A Walk in the Snow on Saturday January 23rd

Intro note:  This post was coming fast and furious the other day. It was flying out of my fingers faster then I could think, but I didn't have the silence I needed to finish. Since I started, I have been thinking of friends that will read this.  Friends who have lost people they love recently.  Some deaths were expected, others sudden.  Some unexplained medical phenomena, others suicide.  I can't talk on suicide with much authority, and I don't mean for it to sound like I can.  I can only tell you about me.  I can tell you that as someone who has a past of self-harm, as someone who tried to take their life, it never quite goes away as an option.  I can tell you that this is NOT a cry for help.  I am fine.  But as I often tell people, although I have a healthy eating lifestyle now, I will be a recovering anorexic and bulimic for the rest of my life. I feel too, that as someone who contemplated suicide multiple times and who almost succeeded on at least one occasion, I will never be completely rid of those demons.  I have dark thoughts at times.  Never anything I would truly act on and if I felt compelled to do so, rest assured that I have a support system in place that would drop anything and everything to keep me safe.  Also, I love my kids with a ferocity that crushes any demon.  There is no question. I pray that friends who read this don't find it offensive or flippant.  That said, I wrote exactly what was going on in my brain because, well, it's what I do.

The last few days have been hard.  Harder than the norm anyway.  There are several things that have contributed to that, but mostly I'm learning that it's hard to grow.  I have been telling myself and everyone else that I can't wait to get out on my own, then I can start my new life. That right now I'm stuck and there's nothing I can do.  A friend told me yesterday as I was texting her from the side of the road in tears, "Baby Doll, embrace this moment.  Don't rush through it.  Trust me on this. Please get to know you. Show your kids who YOU are." And I texted something back that equates to "I can't do that here and now."  And she responded,  "but you're finding yourself now...you will understand when you look back.  Stop fighting your journey...you hear me?"  I can't stop thinking about that.  I wanted to schedule my growth and my new life for when I was ready...but life doesn't work that way.  

My general mood lately has been low.  Again, nothing in particular, just several things that add up.  So I cried yesterday and I cried last night and I cried in front of my husband which I DID NOT want to do today.  Sometimes it's just too much.  I want what I want right now and I want people to be the people I want them to be (including myself) and they aren't.  That is actually the crux of it right there. I'll say it again so you can see what a brat I am:  I want what I want right now and I want people to be the people I want them to be (including myself) and they aren't.  A friend suggested I go for a walk.  I debated, and when round three of the waterworks started, I bundled up and headed out.  It was actively snowing.  Visibility was low and the wind was showing off.

There was a group of neighbors on my sidewalk as mine is the house next to what is the closest thing to a sledding hill in the neighborhood.  They were chatting, drinking glüwein, watching the little ones sled and I thought maybe I would just hang for a bit, but quickly realized I had to be alone. I said I was going for a walk and went down the street.  They yelled after me to be careful because there was ice under the snow.  They were right. Thankfully I did not slip, though I mentally formulated a scenerio should I break a bone from falling and how I would get back to the house and they'd have to call an ambulance and the kids would freak out. Some with excitement, others with fear.

I wanted to walk down by the creek behind my house, but after following what must have been a plowed road several inches and hours ago, I could not find any trail going that way.  The snow was up to my waist at times when I went off the path, so I doubled back and walked toward the health clinic.  I was trying to avoid people so I steered clear of housing areas, which really wasn't necessary because there was next to noone outside.  As I came upon the clinic parking lot, a plow was heading in my direction.  The sidewalk was nowhere to be found so I stepped away from the road and toward the parking lot.  I was up to my thighs in a patch of snow.  The plow driver was doing some acrobatic manuvers with his rig, so I figured I'd better just stay out of the way.  I didn't know if he was going to go back where he came from or pass me and continue up the road where I had come from.  He didn't seem to know either so I looked at the parking lot and thought "I wonder...."  Frankly, I have no idea what I wondered. Next thing I know I had decided to trudge the length of the parking lot, maybe 40 yards.  It might be less, but I'm sticking with 40.  Sounds somewhat impressive right?

I started heading toward the clinic building.  The snow was up to my waist.  I will walk the length of this parking lot I decided.  I knew I could do it, but it wasn't gonna be easy which was enough of a reason for me to compel me. I was completely alone at this point, the plow was gone in some direction, I wasn't even sure which.  It was me, the snow, and the far end of the parking lot.  As I was pushing my way through I thought, this is wild. One of those bizarre experiences where you feel like you are possibly the only person on Earth. Cue the Dr. Zhivago theme music. 

I knew I was making progress, but the length of the lot seemed longer suddenly. I felt like I was moving my feet and not getting anywhere. Suddenly I was angry for thinking this was a good idea.  Now, it just felt dumb.  About 3/4 of the way, I stopped.  I had to catch my breath.  I was so very frustrated thinking "geez, this is gonna take forever."  And it hit me.  It was a perfect metaphor for my life.  Pushing through snow, or jello, or molasses. Anything that makes it hard to keep moving.   And I thought, my feet and legs aren't even cold.  There is not a soul around.  I could just lay down and go to sleep right here. Calmly. Quietly. Peacefully. But I didn't.  After about 13.8 seconds of cost-benefit analysis, my head was filled with the faces of those 5 little babies I held as newborns all over the States and in Germany and promised that I would never leave them intentionally.  I also promised Baby Gerard that I would take care of his siblings here if he would watch out for us from above.

I started walking again.  Now the tears tried to come, but it's hard to cry when your face is frozen.  The first few tears that dropped froze into tiny little rivers on my cheeks.  The next tears didn't even make it that far. They froze on my eyelashes.  The only thing that wasn't freezing into solid matter was my snot! And yes, you are welcome for the visual.

I stopped a second time.  Partly because I felt like I was in a dream where the hallway elongates and you can never reach the end, but also because I realized that this was a brutal workout!  I have a few freakazoid exercise friends.  I could suddenly picture Stanley, Leigh, or Sheila bringing people over here on a plow then making them trudge through the parking lot repeatedly while they yelled upbeat, chipper, annoying as hell encouragement to their students!  The thought almost made me laugh.  I figured I'd at least burned enough calories to have a Mike's when I got home so I finished going the last several yards and circled back around to the road.

I got on a road that had already seen a plow and only had a few inches of packed down snow on it. I was able to get home reasonably easily.  On the way home I didn't feel much better.  I was still frustrated, and in turn, depressed.  But I was physically tired.  Somehow that helped a little bit.  It was really the only thing that changed so I had to go with it. I pondered again the metaphor of trudging through the snow and how it was so similar to my current situation.  It was eerie I thought.  And then I thought, wait, what if no one else would think that's cool?  Maybe they would think it's weird...maybe they would think I'm weird.

This journey of mine is not only to find Mary again, but also, to love her.  To appreciate her quirks and accept that it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks.  If someone doesn't like me, I need to learn that that is okay.  I like me...or at least I'm trying to.  Yes, I'm dramatic. Yes, I can get very deep.  Yes, melancholy and depression are familiar faces.  Yes, I laugh so hard that I cry.  Yes, I feel like 80% of song lyrics are somehow directed at or describing me, my life, my situation.  Yes, I take them as my own and quote them in general conversation. Yes, I see metaphors all over the place.  Similes? Not so much.  And Yes, I crack myself up.  Yes, I do.  And yet, I still am unsure that Mary is worth the love that I hope she deserves.  Even from myself.

What if, I wonder, I end up alone?  What if no one else ever understands me the way I am finally learning to understand myself?  Will that be so bad?  Yes and No. Yes, as my first thought that came to mind when my marriage shattered was "Who will I be buried next to?" True story -  my sister, who made me repeat it three times because it was such a bizarre question to ask at that moment of hysteria, will attest to it. No, as these kids will always be here for me.  (I am hoping figuratively, but kinda nervous it may be literally). Additionally, I have friends that amaze me on a daily basis with their love and support.  But what if, I never have a partner that not only understands my metaphors- but likes to hear them?  What if, I never find someone who feels music the way I do? What if, I never find someone that wants to ride with me on the highs and lows? What if?

I was almost back home and not feeling much better.  But you are physically tired I told myself,  physically tired is good.  Physically tired is too tired to cry. Physically tired is too tired to fall apart. Physically tired is too tired to fight or yell. Many years ago I learned that physically tired was too tired to hurt myself. Ie:  Physically tired is safe.

And then I remembered; there was a person who understood me once.  A person who picked up on my metaphors sometimes before I did.  A person who understood my need to connect through music.  A person who could see into my soul.  He was there and gone in the blink of an eye.  I won't bore you with the details, but once upon a time, there was a person. It suddenly occurred to me that I found one person that "got" me.  Just because he wasn't the one, doesn't mean there won't be another. Maybe. That was my thought as I trudged back to the house and was met with wet hats, gloves, and boots, dirty hot cocoa mugs, and hangry kids.

Was I happy? No.  

Did I wonder why I didn't lay down in the parking lot?  Briefly.  

Was I physically exhausted? Yes.  

Did I take a journey? Yes.

Did I grow? Yes

And that, my friends was success.

Epilogue:

Later that night I took the dog for a walk, because, you know, I have no children capable of such activities.  Actually, I volunteered as I enjoy late night snow walks where the moon is out and it is bright in an ass-backwards kinda way.  My walk began on the same road I had started out on a few hours before.  I can't remember how I spent the time between walks, but I was a completely different person than the one who trudged up this street earlier.  Really.  I was at peace.  I was comfortable.  I felt at ease in my own skin.  I smiled.  AND I was happy.  The highs, the lows, this journey- it's time to embrace it.  "Man I love this life."

Changes

What a day.  What a week.  What a year.  What a life!

Music.  It defines so much.  How many times do you hear a song and it immediately reminds you of a person, a place, a time?  For me, many MANY times.  I am sometimes amazed at what I remember when I hear an obscure song.  A tune comes on that you rarely hear on the radio or it was never very popular in the first place, but it was playing when something significant happened.  It spoke to you about whatever you were going through at the time.  Someone you knew loved that song or made fun of that song.  Your boyfriend dedicated it to you on the radio in 10th grade. (You know, when you held the cassette recorder up to the radio to tape it?) You did a cheer dance to it, it played at your wedding, you heard it sung at a funeral.

Bruce Springsteen was a huge part of my childhood, mostly, because I had four older brothers who liked him.  In trying to be cool, I memorized most of his songs.  At that point there weren't a ton of 3rd graders musing over the lyrics of "Greetings from Asbury Park," but I digress.

It just seems fitting that a line in an Eric Church song which sums up my feelings for music, is in a song called "Springsteen."

"Funny how a melody sounds like a memory..."

That. Is. It. Exactly.   I shouldn't have to describe it beyond that.  If you feel that I should, perhaps you should just stop reading here because we are obviously not on the same wavelength.  Bye Felicia!

For all those who have stayed, I'm glad you get it.  

As I think about this, I'm tempted to make a list of songs and what they conjour up.  For starters, and in no particular order, here are a few examples:

I will never be able to hear _________  without thinking of _________ .

"Buddy Holly" by Weezer - driving my sister to the hospital when she was in labor.  (I started to sing...her head spun around 3 times.)

"I Love Rock N' Roll" by Joan Jett - my first real kiss on the Minuteman ski lift at Roundtop.  (I had a runny nose.  I'll leave it at that.)

"Burning Down the House" by Talking Heads - being in a dorm room at Rutgers.  (It was the first song I ever heard on a CD. It was the first time I had White Castle. It was a night which did not end well.)

"Changes" by David Bowie - driving myself to the doctor on the day I found out that Baby Gerard had died inside of me.

I remember it coming on.  I liked David Bowie.  This was a good thing because I was trying to stay calm while I drove.  I had realized a day, maybe two prior, that the baby wasn't moving as much.  Was it moving at all?  This was my fourth child, how could I suddenly not know if the baby was kicking?  At the advice of my sister, who did in fact manage to keep her head despite the spinning and delivered my niece that night of Buddy Holly, I made an appointment for an ultrasound.  It was really just to put my mind at ease.  If you know me, you know my mind is rarely, if ever, at ease.

I was about 23 weeks along.  Was already in maternity clothes, showing enough for the Germans to glare at me while I walked down the street with three kids shoved into a double stroller.  You could see them mentally doing the math and realizing that, although they looked alike and were a cloud of chaos, there were in fact three children in the stroller and this foolish woman was about to unload a fourth. Not to mention that this STUPID AMERICAN was allowing those toddlers to suck on icicles they picked up off the sidewalk like they were popsicles. (Yeah Fraulein, sue me!)

.  

Back to David Bowie.  I liked him.  Again, a good thing to have a song I could sing along to as I drove to keep my mind off the fact that I somehow already knew I was about to get the most devastating news of my life. 

The song along with the following argument with myself ensued:

"Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes. 

Turn and face the strange ch-ch-changes...."

Oh. My. Word.  God is trying to tell me something!  

Don't be an idiot. It's a song on AFN.  

No really, think about it.  He is telling me it's bad news.

No really, get a grip.  Coincidence, that's all.  I knew I should have asked a friend to come with me.

"I watch the ripples change their size, but never leave the stream."

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

Calm down.  Don't run over that tiny German car.  Be glad you have a jeep so the Germans will stay out of your lane.

I can't calm down.  How can I calm down?  I'm in a foreign country.  I want my Mom.

Wuss.

"Turn and face the strange ch-ch-changes..."

I don't want to face any changes.  I want everything to stay exactly the same.

Oh Lord.  Don't be so stupid.  If this child is alive, things are gonna change fo' sho!  Maybe that's all this song means.

"Time may change me but you can't trace time."

This is the time that is going to change me forever.  Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

We're in the hospital parking lot.  Turn off the car, open your door, get out...

I can't.  I need to sit here until this song is over because maybe if I do, it will be okay.

Great.  It's official.  I'm crazy.  

Seriously, think about it.  What if nothing is wrong?

Uhhhh?  How about going to find out?

Well, if nothing is wrong than I will love this song forever, because it talks about facing time and change head on.  And the baby will have an anthem!

Honestly, I have NO EARTHLY IDEA exactly what this song is about. Except maybe it's about The Breakfast Club.  Yeah, the baby will have an anthem, we'll all have an anthem, it'll be anarchy!

"I said that time may change me but I can't trace time."

It's over.  Oh no!  Oh God.  I have to go in there.  I don't want to go in there.  Maybe I could just drive home and not find out and everything will be fine.

Dude!  Did you hear that?  

What?

Well, first he said "you can't trace time" but the last time he said, "I can't trace time."  Huh.  I never noticed that before.

Seriously, my baby's life is in the balance here and suddenly David Bowie's choice of pronouns is what I am debating in the German Hospital parking lot?

Well, yeah.  It's like that time I was reading the Exercist late at night and when the book closed, I saw the 666 on the cover, but I had never noticed it before, so really, was it ALWAYS there?  Creepy!

And I went in.  And the doctor turned on the monitor.  And the doctor swung the monitor around so I could not see it.  And the nurse frowned.  And the doctor said, "This baby is kaput."  And the doctor left the room.

My first son was delivered a few days later.

That was over 12 years ago, but I remember like it was yesterday....every single time I hear that song.  It all comes back; the fear, the drive, sitting in the parking lot forcing myself to listen until the haunting sax notes at the end.  And in those 12 years I have only heard the song in it's entirety a handful of times.  If I can change the channel, leave the room, put my hands over my ears and hum, I will do it.  Anything to not go back to that moment in time.  But I do anyway,  it only takes a few notes.

David Bowie's death five days ago, conjured up so many memories for all of us who were touched by his music.  Major Tom completely freaked me out as a kid.  True story.  I loved the song, but it scared the daylights out of me.  Ziggy Stardust seemed like it was cool, but I really had no understanding of what he was doing.  And then came the 80s!  God Bless the 80's in all their musical glory.  "Let's Dance" was totally awesome because an established rock star of the 70's had embraced the pop style of the day and had everyone I knew dancing to "Modern Love" at the Carlisle Barracks teen club. Good stuff.

When I heard years later, in some TV interview, that Bowie came to despise some of those songs it broke my heart.  If I have it right, he felt he was being forced to do the pop thing when he really wanted to do the David Bowie thing.  He was mocking "under the moonlight, the serious moonlight."  Wait, "the serious moonlight" was a profound statement was it not?  Suddenly, I worried everything about my formative years was a lie.  I was totally bummed.  In time, I got over my disillusionment and tried not to think about that interview when the radio station had 80s weekend.  Instead, I just sang as loud as I could to annoy my children.

Seeing the news and posts about David Bowie's death has made it difficult to not think about his song that took on such meaning for me. I love to use music to help me tell my stories my way.  Who knows, maybe I have misinterpreted all of his songs, all of his lyrics. Like how when I was very young I thought Carol King was singing about a broken down car causing someone to miss a birthday party. "It's too late, baby, now it's too late though we really did try to make it.  Something inside has died..."  But isn't that one of the gifts of music? We can hear what an artist has given us and find a meaning that maybe only we understand. Maybe everyone takes something different away from the same song and how cool is that?

On that cold October day, David Bowie sang.  He sang about searching for something, for himself perhaps, for who he wanted to be.  About how time changes things, but it's not always so quick and obvious.  About how time goes on, and history repeats itself in the children we raise.  About how we age, and there's nothing we can do about it.  At least, that is what he sang to me.

Rest in Peace Mr. Bowie and thank you for being there.

Thoughts on a New Year

I think my Facebook post on December 31 last year was something to the effect of, "Goodbye 2014, don't let the door hit you on the way out."  I was bitter.

I still am at times, but as they do, circumstances change.  I have changed.  Last year, I was in survival mode.  Only a few close friends knew my marriage was ending.  I was unable to tell my parents because I did not want them worrying about me.  I was unable to tell my kids because I did not want to disrupt their lives prematurely.  I was unable to tell myself that I was going to survive.

So while 2014 was about making decisions and coming to the realization that I could not stay in my marriage, all the while trying to hold it together so my terror was not visable from the outside, 2015 was different.

2015 was about putting it out there.  The good, but mostly the bad and the ugly.  

It was about inviting my Dad to lunch and chugging a Mikes in the Panera parking lot at 11 am to work up the courage to tell him. (Hey, I suggested several establishments that served alcohol, he was stuck on Panera- desperate times and all that)

It was about deciding to wait until school got out for the summer before telling the kids, yet telling every one of their teachers, counselors, coaches, and mentors in case they found something out unexpectedly and needed those adults in their lives to be ready to give them immediate support.

It was about crumbling into a ball at the top of the stairs when Tali looked at me one day and said, "Mom, are you okay?  Do you need to talk?"  And bless her heart, she sat silently with me and when I finally pulled it together gave me a hug saying, "It's gonna be okay" even when she had absolutely no idea why her mother was a mess.

It was about losing it while talking to the cheer coach because something had happened and I didn't have the strength to deal with Josie's anxiety when I was drowning in my own.

It was about dragging myself out of bed at 5 am and going to the gym with Lyra even though I had cried or been awake all night and promising myself that someday, SOMEDAY, she would realize what a sacrifice it was.

It was about trying to ensure Charlie had a good year at school even though he was not thriving.  Trying to have time and energy for a boy who was trying to figure out how to transition from cute little kid to awkward pre-adolescent, while I was trying to figure out how to make the transition from Army wife to single Mom.  

It was about falling apart at IEP meetings because I felt so inadequate when the school personnel told me it would be better to have him arrive early for school instead of 5 minutes late everyday.  (Timeliness  has never been my forte.  Being depressed does not help.)

It was about bursting into tears at the craziest of places because of the stupidest things.

And it was about growing.

It was about realizing that I had love and support from more people than I could imagine.

It was about learning that I am stronger than I realize.  

It was about learning that falling apart doesn't always mean you are weak.  Sometimes, something just has to give.

It was about seeing the compassion in people when I started to say my reality out loud and finding out that the world was still turning regardless of my marital status.

It was about sucking it up and going on vacation "as a family" to show the kids that we can all still get along. (Yes, Rodney King, we can)

It was about spending my first holiday alone and realizing a day on the calendar isn't what makes time with family special.

It was about forgiving myself for not turning in the paperwork on time, for forgetting someone had practice, for being late to yet another meeting, appointment, therapy session.

It was about figuring out that yes, the Mike's dulled the pain in the evening, but it also dulled the ability to function the next day.  (And weighing the cost-benefit analysis of that particular problem)

And it was about loving myself.

It was about accepting that I may be desirable.

It was about learning to take a compliment.

It was about laughing with friends.

It was about getting out of the house!  (Who knew a world of lunches, happy hour, and dancing with the girls still existed?)

It was about allowing the kids to see me as more than just a Mom and understand that I deserve to have a life too. (This second part is still a work in progress)

It was about seeing myself as Mary again, and trying to remember who she was and wanting to find out who she will be.

It was about having the openness to love again.

It was about taking the chance to trust again.

It was about finding out that when someone lets you down, you have a choice to lay there or to pick yourself up and keep going.   

It was about being stubborn enough to push through the pain, not give in to the demons (or mean people), and know that Mary is worthy of good things.

It was about completely forgetting the statement I just typed above and learning it again.  And again. And again.  And yes, again.

It was about still believing in the fairy tale, no matter how many times you see it slip through your hands.

It was about the reality check of reeling it all back in and reevaluating my priorities.

Yes, I am still bitter.  Check back in an hour and you'll be amazed at my hostility regarding marriage, single parenthood, special needs, anxiety, aging parents, the unfairness of the world on any and every level.  BUT, I am trying to find the happy.  Or maybe even just the contentment in this life o' mine.

2016 is going to be a good year!  I'm excited to see what it brings.  

This year will mean a house for the kids and I to make into our home.  A HOME!  Not a rental, not post housing, no white walls- the possibilities are endless!  

This year will mean more independence, more responsibility, more growing up for myself as well as the kids. And we will succeed and fail together.

This year will mean so many things.  

Scary? Yes.

Exciting?  Most definitely!

So 2015, I would be lying if I said I wasn't glad to see you end, but I am thankful for what you gave me.  Insight, growth, strength, love, and hope.  You may not be remembered fondly, but you shall be remembered.

The Last First Communion

One of the most memorable homilies I ever heard was the one given by Father P. for Tali and Josie's First Communion.  It was at our local church attached to the Catholic School they attended at the time in Virginia.

Father P. attended Mount Saint Mary's Seminary in Emmitsburg, Md.  As MSM College (now University) is my Alma Mater, I was already a fan.  After the sermon he gave for the First Communion masses, I was even more impressed.

He spoke about a sign on the sacristy wall of the St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Basilica. It says, "Priest of God, celebrate this Mass as if it were your first Mass, your last Mass, your only Mass."  He modified it to speak of receiving Holy Communion.  He told the kids they should "Receive every Holy Communion as if it is your First Holy Communion, your Last Holy Communion, your Only Holy Communion."  I thought it was such a poignant idea.  Many times, the Eucharist becomes such a habit, we just take it for granted and don't use the reverence we should.

Fast forward seven years.  Sawyer was in 2nd grade for the second year in a row. Having a Special Needs child can be overwhelming at times.  Although Sawyer is very high functioning, his autism demands additional needs; for example, IEP meetings, behavior therapy in the home, feeding clinic appointments, and the day to day struggle of trying not to meltdown when it is inappropriate.  Take sports for instance.  Sawyer knows that boys his age are not supposed to cry when they strike out, but the frustration of not performing is overwhelming and he loses it. He knows that his peers don't have a problem with loud and rowdy kids in the school cafeteria, but the over stimulation of many noises (in this case, voices) coming from several directions causes him to lose his ability to do anything besides curl up in a ball and hold his hands over his ears.

Last year, Sawyer and I attended the first two CCD classes with the Communion group.  There were about 20 kids and one teacher.  As I have to accompany Sawyer to most activities, it was mistakenly thought that I would be the aide as I would be there anyway.  Uhhhh, it doesn't work that way.  When Sawyer is in full meltdown mode, I can do nothing but deal with Sawyer.  And even when there is not nuclear combustion going on, I really need to focus on him.  Needless to say, I pulled him and we "homeschooled" CCD.  Homeschooling CCD meant walking the other kids to the church for classes and finding an empty classroom to watch a Bible Video.  I found a series which had a quiz at the end, so I could trick myself into believing he was actually learning something.

When we moved East and Sawyer was in 2nd grade again, I was assured there were at least three 2nd grade CCD classes.  I was thankful for the small class size and felt much more confident about his "Sacramental Year."  When we arrived for the first class, I was told the three teachers had decided to join forces and teach one big class.  You can imagine my delight at such a prospect.  But, I was assured that there were three teachers and at least three aides with the 30-40 kids in the class.  More importantly, no one was expecting me to do anything, but sit with Sawyer. That, I was relatively sure I could do.

We attended the majority of classes and on occasion, Sawyer actually participated.  When it was time to recite his prayers to ensure he knew them, we played fill in the blank.   "Our _____, who ___ in _______," You get the idea.  I had spoken with the Priest, actually two of them at our new Parish and was assured it would be okay.  I wasn't sure he'd be able to receive his Sacraments at all, but one priest remarked that sometimes Special Needs kids are almost more deserving of Grace from The Lord.  I was feeling pretty good.

And then it was time for Confession.  Kids typically make their First Confession several weeks before their First Communion.  We went to classes and we practiced.  We made a cheat sheet with the class and practiced.  We said our prayers and we practiced.  The big day came....and went.  He did not want to go when his class was going.  As I had already experienced taking a teary eyed and terrified child (Josie) to her First Confession while all the parents and the entire 2nd grade class watched, I was not anxious to do it again.  I had already spoken with the Priest about doing it quietly in his office some day.  And that's exactly what we did.  Sawyer was not overly responsive and didn't say hardly anything, but Father W. took a very smart approach and asked Sawyer a series of "yes" or "no" questions so Sauce could nod or shake his head to own up to any of his sins.  If there were any off the beaten track sins, they were grouped in with the others.  I'm certain that God had it covered.  For the record:  I was to keep my eyes closed as Sawyer was sitting on my lap.  I may or may not have peeked just a bit.

As we were leaving, I asked the Priest if he would tell the Religious Ed Director that Sawyer had indeed made his First Confession as he would not be able to take Communion until the former was done.  He smiled and said, "No."  I was like, "Whatdya mean 'no?' You're kidding right?"  He shook his head. "A Priest cannot tell anyone who has gone to confession."  I'm thinking, Seriously?  I coulda lied and no one would have ever.....shoot, never-mind.

We got over the precursor hurdle and suddenly it was the week of Josie's Confirmation and Sawyer's First Communion, because the Catholic Church is all about cramming in these two Sacraments before Matrimony season starts.  Poor Josie got next to no fanfare for her Thursday night event. Not only was she one of just a couple 9th graders getting Confirmed (because in Pennsylvania they Confirm in 8th grade and in Kansas they Confirm in 9th), but Sawyer's possible Communion was sucking up all my energy and anxiety.

The Big Day arrived.  May 9th, 2015.  I remember thinking as I woke up, this could really go either way.  In fact, I could think of about 107 scenarios of the day playing out with only a handful of them not being horrific.  Sawyer was certainly not willing to try on any clothes the weeks or even the night before.  I was measuring pants against the jeans he wore to school that week and shirts against the long sleeve Minecraft T-shirts that he donned on a daily basis.  By the grace of God, I was able to get him dressed and everything fit relatively well.  He did remind me, "I hate shirts with buttons." and "I will NOT wear a tie!"  Eventually, we left the house with him in khakis, a button-down shirt, clip-on tie, navy blazer, dark socks and loafers. I don't even attempt this much formality at a family wedding.  He was not happy, but surprisingly calm.

It was set up so the First Communicants would process in, making a full lap around the pews so parents and relatives could snap pictures at every possible camera angle before the kids made their way down the main aisle once again and sat in the first several pews of the church.  It took about 6.2 seconds for Sawyer to determine at rehearsal that he was having none of this parading around business. Not. Doing. It.  That was more than fine with me.  As far as I was concerned that meant less could go wrong. The Religious Education Director had a few pews set aside for kids that would do better sitting with their families.  We were in one of those pews.  However, even though Sawyer wasn't processing in, we still had to be there quite early.  Waiting, as you can imagine, especially for something that he is nervous about, is not Sawyer's forte.  Add in my four other kids whose seating arrangements required for maximum good behavior could be an SAT question (The Carlton's are going to sit together in church.  B Cha must sit on an end.  Lyra cannot sit next to B Cha or Tali.  Josie must sit on an end...) add in other family members and dynamics and we were a puddle of gas praying no one close by needed a smoke!

FINALLY, church began and the kids started their march down the aisle.  You could definitely pick out the future attention seeking brides vs the ones that would rather arrive at the alter in the middle of a ring of bridesmaids.  There were a handful of extremely prayerful young men...and the other 37 were a caricature of 8 year old boys whose Mothers had just spit on a tissue attempting to clean the chocolate pop tart off their face.

Mass was progressing along with only peppered interruptions from Sawyer, who inquired regularly on any updates re: Eastern Standard Time, while in turn providing notifications re: hunger, starvation, and impending dehydration. He had lost the sports coat at some point, but I didn't even notice until he looked at me with a rage that would've made Linda Blair shake and said, "I. Said. No. Ties."  It
required ever fiber of my being to not look back at him like a crazy woman and respond, "And. I. Said. No. Wire. Hangers."  True story.

The moment of truth arrived.  All the "neuro-typical" kids went to the alter and received the Body of Christ.  It was our turn.  I walked up the aisle on Sawyer's right side, and everything slurred together. We made it to the alter, the wonderful priest smiled at me, his eyes twinkling, I'm sure the suspense was killing him too.  I put my hands out and Sawyer mimicked me.  Father W. said, "The Body of Christ."  And I THINK Sawyer responded "Amen," but to be honest he could have said, "And also with you," and I wouldn't have noticed.  He took the host and placed it in his mouth!  Did you get that?  HE TOOK THE HOST AND PLACED IT IN HIS MOUTH!  If you are not Catholic, it is important to understand that when we, as Catholics, receive communion, we believe it to be the actual Body of Christ.  This is a huge deal and him going through with it, was enough for me to hear a chorus of angels singing the Easter Alleluia as I walked back to the pew. Tears, real tears were streaming down my cheeks.  A Momma could not have ever been prouder.

We knelt after communion and I praised God and thanked Jesus for getting both of us through this.  I was interrupted from my worship when Sawyer grabbed my arm in a strangle hold.  I looked at him, "What?"  He had a very strange look on his face and he started to open his mouth several times.  He pointed at his mouth. Like a properly trained mother, I obeyed and cupped my hand under his chin. What happened next was beyond any of those 107 scenarios I had feared.  He spit the well chewed wafer into my hand!  I was stunned and in shock for a good 19 seconds, before I pulled my hand back to examine the contents.  

Praying that he had somehow swallowed the host before ingesting and depositing a chewed up peanut butter cracker in my palm, I gazed down.  I will spare you the gory details, but what I was holding was no mystery.  I said, "Sawyer!  Whaaaa?" He looked at me blankly and said, "I have to go to the bathroom."  The noise that came from me must have been odd.  Josie looked over Sawyer's head and gave me a questioning look.  I turned my wrist slightly so she could see what I was holding while not spilling any of the puddle.  Her face contorted as she mentally put the pieces together of what could possibly be in my hand.  I now know exactly what the person who came up with the light bulb going off scenario was talking about.  I believe I saw a spark fire out of her ear.  She turned to Lyra and the whispers went westward down the pew.  As each child heard the news they looked at me with a "Say it ain't so Momma!" glance that I could only return with a small lift of my right hand.  Keep in mind that the families and friends of all the Communicants were still coming up the aisle, meaning, I could not leave my seat. As friends tapped me on the shoulder to wave or whisper "Hi" as they walked by, I plastered on a smile worthy of wedding photos.  Also, I kept my right hand out of view.

Hours (or possibly just a few minutes) later, as the last attendee passed, I grabbed Sawyer and said, "Let's go."  We walked up the aisle to the narthex and the bathrooms.  One of the CCD teachers was at the doorway and was so excited, "He did it!"  I reluctantly showed her my hand and I think she threw up in her mouth a little before saying, "Well, Momma, it's time to take one for the team."  I whimpered, "I have to don't I?"  Her nod was clear.  I nudged Sawyer into the Men's room and I went into the Ladies.  Again, if you are not Catholic, you must understand desecration of the host is a mortal sin.  It is akin to desecrating the body of Jesus.  The only option I had was ingesting the host myself.  I did.  I shall spare us both the details of that experience.

Please know, that this was a very pivotal moment for me as a Catholic.  Seriously. I briefly debated the alternatives before recognizing that I had no doubt what I needed to do.  It was not enjoyable.  Perhaps saying that is a sin, I hope not.  But I am happy with the decision I made.  There was no time to second guess myself as I now needed to get Sawyer back down to our pew before mass ended.  I'm not sure why that was so important at the moment, but it was.

I cracked the door of the Men's room and said, "Sauce?"  A booming voice (which did NOT belong to my eight year old son) came back, "Someone's in here!"  I enlisted the help of a teenage boy we knew.  I begged him to go in and see what was up.  He came out smiling and said, "He couldn't undo his belt."  Are you kidding me?  I had gone through an entire examination of my conscience and discernment of my faith and he hadn't gone to the bathroom yet?!?  Unbelievable.  I waited, suddenly having an inkling of what purgatory must feel like, until he came out, shirt untucked belt unbuckled, pants 1/2 way zipped.  I put him back together a la Clark Kent into Superman and rushed him down the aisle.  As we sat down the Priest and Clergy stood to process out.  Phew.

I vaguely remember walking to the parish activity center and the beginnings of a reception.  Sawyer wanted nothing to do with the crowd and honestly, neither did I.  I did chug a glass of punch though.

Five weeks have passed since that fateful Saturday.  Each week I have Sawyer walk down the aisle next to me.  Each week we arrive at the Priest and he gives Sawyer a "What'll it be?" look.  And each week so far, Sawyer has given the slightest shake of his head.  The Priest tells me not to worry.  I should continue to bring him up each week and someday he will Receive.  It may be the 27th time, it may be the 87th, it may even be the 147th, but it is important to give him the chance.

I don't know how long it will take.  Only God knows that.  And perhaps Sawyer.  In the meantime, I tell myself it is okay because Sawyer did Receive his First Holy Communion as if it was his First Holy Communion, His Last Holy Communion, His Only Holy Communion.


Editors note:  Today, December 5, 2015 marks the 30th week since Sawyer's First Holy Communion.  He has yet to take the host again.

Hershey Park Happy. Hershey Park Sad.

The quick intro to this is that friends of mine from high school come to Carlisle every summer to visit family at the beginning of July. Before we actually moved here, we always overlapped.  My friends have six kids and I have five.  The older kids took swimming lessons together until between us we had too many kids to bother with such frivolities.  We just threw them all in my parents pool and let them figure it out.

Now that we live here year round the visit from the other family has been much anticipated for months.  Today they scheduled a trip to Hershey Park and asked that we join them.  As I have been dealing with illnesses all week and I really didn't have the energy to take five kids to an amusement park from 10 AM to 10 PM, I opted for the lesser known evil.  The "sunset ticket" which allowed us in the park from 5 until 10 PM.

Taking several kids, several ages to such a place is always a challenge, but as the kids have gotten older it has gotten easier.  Having a special needs child at one of the most chaotic places on Earth is a challenge as well.  Again, age has made a difference....or so I optimistically thought.

As we got stuck in traffic, I casually mentioned to the kids that although we had left in plenty of cushion to visit Chocolate World before 5 PM (thus not missing any park time as CW is actually outside of the park), to stop there now would lessen the amount of park time and perhaps we should skip it.  The thought of going into the park without first paying homage to the now over-commercialized "factory tour" is apparently as sacrilege as telling the kids there will be no 4th of  July fireworks!  Those of you from Carlisle are well aware of the headline EVERY year in The Sentinel saying "there may not be enough funding for fireworks this year."  It sends my kids over the edge. Every year.  In addition, last year, due to the move, a family wedding, and a monsoon in NY, we missed fireworks completely.  This may be something from which the kids never do recover.  It has been discussed on a fairly regular basis, including during the winter months.  But I digress...

We were not walking through the entrance with out doing the Chocolate World thing.  Sawyer was very excited because this was going to be his third time going through the tour this year!  "And Mom,  it's only July 2nd." Clearly a new record to beat.  Thinking back, there was mention of Sawyer's leg falling asleep and feeling funny, but the whining was minimal and I apparently didn't give it a thought.  Thankfully, the experience was otherwise uneventful.

As we arrived at the gate, someone had to go to the bathroom.  In a large family, someone always has to go to the bathroom.  The fact that four of the six of us had stopped earlier to go did not matter, because said child "didn't have to go 5 minutes ago."

We get through the gate and texted with the friends as to where to meet them.  It was agreed they would wait until we got to the other side of the park....the way other side of the park, to get in line for this years new roller coaster, Laff Track.

I briefly glanced the direction of the stroller rental booth as we walked past.  Sawyer is 8 years old.  We did not go to Hershey last year and I couldn't remember what I did the last time we were at a walking intensive activity. Their Dad had taken them to Hershey Park a few weeks ago and there was no mention of a stroller.  Wow, I thought, have we finally gotten through the need to rent a stroller stage?  I mean, really?  The stage only lasted 16 years, in the blink of a disappearing $20 bill!

Sawyer has improved his willingness to walk greatly.  However, there are still moments where he insists on being carried.  All you perfect parents can just step off about now. He's my youngest kid of five and he has special needs.  The battles I can fight on a daily basis are fought, trust me.  This is not the child you can look down upon and say, "okay, if you are going to lie down in the middle of the park where people will step on you, we'll see you later."  Thus ends the portion of the blog where I defend myself to the reader.

Surprisingly, Sawyer walked the entire way across the park.  There was little to no fussing. By the grace of God it was a cool enough evening that the heat from the pavement was not penetrating the bottom of our feet.  Kids split off and parents drew straws to see who would go where.  Sawyer and I found ourselves alone for a bit.  He kept telling me, "I want a blue thing."  I told him the next time we see a guy selling raspberry lemonade, I would get one.  "No!  THE BLUE THING WITH THE
WHEELS!"  Oh crap!  He wants a stroller.  Did I mention we were on the other side of the park?  The park that has quadrupled in size since I was in middle school complaining about the long walk from one side of the park to the other.

I diverted with the promise of a train ride. Picture if you will a child who loves trains, but does not love loud noises. Noises for example, like train whistles.  For even more fun, let's pretend that oxymoron child has an aversion, no, an abhorrence, for people putting their fingers in their mouths.  A revulsion that can cause a major meltdown before anyone can understand what has set him off.  Now, let's take said child and put him on a train ride where the engineer blows the whistle at every opportunity. And, let's sit the child and his parent facing a Dad and his two children.  Let's pretend the younger child's fingers are lollipops and he cannot lick and eat them fast enough.  Now, to put icing in this proverbial cake, we should throw in a well meaning park worker whose job it is to go car to car and take pictures of the riders before the train starts. One of the things Sawyer hates as much as the finger thing is having his picture taken.  Such was the scene at the one and only ride Sawyer rode tonight.  True story.

After a difficult train ride where Sawyer was closing his eyes and crying while I was whispering to look the other way, the Dad and his two kids couldn't exit the train quick enough.  I got Sawyer off the train and in an attempt to do anything to improve his mood, I allowed him to spend $5 playing 10 games of skee ball!  Nothing makes me happier than watching my child drop quarter after quarter into a metal box so he can roll 9 wooden balls down a miniature bowling alley.  His efforts awarded him 2 tickets.  Two.  The Pokemon stuffed animal he wanted required twenty tickets.  According to my calculations, I should have been able to hand the lifeless waif of an attendant $50 for the darn pocket monster and endured much less pain.  After spending the first half of his $10 game money, Sawyer chose to spend his remaining $5, on one play of Plinko (sans Drew Carey).  He did not win a Minecraft cow or pig as he had hoped.  Instead he won a $2 game ticket for another game.  The coupon was not eligible for arcade games, such as skee ball.  I was a bit concerned he might crumble up the ticket and insert it into the employees nose.  Thankfully, that was not the case.

We met up with the kids and other parents here and there. Each trek more difficult than the last.  Sawyer had a headache, his legs hurt, he wasn't having fun and did I tell you his head hurt?  I left him with my friend and went to a First Aid station and got some chewable Tylenol.  Still on the far side of the park, I asked if there was a stroller rental on this side of the park.  They told me yes, by The Claw.  I had just told my friend that I noticed a wheelchair rental place over there, but I didn't think they had strollers.  The pimple faced EMT assured me they had strollers too.  After a 10 minute walk to the wheelchair rental place, I was told very emphatically that they did not have strollers.  Because I was annoyed at the misinformation, I stopped at guest services and nicely explained what happened.  The woman apologized.  I threw out the autism card and the fact that I had been carrying Sawyer for about an hour hoping she'd have pity on me and have someone bring one that far.  No dice.

Back to my friends who were graciously dealing with Sawyer.  He looked rough.  The pink chewable Tylenol was refused as Sawyer only likes the purple.  There was little to no chance of getting him to take it.  I told him I would get a drink and some fries if he would take the remaining tablets smooshed between the fries and washed down with lemonade.  We left the kids and parents to go on a few more rides as we went searching for food.  The first place only had waffle fries which were unacceptable.  The second place had traditionally shaped French fries sprinkled with crab seasoning.  We were assured (I was getting doubtful with the whole assurance thing) that the fries could be made without the seasoning.  Including random family members who were not purchasing food, there were about 12 people ahead of us.  Behind us was a group of five teenage boys who knew one of the fry boys inside the shack.  Fry boy was either hard of hearing or worried about losing his job, because the yelling at the Plexiglas got louder with each non-acknowledgement of the group.  It became more and more apparent that Sawyer really did not feel well as he didn't complain about the loud voices and crowded line though his body was tensing to the point of shaking.  He lifted his head off my shoulder only long enough to say, "throw up." I quickly excused myself past the family behind us, past TJ's five closest long lost friends, and brought him to a bench.  He stretched out on the bench with his head on my lap. Moving once to instruct me to remove the keys from my pocket, he was completely lethargic.  My friend found us and offered to get a drink.  At this point, I was dehydrated from carrying a 44 lb sack of bones around the park.  She returned and I took the first sip, to make sure it wasn't poison of course, then gave some to Sawyer. When he barely took any, I started planning a trip to the closest First Aid station.

I carried him about 10 minutes to the building which had held the Guest Services office from before.  I asked the more stereotypical EMT if it would be possible to get a ride to the front of the park as my son felt sick and I couldn't carry him that far.  He brought me back to my friend at Guest Services and after she ended her phone call to check on a friends opening night (a play perhaps?), requested transport.  I thought she remembered me, but I never was too sure.  She called immediately and told me to bring Sawyer into the waiting area so he could lay down.  All was quiet for a few minutes.  Then there was the slightest noise. Barely a cough, nearly a gurgle, from Sawyer.  A mothers intuition kicked in.  I lifted his head and asked my new BFF Mary Carol or Mary Catherine or whatever her name was, "Do you have a buck...." And Mt. Saucious blew!  All over the couch, all over the floor, all over everything.  By the time the garbage can made it into the room, the eruption had finished.  Oh, wait an afterblow.  And he's d....definitely not done.  Now.  Yes. Now he is done.  Poor baby.  Poor nasal passages o' mine!  MC couldn't have been nicer, though I did hear her call to see how far the golf cart was.  She brought in paper towels and accepted all my apologies sweetly while telling me that she hates throwing up so she can imagine how awful Sawyer must be feeling.  It was calming.

Enter Mr. Hershey Park!  Golf cart driver, customer service rep, Chatty Cathy reincarnated as a 20 year old male, Matt. He was happy to take us through the back of the rides all the way to the car.  He hit every pothole on the way, but God love him, he made the ride interesting.  He told me how it was okay for him to go against the arrows on the road, how he hopes our experience at Hershey was great, despite, you know, the vomiting.  He was glad to hear we lived in the area so we could be his guests once again.  As we neared the van, he asked Sawyer if he had fun. "No!" He apologized and said, "Well, did you at least have fun before you got sick?"  " NO!"  It was weak, but emphatic.  Matt's enthusiasm and cheerfulness could not be squelched.

"Next time you come it'll be great I'm sure.  We'd love to have you be our guest again!"

Okay, Mrs. Potts.  See you next time!


End Note: As I was pulling out of the parking lot, Josie called asking where I was.  I told her she was going home with our friends because Sawyer threw up and I had to leave.  "Oh, Lyra just threw up too.  Do you want to take her home too?"  I asked if she wanted to go home.  "Nah.  She said she's heading to another roller coaster."

The Results Are In!

The first day of school is always one for a bit of angst. Kids are growing, sometimes changing interests and friends, maybe moving on to the local middle or high school. Parents are watching their kids grow up, getting closer to leaving home. Some parents have a problem with this part. Me? Not so much. 



Regardless, the first day of school for military kids is tougher than most kids could imagine. I won't go into it all, because there are 1000 blogs out there that will tell you what it means to be a Military Brat. They can explain to you how hard it is to register your child in a new school district who has different history courses different years, how requirements are different for taking honors classes, how it's hard to get into student council if you missed last springs elections, not to mention the difficulty of being the new kid AGAIN!



I am just here to tell you how my kids did today. Sadly, I was a basket case yesterday and much of today. It's not that I don't have faith in my kids, it's just that they have fragile hearts. (Some more fragile than others) and I just want them to be happy and to like themselves for who they are. It's a lesson I'm still working on at 46. I sure hope they manage to learn faster than me.





From the bottom up, here's how it went:


Sawyer, who is repeating second grade due to his early August birthday and the challenges he has with autism, had a decent day. His teacher and a member of the special ed team (I think) came out to tell me what a great day he had. He took a few breaks. Lunch went well, PE was a challenge, but all in all, pretty good. He did not say it was "bad" which has been his go-to answer for the question "How was school today?" the last three years running, so I figure that is fantastic! Also, he has not yet refused to go back tomorrow. "WINNING!"





Charlie, who is repeating fourth grade due to his late September birthday and the challenges he has with maturity, had a fun day. He met a friend, they ran together at PE class and listened to the directions which were to not stop running. The boys who ran really fast and stopped after one lap were out because they didn't do it right. Therefore, when one of them stated that they should not have been called out of the game, Charlie jumped right into say how wrong they were. Nothing like pissing off the kids who can run faster than you on the first day of school! Perhaps I should add "muzzle" to next years' school supply list. Geez, kid. I can tell him til I'm blue in the face not to get into it with people when it's not important, but he will never learn. The best part of his new class is that there is a boy in his class who just moved to the US from....wait for it.....keeping in mind one of his best friends last year....you guessed it.....AUSTRALIA!!! AND his name is Charlie! And he is from the town of....drumroll please.....CARLTON! Too funny!



Charlie's best quotes of the day:



Talking about his new friend Charlie, "Hey, wouldn't it be funny if he had to write the sentence, 'Charlie is from Carlton' and he forgot to write the words 'is' and 'from' so he would just write my name. I mean, that would just be so crazy!"


"I think the other Charlie's last name is Stuart.  Hmmm, Stew....ahhrt (sounding it out ridiculously).  Yep, sounds Australian!  Must be it."



Also, this morning, he told me what 27 items he packed for lunch and then said, "Oh, and a mint! This is a good idea because it is sort of like a desert, but will make my breath smell minty after lunch!" Sigh.



Lyra had a day that would have been totally awesome if "totally awesome" was a phrase used by cool, unphased kids, who work hard to act like they don't care. She smiled her trademark 'I will not show my teeth in a smile until I get into and out of braces' smirk. "It was good!" She said. She talked about her science teacher (funny), art teacher (strict), lunch (stuck at a table with a bunch of boys, but with her cousin thank goodness). She talked more, but it have to admit that during that time I was trying to calculate exactly how long I could wait to see if the other girls got home before I had to leave to pick up the boys. But it was good. She came home happy and talked to me at length which is always a good sign for her. Sadly, I missed a lot of it, but I got the high points...there is a beach party next week and a lot of girls wore spaghetti straps today probably because they aren't really enforcing the dress code yet, so she will be wearing a sleeveless shirt tomorrow. (NOTE TO SELF: Throw an extra shirt in the car so when I get a call from school that Lyra is not dressed properly, I can drop that off after dropping off the boys and save an extra trip across town!)


Josie, sweet Josie. I don't know which of us was more worried about her day. I was able to wait until I saw the bus up the street before I went to pick up the boys. I drove up the connecting street and stopped. I rolled down the window and Josie was like a moth to a flame. When asked how it was, she smiled her 'I don't want to admit that it was good, because maybe I'm remembering it wrong' smile and said, "Okay, I guess." I said, "Was it absolutely horrible?" "No." "Did you cry?" (Her goal for the day was to not cry) "No!" "Well, look at you girlfriend! You did it!" Then I got the 'I really want to believe you, but I can't quite get there, but I want to be happy' look. I asked if she wanted to ride with me to get the boys and she declined saying she needed to work on her cheers before practice. (Little did we know they had changed the time for practice and she was in the midst of missing the first hour). Talking with her later was a mix of "things went okay" and "they are expecting too much" and "I'll never be able to keep up" and "I had someone to sit with at lunch" (I said a silent prayer of thanks) and finally, "I just don't like high school, I'm not ready."


Meanwhile after stopping them on the street and asking if Josie wanted to ride with me, Tigger, I mean Tali bounced across the road and said, "I'll come!" I wasn't sure what to expect. The next 15 minutes were incredibly funny and exhausting and heart melting all at once. She opened her mouth and this is what came out: "Oh my gosh, it was SO fun, I mean I can't wait to go back, really, I'd go back right now, but that would be silly, but really it was that fun so I can't wait til tomorrow, but I know in a few months I won't feel this way, but really, all days of school should be the first day of school, so here's what happened first, we have assigned seats on the bus and they didn't have our names on the list and Josie was worried but I didn't care and Gabbys not on our bus but I sat with so and so and we went to homeroom and the teacher was all "don't bother me and he put his head on the desk, he may have gone to sleep..."


"Like Mr, Schneebly?" I asked.


"Oh my gosh that's so funny! EXACTLY like that and then I had to go to history and so I walked with Josie part way and I think that's when we saw Sarah and I have history with so and so and so and so and it's gonna be a great class and the teacher is cool and said we can bring coffee and breakfast to class and I totally wish there was a Starbucks near school..."


"Because you are in such desperate need of caffeine? I know, I'm worried that you may have low blood pressure."


"No LISTEN, I totally knew where I was and everyone liked my outfit and safety ed is a joke, I mean, I think I'm the only half motivated person in there and I'm gonna be really smart in Spanish but that may be just cuz I knew what she was saying because it was written on a poster in the back of the room and there is a special needs boy that sits next to me so I hope the other kids don't think they'll mess with him because I will totally be his protector, I didn't even have to ask anyone how to get anywhere and then I had to go back to the other building and I was in all my classes on time and was never late and I didn't even have to run and lunch is SO short, I mean how do they expect me to eat anything in like two minutes..."


"Um, was the lunch period 2 minutes or is that how long you were somehow able to stop talking in order to attempt to consume some nutrition?"


"Mooooommmmm, so then in chemistry, there was this boy....."


Apparently, Tali has already aced the "like yourself" lesson....eh, good for her! Maybe I taught one of them right!

My Two Cents

I don't know that I will always remember where I was physically when I heard that Robin Williams had died, but I will never forget where I was emotionally.

I know tons of people have written articles and blogged about depression, suicide, and Mr. Williams the last few days.  I am not trying to jump on the bandwagon.  My writing is cathartic for me and if you happen to enjoy it, then I am happy to let you read it.  One thing I do not do is extensive research or fact checking.  I write from the heart, about what I know and what it means to me.  Your opinions may differ, my thoughts and feelings may not be the popular ones.  My experience may not be the typical one, but this is what I am dealing with.

I have been in a very dark place for the last few weeks due to circumstances I do not wish to share.  I didn't fall into an immediate depression.  The demons lurked around the corner until I found myself having at least one drink a night.  I got buzzed several times and completely drunk twice in a short period of time.  For those of you who know me, this was very typical in college and for a few years after, but I had probably drank more in the last three weeks than I had in the last year combined.

After a very ugly Friday night, which turned into a very painful Saturday morning, I decided I had to step back.  It was then I realized they had me surrounded.  Those nasty, slimy, hateful demons that feed off of my lack of confidence, that gain strength from my self loathing and who revel in my humiliation.  They were living the high life at my expense, at the expense of my kids.

They are always there in the shadows, but it had been quite a while since I could feel them sucking the breath out of me.  Since I had my kids, I can honestly say that those horrid creatures have not been able to push me into suicidal ideation.  I would be lying if I said it hasn't crossed my mind in the last 15 years, but never for more than a moment or two.  I have struggled with the desire to hurt myself on a few rare occasions, but somehow have managed to not give in. (Again, this is in the last 15 years)

So as I tried to muddle my way through Saturday, my youngest sons 8th birthday, I hated myself for letting the monsters get so close.  How could I not keep those mother f-ers away when I had 5 kids who needed me?  Screw that noise, I could do this damn it!  So Sunday I woke up and decided that it was the first day of the rest of my life.  I was going to take care of me and get a handle on things.

And Monday night, when I was feeling a bit upbeat about getting everyone everywhere they needed to go on a busy day....I opened FaceBook and saw that he had died.  Although they alluded to it, it was not positively suicide, but somehow I knew.  My heart shattered and my brain spun.  I wanted to stand up and announce to the other Little League parents (who were complete strangers as we just moved here and it was the first practice ), "Robin Williams is dead!"  I wanted to share my shock, my sadness and most importantly, my overwhelming fear.

I mean, if he could not escape the demons, who the heck was I to think I could?  "First day of the rest of my life," oh my God, who was I kidding?  I could hear them snickering in my ears, felt them breathing down my neck.  I was deflated.  Then a few things happened that gave me something to think about.  Watching tv, being on the phone, reading FB posts, I realized that there were so many people out there who didn't get it.  Were they mean spirited? Clueless? Ignorant?  I wasn't sure.  Some of these people were friends, people I respected on TV, even a relative said, "Wow, a guy like that.  I mean he had so much, how could he not find a way out?"  That hurt my feelings but I know it wasn't said maliciously.

Something clicked and I realized that there are so many people who are not stalked by these snakes, which is a good thing.  They do, in fact, see the act of suicide as selfish, cowardly and weak. I was sad.  Grateful in a way, that they did not understand, yet, helpless in the feeling of how can I explain it to them?  Through a friends' long FB thread I read posts from people (some friends of mine) who had contemplated or attempted suicide. I realized a person who doesn't understand could certainly see the act as selfish if they are left behind.  But as someone eloquently posted, "a person who succumbs has fell victim to the monsters and their evil whispers.  In their pain, they have a skewed view of what's happening now and what would happen if they died.  They truly believe the world would be a better place if they left it.  They feel they would be doing everyone a favor by not taking up time and energy from their loved ones.  They feel that they are a burden. In that respect, killing themselves becomes a self less act."  I completely agree.

As I contributed to this FB thread and tried to describe to my friend what goes though the mind of someone who wants to die (again, I am going on my own experience, I am not a doctor, nor do I play one on TV), I felt that I had something worthy to contribute.  That I could help this person and whoever else was following the discussion understand something that was completely foreign to them.  They simply could not get past the action into the mind of the person driven to take their own life.  Was I proud that I had personal experience in this matter?  Um, no, but I was willing to share what I knew in the hope that I could help at least one person understand that Mr. Williams was not acting out of selfishness, that he was not weak. On the contrary, he was probably stronger than many of us.

I once heard someone say, "Everyone feels sorry for the person with depression.  What about the people who have to live with them?"  If their loved one ever had a doubt that taking ones' life would unburden those they loved, it could've been negated right there.  I am so thankful that scenario did not end in tragedy.

I cringed as I heard Shep Smith use the word "coward." I knew that would get him in trouble, but I don't think his intent was malicious. It was a stupid irresponsible thing to say.  As a news anchor you would think he'd have more of a clue.  At the same time, have I ever misspoke about something I didn't understand?  I would put money on it. I will admit I find it much easier to forgive someone who makes an ignorant statement if I respect them.  Human nature I guess.

The same person who sought pity for loving someone with depression, also came down on their partner telling them, "You mope around here all day as if the world is coming to an end, yet someone stops by or calls and you are suddenly the picture of happiness."  What I tried to explain to that person was that their spouse was exhausted from fighting the good fight.  If they were going to be able to let down their guard anywhere, it should be in their own house with the people they love and trust most.  People at the door or on the phone represent the "outside" and when they have the strength, people who are depressed will "put on the happy face" because that is what they are supposed to do. It's what society wants them to do.  Think about this; how many times a day do you say some version of "Hi, how're you?" Let's be honest, if the answer is anything but "Good," "Fine," or "Great," the person asking does an invisible eye roll and curses themselves for asking in the first place.  They don't really want to know.  I know I am guilty of that. I'm not sure if that person above ever really understood what their partner was going through and I'm not sure if their marriage survived.

So let's take that to a higher level.  Robin Williams was a man of extraordinary talent.  His abilities included being an amazing dramatic actor, but he was most recognized for his comedy routines and movie roles.  I dated a comedian once, briefly (shut it MSM alumni!), and he told me that making a living as a comedian was difficult in that no one wanted you to be serious, everyone expected you to be funny all the time.  If I feel compelled as a simple Army wife and mom of 5 kids to staple the smile on my face (which I am not always successful at doing, mind you) can you imagine the pressure felt by Mr. Williams to be not only happy, but funny?!?  The thought is daunting to me.  On my worst days I wouldn't be able to pretend for the Queen of England, but I would try, it's what I do.  I don't claim to know exactly what Mr. Williams was feeling or how long he had dealt with depression, but I'm willing to wager, he put on a happy face more times than we could ever imagine.  The realization of that breaks my heart.

In the FB thread the other night, someone posted this quote: "The loneliest people are the kindest. The saddest people smile the brightest. The most damaged people are the wisest. All because they do not wish to see anyone else suffer the way they do." - Anonymous (and I actually looked that up!)

Some people will never understand what goes through the mind of someone who commits suicide.  And I'm sure it's never exactly the same thoughts.  A quote in an article I read when I was 16 summed it up for me then, and has always been exactly how I've felt each time I didn't feel I had the strength to go on.  "She didn't want to die.  She just wanted to stop the pain of living." I would never wish such desperation on my worst enemy.  My demons are staying close but I am fighting back.  I have been reaching out to family and friends, I continue to take my meds and am looking for a new therapist since I have moved.  I'm doing the best I can and that's really all I can do.  (But of course, they tell me otherwise)

I guess my thoughts boil down to this: Mr. Williams gave us many gifts, the gift of laughter, the gift of amazement at the human mind, the gift of appreciating the talent of an actor who could make you not only want to know him, but want to know the characters he was able to bring to life for us.  We were blessed to have him in our lives.  Is it sad that he left us too soon?  Of course, but I thank God he stayed with us as long as he did.  He gave us the gift of himself.  Knowing now how difficult it must have been at times, makes it all the more special.  For that we should be grateful and humbled. I know I am.