 6 or so, I think. My life has always been colorful, most likely because of how eccentric I tend to be. I love colors and my imagination is as vivid as the colors that I love. My thoughts and memories are also vivid, and at times I have to wonder if it was my imagination distorting my memories, through the eyes of a child, my thoughts tend to vary from things I've been told. I suppose we all go through that at some point or another, but more often than not I feel that I'll never know the full extent of the truth. Perhaps that is for the best.

More fragments. My biological Dad always lived nearby, but our relationship was tumultuous. It was great when things were working out well between us, but as I got older (my teen years were rough) we distanced ourselves from one another. I take as much fault as I place blame for that and I can only hope that it will be repaired one day. I love my Dad, it's just hard to vocalize that. So many years of misunderstanding adds up and makes things difficult. Where do you begin? How do you repair something that you spent most of your life believing was irreparable?

 I have lots of good memories as well. Some of my favorite were simple, being held up as high as his arms could reach as he pretended to throw me into the sky, or put me on a tree branch high above the ground. Hanging out at his house, watching tv and just being together. His goofy cockerspaniel dog jumping at a mirror as he freaked out on his own reflection. I remember trips taken to amusement parks, his wedding to the love of his life and the woman that has changed him for the better. I still have the ring with the angels that they gave me on their wedding day. So many memories. Some good, some bad. The bad ones are more vivid. That tends to be the way life works, right? Those fights as a teenager when I thought he didn't know anything. Tears were shed, angry words exchanged. Those moments I wish I could erase, take them back. Make it as if they never happened. It came from a place of love, doing what he thought was best. Isn't that what every parent strives to do?

My birth mother, the unknown portion of my life that I desired to know more than anything. At 18 I took off to Alaska to visit her and my sisters. It was great for a while, but then it went horribly wrong and was heartbreaking. Every angry/hurt/bitter emotion that I could muster up was unleashed upon her in a fury of regretful words. It was bound to happen, but I wasn't ready for that moment and it left a sour taste in my mouth. I thought she'd hate me. That she'd be happy I wasn't her problem. But she waited, I'm sure it was excruciating to do so, but she seemed to have this understanding that I had no clue about. 

My grandparents were my constant, Momma and Daddy were and always will be my parents. Adoption or not, they raised me. They are my foundation. There were hard times there too, but nobody is perfect. They did what they could to raise me to the best of their ability. I was difficult. For years I felt I was damaged. Why didn't my parents want me? Why was I the only person in my class to have older parents? While everyone else was going on vacations with their families, I mostly got my vacation fix from summer camps that I got to choose. I was fine with that, but at times I was envious of those around me who went on adventures across the country or to other countries with their parents. I knew what I had and I was grateful to them for everything, even if I didn't always show it.

I wanted more than the small town I grew up in. I wanted out. I followed in my biological parents footsteps. I moved to Germany after marrying my first husband at 19. I soon became pregnant with our son. It was never meant to be. It failed and all I could think was, "I'm my parents, history is repeating itself." I felt like a failure and was bitter for a while over that.

More fragments. This time the memories are dark and marred with negativity. The one sliver of happiness was my son and I think he's what kept me going.

Fast forward a bit to my saving grace. My husband and my children. One with him and two I gained by falling in love with him, he completed my family that at the moment was just my first son and I. This will be a blog for another time, perhaps. But these kids and this man who I call my soul mate truly changed my perspective on life in general and saved me from myself.

You see, it took becoming a mother to finally understand. The thoughts I've had for years now, since motherhood first began, have swirled in my mind and brought with them understanding. I never thought I'd be capable of this amount of understanding and acceptance. Not when it came to my own life and the people who were key players in who I've become as a woman. At 29 years old, I feel that I've gained a true idea of what love is about. You forgive and you move on, you allow time to heal wounds and you look to the future.

My Momma passed away four years ago and it was one of the most difficult times in my life. It felt like without her my family fell apart. She was the glue that held us together and without her we went our separate ways and became content with that level of distance. I dealt with it, taking comfort in knowing that my husband and kids were always there for me. Out of sight out of mind, so to speak.

Then, she came back into my life. My birth mother. The one woman who was more of an enigma than anything else. I wanted to know her, to call her Mom. To have a relationship with her like my sisters do. But I was scared. I felt guilty. How can I have two mothers? How can I possibly love them both?

Easily. Once I let my guard down and accepted the fact that I'm adopted and my heart is big enough to love everyone in my life, unhindered, if only I give it a chance. It took me my entire existence on this earth to come to that realization.

Slowly our relationship over the course of the last year has been growing, long conversations on the phone. "Liking" updates on Facebook. Laughs, tears, frustrations...we're so much alike. I look like her, my Momma always told me that. We all look like her. My sisters and I. There's 5 of us total and it's obvious that we're sisters. I've gained relationships with both my Mom and my sisters. Something I never thought would happen. More fragments and colors to add to my kaleidoscope. Beautiful colors that help complete my life.

My husband has a wonderful family that has accepted me as part of their inner circle. They've stepped in, especially my Mother in law, as being a constant in my life. But now I have this part of my family that is not only enriching my life but also the lives of my children. I bring into this relationship, three grandmothers, My Momma and Mom, and a step-grandmother (my biological Dad's wife). I also have other women who I consider to be like motherly figures for various reasons and they just add to the chaotic mix that is my life.

My Mom can never replace my Momma, but that's okay. I'm completely fine with that. However, she can add new memories and hopefully those new memories will repair some of those old wounds that haunt my inner child.

This week, I will embark on what has been dubbed "An epic road trip" from Florida to South Dakota with my birth mother, Patty. Never in my life could I have predicted this happening. It's stirred up a mixture of emotions and thoughts, so much so that I needed to write. Writing is my outlet and I needed to pour my thoughts out. This isn't a bad thing. Not in the least. It's the most amazing thing to happen for my family and I. This is the trip that will drive us into a totally new beginning in our lives. A beginning that I've prayed and begged God for, for so long. It's a daydream in a sense. Is this real? No seriously..is this really happening? I've needed this. She's needed this. WE have needed this for years.

So there's that. I could write so much more but I think this is good for now. A cleansing of sorts.

When you look into a kaleidoscope there are so many colors, some bright, some dim. Those colors are cut into a variety of shapes. Upon first inspection those fragmented colors are just kind of strewn about. You hold it up to the light and you see just how beautiful those colors are. When you turn the kaleidoscope those colors begin to work together to create a beautiful abstract tapestry. It's only when all the key components work together that the true beauty comes into view.

Life is beautiful, isn't it? 

I'm addicted...

...to music. 

I had you going there for a moment, huh? You thought I was going to confess some deep, dark, secret addiction in which you would get to silently judge me from behind the comfort of the screen in which you're hidden. It's okay, I forgive you. 

Seriously, I am addicted to music. Without music, my world would be consumed with the chaos of my every day life. Yes, I know my blog is titled, "The Beautiful Chaos of Motherhood and Life..." I'm aware of the irony of my statement. I don't mean to say that chaos is bad in this sense, but I know that music helps me to better balance it all.

Whether I'm blogging, doing homework, cooking, cleaning, or playing outside with the kids I typically always have music playing in the background. I feel that listening to music helps me concentrate better on the task I am performing. That could mean that I have some underlying ADD/ADHD tendencies that I've yet to address in my 28 years of life. Hmm...nevertheless music is my addiction. 

I listen to a variety of music which is usually dependent on my mood and the task I'm trying to complete. For example, I've found that if I'm blogging I can listen to a variety of things and the style doesn't really matter. But when I'm doing homework I prefer to listen to music that lacks words because it allows me to better concentrate. 

I get pickier when it comes to reading a book. It doesn't matter if I'm reading for pure enjoyment or if I'm editing a book, I try to match the music to the scene that I'm reading. I do the same when I'm writing. Adding mood music really helps me to get into the mind of the characters and I feel that some of my best writing occurs when music is my constant companion. 

When people ask me what my favorite genre of music is, it's really hard for me to explain it. I use the word eclectic quite often because that's the only way to truly describe my taste in music. It varies, as I mentioned previously in this blog. I've gone to such a mix of concerts that it's almost comical but I feel that it makes me well-rounded. 

The first concert I ever went to was Dwight Yoakam. Yes. Mr. Yoakam at Cumberland Gap, Kentucky. I was about 8 or 9 and we had went there on a family outing. I actually was able to meet him and talk to him. I thought it was the coolest thing..ever. I still look back at that memory fondly.

I went to many concert events when I was a teenager with my youth group from my childhood church. Even though it's not necessarily my style of music any longer, I still enjoyed myself at the time and listen to that genre of music on occasion when I want to hear a specific song.

In more recent years, I've seen Fly Leaf, In This Moment, Marilyn Manson, Rob Zombie, Taylor Swift, Ed Sheeran, and Britney Spears. Now, let that last sentence really sink in and think about those artists individually. I'm pretty sure I can imagine your facial expression and that humors me slightly. Eclectic, right? 

What I've been listening to as I write this blog post is more of the country variety. Hunter Hayes, Taylor Swift, Luke Bryan, Carrie Underwood...etc. No particular reason other than I wanted to hear "Blown Away" and it snowballed from there. 

What draws me to music is not the genre but more so what I feel when I listen to it. If it evokes emotion or makes me feel good...then I'll listen to it. Sounds like a drug, right? If it feels good, do it?
I'll admit it, I am absolutely 100% addicted to music. It makes me feel good, so I'm definitely going to do (listen to) it. 

Do I need rehab for this? Nah. I'll continue to get my musically induced high as I float through life on lyrics, notes, and catchy hooks.

My kids also love and appreciate music. They've all been acutely aware of my love for music since before they could talk. If there's anything I've done flawlessly as a parent, I know it has been introducing them to a variety of music while nurturing their own personal preferences. 

Music is life.  

How do you feel about music? What's your favorite genre or do you listen to whatever feels right?  Do you have songs capable of inducing memories in which you feel like you're reliving that moment the second you hear the first note? 

The Loss of my Mother

I've had yet to share my poetry (of any type) on my blog, but I decided that it was time. I shared this particular piece back in April on the 3 year anniversary of my Mom's death. It was only fitting to do so. 

My Mom fought cancer for nearly a decade and kicked ass doing so, but fighting meant chemo and radiation. If you know anything about cancer treatment then you know that it's extremely detrimental to the body, more specifically the immune system. 

She was a hard headed, self-proclaimed "bitch", who loved her family with everything she had and tried to give her children the world...even if it meant she went without. She was the backbone of our family and it fell apart when she died.

She was my best-friend and the person I called several times a day to get advice about motherhood, vent to when I felt like nobody else would understand, and cry to when my heart was broken. When my first marriage was ending, my mother told me that I had too big of a heart to give up on love. She assured me that love would come around when I least expected it. 

When Sean came into my life she knew before I told her that I had fallen for him. She knew that the love I felt for him was rare and she warned me not to let him fall in love with me. She was afraid that I wasn't ready...but love had happened and she knew it. 

He was the first guy that I have ever seen her accept 100% as good enough to be my husband. She adored him and when I last saw her she told me to "Thank Sean for me..for loving you...I know I can go home without worrying about you being taken care of. Never let him go and when marriage gets hard fight like hell to hold onto it." 

My Mom may have not been my mother by blood but she was my grandmother by blood. If you've read my previous blogs, then you know I've mentioned that I was adopted by my grandparents. I have only recently started working on a relationship with my biological mother and I couldn't be more thankful. If my Mom wouldn't have taught me forgiveness and understanding..then I am not sure I would have ever been ready to take this step with my biological mother. 

I am grateful now to say I have two moms. If I count the other women in my life such as my ex-step mother, Robyn or my mother-in-law, Barb then I can honestly say I have more moms than most. None of them are alike, none of them can replace the mother that I lost when Dixie left this world, but they all hold a very dear place in my heart and I love them tremendously.

In the last three years I have slowly accepted that my Mom is no longer here but I have plenty of moments where I feel her presence..and her absence. Every time I hear You Are My Sunshine I am reduced to tears. As I sit here writing I have that song playing in the background and I am looking at my computer screen through a veil of tears. That was our song...I have only recently stopped picking up the phone to call her.

I think what inspired this blog the most was when I was unpacking a box last night. It was items that I had given my Mom when she was in the hospital. My aunt Roxie had been sure that those items made it back to me. One item in particular nearly broke my heart when I held it. It's a large purple butterfly that you can hang on the wall. My parents have always called me butterfly because my Daddy gave me that nickname when I was three years old. 

Anyway, I was living in Florida when my Mom was sick and had traveled back home to Kentucky to see her...to..say goodbye. I felt awful the day before I had to leave because I knew that I would most likely never see her alive again. I went to the gift shop and bought that purple butterfly and put it in her room. I told her that even if I wasn't physically there I was always with her and that butterfly was to remind her of that. 

When I held that butterfly last night, I cried for a few minutes and it felt I was mourning her death all over again. I have a few other pieces that were sent to her funeral specifically for me. Two beautiful white angels that I hold dear because of my best friends who sent them. That box was hard for me to go through last night but it was a little bit easier than when I packed it up a month ago. 

It left me feeling raw with emotion and today I decided to get up and write...I have to write to get it out because I've found that writing is the only way I allow myself to truly deal with her death. This brings me to the poem...

The back story on this poem is that I wrote it for a creative writing course in college. I have had a very difficult time dealing with my Mom's death and more often than not I tend to downplay my emotions until they fester inside and I, more or less, explode into a blubbering mess of tears. 

We were asked to write a poem in a specific format and I chose to write an elegy. My mood that day was bitter to the point that I could nearly taste it rising like bile in the back of my throat. The only way to deal with that bitterness was to expel it from myself in the form of writing.

Here's the poem: (Disclaimer-This is my work and I don't mind it being quoted but please do not do so without my permission.) 

   

The End (Elegy)
                                     
Heads were bowed in contemplative unison as we awaited for the formalities to end.
Staggered breathing could be heard if one paid attention,
But most were lost within their own reflections of their last moments with her. 

Moments that would be forever encapsulated in our hearts, as we held steadfast to the hope that she would some how awaken; a ridiculous notion for the dead cannot be shaken.
The spirit that had tethered her to this world had long abandoned the fragile shell that we now gazed upon.
One by one, we began to say our final good bye, though mere words seemed to desensitize everything we felt in those life-altering seconds.
A hushed whisper rumbled through our ears as we made our approach to the cold, metallic tomb in which she lay.
Mouth drawn in a tight line and hands clasped stiffly across her torso, the image was imposed upon us as it etched itself into our memories.
We tried to catalog it with the other undesirables that could not be unseen; but it was at the forefront of our sorrow.
In the air hung a smell that only funeral flowers could generate. The scent burned our throats and had the ability to conjure up painful images of those who we wished only to commemorate.
A sickeningly, sweet fragrance laced with heartache and regret, thick enough that it could drowned anyone who allowed it.
Acidic tears stung our cheeks and our knees began to buckle beneath the weight of the sorrow. We supported one another in this  moment because we felt camaraderie in our pain.
Clinging to the cold edge of the box in which she lay, we whispered words of comfort and regret that fell on deaf ears to our dismay.
As morning shifted to afternoon, we walked across soft, moist earth to her final resting place.
The minutes ticked by at a quickened pace, that blurred past as the midday sun cast dark shadows over every mourners’ face.
A prayer was spoken in a voice twisted by despair, but that pivotal moment did not fully register until the creaking of the ropes resounded around us. Slowly she sank into the cold ground, forever hidden from our sights except for when we allowed our hearts to reminisce. © 2014 Kimberly Kasper

A new chapter in life deserving of a new blog...

      

So, I decided to start blogging...again, but this time I've created an entirely new blog. Here you'll find a variety of topics from what's going on in my personal life, my thoughts on motherhood (struggles and victories) and also stories that I find interesting.
      You might be thinking, "here we go again..." and that's fine. I'm writing this for me but I welcome anyone along for the ride. I love writing and I also enjoy being able to journal. I find it to be a cleansing of the soul in a sense. I constantly use my Facebook as a forum to express my opinions, but I've grown bored with Facebook and would rather create a place designated for my thoughts.
      With that being said, welcome to this new chapter in my journey of self-discovery where you'll see slivers of who I am and what's happening in my life. I've been vlogging too since we made our great move across the country, so perhaps instead of uploading those on Facebook, I'll start posting those on youtube and linking them here..we'll see.
      I have no goals to be the "next great blogger/vlogger" I honestly want to do this as a way to keep my writing juices flowing and also a way for family and friends to keep themselves entertained with the chaos of my life. So...here goes nothing. ;)

~Kim