A Changing of the Years

There are just a few days left of 2023. Soon we will have the changing of the years. I can't believe this year has just sped by in such a manner, of course at my age, that is all time does is speed by. 

This year started out with my dad's funeral. It was a cold, blustery day that resulted in my getting sick and somehow I resentfully believed he might have had a hand in it all. Truthfully though, I think that I just held a lot of angry and uncertain emotions that I didn't know how to process and this kind of, sort of, may have set the stage for 2023 and many of the things that it was and that it manifested. 

It has been a year of ups and downs as well as breaking and healing. I have come to the realizations of how short life is and how I want my life to be. I have opened up on some things and let go of others. I am starting to understand that if I want to leave something behind, then I better get off my butt and do something to actually have something to leave behind!

This year has also held some family discourse, as my house is overflowing, and not everyone involved agrees or behaves all the time. I am finally finding my voice and allowing those around me to know what I will accept, what I won't accept, and what is no longer negotiable. It seems that currently, for the most part, we are finding some compromise and common ground, cause if Mama ain't happy, others might be somewhat unhappy too. 

One of the big happenings of this year, was us dismantling and getting rid of our backyard pool. It was so bittersweet for me, as this was David's pool, but for the last couple of years, he has not been able to use it. No matter how hot it was, his body just could not handle the pool water, thus dropping his blood pressure and in a couple of cases, causing him to have a seizure. 

The little kids loved it and all of them learned to swim in it, but the few months of fun just did not end up outweighing the price and effort of upkeep and what it did to our electric bill. This was where we as a family voted on getting rid of it, and surprisingly, the vote was unanimous. While I know that the decision was the best one for us all, I was surprised at the sadness it left me with. A pool had been a part of my backyard since I was a junior in high school. To look out my kitchen window and only see a sand pit still leaves a bit of an ache in my stomach. The upside though is, the little boys have loved that sand, and never once have they or anyone complained that the pool is no longer there. 

The summer of 2023 was a fun one though, even without the pool. David's para Miss Tony, and I, took the kids and David to many fun places this summer. Our state has what they call the Sunflower Card, which allows families into places and events (once throughout the summer) for free. We went to zoos, parks, and museums. It was so much fun and the memories we made and shared will be with us forever. 

The kids and I also became very much into music and amazingly have had music be the background and sometimes even the foreground of our everyday life. It is funny how music can connect people and leave them knowing more about each other and creating moments that they will connect to for the rest of their lives. It is definitely something we all want to carry on into the coming years. 

Since school started this year, life has been beyond busy. We have been through open houses, school projects, cheer practices, football games, 4H, parties, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and finally Christmas. The kids have all done well in school, with the little boys starting to mature and Willow starting to come into her own. I have to say that Willow joining 4H has been a great thing and who knew she was a dead aim with a BB gun?

This year has also held some unexpected moments and journeys for me, as I have started to see things differently and feel things differently about myself and life in general. One of the most unexpected and ultimately treasured journeys I got to have was the relationship with my younger brother in his final year. It was something that I wasn't sure would ever be achieved or that either one of us would be open to having. It turned out to be the greatest gift and it changed me in so many ways. I would like to think, maybe it changed us both for the better. His loss struck me in a way that I didn't see coming and has continued to change me since it happened. My holidays were in honor of him, and everything I did from cooking to decorating, was to honor the things he loved. 

I am not an extremely Christmasy person, but this year, I stepped out of that and stepped into Christmas as Elton John says. The kids and I listened to Christmas music daily and knew every song, old and new. We went and saw the Griswald house as a family, which is a house that has made national news for all of its decorations and lights, and we started game nights where all the family can partake. I baked and made candy and cookies and Andy's favorite.....lemon bars, which I shared with his wife and son. I also got closer to my faith and found peace in going to Mass which for some time had seemed unavailable to me. 

David, while usually one to enjoy life, his tablet, the show COPS, Spongebob, The Foo Fighters and the kids and dogs who roam our house, is not above occasionally throwing me for a loop just to keep things interesting. Apparently, he felt Nov. 26th was the day in 2023 to remind me that he can be medically fragile and throw out one of his crazy health scares. Since that day we have been dealing with an abscess on his leg. We discovered it on the 26th and since then, it has been opened up twice and he has been on antibiotics continually. It continues to drain to this day and I am waiting for a call from the infectious med doctor to get him in to be seen. It has kept me worried and stressed, but so far, he seems to be okay. 

One of the greatest gifts we as a family have been given this year is the gift of a new family member in 2024. My son Zachary and his girlfriend are expecting their first child in July of 2024. July is typically a tough month as that is the month I lost my husband Tim, but with this new little life due to make an appearance in July, it will likely hold more joy in the year and years to come. I think Tim likely orchestrated that and it makes my heart smile. 

So as the year is winding down, today I am sick. I don't think I am flu sick, but more, I have pushed my mind, soul, and body as far it can go since October and now I think I am, I must just rest sick. I am laying here feeling achy and uncomfortable, and not at all myself, but nothing that some rest, relaxation, and a little quiet can't fix. 

A year ago today, my dad passed. There has been much since that day that I shoved aside in order to shut the door and not think about it all of, but of late, I have pulled the band-aid off the wound, and allowed it to start both oozing emotion and also hopefully healing through my blogging. Yes, after many suggestions and even some requests, back in October, I started blogging again. It has been both emotionally painful and also healing, and sometimes all in the same blog piece. Mostly though, I have just been grateful that anyone has wanted to read. 

It is my plan that in 2024 I will continue to blog. I will continue to tell the story of "me" and I hope to continue to explore who I was in the past, and who I am turning into now. 

Yes, I am sure that like any year, 2024 will hold joy, some pain, new and unexpected experiences, new people, maybe some old ones too, and with any luck, peace, laughter, and happiness. 

If you have kept up with my blog and read it this year, thank you. I wish you all a happy and safe ending to 2023, and much joy, health, and happiness in 2024. 

Happy New Year to you all!

Until next time........

 

Five More Sleeps

There are officially five (5) more sleeps until Christmas day. This will be my 61st Christmas and I am sad to say, that like everyone else in the world, I have often let the commercialism of the holiday, override The Reason for the Season. I guess it is all part of living in an ever-growing secular world, where things have become more important than the true reason we celebrate Christmas. Like most things, it's not rocket science. The purpose of December 25th is quite simply spelled out for us in the name...Christ-mas, but apparently even in all of its simplicity, we still forget. But I digress. 

So as a kid, my parents if not on the same page with anything else, always had a cease fire during Christmas and we always celebrated Christmas together as a family. Yes I know, we were a strange bunch, and trust me, my divorced parent's weird relationship was never lost on me. 

The first Christmas that I actually remember was in "the horrible house." I must have been about 6 or 7 and I was sick. Really sick. I had the flu and the pictures of me that Christmas show that I looked like walking death. I was pale and my eyes were dark. I looked awful and I imagine I felt awful too, but I don't remember that. 

That Christmas, my not-so-adoring grandma, and my always-adoring grandpa came to our house Christmas Eve. Mom and Dad were either together at the time or at the very least, together for the evening. For most of my life, we always celebrated Christmas on Christmas morning, but for whatever reason, that year it was on Christmas Eve. I have glimpses of memory of my grandma telling me I looked awful (duh, I was sick) and my grandpa trying to make me smile. Our little Christmas tree was in our den area and Mom told me that I needed to go to my room and play for a while. I must have felt bad enough to be compliant, and in a bit, I was called back out, to find that during my time in my room, Santa had arrived. I remember being upset that I had missed him. If only I had not been so compliant. 

The only gift I remember getting that year was a doll that was about three and a half feet tall. She was nearly as tall as me. She had some kind of mechanism in her that if you held her hand, she could kinda, sorta walk with you. I must have liked her a lot (although my history with dolls is long and sorted and a story for another time). I had that doll for many years, and during that time I gussied her up a bit, at one point cutting her bangs to a very fashionable (NOT), one-quarter of an inch. Not to worry though, later in her life, my brother Andy got a hold of her and appropriated the Native American culture all over her face. He also had a Native American kid's headdress that he adorned her with. He thought her a masterpiece, but looking back I think one, he watched too many westerns, and two if it happened now, he would most definitely have been canceled. 

The next year was another Christmas Eve celebration, this time at my grandparent's house. I was not sick this particular year and along with us, Aunt May, Uncle Eldrid and Nancy were all there. I remember this being a fun Christmas because Nancy was there and I got an entire Barbie Kitchen. It was teal and gold and I loved it. I played with it for years. 

A bittersweet Christmas that I remember was my grandpa's last Christmas. He was dying from prostate cancer and to keep him from being put in "a home" in his last months, my mom took him in. Yes, my mom and dad were long divorced by this time, but being the strange family that we were, Mom turned the guest bedroom into my grandpa's room and had a hospital bed brought in. When Grandpa came to live with us, so did my dad and grandma. It was a really strange setup, and definitely a story for another time, but we had Grandpa one last Christmas. 

Grandpa's bedroom was upstairs (we no longer lived in the horrible house), and he never came downstairs, except for that Christmas day. Aunt May and Nancy came over, (Uncle Eldrid had sadly passed by then), and our house was full. Having all the people there seemed to make it festive and having Grandpa there, sitting down in the living room and opening gifts with us, made it beyond special. 

I was about 11 this particular Christmas and even I could tell how hard coming down those stairs had been for him, but we listened to Christmas music and opened gifts and I remember knowing that this would never happen again. I was not wrong. 

When we moved to Mulvane, Mom became Christmas-obsessed. She would start the day after Thanksgiving, and it would take her a full week to decorate. She had someone make her an eight-foot manger and the outside was decorated with a beautiful lighted nativity. On the inside, however, it looked like how I always imagined Santa's house would look. We had decorations that dated back to the 50s and every year Mom got more. She also saved every toothpaste box Santa, and Christmas artwork masterpiece that Andy and I brought home from school. Every cabinet, wall, stairway, and end table was covered in everything from the beautiful to the gaudy. 

Our windows had Santa and a mix of mechanical dolls that moved, peering out. Our tree was always 8.5 feet and had every available inch covered with bulbs....and this is where my complete and total dislike for Christmas decorating came into play. Early on, I wanted to help decorate and was so excited to help with the tree, but after breaking several of Mom's (prized) bulbs, my services were no longer needed or appreciated. IF she dared let me help, it was under close supervision which took all of my creativity away. Because of Mom's extreme Christmas OCD, rather than fighting with me, she started decorating the tree while I was at school. Guess what? I didn't care! If the tree got decorated and I didn't have to get yelled at in the process.....cool! Andy's decorating experiences with Mom were much different. I think he had the same love for the process that she did and he had a gentler spirit and touch when it came to her prized bulbs. 

The Christmas's we had in Mulvane, were always so fun. Maybe it was because we had finally found a place we truly called home, and we had friends and events that made the season amazing. I remember caroling with my friends, Christmas parties, and going to midnight Mass. On Christmas morning, my dad always showed up, and we unwrapped our gifts and then had Thanksgiving dinner all over again. It was here we grew up, grew as a family, and started many traditions that I still have today. 

My first Christmas which was abjectly sad for me, was the Christmas of 1983. I had lost the person that I considered the love of my life. We had plans for the future, we were in love, but then like happens with many young college romances, it was just over. My heart was broken and being my first love and my first heartbreak, I was beyond miserable. I remember very little of that Christmas other than I cried day and night. I am sure I was a joy for my family and that I made that Christmas oh-so-special for them too. 

As Andy and I grew up and moved away, we started our own families and traditions. On my first Christmas with my husband Tim, we had no money. I was pregnant with Zachary and a week before Christmas, we had no gifts under the tree. My older son Wesley heard me talking to Tim about how sad I was that we had nothing under the tree. He was a sweet soul at eight years old, and I walked into the living room to find that he had taken all of his stuffed animals and placed them under the tree. He said, "Now we have something under the tree." It looked beautiful and I had to leave the room to keep from bursting into tears in front of him. Miracle of miracles, Santa came through, as well as Tim's over time, and we were able to have a few gifts after all. 

The Christmas of 2000, David was in the NICU. He had been there for three months already and he had another two months to go. By Christmas, he was doing well and we were just working on him gaining enough weight to leave the hospital. Most of that season was spent going back and forth daily to the NICU, but we did break away long enough to have Christmas Eve with my mom and dad at Andy's house. 

The Christmas of 2001, I had just lost Tim, six months earlier. I can honestly say that I have no memory whatsoever of that Christmas. Then the Christmas of 2002, I lost my mom on December 22nd. The only thing that saved that Christmas for me was that my Uncle Pat and Aunt Rita were there. They had come to see my mom in the hospital, but she passed before they could get there. So instead of turning around and going back to MO to spend Christmas with their family, they stayed and helped heal our family. Their kids will never know how much their sacrifice of not spending Christmas with their parents meant to us. It is something that I will never forget. 

The Christmas of 2003, I was living back in my childhood home. It was the home that in so many ways had healed me as a child and miraculously, would heal me again as an adult. It is here where I, my kids, and now my grandkids have celebrated every Christmas since. Yes, I still hate decorating, but with a little help from my friends, it always gets done, and I always enjoy it when it is.

This year, my heart hurts as Andy is never too far from my mind, and it is to honor his memory that I was able to decorate this year. I think about him almost daily and I try to remember all of our childhood Christmas's with Mom and Dad and him and I. Christmas was always a high point for our family. 

I know we are not special this year. We have the same issues as everyone else. Money is tight if not non-existent, we are grieving, and we have stress, struggles, and speed bumps a plenty. We also have each other and one of the family's best gifts this Christmas is the upcoming birth of a new addition. Zachary and his girlfriend are going to be first-time parents in July. I also once again, get to see the joy and excitement of the season through my grandkid's eyes, and I am grateful that for another Christmas, we are here together, safe and sound. 

This year I have turned on the Christmas music and blared it daily (something I never do) and made my grandkids listen and learn. There is pretty much no Christmas song, old or new that they don't know. We have gone and looked at lights as a family, and started spending more time together doing fun things and enjoying each other's company. I think this year of all years, we are critically aware of how short life can be and just how fast time flies. 

I have also shut out the noise of the commercialism of the season and found myself looking towards both the crib and the cross more and more, and focusing on the birth of the Christ child. I think this alone has done more for my healing than anything else. 

So yeah five more sleeps and Christmas will be here, and as Christmas's go, I hope that the kids and grandkids remember this one, for the music, the laughter, and the fact that we were once again given the gift of being together and sharing the joy and memories of not just the day, but also, all the days leading up to it. After all, not everyone gets the miracle that we have as a family. 

I want to wish any of you who read this, a very Merry Christmas. I hope your heart is wrapped up in the beautiful Christmas Season and that you can share love and joy with your own families.

Happy Birthday baby Jesus.

Until next time.....

The Flipside

 

As I have gotten older, I have amassed some knowledge about life, memories, thoughts, and feelings. While some of these things may be universal, it also may be that some are just personal to me. One of the things I have really come to understand though is.....everything has a flipside, a positive and a negative, a good vs. evil. 

When speaking about memories, I think this is more universal. Often when we look back, depending on how our pasts unfolded, we seem to focus on just the positive or just the negative, especially the further away that past becomes. If we hold deep-seated anger about the past, then often, the negative is all we remember, whether the negative events happened only once or if they happened hundreds of times. The same holds true for the positive. Someone could have had a horrific childhood, but their memory of that time, could be wrapped around just one or two positive events and their brain has literally blocked out all of the negative. This is why two kids growing up in the same house, with the same parents, siblings, etc can have such different overall impressions of their pasts and wonder if they even grew up in the same house after all. 

I have been writing about my past and this very thought process has been making me think much harder about my past than I really care to, but if I am going to give a clear and accurate picture of things and how they made me, well.....me, then a little thought and introspection are necessary. 

After focusing on the "horrible house," and looking through some pictures, other memories began resurfacing. In all honesty, what I wrote about the house was absolutely accurate (as I remember it from my childish viewpoint), but as I was writing it, I was also feeling a lot of anger. In truth, it was not a good time in my young life, but it was also the beginning of all the issues that I would have with my dad for the rest of our time together. 

At the time I was writing about the horrible house, my brother was in the last days of his life and even though I was trying to deny the fact, my heart knew. There had been so much time missed between my brother and me for many reasons, but most of them boiled down to my dad and his constant pitting us against each other our entire lives. My emotions were getting big and my anger was simmering and because of this, I think my focus in the past was on the beginning of what in a lot of ways was the start of our unhealthy family dynamic and the slow and gradual destruction of my sibling relationship. 

So looking back, I have been trying to refocus my view during the time at that house and see if anything positive came from it. Wouldn't you know it, with my anger if not somewhat gone, then tightly held in check, there were other memories and today that is what this blog is about. It is to remind myself that no situation is all good or all bad. There is always a little of both sprinkled in. Sometimes when you are focused on the anger, the negativity weighs heavier on your memory than the positive, but if you look hard enough, the positive is always present in one way or another. In other words, to tell a fair and balanced story, you must be fair and balanced with the facts. 

When we moved into that house. The house with a brick-enclosed front patio, the fireplace, and the big backyard, I am not really sure what I thought. It was the first "house" that I had ever lived in and bonus, it wasn't just me and my mom. We now had Bob, my new dad. We were going to be a family. 

At my young age, I am not sure how much I knew or understood about the world, but I did realize that most kids, especially in that day and time, had both a mom and dad living with them, and now I was one of the normal kids. I now had it all. I had the house, the mom and dad, and I also had my new dad's extended family. Through this marital joining, I gained a grandma, grandpa, aunt, uncle, and cousin. Suddenly this little girl who had moved a lot and spent a great deal of time with babysitters had a real home and family complete with bonus members. 

My grandmother did not welcome me with open arms. Looking back, I think the reason was that my dad was a mama's boy and she saw my mom and by extension, me, as a threat or at the very least, competition for the attention of her son. My grandpa on the other hand was the most amazing man I have ever known. He was a big man, who by this time was retired from the railroad, and I loved him and he loved me, the first moment we met. I would follow him around his yard as he worked and puttered and he would tell me the most amazing stories of his life. I definitely won the jackpot with him. 

My new aunt (May) was a tough nut to crack or figure out. In all fairness, her husband (Eldrid) had mental health issues from his time in the war. He had been one of those who had been in the Bataan Death March. He had survived the grueling march and the horrific torture that went with it, but the price of serving his country and undergoing such gruesome conditions was to spend a great deal of the rest of his life, in and out of mental hospitals. May, for all intense purposes became a single mom, raising their daughter, all the while dealing with his erratic behavior and hospital stays. 

May was a true Oklahoma beauty, but the situation that the war left my uncle in, caused her to rebel, be angry and if my recollections are true, become a little unstable herself. Mom and I came into the family when things were really rough for May, and to her, I am sure we looked like competition for her parent's attention, especially me, as I was told by both her and my grandmother on more than one occasion that I was NOT a part of the family. Her daughter Nancy was the only granddaughter. 

May was an interesting person right up until her death. Eldrid on the other hand, was a kind man for all that he had gone through. I wasn't around him a lot, but I do remember when I was, he was so kind and nice to me. I really liked him and to this day I can remember him picking me up and feeling like I was so high in the air as he was about 6' 5".  The memory still makes me smile. 

Eldrid and May had one daughter. Nancy was about six years older than me. Until I came along, she was not only an only child at home but also an only child in the family. I changed that for her and for both of us, being cousins became a bonding experience. 

Nancy was a quiet girl, who was artistic and studious. She read a lot and stayed pretty much to herself. When I came into the picture, I gained not only another ally in the family but also someone who doted on me and actually enjoyed spending time with me. We had great adventures and she constantly gave me stuff that she had either outgrown (like her original Barbies, with clothes, cases, and a car) or things she had made. One time she constructed an entire village out of cardboard. I loved that village and played with it often. 

At my house, just across the street and back a ways was a creek. Nancy would come and take me walking and we go to that creek. We would walk for hours and Nancy would talk to me about the rocks, the plants, and the insects we ran into. We even found crawdads in the creek. It was always fun to be with Nancy and she never made me feel like I didn't belong. 

The horrible house also afforded me something that I had never had before. I had my own bedroom. During the day, I would play for hours with Barbies, my village, and all my toys. I had learned early on to not only play by myself but to also enjoy it. Don't get me wrong though, there were also friends. 

My neighborhood had a fair amount of kids, I am sure the fact that we lived within a block from a school helped that along. For some reason, neighborhood kids liked to come to my house and play. I remember one little girl in particular, whose name was Ann. 

Ann lived a block or so away and somehow she and I became friends. Ann was a tomboy who liked to climb trees and play in the mud, but she was also a quiet girl. She never went anywhere though, without her beautiful Collie dog named Bambi. Bambi was an amazing dog and very well-trained. My mom did not allow dogs in the house, so when Ann came over if we went inside, Bambi would lie down and wait at the front door until Ann came out and then the two of them were off again. At the time, Ann was about 5 or 6 years old and she traveled the neighborhood at will with Bambi. I later learned that the true story of Ann was that she was an only child and her mom was sick. I believe I heard that she had Multiple Sclerosis. Ann's parents had gotten Bambi for Ann as a playmate of sorts, but Bambi ended up being her companion, babysitter, and protector all in one. For all of Bambi's gentleness, I would have pitied anyone who ever tried to hurt Ann. 

The horrible house is where I became a big sister. When I was six, my brother Andy came into the world. As stated previously, Andy's first year was a tough one for both him and my mom, but as he grew, I was in love with him. He had a jump seat that Mom put in the kitchen doorway. Andy would jump and jump and then let out belly laughs. I loved his laugh and I would egg his jumping on. 

I also spent a great deal of time in our big empty living room/Andy's playroom with Andy. He knew how to make every inch of space count with his toys, and boy did he have toys, but his favorite toys were always boxes, plastic bowls, and kitchen utensils. Boxes fired his imagination, the kitchen utensils were usually used for drumming on anything that would make noise, and the plastic bowls were.....hats of course. Those bowls ignited and fed a lifelong love of hats for him. He was a goofy boy and I adored him. 

One of my favorite things about that house was its covered back patio. It sat right outside our sliding glass doors connected to our small dining area. We had a big redwood picnic table, and my dad's charcoal grill also sat out there, and there was still room for added furniture if we had any. I loved that patio because I was close to the door should I need to run in (yes, I had fears and phobias at that young age), but the patio was also my special play area. It was my castle, my playhouse, or anything I wanted it to be. I spent hours on that porch. My favorite times though, were when it rained. On rainy days, I would take a blanket out and climb up on the picnic table, cover-up, and watch the rain. It was so calming and peaceful and it cultivated the love of rain that I have to this day. 

In the brief times when my parents were under the same roof, we were very much that late 60s and early 70s stereotypical family. My dad was a Westerns fan and just about every night of the week, there was some form of Western TV show on, so after supper, we gathered in the den around our portable 18" black and white TV (portable meaning it was on a moveable stand) and we would watch Westerns....oh and Carol Burnett. 

In the summer, Dad hosted barbecues and our house would be full of people drinking and eating, and being loud. On the daily, we ate every meal as a family and breakfast was always a ritual. Every breakfast was two pieces of toast and either bacon or sausage. One piece of toast was eaten with either peanut butter and honey or sorghum, and the other was eaten wrapped around the bacon or sausage. The only other breakfast we ever ate was the very rare Ralston and rolled oats. It was some kind of hot breakfast cereal that as I recall was really good but I have no idea what Ralston even is or was. 

In the horrible house, there were good times, new times, and new beginnings. We had holidays and celebrations like my 7th birthday party. I had a few girls over and my mom went out of her way to make that day and that party special. It was. To this day, I remember my little white sleeveless dress, white go-go boots, and my long hair adorned with a top ponytail. I felt so pretty and so special that day. It was an unforgettable memory for me. 

So yeah, that house was horrible, but it was also a place where memories were made and my family was grown. There were days when I was truly happy because my world was small and it didn't take much for me to feel happy. There were also moments when I was scared, unhappy, and angry, but I went with the flow and didn't allow the bad times to shut out the good ones. 

Nothing is all black and white and nothing is all good or bad. There are shades in between that time and current emotions can fade. Perhaps that is why I am finding all of this to some extent quite healing. I am forcing myself to really think about and delve into my own memories. I of course am allowing the knee-jerk memories that easily pop to the surface, but I am also making myself go deeper. I am trying to step outside the memories of a little girl while trying to also think as an adult and to put myself into my parent's shoes. 

I am asking the hard questions about my parents that begin with "Why?" and end with "Who were these people and did I even really know them?" It is easy to lose track of the fact that our parents were human beings and had lives before we even came into the picture. 

Yeah, this whole process gets me up in my feels quite a lot, but it also is making who I am and why I am the way I am, somewhat clearer. 

Thank you for continuing on this journey with me. While I know my life is probably of no great interest to anyone but me, I hope though, that there are things that you as the reader might connect with in your own life. 

My greatest hope for writing all of this, is one, to leave something behind for my kids. My kids know "Mom", but they don't know me, and probably will have no real interest in knowing "me" until after I am gone, and then the questions that they wish they had asked start to surface. Second, I am writing this for myself. I am hoping to find glimpses of myself in these stories and maybe even be able to give myself some grace along the way, for my less-than-stellar life moments. And finally, I am hoping that maybe my story resonates with some of you. Perhaps my experiences are not too far off from some of your own and maybe there is something in my story that you will recognize and maybe even get some healing from.

So.....I think I have said just about all there is to say about the horrible house; the good, the bad, and the ugly. For now, that chapter is closed. 

Until next time.......

Sad

Well, I did intend to get back to my past today, but I'm still just not feeling it. In fact, I am actually feeling so much, that telling my story of the past just isn't where my brain is. 

Before my brother's death, my emotions were already in an upheaval. At times, my home life can get strained with all the personalities residing here, to the point we can severely grate on each other. Truth is, we had been actively grating for the last few months, and in the midst of it, I knew Andy's time here was waning. I found myself wondering after each text or conversation if that might be our last. I jumped every time the phone rang and if his or Gail's name came up on my phone, I literally had to take a breath before answering. In hindsight, my emotions were already preparing me for the inevitable, even though I tried to carry on as if the reality simply weren't real. 

When Andy died, it unexpectedly shook me to my very core. The very thoughts and emotions that I thought I had tucked away or avoided, came rushing out and it felt like the biggest sucker punch I had ever had. I felt so off balance and maybe because he was the last of our original four (other than myself of course), losing him made me feel like an abandoned child. 

For days, my mind could not allow me the last view of my brother's face as he died; tired, worn out, and ready to move on from the pain and suffering he had felt in the last six years. The only face I could see in my mind's eye was the little boy that I grew up with. I saw the blonde hair, blue eyes, and sweet smile. I heard his voice laughing, joking, and talking to me like we used to as kids. I heard him singing to Rockin' The Paradise, and I saw him painting. I watched his 13-year-old self behind the wheel of a car on Greenwich as Berty and I sat back holding our breath and hoping he wouldn't drive us all into a fence, and I remembered the hug I got the first time I came home from college. Never before had there been such a hug. My brain simply wouldn't allow the current reality, only the best of the past. 

The day after Andy's passing, I found out that I was going to be a grandma again. My son's girlfriend had found out the day Andy died. I couldn't help but wonder if he had orchestrated this from his new home. Something so wonderful and so exciting though, I couldn't even get my head around. I sat dumbfounded and almost unable to comprehend the news. It was not the reaction they were hoping for and it certainly wasn't the reaction I would normally have given, but in the moment, it was all I had. And yes...I spent the next couple of days profusely apologizing for my lackluster reception of their amazing news. 

I went through the following days, the funeral included, in a fog. I felt and still do feel to a certain extent as if I'm in a dream that I will wake up from and that Andy and I will still be kids with our whole lives ahead of us. Then reality hits and I am all too aware that there will be no waking up from this one. 

In the course of all of this, my youngest son David, who has cerebral palsy and a multitude of other diagnoses, suddenly developed a lump that was hard as a rock on the back of his leg. A trip to the ER told us that he had a deep abscess which was drained while we were there, and we were sent home with a 21-day supply of antibiotics. By week's end, however, the abscess had filled back up and rehardened. We were back to the ER and once again, the abscess was opened and drained, this time to a much larger extent. 

Now back at home, I have to use my non-existent medical skills to keep the abscess, cleaned, changed, and free from infection which is no small fete as I live with two six-year-old walking petri dishes as well as three dogs who love nothing more than to lick David every chance they get. Add to this the stress that he was supposed to have surgery to replace his VNS which is a device that controls his seizures and its battery life has almost run out. He currently can't have the surgery until all the infection is gone from his body and we don't know exactly how this will affect his seizures if the battery runs out before he can have the surgery. Needless to say, my nerves are a raw mess with the impending possibility of causing a complete emotional implosion. 

It was on our second trip to the ER, that I found myself wondering why I wasn't handling all this medical stuff with David better. I usually do doctors, ERs, and hospitals without even batting an eye. Why was I not sleeping and spending most of my nights checking on David, walking the floor, and sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop? Why did I have moments of feeling like I couldn't breathe and other moments where I was so incredibly angry that I had to go to my room and not talk to anyone for fear of exploding in a tirade with no real provocation? Why was my tongue just oozing with sarcasm (much more than usual) and why did I have to force myself into cooking, cleaning, and putting up Christmas decorations? Why? Why? Why? Then it hit me as I watched the surgical resident digging inside David's incision feeling around for the abscess and causing blood to flow onto his newish Spongebob pants. My stomach was churning (not because of the blood), my head was pounding and my emotions felt like they were currently residing in my ribs. I was sad. I was completely and undeniably sad. In fact, I was so sad, that my mind and body were reacting as if this sadness was their new permanent residence. I was in that deep cavernous emotional spot, where it felt like no matter what the days and weeks held, they were somehow going to err on the side of negativity and feed into this deepening abyss that the last few months and weeks had created. What's worse is, that this was not my first rodeo with the feeling of abject sadness where my body remained constantly rigid and ready for that other shoe to hit the ground and bounce over and over again. 

It was a little over 22 years ago when I had experienced this phenomenon for the first time and back then it had lasted several years. This was not just a passing emotional time for me. This was sadness and anger moving in bag and baggage to stay a while and all I could think was......Not today satan, or sadness or emotional wreckage, or whatever this is. Not this time. I have way too much in my world to just give in and give over my peace and serenity this time. It was at that moment that I emotionally slapped myself hard and pulled myself up by the bootstraps. If I knew nothing else, I knew that I was not honoring my brother by falling apart and I couldn't fix anything if I just let sadness, grief, and frustration consume me and pull me under.

So today I write all of this. Will anyone read it? Will anyone care? Does it even matter? Of course it does...to me, and by putting words to all of this, perhaps it will release some of this sadness and help me to move forward. 

I can't control others, not even the sometimes overwhelming individuals that reside with me, but I can control how I react to their words and behaviors and what I am willing to allow for myself. I can also look for ways to honor Andy. He was not an ostentatious person, so quiet acts are how I will proceed. As for David, he will always keep things interesting and keep me on my toes. That is just who he is and each time we are met with seizures, sepsis, kidney stones, and abscesses, it is just a reminder of how strong he is and how strong he has made me. It also makes me realize that with every one of life's speed bumps, David touches someone's life (whether it be a doctor, nurse, or fellow patient) and leaves a lasting mark that only he can leave. Nothing happens without purpose. Absolutely nothing. 

So once again, I have opened my personal wound and let it bleed out on paper. There is a certain amount of relief for me, and maybe, whoever reads this, will find something in all of this that touches a chord for them. 

No matter who you are, life is going to throw out some unexpected crap, that blindsides you and leaves you wondering....WTF? That is just life, but mixed in with all of the crap, there are also wonderful things like new grandbabies, beautiful grandchildren, memories of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed little boy, and the joy and laughter that a special young man brings to my life daily. 

Yes, I am still sad, but I am aware I am sad and this time, I will take that sadness and create something beautiful, that only such sadness can create. 

Until next time......