A Disturbance in the Force

There was a disturbance in the force yesterday. As most of you know, Carrie Fisher died in the morning. For the most part there was postings of sadness on Facebook. After all she portrayed a  beloved character in one of the most iconic movies of our time. But mixed in with the tidings of sorrow, was a  few crotchety posts  that said things like, "What's the big deal? She was just an actress." Well, let me tell you. She was a big deal in my book. Not because she played a strong female character who got to kiss my lifetime crush, Harrison Ford. It's because she gave a voice to those who have mental illness and battle addiction.  C. S. Lewis once said," Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: What! You too? I thought that no one but myself... " Carrie got that. I listened to an interview with her late yesterday,  She was so open and honest about her struggles, When she was asked why she spoke about her mental illness, she said, " Because sharing creates community." Wow! What a wonderful concept is that idea of community. We all strive for that sensation of belonging.  When you have a condition or struggle you believe no one understands, you feel marginalized, out of the loop, adrift. Carrie spoke up and said, " Me too."  When she bravely stepped up, she helped thousands of others come out of the shadows to belong to her community.  What a wonderful gift.  A sense of I'm not the only one is a powerful thing. It is my hope that other will continue to speak out. There should be no more shame  in saying " I have a mental illness" then there is " I have diabetes" And that my friends is why Carrie Fisher was a big deal.   

So in honor of Carrie Fisher's legacy:My name is Susan and I have been treated for Depression. 

Rest in Peace General,

Susan

Wrong Party

I attended a party Christmas party this week. It had everything that makes a party great, There was live entertainment, food, a hostess with the mostess, and lots of smiles. However, when I first walked in, my first thought was, " I'm at the wrong party. This is not the party I'm supposed to be at." There across the room, sat my husband in a sea of gray hair and Geri chairs, happily drinking sherbet punch and munching on store bought Christmas cookies. I thought this is not where we are supposed to be.

Craig was supposed to be busy at Nacol's making last minute repairs to watches that are destined to make someones Christmas brighter. The party we were supposed to have attended happened about two weeks ago at the home of Jeff and Shannon Turnbo. There would have been great food, lots of laughs, and a cut throat game of Chinese Christmas. I would have come home with an ornament that may or may not have been cute. It would not have not mattered and would have gone directly on our tree.  There would have been Christmas bonuses handed out at the end. Jeff would have told each employee how much they meant to the Nacol family. That for me was always the true Christmas bonus, Craig being blessed to work for a family company that treated all of their employees like a member of the family. That's the party that we should have been at.

Craig and I enjoying a Nacol's Christmas party

So I catch my breath and go to the party that I have arrived at. I volunteer to play a reindeer during the singing of Rudolph. Craig seems to get a kick out of that. We don't aways end up where we are supposed to be. That's the way life turns out sometimes. I know I'm not where I thought would be 32 years ago.  I have to make peace with that on a daily basis. I have to remind myself that Jesus said he had come to bring me peace. He didn't tell me I would get my way all the time. So when I arrive at a party I'm not suppose to be at, He has sent me a Comforter to go with me.  For that I will always be grateful. Without the Presence, the only party I would be attending would be a life long pity party. That would be no party at all.

The three best gifts Craig and I have ever received.

Thanks for putting up with my musings,


Susan

Life As Told In Pictures

I really did not plan to put up Christmas what so ever this year. No kids arriving home this year. No other family coming in. Just me, dad, my brother Steven, and Craig. I couldn't muster up any Christmas spirit. However, after spending time with Donna Vogt, and talking to Sue Gross, I caught a case of Christmas fever. This led to me finally giving into a long held desire to long a silver Christmas tree like my Great Granny Banks put up every year. While browsing through At Home and stumbling across one on sale, I took that as a sign.

After putting said tree together, I rummaged around the house looking for any stray decorations in the house. Way up in a cabinet above my dryer, I came across Santa pictures of the boys. I gently caught them down scattered them on the table.

As I gazed wistfully at the pictures of my babies sitting on various Santas' lap, it struck me that I was that there in squares of Polaroids, was a documented history of their first formative years.

The first Santa picture is of Chad when he was around one year old. He is all decked out in the cutest Osh Kosh overalls with a matching shirt. I can promise you his socks matched as well. I was obsessed with Chad being coordinated from head to toe. That is what first time moms do along with boiling and sterilizing everything in sight. Chad visits Santa all by himself for several years until ...

Little bitty Andrew makes his Santa Claus debut. Andrew wearing an adorable Christmas sleeper. Chad is a proud big brother looking confidently at the camera. They do not remain a duo for long.

A year and a half later baby Kyle pops up in the picture. Andrew doesn't look very happy. Is it because he's having to share the space with Kyle or is he being difficult as Andrew was prone to be at that time? Andrew who is the most least interested in sports of the boys, says he's crying because he just realized he asked for a football. Gone are the "matchey matchey" outfits.  I could care less if their socks matched the shirts they were weaing. During this time of life, my main goal was they at least had clean underwear on and hair combed when they went out the door. Because that is all moms of three little boys who happens to work outside of the home has time to worry about. Isn't it funny how priorities change. Boiling is long gone. I didn't bat an eye when I looked outside and saw Andrew on all fours, drinking out of the dog's water bowl and barking like a puppy. He lived.

This is the last photo with Santa that I have. Chad has dropped of the radar. He has started to grow up and has asked that age old question, " Is Santa Claus real?" Poor Chad. His whole world shifted one night when he asked that question. When in a course of an hour, he came to grips that the same held true about the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. He quickly was soothed with a promotion to head elf. A position he relished until Andrew crashed that gig a few years later. I have no idea why this is the last picture. Were we too poor the following years? Too busy? I can't recall. But I do know this. I cherish these photos and the memories they hold. A magical time of life for little boys. When anything is possible if you  just ask an elderly man in a fuzzy red suit for  your heart's desire and believe it can come true.


Merry Christmas to all of you!

Susan

Sometimes You Just Need to Cry

I've spent my weekend as I usually do, running.Those of you know me, know I don't mean literally. I mean on the go. Saturday was spent going to a book sale, shopping for a Christmas present, taking lunch to a friend, cleaning up puppies at the Humane Society, going to see Craig at the nursing home,then back to the Humane Society to return an adorable dog I had taken to see Craig. I did not put my slippers on and prop my feet up until 6:00 PM.

Sunday started with a fanatic Sunday school class followed by an equally fantastic worship service. Lunch was spent with three beautiful ladies. During lunch I vowed to give up my sacred Sunday afternoon nap for the trade off of getting more time to do somethings I need or want to do. It didn't take long to break that vow so I compromised with a shorter nap. After waking up with from said nap, Darvish and I took a walk in Lucy Park to breath in the fall colors. From there, we visited Craig.

I always find Craig in bed, with the lights turned off, and the covers over his head. He is always glad to see me especially if I have a dog. We chat about our day, what he ate for supper, and I remind him speech therapy starts tomorrow. I take a good look at him. I'm pretty sure he is wearing what he had on yesterday. The skin on his face is dry. The beard he decided to grow last year need shaping up. None of this I blame on the nursing home staff. I'm pretty sure he choose to put the same clothes. Heck, he probably slept in them. I kiss him good bye, drop Darvish off at the house, and make my way to Target.

Target is full of young families and parents shopping for. Christmas. I strike up a conversation with one couple my age over Christmas tree skirts. I smile and make silly faces at the fussy baby in front of me in the check out line. He does stop crying probably out of shock of that crazy lady making faces at him.

It's when I get out to the car that it happens, the tears. I don't mean a few "dab them away" tears. I mean full out ugly cry.  Everything caught up with me. You can only run around town and buy books that you don't need before sooner or later it catches you. I miss Craig. The one that I married. The one that Christmas shopped with me and for me. The guy who still liked Santa coming to see him even when he was 45. I miss the guy who cared about his appearance even though it drove me crazy with him  always wanting to get his hair cut and buy new shoes. I miss sitting with him with the only light in the room was our Christmas tree after the boys were in bed. I hate that stupid Huntington's has taken all of this from us.

I partly blame this picture for my weepy mood. This picture had flitted on and off my path all week.

Love the smile he has on his face. 

I would find it, pick it up, muse over it, and then stick it up somewhere. A few days later, there it would be again laying there waiting for me.  This is the picture of Craig in my head: good haircut, belt on, shirt tucked in, and probably new shoes on.

So I had my cry, ate a piece of chocolate pie, and watched my favorite show. I feel better. I will be back to my chatty self tomorrow. That's who I choose to be. I have to.  But every now and then a good cry is going to happen.

Thank you for being patient with me tonight,

Susan