I have never been big on New Year's Resolutions. Mostly because the amount of willpower I have would fit into a thimble. I am not a person who likes to exercise. I know, you're saying 'who does?' I actually know people who enjoy it. I have never been one of them. I've tried. I bought myself a gym membership one year, and went once. The following year I bought myself a gazelle glider, put it up, and used it for maybe a week. Now it mostly acts as a hanger for my towels after my shower. I mean to use it more, and sometimes I do get on it and use it. My goal is to use it a few minutes a day and work myself up to maybe 20 minutes a day. Maybe it would help with my Fibro. But when it comes down to it, I'm just to beat at the end of the day to use it.
My lack of willpower was confirmed today when I went to Michael's for the yarn sale. My plan was to buy the yarn Erich wanted for his afghan. I told myself as I went into the store that I would only get that yarn, and maybe some photo albums. I was not going to go crazy in the yarn department. 25 skeins of yarn later, I reluctantly left the yarn section. There was so much more I wanted to buy, but I limited myself to just three projects (and none of them were Erich's- he didn't find what he wanted).
So I do not make resolutions. It just sets me up for failure, and I don't need that. Of course, there are things I'd like to get done in the coming year. I'd like to get to Myrtle Beach to visit my dear friend Patricia. I'd like to get my credit card paid off. I would like to plan out my knitting projects better so I'm not down to the wire come next December. There are always projects around the house to do, and I have a lot of organizing projects I need to tackle. Then of course, I will need to make at least one trip home to NY.
New Year's Eve always seems so full of promise. It seems like the next year is a clean slate, even though your routine will continue just as it did this year. Yet I don't really feel the hope this year. This past week at work we learned the company had been sold. I actually don't work for that company, I work for a non-profit in the same building. The non-profit leases me from the company that has been sold. So I don't know what it means for me. None of us really do. The new owners are coming next week. No doubt there will be big changes. All I can do is do my job to the best of my ability. I always give 120% anyway, and if that isn't enough, then there's nothing I can do about that. I am anxious about it, but I'm not letting it keep me up at night.
December has brought enough drama for a year, and I am truly hoping 2011 is better. Odd, because I normally don't like odd numbered years. I will be 35 next year. I'm trying not to think about that, it sounds so old. So here's to 2011, may it bring more good than bad!
Friday, December 31, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Beauty Sleep
I am a diva when it comes to my sleep. I certainly didn't start out as a diva, it has kind of evolved over time. I have always been a relatively light sleeper. Thunderstorms, fire sirens, hoot owls all could wake me up as a child. I'd get up in the morning and ask my Dad where the fire was the previous night, and neither he nor mom had heard the fire siren. I would hear it, and also hear the fire trucks leaving town and could tell if they headed north towards Petersburgh or south towards Cherry Plain. I remember one time as a teenager we had a very bad thunderstorm in the middle of the night. I got scared (yes, thunderstorms scare me), and picked up my blankets and pillows and went into my sister's room. I curled up on her floor and slept, and the next morning, everyone wondered why I was in her room. They hadn't even heard the thunderstorm.
Looking back, I have no idea how I survived four years of college- or more specifically, four years of trying to sleep in a dorm. I know I took naps a lot. I remember being tired even back in high school. I would come home from school, take a nap, and then go to my part time job. In college, I napped a lot. I still nap. Each day I come home for lunch, and after I've eaten my lunch, I take a 10-20 minute power nap. It recharges my battery enough that I can get through the afternoon. When I don't get my nap, I struggle to get through the rest of the day.
People with Fibro do not sleep well. Many of us do not get the restful deep sleep that we need. Most nights, I could sleep for 12 hours and wake up feeling exhausted, like I hadn't slept at all. The restful sleep is the 'repair' time for our bodies. My body doesn't go through that repair stage. Even when I am so tired I can barely move, I suffer from insomnia. Once I get in my bed, I lie awake for at least a couple of hours. Some nights I have fallen asleep on the couch, and yet the insomnia still kicks in. Then there are the trips to the restroom. My mind thinks of that day at work, or the next day at work. I think of projects I am working on, things I need to do. I make lists in my head. I think of blog entries. My brain has no 'off' switch. I try to be upstairs in my bed by 11pm, and most mornings for work I get up at 7:20am. In that 8 hour time frame, I sleep in fits and shifts. On a good night, I will get 5 or 6 hours of sleep. Not continuous- I roll over and wake up several times a night. On a really bad night, I may only get 30 minutes of sleep over the course of the 8 hours.
As I learned more about Fibro, and how to live with it, I put more thought into my sleep environment. I bought room darkening curtains for the three windows in my bedroom. I already had a great pillowtop mattress. Erich says it's too soft and my mom says it's too high. But it's just right for me! I sleep in the middle of my queen sized bed-this gives me plenty of room to roll over without falling out of bed. I keep my room cold. My room is above the garage, so it is always colder in the winter. Then I have a rotating fan I turn on to make it colder. For the summer, we bought a portable air conditioner for my room, and I sleep with that running.
Careful thought went into the linens for my bed. I do not like the feel of regular sheets, so I have the t-shirt sheets. It feels like sleeping on an old worn t-shirt. Very soft. I have two blankets. In the summer, the bottom blanket is a waffle weave cotton blanket, and in the winter it is a soft fleece. The top blanket is a Biederlack blanket I've had for about 13 years. I love Biederlack blankets, they are soft and warm and snuggly. I was so sad to learn the company went out of business in the past couple of years. My Biederlack blanket has teddy bears on it. It keeps me warmer in winter and oddly enough, this same blanket keeps me cool in summer. I love the softness against my face. The blankets are topped by a comforter, but that is more for decorative purposes. The comforter is nothing special, it has a woodland cottage scene on it (which includes bears and moose). The material isn't all that appealing to touch, but on the coldest of nights, I appreciate the bulk.
Then of course, there are pillows. After I started getting allergy injections, I felt like I couldn't breathe if I slept flat on my back. So I propped myself up with several pillows. I currently have three pillows of varying firmness to prop up my upper body. The pillow I actually sleep on is a contoured memory foam pillow which cradles my head. That makes a total of four pillows. Sometimes, I feel like a princess surrounded by her cloud of pillows.
To top off all of this, I also have a body pillow with a soft fleece cover. There are days the Fibro pain is so bad, I cannot stand the feeling of my fingers touching each other, or the bones in my legs hurt when I lie on my side, with one leg on top of the other. On those days, I need something to cushion the bones. The body pillow is wonderful for that. It also gives me something to hold on the nights that pain is ravaging my body. It is comforting.
Everything about my bed is comforting. Or it is meant to be comforting. I assure you, there is nothing comforting on the nights that I cannot sleep, the nights when I reset the sleep timer on the TV for another hour, and then another, and then there's nothing left on TV to watch, and I'm still awake. And then I realize I have to be to work in 2 hours. Yeah, those nights my bed seems more like a prison.
Some people have told me to turn off the TV. I have to have the noise. Otherwise, I am alone with my thoughts, and that is even worse. At least with the TV, my mind has something to focus on.
The Fibro pain is made worse by poor sleep, but I don't get the deep sleep my body needs to heal the pain. Like many things with Fibro, it is a catch-22. I consider it a good night if the next morning, I know I fell asleep before the TV went off, but I don't remember hearing the TV turn off. What is a great night of sleep? Falling asleep and feeling like I've been asleep for days, then waking up and seeing that the clock says 2 or 3 or 4 am, and I realize I have several hours left to sleep. Then I pull the blankets up over my chin, snuggle into my nest of pillows and blankets, and fall back into a peaceful sleep until my alarm startles me awake. Those nights are a luxury. I always feel like Scarlett O'Hara in Gone With The Wind- the morning after Rhett carries her up the stairs. She wakes up stretching, surrounded by the best linens, at peace with the world. Of course, I didn't have Rhett Butler in bed, but for me, a good nights' sleep is just as satisfying.
Looking back, I have no idea how I survived four years of college- or more specifically, four years of trying to sleep in a dorm. I know I took naps a lot. I remember being tired even back in high school. I would come home from school, take a nap, and then go to my part time job. In college, I napped a lot. I still nap. Each day I come home for lunch, and after I've eaten my lunch, I take a 10-20 minute power nap. It recharges my battery enough that I can get through the afternoon. When I don't get my nap, I struggle to get through the rest of the day.
People with Fibro do not sleep well. Many of us do not get the restful deep sleep that we need. Most nights, I could sleep for 12 hours and wake up feeling exhausted, like I hadn't slept at all. The restful sleep is the 'repair' time for our bodies. My body doesn't go through that repair stage. Even when I am so tired I can barely move, I suffer from insomnia. Once I get in my bed, I lie awake for at least a couple of hours. Some nights I have fallen asleep on the couch, and yet the insomnia still kicks in. Then there are the trips to the restroom. My mind thinks of that day at work, or the next day at work. I think of projects I am working on, things I need to do. I make lists in my head. I think of blog entries. My brain has no 'off' switch. I try to be upstairs in my bed by 11pm, and most mornings for work I get up at 7:20am. In that 8 hour time frame, I sleep in fits and shifts. On a good night, I will get 5 or 6 hours of sleep. Not continuous- I roll over and wake up several times a night. On a really bad night, I may only get 30 minutes of sleep over the course of the 8 hours.
As I learned more about Fibro, and how to live with it, I put more thought into my sleep environment. I bought room darkening curtains for the three windows in my bedroom. I already had a great pillowtop mattress. Erich says it's too soft and my mom says it's too high. But it's just right for me! I sleep in the middle of my queen sized bed-this gives me plenty of room to roll over without falling out of bed. I keep my room cold. My room is above the garage, so it is always colder in the winter. Then I have a rotating fan I turn on to make it colder. For the summer, we bought a portable air conditioner for my room, and I sleep with that running.
Careful thought went into the linens for my bed. I do not like the feel of regular sheets, so I have the t-shirt sheets. It feels like sleeping on an old worn t-shirt. Very soft. I have two blankets. In the summer, the bottom blanket is a waffle weave cotton blanket, and in the winter it is a soft fleece. The top blanket is a Biederlack blanket I've had for about 13 years. I love Biederlack blankets, they are soft and warm and snuggly. I was so sad to learn the company went out of business in the past couple of years. My Biederlack blanket has teddy bears on it. It keeps me warmer in winter and oddly enough, this same blanket keeps me cool in summer. I love the softness against my face. The blankets are topped by a comforter, but that is more for decorative purposes. The comforter is nothing special, it has a woodland cottage scene on it (which includes bears and moose). The material isn't all that appealing to touch, but on the coldest of nights, I appreciate the bulk.
Then of course, there are pillows. After I started getting allergy injections, I felt like I couldn't breathe if I slept flat on my back. So I propped myself up with several pillows. I currently have three pillows of varying firmness to prop up my upper body. The pillow I actually sleep on is a contoured memory foam pillow which cradles my head. That makes a total of four pillows. Sometimes, I feel like a princess surrounded by her cloud of pillows.
To top off all of this, I also have a body pillow with a soft fleece cover. There are days the Fibro pain is so bad, I cannot stand the feeling of my fingers touching each other, or the bones in my legs hurt when I lie on my side, with one leg on top of the other. On those days, I need something to cushion the bones. The body pillow is wonderful for that. It also gives me something to hold on the nights that pain is ravaging my body. It is comforting.
Everything about my bed is comforting. Or it is meant to be comforting. I assure you, there is nothing comforting on the nights that I cannot sleep, the nights when I reset the sleep timer on the TV for another hour, and then another, and then there's nothing left on TV to watch, and I'm still awake. And then I realize I have to be to work in 2 hours. Yeah, those nights my bed seems more like a prison.
Some people have told me to turn off the TV. I have to have the noise. Otherwise, I am alone with my thoughts, and that is even worse. At least with the TV, my mind has something to focus on.
The Fibro pain is made worse by poor sleep, but I don't get the deep sleep my body needs to heal the pain. Like many things with Fibro, it is a catch-22. I consider it a good night if the next morning, I know I fell asleep before the TV went off, but I don't remember hearing the TV turn off. What is a great night of sleep? Falling asleep and feeling like I've been asleep for days, then waking up and seeing that the clock says 2 or 3 or 4 am, and I realize I have several hours left to sleep. Then I pull the blankets up over my chin, snuggle into my nest of pillows and blankets, and fall back into a peaceful sleep until my alarm startles me awake. Those nights are a luxury. I always feel like Scarlett O'Hara in Gone With The Wind- the morning after Rhett carries her up the stairs. She wakes up stretching, surrounded by the best linens, at peace with the world. Of course, I didn't have Rhett Butler in bed, but for me, a good nights' sleep is just as satisfying.
Monday, December 27, 2010
The Year Without Christmas
Followers of either of my blogs know I love Christmas. It is my favorite time of year. It is full of traditions and wonderful memories for me. I usually start preparing for Christmas in early November. If you could be defined by a holiday, Christmas would define me. Maybe I should have been named 'Noelle', which might have been a bit odd since my birthday is in June. I live for Christmas, and I love Christmas.
And I have to say, this year, I feel that I've been jipped. It's no one's fault, other than Mother Nature's. By now, I'm sure anyone living in the US has heard all about the blizzard that settled in over the Northeast yesterday, wreaking havoc on travel in many states. I had a premonition about this, for several weeks I had a bad feeling about my parents' visit. I couldn't tell what it was, and tried my best to ignore it, but I couldn't shake the feeling. I started worrying about the storm on Saturday as the words 'developing nor'easter' were uttered on the Weather Channel. If you've spent any amount of time in the Northeastern part of the US, you know those two words never bring good news. I talked to my family Saturday afternoon, and Dad said their local forecast wasn't predicting any snow totals yet, but that areas east of Albany could get 7" of snow. My parents live about an hour east of Albany. Dad was optimistic, and said 'we'll get there'.
Yesterday, I started watching the Weather Channel. I also checked the website of Albany's NBC affiliate, which Dad prefers to watch for the weather. The snow predictions were not positive- a foot for Philadelphia, where Mom & Dad had to change planes. Albany was blanketed in a dark purple color on the Weather Channel. A color which would make a lovely sweater or top. But on a weather graphic, it is a very angry color. The Albany affiliate was forecasting at least 8", and some places could get 20"+. I took a deep breath, and the phone rang just then. It was Mom. She had talked to the airline, and their flight was still on. The airline rep said since Mom & Dad had a 7am flight, they had a good chance of getting out of Albany. Early morning flights are best, the later in the day you go, the greater the risk of delays or cancellations. The rep also thought that Mom & Dad should be ok changing in Philly, and told mom not to change her plans and fly out Sunday afternoon, as they would not get out.
I tried not to obsessively watch the Weather Channel yesterday, or to check the Albany station's website. I knew it wasn't good news. Plus, I had plenty of things to do. I needed to finish cleaning the house and preparing for my company. I have been sick with a bad cold since Thursday night. I started with a cold around December 15, and thought I had gotten over it, but after my quick trip to NY, I started feeling worse when I got back. No real surprise I guess. I was on airplanes (which are truly petri dishes-my theory is the only place worse than an airplane is a college dorm), I was in a nursing home, and I was at a party with 56 other people. It's that time of year, and my resistance is low due to the stress. So it is not a surprise that this cold blossomed. Wednesday and Thursday I had a horrible sore throat all day, and by Thursday night I was sneezing, coughing, and miserable. I rested most of the day Friday. Saturday and yesterday I cleaned. It took me several hours to do a room, because I would do a little and have to lie down to rest. I had so little energy, it took almost all my strength to grab a kleenex and blow my nose. Saturday when I talked to my Dad, he said I sounded like crap. Thank you, Dad. I felt like crap too, and highly doubt I was going so great in the looks department. I finished dusting the living room around 7:30 last night.
At 8:45pm, Mom called. Their flights were canceled. Both the flight out of Albany and the flight out of Philly. She was going to try to rebook, and would call back. She called back, about half an hour or so later. They couldn't get rebooked. The best they could do was get on a standby flight out of Albany on Wednesday, and then the airline rep told mom there was no telling when they'd get out of Philly; IF they'd get out of Philly. If it were just the two of them travelling, this wouldn't have been ideal. But adding in that they were traveling with a four year old, it was a no go. Mom was able to get a full refund on the tickets. She asked Dad if they could drive out, and Dad said they could, but they would lose a day each way driving. I told Mom it didn't make sense to drive, they either have to come around Lake Erie (not a good idea in winter with the lake effect snows which can spring up at anytime), or come down through PA, and they were telling people in PA, NJ, NY to stay off the roads. I cried. Mom cried. We cried harder when we thought of how disappointed Sydney was going to be. We talked about them coming out on her break in February, or more likely, Spring Break (so that we wouldn't have snow to deal with).
When I hung up with Mom, the first thing I saw was my Christmas tree, shining all bright and happy, with presents underneath waiting to be opened. Erich and I had not had our own Christmas, because we didn't really have much to give each other this year. We had decided to wait until my family arrived, and have one big Christmas. Saturday felt like just another day to us. I did cook a ham. Well, I reheated a ham. We had a ham that was pre-cooked, so I created a glaze and put it over the ham and reheated it. I fixed a box of scalloped potatoes, which I ended up undercooking, and we ate in front of the tv, as we always do. I was so sick, I barely ate anything. I stayed in my pjs all day; I was even too sick to get a shower. You know I'm sick when I don't take a shower! It was nothing special.
Suddenly, last night, the wonderful Christmas I was looking forward to was gone, because of the wrath of Mother Nature. I couldn't take it. I went to the garage and found a couple of boxes, and first I boxed up the gifts to send to Sydney, then I boxed up the gifts to send to my parents. I also sent Mom & Dad's clothes back to them. They were not planning to check bags, so they had shipped some clothes to me in advance. They're going to need them in NY, and if they don't come here til April, they won't need winter clothes then! I separated the few small gifts my parents had sent for us, and the two gifts I had for Erich (an ornament, and an IOU for an afghan). Our main present from my parents were new dining room chairs. But Mom always gives us something small, so we have something to open on Christmas.
Then I attacked the tree. With tears streaming down my face, I took all the ornaments off the tree and put them back in the storage container. I took the ribbons off and wrapped them around the ribbon spool for next year. I opened my small presents from Mom & Dad, and got the dogs gifts down from upstairs and opened those. All the while, I was crying and sobbing. I cried so hard I had to gasp for air, and then had dry heaves. At first I thought it was the worst Christmas I had since 1999, the year I was newly divorced. I spent that Christmas alone in my apartment. I stayed in my pjs all day, kept the curtains drawn, and watched videos. I had opened one present a day leading up to Christmas, and made myself a special meal of ravioli (prior to that, I did not know you could buy ravioli frozen and ready to cook). But at least I had a plan in 1999. It may have been my most depressing Christmas, but I still had one.
This year, I didn't have a Christmas. The whole Christmas season was altered. I started off really well, putting up my tree two weeks early. I was busy not only with the usual Christmas stuff, but with preparing the house for Sydney's visit. Then we were hit with my Grandmother's illness, and that slowed my preparation a bit. Then Drew was so sick. That would have been enough to stop me in other years, but I kept plodding along, putting up the nativity, decorating the house for Christmas. I kept thinking that at the end of all this, Sydney would be here, my parents would be here, and we'd have a few great days together. It kept me going. When I had to give up a weekend of making cookies to fly to NY, I thought it was ok, because I'd make cookies with Sydney this week. All weekend, when I was so sick I shouldn't have gotten out of bed, I kept pushing a little further, kept going for my family. And then, just like that, it was gone. It was December 26 and my Christmas was gone. The Christmas season was gone. I was left with my usual post-Christmas blues, coupled with a disappointment so huge I can't even put it into words. It's always sad to me when Christmas is over, it's such a letdown. That's why I take my tree down quickly, and get my house back to it's non-Christmas form. I don't like the reminders. It's all so sad to me.
And this year it is even worse. It has been about 18 hours since I found out my parents and Sydney aren't coming, and I have almost hid all traces of Christmas in the house. The tree is down and stored for another year. The couches have been moved back to their usual spaces. The outdoor decorations are all down thanks to Erich, and stored in the garage. All I have left to do is take down my nativity set and the Christmas Village (which I just got up Friday night). That will be done tonight. Then I will need to take the Christmas bears down, but right now I can't stand to go into the guest room.
I have cried so much, my eyes are raw. Just when I think I can't cry anymore, the tears start fresh. I know I can't tell people about it. If I start talking about it, I cry. When people at work ask me 'how was your Christmas', I think I will spare them and my eyes and just tell them 'I'm sorry, I just don't want to talk about it'. After all, when people ask how your Christmas was, it's kind of a rhetorical question. They want to hear that it was wonderful, you had a great day with your family, you received lots of great presents. They do not want to hear 'it was lousy'. Or worse, 'we didn't have one'.
And it's not about the presents. As I said, our big present were dining room chairs, which arrived before Thanksgiving. Erich bought us a camcorder, which was a present for both of us. For me, Christmas is the feeling- the warmth, the love, the joy. It's the togetherness. Family. This year, I feel very alone, very sad, and very disappointed. The only words I can find to describe the way I feel is devastated and heartbroken.
Sydney was very upset too, but Laura said when she saw all the snow outside, she kind of understood. Laura told her maybe she could come visit me near Easter. In the innocence of a four year old, she immediately worried how the Easter Bunny would find her in Ohio. My sister told her the same way Santa did, and then Sydney wondered what happens to the presents Santa left in Ohio. Laura assured her I was shipping them.
I understand. Sometimes Mother Nature has other plans. It doesn't mean I have to like it. And I don't mean to sound like a toddler throwing a tantrum. It isn't the end of the world, I know that. Other people had their plans ruined too. I know. They are all over the news. I just feel jipped, and it's been a hellacious month. I know there are always people who have it worse. Right now, I feel like we've had enough. When someone has a rough year, as it gets towards the new year, Mom says she hopes the next year will be better for them.
I am truly hoping 2011 will be better. Or that it at least starts better than 2010 is ending. I am desperately trying to stay positive, to keep from slipping into a depression. 99% of the time, I am able to keep the depression that comes with the Fibro at bay. I think I do a pretty good job of staying positive. Yet, now, I don't have any energy left to fight it. I don't know that I will be successful this time. I truly am so down. I know that I will snap out of it in a few days, but right now, I just want to wallow in pity. I've made a list of projects I can work on to keep me busy. I have apologized in advance to those closest to me if I'm a bit unpleasant the next couple of days. We all have our moments, and I think this one is mine.
I don't wish anything bad on others, but I hope the Universe will find someone else to beat up on. I'm pretty bruised and weak from the beating the Universe has given me over the past few weeks, and could use a break.
And I have to say, this year, I feel that I've been jipped. It's no one's fault, other than Mother Nature's. By now, I'm sure anyone living in the US has heard all about the blizzard that settled in over the Northeast yesterday, wreaking havoc on travel in many states. I had a premonition about this, for several weeks I had a bad feeling about my parents' visit. I couldn't tell what it was, and tried my best to ignore it, but I couldn't shake the feeling. I started worrying about the storm on Saturday as the words 'developing nor'easter' were uttered on the Weather Channel. If you've spent any amount of time in the Northeastern part of the US, you know those two words never bring good news. I talked to my family Saturday afternoon, and Dad said their local forecast wasn't predicting any snow totals yet, but that areas east of Albany could get 7" of snow. My parents live about an hour east of Albany. Dad was optimistic, and said 'we'll get there'.
Yesterday, I started watching the Weather Channel. I also checked the website of Albany's NBC affiliate, which Dad prefers to watch for the weather. The snow predictions were not positive- a foot for Philadelphia, where Mom & Dad had to change planes. Albany was blanketed in a dark purple color on the Weather Channel. A color which would make a lovely sweater or top. But on a weather graphic, it is a very angry color. The Albany affiliate was forecasting at least 8", and some places could get 20"+. I took a deep breath, and the phone rang just then. It was Mom. She had talked to the airline, and their flight was still on. The airline rep said since Mom & Dad had a 7am flight, they had a good chance of getting out of Albany. Early morning flights are best, the later in the day you go, the greater the risk of delays or cancellations. The rep also thought that Mom & Dad should be ok changing in Philly, and told mom not to change her plans and fly out Sunday afternoon, as they would not get out.
I tried not to obsessively watch the Weather Channel yesterday, or to check the Albany station's website. I knew it wasn't good news. Plus, I had plenty of things to do. I needed to finish cleaning the house and preparing for my company. I have been sick with a bad cold since Thursday night. I started with a cold around December 15, and thought I had gotten over it, but after my quick trip to NY, I started feeling worse when I got back. No real surprise I guess. I was on airplanes (which are truly petri dishes-my theory is the only place worse than an airplane is a college dorm), I was in a nursing home, and I was at a party with 56 other people. It's that time of year, and my resistance is low due to the stress. So it is not a surprise that this cold blossomed. Wednesday and Thursday I had a horrible sore throat all day, and by Thursday night I was sneezing, coughing, and miserable. I rested most of the day Friday. Saturday and yesterday I cleaned. It took me several hours to do a room, because I would do a little and have to lie down to rest. I had so little energy, it took almost all my strength to grab a kleenex and blow my nose. Saturday when I talked to my Dad, he said I sounded like crap. Thank you, Dad. I felt like crap too, and highly doubt I was going so great in the looks department. I finished dusting the living room around 7:30 last night.
At 8:45pm, Mom called. Their flights were canceled. Both the flight out of Albany and the flight out of Philly. She was going to try to rebook, and would call back. She called back, about half an hour or so later. They couldn't get rebooked. The best they could do was get on a standby flight out of Albany on Wednesday, and then the airline rep told mom there was no telling when they'd get out of Philly; IF they'd get out of Philly. If it were just the two of them travelling, this wouldn't have been ideal. But adding in that they were traveling with a four year old, it was a no go. Mom was able to get a full refund on the tickets. She asked Dad if they could drive out, and Dad said they could, but they would lose a day each way driving. I told Mom it didn't make sense to drive, they either have to come around Lake Erie (not a good idea in winter with the lake effect snows which can spring up at anytime), or come down through PA, and they were telling people in PA, NJ, NY to stay off the roads. I cried. Mom cried. We cried harder when we thought of how disappointed Sydney was going to be. We talked about them coming out on her break in February, or more likely, Spring Break (so that we wouldn't have snow to deal with).
When I hung up with Mom, the first thing I saw was my Christmas tree, shining all bright and happy, with presents underneath waiting to be opened. Erich and I had not had our own Christmas, because we didn't really have much to give each other this year. We had decided to wait until my family arrived, and have one big Christmas. Saturday felt like just another day to us. I did cook a ham. Well, I reheated a ham. We had a ham that was pre-cooked, so I created a glaze and put it over the ham and reheated it. I fixed a box of scalloped potatoes, which I ended up undercooking, and we ate in front of the tv, as we always do. I was so sick, I barely ate anything. I stayed in my pjs all day; I was even too sick to get a shower. You know I'm sick when I don't take a shower! It was nothing special.
Suddenly, last night, the wonderful Christmas I was looking forward to was gone, because of the wrath of Mother Nature. I couldn't take it. I went to the garage and found a couple of boxes, and first I boxed up the gifts to send to Sydney, then I boxed up the gifts to send to my parents. I also sent Mom & Dad's clothes back to them. They were not planning to check bags, so they had shipped some clothes to me in advance. They're going to need them in NY, and if they don't come here til April, they won't need winter clothes then! I separated the few small gifts my parents had sent for us, and the two gifts I had for Erich (an ornament, and an IOU for an afghan). Our main present from my parents were new dining room chairs. But Mom always gives us something small, so we have something to open on Christmas.
Then I attacked the tree. With tears streaming down my face, I took all the ornaments off the tree and put them back in the storage container. I took the ribbons off and wrapped them around the ribbon spool for next year. I opened my small presents from Mom & Dad, and got the dogs gifts down from upstairs and opened those. All the while, I was crying and sobbing. I cried so hard I had to gasp for air, and then had dry heaves. At first I thought it was the worst Christmas I had since 1999, the year I was newly divorced. I spent that Christmas alone in my apartment. I stayed in my pjs all day, kept the curtains drawn, and watched videos. I had opened one present a day leading up to Christmas, and made myself a special meal of ravioli (prior to that, I did not know you could buy ravioli frozen and ready to cook). But at least I had a plan in 1999. It may have been my most depressing Christmas, but I still had one.
This year, I didn't have a Christmas. The whole Christmas season was altered. I started off really well, putting up my tree two weeks early. I was busy not only with the usual Christmas stuff, but with preparing the house for Sydney's visit. Then we were hit with my Grandmother's illness, and that slowed my preparation a bit. Then Drew was so sick. That would have been enough to stop me in other years, but I kept plodding along, putting up the nativity, decorating the house for Christmas. I kept thinking that at the end of all this, Sydney would be here, my parents would be here, and we'd have a few great days together. It kept me going. When I had to give up a weekend of making cookies to fly to NY, I thought it was ok, because I'd make cookies with Sydney this week. All weekend, when I was so sick I shouldn't have gotten out of bed, I kept pushing a little further, kept going for my family. And then, just like that, it was gone. It was December 26 and my Christmas was gone. The Christmas season was gone. I was left with my usual post-Christmas blues, coupled with a disappointment so huge I can't even put it into words. It's always sad to me when Christmas is over, it's such a letdown. That's why I take my tree down quickly, and get my house back to it's non-Christmas form. I don't like the reminders. It's all so sad to me.
And this year it is even worse. It has been about 18 hours since I found out my parents and Sydney aren't coming, and I have almost hid all traces of Christmas in the house. The tree is down and stored for another year. The couches have been moved back to their usual spaces. The outdoor decorations are all down thanks to Erich, and stored in the garage. All I have left to do is take down my nativity set and the Christmas Village (which I just got up Friday night). That will be done tonight. Then I will need to take the Christmas bears down, but right now I can't stand to go into the guest room.
I have cried so much, my eyes are raw. Just when I think I can't cry anymore, the tears start fresh. I know I can't tell people about it. If I start talking about it, I cry. When people at work ask me 'how was your Christmas', I think I will spare them and my eyes and just tell them 'I'm sorry, I just don't want to talk about it'. After all, when people ask how your Christmas was, it's kind of a rhetorical question. They want to hear that it was wonderful, you had a great day with your family, you received lots of great presents. They do not want to hear 'it was lousy'. Or worse, 'we didn't have one'.
And it's not about the presents. As I said, our big present were dining room chairs, which arrived before Thanksgiving. Erich bought us a camcorder, which was a present for both of us. For me, Christmas is the feeling- the warmth, the love, the joy. It's the togetherness. Family. This year, I feel very alone, very sad, and very disappointed. The only words I can find to describe the way I feel is devastated and heartbroken.
Sydney was very upset too, but Laura said when she saw all the snow outside, she kind of understood. Laura told her maybe she could come visit me near Easter. In the innocence of a four year old, she immediately worried how the Easter Bunny would find her in Ohio. My sister told her the same way Santa did, and then Sydney wondered what happens to the presents Santa left in Ohio. Laura assured her I was shipping them.
I understand. Sometimes Mother Nature has other plans. It doesn't mean I have to like it. And I don't mean to sound like a toddler throwing a tantrum. It isn't the end of the world, I know that. Other people had their plans ruined too. I know. They are all over the news. I just feel jipped, and it's been a hellacious month. I know there are always people who have it worse. Right now, I feel like we've had enough. When someone has a rough year, as it gets towards the new year, Mom says she hopes the next year will be better for them.
I am truly hoping 2011 will be better. Or that it at least starts better than 2010 is ending. I am desperately trying to stay positive, to keep from slipping into a depression. 99% of the time, I am able to keep the depression that comes with the Fibro at bay. I think I do a pretty good job of staying positive. Yet, now, I don't have any energy left to fight it. I don't know that I will be successful this time. I truly am so down. I know that I will snap out of it in a few days, but right now, I just want to wallow in pity. I've made a list of projects I can work on to keep me busy. I have apologized in advance to those closest to me if I'm a bit unpleasant the next couple of days. We all have our moments, and I think this one is mine.
I don't wish anything bad on others, but I hope the Universe will find someone else to beat up on. I'm pretty bruised and weak from the beating the Universe has given me over the past few weeks, and could use a break.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
The True Meaning of Christmas
My parents made sure my sister and I knew the true meaning of Christmas. We knew that the presents were nice, but it wasn't about Santa. Christmas is about Jesus. We went to church on Christmas Eve as a family. To me, that was always very magical. Our church had a beautiful nativity set, and the priest would cut branches off the white birch trees and place them around the nativity. It never occurred to me that there probably weren't white birch trees in Jerusalem. The Christmas Eve mass always seemed magical to me, and so warm. Each year, a child in the congregation was chosen to carry Baby Jesus to the manger during the Christmas Eve mass. The year it was my turn, I felt like I had the most important job in the universe. Each year, Mom made a birthday cake for Jesus and we celebrated his birthday on Christmas Day.
Mom and Dad taught us sometimes it is better to give than to receive. Christmas is my favorite time of year, but it is not because of the presents for me. I love to help others, to do things for others. I like to make people smile. That is one of the reasons I usually make cookies. Nothing brings a smile like a plate of cookies! I learned this from Mom, too. She would bake for a couple of weekends, then we would carefully wrap up plates full of cookies and deliver them. There were some seniors in our neighborhood and church, and Mom always remembered each of them. We would make up a fruit basket, and take the basket and the cookies to them. Some of the people were shut-ins, or had no family. Delivering the goods usually took a whole weekend, because they would invite us in and we would sit and talk. We did things for them year round, but Mom always felt good that we had been a bright spot in their Christmas.
There was one special 'family' I think of when I think of making cookies. This family consisted of a pair of identical twins, Pete and Paul, and Pete's wife, Betty. Everyone called her Aunt Betty. Pete and Paul were friends of my Grandfather's. They were older than Grandpa, but they had all grown up together. Aunt Betty used to work with my Grandma. Pete and Paul and Aunt Betty went to our church. Paul lived with Pete and Aunt Betty, and until the day Paul died, the 'boys' (as we all called them) dressed identically. They said they didn't plan it, they would each wake up and get dressed, and then leave their rooms to find the other was dressed just like them. Pete and Paul could also finish each other's sentences- you could be talking to Pete while Paul was in another room, and if Pete stepped out, Paul would step in and finish the conversation without missing a beat.
Pete and Paul were old men when I knew them. And yet, the only way I could tell them apart was that Pete always sat next to Aunt Betty, and he was the one who drove the others every where. If I ran into Pete and Paul on the street, I had no idea which one was Pete and which was Paul. They were very close family friends, they came to all our birthday parties and celebrations.
Each year, at the beginning of December, Pete and Paul would show up at our house with their cookie tray in hand. Mom always found pretty decorative plates or trays for the cookies, and the plates and trays were part of the gift. She never expected to get them back. Pete and Paul kept theirs, and they would bring it back after Thanksgiving, asking for their refill. That's when we knew it was time to start baking.
As fun as the baking was, my favorite Christmas tradition is the Secret Santa. Mom and Dad had always taught us to be charitable. We were so fortunate, we should help others who weren't. I don't remember how old I was when we started doing the Secret Santa. I think I was around 10 or 11. My mom was working at a bank, and one of her coworkers was a single mother of two girls who were a little older than Laura and I. As Christmas drew nearer, she had confided in her coworkers that there would be no Christmas at her house. She didn't have money for a tree or presents. Her girls didn't even have warm winter coats. There would be no special meal on Christmas. She was truly struggling. Mom and the other coworkers talked, and Mom talked to Dad. Dad said we had to help her. The others in the bank pooled some money, and Mom volunteered to go shopping. Mom also decided Laura and I were going to go with her. She and Dad felt it was an important lesson we needed to learn.
Christmas at our house was always wonderful. Santa and my parents brought everything we asked for, and then some. There was always an abundance of presents; some might have said we were spoiled. To me, this is what Christmas was. I couldn't imagine someone going without Christmas. And when I did imagine it, it made my heart break. I wanted everyone to have the joy and happiness that filled our house on Christmas.
We bought presents for the girls, and picked out winter coats and matching gloves and hats. We bought stockings and filled them. We even bought things for their mom. Groceries and decorations were bought. It was all very thrilling- knowing this family would have a Christmas and would have no idea who did it for them. I felt 'this is what Christmas is about'. It was a wonderful lesson for my sister and I, and became an annual tradition in our family.
Each year after that, we found a family who needed help. One year it was a family in church with four young children, another year it was a farmer and his family in town who was in danger of losing the family farm. We would ask those close to the family what sizes the children wore, or what their interests were, and then we shopped. The shopping always included groceries- not just for Christmas dinner, but to get them through for a while. I don't think any of the families ever knew who did this for them. We didn't do it for the recognition. We did it because it was the right thing to do- to help your neighbor. Mom learned this from her parents too. Grandpa always kept a freezer full of food, and anyone in town knew if they were hungry, or didn't have enough to get through the week, they could go to my Grandfather and he would help them. For a while, we would find anonymous donations taped to the dryer. The money would be in an envelope, with a note to use it for 'x' family (the donor always knew the name of the family we were helping). We felt that we had our own secret Santa. One year, I saw my Dad's best friend, Lionel, leaving the house. I was upstairs, and he didn't think anyone was home. When I went downstairs, I found the money in an envelope on the dryer. (Mom's dryer sits in her back room, which is basically a mud room on the outside of the house, it is not actually IN the house) All this time, Lionel had been the secret donor. After that, he gave the money directly to my dad, but didn't want anyone to know he was helping.
Every year I looked forward to playing Secret Santa. It was always my favorite part of Christmas. I think it made me enjoy the season more. I know it certainly made me appreciate what I had. It is a tradition I have continued to some extent as an adult. While I do not have the resources to adopt an entire family, I always try to help a child or two. The thought of children not having a toy for Christmas fills me with a deep sadness. I found myself donating to Toys for Tots each year. Sometimes I would buy the toys and drop them off, sometimes I would send a donation. One year I helped a coworker who was also a good friend, and bought presents for her daughter because they were going through a rough patch. In true Santa form, I bought presents for the parents too. After work, I loaded everything into her car. She was speechless. Nobody had ever done anything like that for her. She kept insisting that she would pay me back, and it took a while for me to explain to her that it wasn't necessary. I told her to just pay it forward.
One year, I became the ultimate secret Santa. A friend's school and city had been decimated by Hurricane Katrina. When I thought of all those elementary children that would have no Christmas, I cried for hours. So I adopted the school, and with the help of friends and family (more than I could mention), we raised funds and had a small gift for each of the 300 students in the school. Although, the story took a sour turn when I found a church in Dayton that was sending a truck to the area with supplies. They agreed to take our items on the truck. I investigated the church, and found it was originally founded by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. The church came highly recommended, and I entrusted them to transport the materials. The leaders of the church actually stole the items, and decided to pass them out to needy children in Dayton instead. I was heartbroken, and embarrassed, because I didn't want my friends and family to think badly of me. The incident threw me into a deep depression. The police said it wasn't a criminal issue, and were of no help. I had to take comfort knowing what goes around comes around (and in the past year, it has. The former leader of the church is being investigated by the Federal Government for all kinds of theft, fraud, and criminal activity).
And yet, that horrible incident did not diminish my desire to help others. I continue to donate to Toys for Tots. This year, I've had to cut back on the donations due to our own 'fiscal issues' in the house. But I still feel the pull, and wish I could do more. Recently one of the television stations in Cincinnati held a fundraiser to buy toys for underprivileged children. The anchors read letters from children who were asking for something as simple as a football or a board game. My heart ached. When I visited Grandma in the nursing home, they have a wishing tree in the hall. The residents wrote what they would like. One resident asked for fresh tomatoes. I realized how very lucky I am. And I will continue to help others at Christmas. It takes so little, but means so much.
Mom and Dad taught us sometimes it is better to give than to receive. Christmas is my favorite time of year, but it is not because of the presents for me. I love to help others, to do things for others. I like to make people smile. That is one of the reasons I usually make cookies. Nothing brings a smile like a plate of cookies! I learned this from Mom, too. She would bake for a couple of weekends, then we would carefully wrap up plates full of cookies and deliver them. There were some seniors in our neighborhood and church, and Mom always remembered each of them. We would make up a fruit basket, and take the basket and the cookies to them. Some of the people were shut-ins, or had no family. Delivering the goods usually took a whole weekend, because they would invite us in and we would sit and talk. We did things for them year round, but Mom always felt good that we had been a bright spot in their Christmas.
There was one special 'family' I think of when I think of making cookies. This family consisted of a pair of identical twins, Pete and Paul, and Pete's wife, Betty. Everyone called her Aunt Betty. Pete and Paul were friends of my Grandfather's. They were older than Grandpa, but they had all grown up together. Aunt Betty used to work with my Grandma. Pete and Paul and Aunt Betty went to our church. Paul lived with Pete and Aunt Betty, and until the day Paul died, the 'boys' (as we all called them) dressed identically. They said they didn't plan it, they would each wake up and get dressed, and then leave their rooms to find the other was dressed just like them. Pete and Paul could also finish each other's sentences- you could be talking to Pete while Paul was in another room, and if Pete stepped out, Paul would step in and finish the conversation without missing a beat.
Pete and Paul were old men when I knew them. And yet, the only way I could tell them apart was that Pete always sat next to Aunt Betty, and he was the one who drove the others every where. If I ran into Pete and Paul on the street, I had no idea which one was Pete and which was Paul. They were very close family friends, they came to all our birthday parties and celebrations.Each year, at the beginning of December, Pete and Paul would show up at our house with their cookie tray in hand. Mom always found pretty decorative plates or trays for the cookies, and the plates and trays were part of the gift. She never expected to get them back. Pete and Paul kept theirs, and they would bring it back after Thanksgiving, asking for their refill. That's when we knew it was time to start baking.
As fun as the baking was, my favorite Christmas tradition is the Secret Santa. Mom and Dad had always taught us to be charitable. We were so fortunate, we should help others who weren't. I don't remember how old I was when we started doing the Secret Santa. I think I was around 10 or 11. My mom was working at a bank, and one of her coworkers was a single mother of two girls who were a little older than Laura and I. As Christmas drew nearer, she had confided in her coworkers that there would be no Christmas at her house. She didn't have money for a tree or presents. Her girls didn't even have warm winter coats. There would be no special meal on Christmas. She was truly struggling. Mom and the other coworkers talked, and Mom talked to Dad. Dad said we had to help her. The others in the bank pooled some money, and Mom volunteered to go shopping. Mom also decided Laura and I were going to go with her. She and Dad felt it was an important lesson we needed to learn.
Christmas at our house was always wonderful. Santa and my parents brought everything we asked for, and then some. There was always an abundance of presents; some might have said we were spoiled. To me, this is what Christmas was. I couldn't imagine someone going without Christmas. And when I did imagine it, it made my heart break. I wanted everyone to have the joy and happiness that filled our house on Christmas.
We bought presents for the girls, and picked out winter coats and matching gloves and hats. We bought stockings and filled them. We even bought things for their mom. Groceries and decorations were bought. It was all very thrilling- knowing this family would have a Christmas and would have no idea who did it for them. I felt 'this is what Christmas is about'. It was a wonderful lesson for my sister and I, and became an annual tradition in our family.
Each year after that, we found a family who needed help. One year it was a family in church with four young children, another year it was a farmer and his family in town who was in danger of losing the family farm. We would ask those close to the family what sizes the children wore, or what their interests were, and then we shopped. The shopping always included groceries- not just for Christmas dinner, but to get them through for a while. I don't think any of the families ever knew who did this for them. We didn't do it for the recognition. We did it because it was the right thing to do- to help your neighbor. Mom learned this from her parents too. Grandpa always kept a freezer full of food, and anyone in town knew if they were hungry, or didn't have enough to get through the week, they could go to my Grandfather and he would help them. For a while, we would find anonymous donations taped to the dryer. The money would be in an envelope, with a note to use it for 'x' family (the donor always knew the name of the family we were helping). We felt that we had our own secret Santa. One year, I saw my Dad's best friend, Lionel, leaving the house. I was upstairs, and he didn't think anyone was home. When I went downstairs, I found the money in an envelope on the dryer. (Mom's dryer sits in her back room, which is basically a mud room on the outside of the house, it is not actually IN the house) All this time, Lionel had been the secret donor. After that, he gave the money directly to my dad, but didn't want anyone to know he was helping.
Every year I looked forward to playing Secret Santa. It was always my favorite part of Christmas. I think it made me enjoy the season more. I know it certainly made me appreciate what I had. It is a tradition I have continued to some extent as an adult. While I do not have the resources to adopt an entire family, I always try to help a child or two. The thought of children not having a toy for Christmas fills me with a deep sadness. I found myself donating to Toys for Tots each year. Sometimes I would buy the toys and drop them off, sometimes I would send a donation. One year I helped a coworker who was also a good friend, and bought presents for her daughter because they were going through a rough patch. In true Santa form, I bought presents for the parents too. After work, I loaded everything into her car. She was speechless. Nobody had ever done anything like that for her. She kept insisting that she would pay me back, and it took a while for me to explain to her that it wasn't necessary. I told her to just pay it forward.
One year, I became the ultimate secret Santa. A friend's school and city had been decimated by Hurricane Katrina. When I thought of all those elementary children that would have no Christmas, I cried for hours. So I adopted the school, and with the help of friends and family (more than I could mention), we raised funds and had a small gift for each of the 300 students in the school. Although, the story took a sour turn when I found a church in Dayton that was sending a truck to the area with supplies. They agreed to take our items on the truck. I investigated the church, and found it was originally founded by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. The church came highly recommended, and I entrusted them to transport the materials. The leaders of the church actually stole the items, and decided to pass them out to needy children in Dayton instead. I was heartbroken, and embarrassed, because I didn't want my friends and family to think badly of me. The incident threw me into a deep depression. The police said it wasn't a criminal issue, and were of no help. I had to take comfort knowing what goes around comes around (and in the past year, it has. The former leader of the church is being investigated by the Federal Government for all kinds of theft, fraud, and criminal activity).
And yet, that horrible incident did not diminish my desire to help others. I continue to donate to Toys for Tots. This year, I've had to cut back on the donations due to our own 'fiscal issues' in the house. But I still feel the pull, and wish I could do more. Recently one of the television stations in Cincinnati held a fundraiser to buy toys for underprivileged children. The anchors read letters from children who were asking for something as simple as a football or a board game. My heart ached. When I visited Grandma in the nursing home, they have a wishing tree in the hall. The residents wrote what they would like. One resident asked for fresh tomatoes. I realized how very lucky I am. And I will continue to help others at Christmas. It takes so little, but means so much.
Feeling Short
I am 5'9". When I stand up completely straight that is. I have always been tall, and as a child, I hated being taller than the boys. It only added to my self-esteem issues. It wasn't until the boys caught up in high school that I became less concerned with my height, but by then, it was too late. As a result, I have horrible posture. So I look like I'm 5'7 1/2" or 5'8".
It takes a lot to make me feel short. Most of the people in my day to day life are my height or shorter. I am frequently the person people call to reach things on high shelves. After all this time, I have gotten used to being one of the taller people in the room.
At the family Christmas party last weekend, I truly felt short. My dad is 6'3", and two of his brothers are also 6' or 6'1". His youngest sister is at least my height. It's funny- half of Dad's siblings are tall and half are short. Maybe there was something in the water- the oldest four kids are shorter, and the last four are tall. So naturally, many of my 13 cousins are tall.
My sister is also 5'9", although because of my posture problems, she looks taller than I am. The youngest granddaughter is 5'9" and loves to wear high heels. She is 25, and when I hugged her, I came up to about her shoulder. I felt short! And I loved it!
Many of the grandsons are tall too. My dad is still the tallest in the family, but a couple of cousins are 6'-6'2". I stood between two of my younger male cousins,and it felt like they
towered over me. I looked at the cousins I used to babysit, all who are now grown men. Tall men. Then I felt short and old. I didn't mind feeling short, but I could have done without feeling so old.
Here's a picture of 13 of the 15 grandchildren with Grandma & Grandpa. You can see- there's a lot of height in the family. Even the three in front are tall. Kristy is 5'7" (I think), Ashley is 5'9", and Michael is one of the boys who is at least 6'. Of course, I look shorter in this picture thanks to my old friend, the slouch!
It takes a lot to make me feel short. Most of the people in my day to day life are my height or shorter. I am frequently the person people call to reach things on high shelves. After all this time, I have gotten used to being one of the taller people in the room.
At the family Christmas party last weekend, I truly felt short. My dad is 6'3", and two of his brothers are also 6' or 6'1". His youngest sister is at least my height. It's funny- half of Dad's siblings are tall and half are short. Maybe there was something in the water- the oldest four kids are shorter, and the last four are tall. So naturally, many of my 13 cousins are tall.
My sister is also 5'9", although because of my posture problems, she looks taller than I am. The youngest granddaughter is 5'9" and loves to wear high heels. She is 25, and when I hugged her, I came up to about her shoulder. I felt short! And I loved it!
Many of the grandsons are tall too. My dad is still the tallest in the family, but a couple of cousins are 6'-6'2". I stood between two of my younger male cousins,and it felt like they
towered over me. I looked at the cousins I used to babysit, all who are now grown men. Tall men. Then I felt short and old. I didn't mind feeling short, but I could have done without feeling so old.Here's a picture of 13 of the 15 grandchildren with Grandma & Grandpa. You can see- there's a lot of height in the family. Even the three in front are tall. Kristy is 5'7" (I think), Ashley is 5'9", and Michael is one of the boys who is at least 6'. Of course, I look shorter in this picture thanks to my old friend, the slouch!
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
The Circle of Life
I took a quick trip home to NY this weekend. I left Friday afternoon and came back yesterday. Careful packing and outfit planning allowed me to take just two carry-ons for the weekend- no checked baggage fees. It was not a planned trip- well, not planned in advance. I bought my ticket just two weeks earlier. The family was all going to be in NY for the Christmas party for Grandma.
For the first time, I was really aware of the Circle of Life. The yin and yang. For all the sadness of the weekend, there was so much joy. Everything seemed to be in balance. I was filled with dread on the plane, knowing what was waiting for me in NY. Yet when I got to the airport, Sydney stood there looking like a china doll. She had on a dress, and over her dress was this long black dress coat. Each button was covered with a red rosette. She had a matching hat, and black gloves and shoes. Her blond curls spilled out from under her hat. It's always cute to see this little child standing next to my dad and holding his hand, but Friday she looked exceptionally cute. When she saw me, first she hid behind my dad for a couple of seconds. Then she ran to me and wrapped me in a bear hug. I scooped her up in my arms and buried my face in her hat, trying to keep the tears from flowing. I was afraid I would cry from stress or sadness when I saw Dad at the airport, yet here I was holding back tears of joy from this little girl.
Sydney attached herself to me for the weekend. She was very animated in the car, pointing out Christmas lights to me. At her house, I held little Drew. He's not so little now, he's up to 15 pounds. I held him and he smiled at me and laughed at me. My heart swelled with love for this little man, and with gratitude for all the friends who lifted him up in prayer just a week earlier.
Saturday we took Syd to her dance lesson. I watched her go through her routines, and then they put on a special mock show for the parents. To me, that seemed like a special gift- being able to watch her. Later on Saturday, we went to visit Grandma at the nursing home.I saw her two months ago, and yet, the change still affected me. She has gone downhill so much in that time. At that point, we did not think she would be coming to the party on Sunday. She asked me to tell everyone that she loved us, each of us. She wanted me to thank everyone for coming home. And as she tried to tell me this, she choked up. I promised her through my own tears that I would. When it came time to leave, she held my hand and wouldn't let go. Grandma Primeau has never done that. Grandma Wager used to, but never Grandma Primeau.
As we walked out of her room, Sydney slipped her little hand into the same hand my Grandmother had just held. The sadness seemed to ebb, and was slowly replaced by the youthful energy that is Sydney. We went for lunch and then to visit Aunt Arlene. Then we took Sydney back to her house, and we went home to Mom's. While Dad played cards that night, Mom and I had a heart to heart about Grandma. Saturday afternoon we found out that we would go to the nursing home at 4pm where we had use of one of the community rooms. So we were going to have the party at the club at 12:30, and then at 4 go to Grandma's, where we would wait for Santa and she could watch the kids open their presents. She has always enjoyed that so much. Mom and I discussed what happens next, and how to help Dad and my sister get through it.
Sunday morning we went to church with Laura & her family. Church has always been very important to Dad, and it was especially important to him that we go as a family this week. Before we left the house, Mom and I stuffed several small packets of Kleenex into our purses in anticipation of the afternoon's events. We were at church a few minutes before Laura's family, so we lit candles. In case you aren't familiar with Catholicism, in most churches there is an area with candles. Some of the candles may be lit and some not. You give a small donation, and then light a candle. You always light a candle from one that is already lit. Then you say a prayer. Our family always did this when we had special intentions. A sick relative, someone who needed a little help from upstairs. Sunday we each lit a small candle, and then we lit a bigger one as a family.
Shortly after that, Laura and her family came in. Sydney ran to me again, and gave me another terrific bear hug. The worst things in the world seem so much better when she does that. She sat between her parents, but looked at me with this mischievous glint in her eye. I asked her if she wanted to sit with me, and she said she did. She came over, climbed up on my lap, wrapped her arms around my neck, and sat there, hugging me, for the entire Mass. When the congregation stood up, I lifted her up into my arms. When we sat back down, she tightened her grip. It's almost like she knew I needed extra hugs this weekend. The only time she let go was to walk with her Dad during Communion. I used that opportunity to take a sleeping Drew from my Dad's arms so that he could also receive Communion.
Sydney insisted I sit next to her at the party, and shortly after I got there, I ended up with Drew in my arms. I don't remember how he got there, I just know I sat there holding him for a long time. He would sleep, and then he'd wake up. I talked to him about his future. I told him he can be a hockey goalie and play for the Canadiens, or he can be a linebacker and go to Notre Dame. Either way, he needed to get his favorite Aunt season tickets. I was very content, holding Drewboo and sitting next to my Sydie Bear. Aunt Amy was in her element. Grandma's absence hung over the party like a two ton weight. And while we were sad, we all enjoyed watching the younger kids play. It was good to see cousins I haven't seen in years. It was good that we all were there, even if the circumstances were not desirable.
I didn't know what to expect when we took the party to Grandma. I guess I didn't expect to cry, because I left my purse, with the Kleenex supply, on the other side of the room. Sydney decided she would sit on my lap, and then Santa sat next to us. She was very excited about Santa- until he arrived. Then she snuggled into my chest, and would not go to him. She was not the only one. Maya, who is 2 1/2, was also very excited to see Santa, but when he called her name to give her a present, and her father tried to coax her forward, she screamed 'Nooooooo Daddy!' and took off in the opposite direction. The family enjoyed a great laugh at that. We delighted in the looks on the faces of children new to the family, to find there were presents for them as well. All the while, knowing this may be the last year we have the party, or the last year we have Grandma.
Then there was the moment I didn't know was coming. The one I should have had a Kleenex for. It was the last present to be opened, and it was for my Grandparents. Their children had once again bought their season tickets for the Valley Cats, a minor league baseball team in Troy. Grandma & Grandpa are huge baseball fans (runs in the family!). When they opened that present, the room took on a heavy silence. I don't know that there was a dry eye in the place. In a moment it passed, someone talked, and then the children were playing with their toys. While we thought of the gift that Grandma might not get to enjoy (for the curious- the tickets were bought before she got sick, or before we knew she was), we smiled as the children tore into their toys, demanding their fathers open boxes and cut off the various tabs or strings holding their toy in the box. They took over the room, filling it with the joy of Christmas morning.
We took pictures. A lot of pictures. We took pictures of each set of Grandchildren with Grandma and Grandpa. We took a picture of all the grandchildren (minus the two who had already left). That too was bittersweet. We probably would not have taken so many pictures if this had been a normal Christmas. Looking at the pictures, I see how much my Grandma has failed. But I also see a nice picture of my sister and I with my Grandparents. I see a nice picture of the cousins- the last time we had a picture like that was almost 20 years ago, when we were children trying to navigate the dangerous waters of adolescence.
All weekend, I kept thinking about the circle of life. The sadness I felt watching my Grandmother near the end of her journey here on earth was mellowed by the amazement at watching Sydney and Drew start their journey. Thinking of the things waiting for them- school, college, families of their own. I think for the first time, I truly understood the circle of life. As much as we are supposed to understand it. The road ahead will not be easy, but we will get through it. Even in the darkest moments, we will have the youngest generation to boost our spirits. The joy will be replaced by sadness, the sadness will be replaced by joy. The emotions will continue to ebb and flow, day after day, and life will continue on. It won't be the same, but it will continue.
For the first time, I was really aware of the Circle of Life. The yin and yang. For all the sadness of the weekend, there was so much joy. Everything seemed to be in balance. I was filled with dread on the plane, knowing what was waiting for me in NY. Yet when I got to the airport, Sydney stood there looking like a china doll. She had on a dress, and over her dress was this long black dress coat. Each button was covered with a red rosette. She had a matching hat, and black gloves and shoes. Her blond curls spilled out from under her hat. It's always cute to see this little child standing next to my dad and holding his hand, but Friday she looked exceptionally cute. When she saw me, first she hid behind my dad for a couple of seconds. Then she ran to me and wrapped me in a bear hug. I scooped her up in my arms and buried my face in her hat, trying to keep the tears from flowing. I was afraid I would cry from stress or sadness when I saw Dad at the airport, yet here I was holding back tears of joy from this little girl.
Sydney attached herself to me for the weekend. She was very animated in the car, pointing out Christmas lights to me. At her house, I held little Drew. He's not so little now, he's up to 15 pounds. I held him and he smiled at me and laughed at me. My heart swelled with love for this little man, and with gratitude for all the friends who lifted him up in prayer just a week earlier.
Saturday we took Syd to her dance lesson. I watched her go through her routines, and then they put on a special mock show for the parents. To me, that seemed like a special gift- being able to watch her. Later on Saturday, we went to visit Grandma at the nursing home.I saw her two months ago, and yet, the change still affected me. She has gone downhill so much in that time. At that point, we did not think she would be coming to the party on Sunday. She asked me to tell everyone that she loved us, each of us. She wanted me to thank everyone for coming home. And as she tried to tell me this, she choked up. I promised her through my own tears that I would. When it came time to leave, she held my hand and wouldn't let go. Grandma Primeau has never done that. Grandma Wager used to, but never Grandma Primeau.
As we walked out of her room, Sydney slipped her little hand into the same hand my Grandmother had just held. The sadness seemed to ebb, and was slowly replaced by the youthful energy that is Sydney. We went for lunch and then to visit Aunt Arlene. Then we took Sydney back to her house, and we went home to Mom's. While Dad played cards that night, Mom and I had a heart to heart about Grandma. Saturday afternoon we found out that we would go to the nursing home at 4pm where we had use of one of the community rooms. So we were going to have the party at the club at 12:30, and then at 4 go to Grandma's, where we would wait for Santa and she could watch the kids open their presents. She has always enjoyed that so much. Mom and I discussed what happens next, and how to help Dad and my sister get through it.
Sunday morning we went to church with Laura & her family. Church has always been very important to Dad, and it was especially important to him that we go as a family this week. Before we left the house, Mom and I stuffed several small packets of Kleenex into our purses in anticipation of the afternoon's events. We were at church a few minutes before Laura's family, so we lit candles. In case you aren't familiar with Catholicism, in most churches there is an area with candles. Some of the candles may be lit and some not. You give a small donation, and then light a candle. You always light a candle from one that is already lit. Then you say a prayer. Our family always did this when we had special intentions. A sick relative, someone who needed a little help from upstairs. Sunday we each lit a small candle, and then we lit a bigger one as a family.
Shortly after that, Laura and her family came in. Sydney ran to me again, and gave me another terrific bear hug. The worst things in the world seem so much better when she does that. She sat between her parents, but looked at me with this mischievous glint in her eye. I asked her if she wanted to sit with me, and she said she did. She came over, climbed up on my lap, wrapped her arms around my neck, and sat there, hugging me, for the entire Mass. When the congregation stood up, I lifted her up into my arms. When we sat back down, she tightened her grip. It's almost like she knew I needed extra hugs this weekend. The only time she let go was to walk with her Dad during Communion. I used that opportunity to take a sleeping Drew from my Dad's arms so that he could also receive Communion.
Sydney insisted I sit next to her at the party, and shortly after I got there, I ended up with Drew in my arms. I don't remember how he got there, I just know I sat there holding him for a long time. He would sleep, and then he'd wake up. I talked to him about his future. I told him he can be a hockey goalie and play for the Canadiens, or he can be a linebacker and go to Notre Dame. Either way, he needed to get his favorite Aunt season tickets. I was very content, holding Drewboo and sitting next to my Sydie Bear. Aunt Amy was in her element. Grandma's absence hung over the party like a two ton weight. And while we were sad, we all enjoyed watching the younger kids play. It was good to see cousins I haven't seen in years. It was good that we all were there, even if the circumstances were not desirable.
I didn't know what to expect when we took the party to Grandma. I guess I didn't expect to cry, because I left my purse, with the Kleenex supply, on the other side of the room. Sydney decided she would sit on my lap, and then Santa sat next to us. She was very excited about Santa- until he arrived. Then she snuggled into my chest, and would not go to him. She was not the only one. Maya, who is 2 1/2, was also very excited to see Santa, but when he called her name to give her a present, and her father tried to coax her forward, she screamed 'Nooooooo Daddy!' and took off in the opposite direction. The family enjoyed a great laugh at that. We delighted in the looks on the faces of children new to the family, to find there were presents for them as well. All the while, knowing this may be the last year we have the party, or the last year we have Grandma.
Then there was the moment I didn't know was coming. The one I should have had a Kleenex for. It was the last present to be opened, and it was for my Grandparents. Their children had once again bought their season tickets for the Valley Cats, a minor league baseball team in Troy. Grandma & Grandpa are huge baseball fans (runs in the family!). When they opened that present, the room took on a heavy silence. I don't know that there was a dry eye in the place. In a moment it passed, someone talked, and then the children were playing with their toys. While we thought of the gift that Grandma might not get to enjoy (for the curious- the tickets were bought before she got sick, or before we knew she was), we smiled as the children tore into their toys, demanding their fathers open boxes and cut off the various tabs or strings holding their toy in the box. They took over the room, filling it with the joy of Christmas morning.
We took pictures. A lot of pictures. We took pictures of each set of Grandchildren with Grandma and Grandpa. We took a picture of all the grandchildren (minus the two who had already left). That too was bittersweet. We probably would not have taken so many pictures if this had been a normal Christmas. Looking at the pictures, I see how much my Grandma has failed. But I also see a nice picture of my sister and I with my Grandparents. I see a nice picture of the cousins- the last time we had a picture like that was almost 20 years ago, when we were children trying to navigate the dangerous waters of adolescence.
All weekend, I kept thinking about the circle of life. The sadness I felt watching my Grandmother near the end of her journey here on earth was mellowed by the amazement at watching Sydney and Drew start their journey. Thinking of the things waiting for them- school, college, families of their own. I think for the first time, I truly understood the circle of life. As much as we are supposed to understand it. The road ahead will not be easy, but we will get through it. Even in the darkest moments, we will have the youngest generation to boost our spirits. The joy will be replaced by sadness, the sadness will be replaced by joy. The emotions will continue to ebb and flow, day after day, and life will continue on. It won't be the same, but it will continue.
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