Not ready to say goodbye

  

  I suppose I'm the queen of compartmentalization.  If you need to get through something I can teach you how to put your emotions in a box, seal them up and file them away indefinitely.  God only knows what treasures lie buried in my subconscious and God knows no one needs to know. Scary I'm certain!  I find myself in a very awkward place. Drippy tears eak out at inappropriate times and places. While watching commercials or looking at my children's photos I am overcome with uncontrollable emotion.  Not good for the Q of C.  I do have a lot to cry about of late, but haven't really been able to let it all come to the surface. That is until the news of the very sudden and unfortunate passing of comedian Robin Williams.  Isn't it funny how someone whom I never met, didn't really know at all, could cause a wave of uncontrollable grief to be released.  I lost my father in April to heart failure and cancer which seamed to rage in and deplete him in an instant.  Then in late July I lost my big brother to a drug overdose. I feel like these endings were an inevitable scene in a very heartbreaking film, but I just am not ready to say goodbye.  To watch the credits scroll up, with a large part of my life too...The End....it's almost easier to wail and scream for someone whose life story hasn't amputated my own.  I know I will have to open these carefully closed boxes sooner than later and really deal with my loss, but for now, I will pause the story.. I'm just not ready to say goodbye.

Cousins

If there is one thing my family did well it was fostering relationships between cousins.  Although my  experience with my own siblings was strange and could have been the used as a doctoral thesis for a budding psychiatrist, my cousin relationship was filled with sweet summer play and was as normal as I think it should have been.  My dad was one of four kids.  His twin sisters each had four as well. Now we had three in our family, but I was the only one who went on extended "cousin cations".  Every summer I would take the greyhound bus from Phoenix to Tucson, a sometimes sketchy two hour ride, and stay for 2 weeks, sometimes 3, depending on how sick we got of each other.  I would start and end at Aunt Nancy and Uncle Burt's house and spend the middle of my trip at Aunt Margaret and Uncle Bill's house.  This was truly the highlight of my summer. I could not wait to simply play all day with these wonderful creatures.  We fought too,  like normal kids do.  To disagree,feel sorry, forgive and move on , was a completely foreign concept to me. I hope I have instilled  this in my own children.  At Aunt Nancy's I got to play with "the boys".  Danny, Kevin and John...there was Colleen too.  We would swim, ride bikes, play at the park across the street for hours.... Colleen and I would ride the city bus all over Tucson! I watched little boys do little boy things.  My brother locked himself  in his room , I was forbidden to enter or bother him.  These boy cousins transfixed me.  They did things like, carefully tying  a string around the body of a cicada and then let the buzzing large black bug zoom around in circles. They would also put the bugs on Colleen and me and then run away.   It was almost like watching a beautiful story unfold before your eyes. I felt so tickled to be a small part of their everyday life. I've never felt so safe and free at the same time as I did those summer days.  My uncle Burt, after I'm certain, was an exhausting day at work, would sit down with a cocktail and be instantly bombarded with attention seeking children.  His tone seemed slightly agitated  but he would relent and finally listen intently to the trials and triumphs of the day.  He would fire back like only a seasoned attorney can do with his own set of questions.  Some seemed appropriate some seemed to just fuel a bigger discussion.  He wasn't what I would call warm and fuzzy but his care and concern were and still are very genuine.  He was strict but generous. My Aunt Nancy was and is still everything I strive to be.  Her diminutive size was only predicated by her huge heart, and amazing ability to command her "troops".  Gentle disciplinarian , champion for all, and I mean ALL.  She effortlessly was able to make meals for her crew, volunteer not only herself but all of us to do philanthropic things, more importantly, she had and still does have a unshakable faith in God and a fantastic sense of humor.  Beyond the love of my own mother, my love for this woman is unrivaled.  Colleen and I to this day are amazed that she was so trusting. To let us venture off with a promise to be back by dinner time is so beyond how we hover over our children monitoring their every move like a carefully played game of chess.  I suppose she just had more faith in society and us to do the right thing.
Aunt Margaret and Uncle Bill's house was another adventure. They had four girls. So I just fit right in like another.  The girls shared two rooms.  Andy and Sally in one and Tina and Jenny in another. What I remember most about those summer days were the nights.  We would stay awake for hours it seemed and talk about everything. Boys, friends, school, family, scary stories. I couldn't imagine better "sisters". They we're definitely  not girlie girls.  Uncle Bill made up for not having boys by coaching his own team of girls. They were and still are pretty amazing athletes.  Uncle Bill loved to run and was so thrilled to compete and complete the Boston Marathon.  The Polson's are Greek.  Which meant being a fly on the wall for some pretty amazing parties... Belly dancers included.  The food was the most amazing part. I can credit my love for spanakopita  to my Polson clan.  We would swim and play all day, doing  crazy jumps and tricks off the diving board. I felt like I could tell those girls any secret and know it would be safe.  We all live very different lives now. Spread across the country and raising our own families.  Most of us are still in Arizona but I only see them on rare occasions.  I do stalk them on Facebook, and am delighted to see the next generations of cousins flourish.  As  my immediate family has become smaller I am reminded of how great an impact my extended family has had on who I am as a mother, wife, friend and even child.  When Hillary Clinton used the African proverb, " it takes a village" she wasn't kidding.  I will never be able to adequately express the gratitude I have for my cousins, aunts and uncles for embracing me, treating  me like one of their own, parenting me without reservation.

Daddy's Girl

On the Eve of my father's Birthday I am struck with a poignant, childhood memory of my relationship with my "Daddy".  One of my first memories of my dad is laden with so many senses.  I am sitting on the bathroom counter.  I couldn't have been more than two or three years old...Perched near the sink, legs crossed. I helped my father lather his face with sweet, silky shaving cream...I can still smell the clean soapy cream, and vividly remember how carefully I spread the white , fluffy, airy foam all over his face.  He would lean in close so I could "carefully" paint his stubbly cheeks, lip, and neck.  I then would sit and stare in amazement as he expertly whisked the razor across his face.  He then dipped the razor into a sink full of hot water, which I dipped my fingers in, watching the shaving cream float and then melt into the little pool. All the while he would listen to whatever I jabbered about as if it was the most important information he would ever hear.  I would ask him questions which I can no longer recall.  I'm sure they were earth shattering things like, "What are you going to do today?" "Do you love me as much as you love Susie?"  Each question was met with a constant, low reassuring tone.  To this day, when I call my dad, and, I often have frantic, earth shattering questions or concerns, I am met with the very same  comforting voice I heard as a child. The most recent memory is as poignant.  I called on the phone faced with an impossible situation.  I had to confess to him the most unbearable raw ugly truth that I had deceived my family and put them in financial peril.  The details are unimportant and the situation is well on it's way to being resolved.  It was absolutely the hardest thing I have ever or will ever have to do.  It is so easy to love your own children completely and unconditionally.  It is yet another to accept that kind of love from others.  Isn't it funny how we can marvel at our children's questioning our forgiveness yet we refuse to know in our hearts we are forgiven by our parents in the same fashion.  When I was finally able to choke the horrible words out of my mouth to my father's quiet listening ears there was no yelling, no silent disappointment.  There were tears.  Lots and lots of tears.  He was so sorry I felt I had to bear this alone.  He cried with me and for me.  It was the most reaffirming moment of parent child love I have ever experienced.  My Dad is far from perfect in his own life of failed endeavors and relationships.  He also is brilliant, funny, sensitive and proud.  Too proud to ask for help...gee I guess I come by that naturally.  Bursting with pride for his grandchildren and their accomplishments.  Proud of his children for simply being.  I am certain he doesn't see these wonderful qualities in himself because he is also terribly self deprecating.  I hope he will read this and know that I wouldn't be the parent I am if he weren't the wonderful dad he has been.  Happy Birthday Daddy.

Moments of Clarity

Moments of Clarity

Our individual realities are always shaped and formed by our varying circumstances and life experiences.  My sister had a profound effect on mine.

Growing up with an undiagnosed bipolar sibling was at the very least unpredictably terrifying.  Living with the reality that my parents were in total denial was devastating. 

From my earliest memory Susie emotionally hijacked our family.  I was sure the phrase “walking on egg shells” was coined expressly for us.  Susie was and still is one of the most intelligent, beautiful and funny people I know.  Her ability to turn a bad situation into something glorious was only predicated by her unpredictable, wildly aggressive temper.  One moment you were lured into laughing, smiling and letting your guard down.  Like a snake charmer she could will you to get comfortable, tell her your innermost secrets, ask you how you really felt about something personal and then SNAP!  It was an actual physical transformation.  Like a contortionist she took shape into another person.  Ugly, angry and venomous, she would strike out.  Using words and expletives beyond description she would verbally assault.  Physically her 5’3” 100lb stature changed into a hulk-like creature capable of taking down people 3 times her size. 

The undeniable fact that my sister suffers from a debilitating mental illness is not lost on me.  Her outbursts unprovoked and nonsensical were horrifying as a child yet my love for her always outweighed her episodes. I wanted so badly for her to

be the sister everyone else had.  The one who braided their hair, took them to the mall, helped them with boy problems.  I had glimpse of that sister.  She had moments of clarity.

She was fiercely loyal.  The one saying our family used still holds true.  “You definitely want her on your side and not against you”. 

Susie is the middle child.  A lot of her behaviors were written off to “being the middle child”.  I was so convinced that this was a viable reason that I was very concerned when I became pregnant for the third time that my middle daughter would be doomed to exhibit the same traits as my sister.

My brother, Lee, the oldest was usually the target for the more physical attacks.  He was under strict orders to NEVER hit a girl.  He was relegated to hitting the walls or doors in the hallway.  When we sold our home we spent an unusually large amount of money patching the drywall.  My clever mother mod-podged flowers cut out from existing wallpaper scraps on the holes in closet doors. 

Susie was great at psychological warfare.  She knew my brother hated peanut butter so everything she baked for home economics had peanut butter in it.  She didn’t eat any of her creations but she enjoyed torturing Lee by ruining any chance he had for eating yummy desserts.  Things would take “a turn for the worse” when Lee would ask her why she did that.  The result was usually a battle of words followed by punching and hitting, by my sister.  For me, it was the allure of “The Twilight Zone”.  It was a super scary TV show that was on Friday nights past my bedtime.  When my parents were out and Susie was babysitting me she would encourage me to watch the show promising a happy outcome.  The happy outcome never happened and Susie would then shut off the lights and chase me around in the dark.  Locking me in the hall closet was always an option too.

I'm not sure when or how the power shift happened from parent to child. 

I can hope and dream that somehow there's a special reason she's like this.  Maybe Motzart was like this.  Maybe her brilliance cannot be understood  or processed by me.  "Let go and let God" is given a whole new meaning when it comes to my sister.  It's so hard to stand by and watch someone seemingly unravel before your eyes and know there is not a thing you can do about it.  She won't allow it.  I just wait for the moments of clarity.



"Shoot out at the OK Corral" or "You think I'm Old Enough To Qualify for the Senior Discount??!!"

There is nothing more affirming than the unbiased opinion of a young stranger manning the checkout at your local grocery.  I have an unrealistic image of myself.  I know how old I am, I know what size I wear, and my glasses prescription.  When I get dressed in the morning, gussy up my hair and make-up, and tilt my head to the side while looking in the mirror...I see who I want to see.  Who is apparently someone completely foreign to the rest of the general public.  I see a well put together, middle age , confident, happy (most of the time) person.  I do, occasionally, catch a glimpse of a really overweight, frumpy, frazzled and disheveled older woman in desperate need of a wardrobe make-over and cosmetic surgery following me.  I look over my shoulder in the reflection of the glass in a store window.  There she is! She is definitely stalking me...  I am convinced that "she" isn't me, or well, I was...Until a few weeks ago.  I went to the grocery with my happy attitude and cute "flattering" ensemble.  I made my way through the store smiling at strangers, making small talk with clerks.  Then it happened...The most unspeakable event in my life thus far.  At the check out counter after I put in my frequent shopper number and got ready to swipe my credit card for payment I nearly collapsed, which doesn't help my case, being the happy, jazzy, middle aged mom.  The unassuming clerk made a, horrifying to me, assumption...He gave me the Super Senior Discount!!!  He didn't ask , are you 55?  No he just hit the, She is OBVIOUSLY old enough for the discount key.  Mouth dry, ears ringing, and heart racing I swiped my card graciously accepting the receipt, and walked at a faster than normal pace out of the store...I am 46, 46!!!! 

  So thank you, young, store clerk for giving me more resolve than I've had in years.  I have given up sweets, and fried snacks. I am changing up my every day outfits, wearing more lipstick and  I'm working my apparently older than I think I look,  tush off every day.  

We will meet again!!!   

Next time, by summer's end, I will be asked if I'm old enough to have college aged children, because I OBVIOUSLY don't look old enough...

When I grow up...or, Do I have to grow up?

I am reminded today of how many things there are,  that I still need to learn and do...and of those childish things I refuse to give up.  Today as a colleague celebrated his 39th birthday, I say, knowing many of you are 39ish or younger, "Really, ugh, only 39? I wish!"  I stood and watched the interaction of he and others in our office, and I swear if I squinted a little I could see their true 16 year old personalities.  The awkward laughs, juvenile jokes, which we all think are hilarious, and that ever present need for approval. I am right there too...I know I am "technically"   a grown up, but, if truth were to be told I don't feel grown up at all.  Most of the time I think my kids are more mature than I am, and they would agree wholeheartedly. I can certainly kick into grown up mode when necessary.  When a problem arises or one of my friends or children have an emotional meltdown looming on the horizon I can dress up in my grown up costume and handle the monster problems with the best of them...but, most of the time I catch myself day dreaming of driving with the convertible top down,  singing Eagles songs at the top of my lungs.  When I walk by a mirror or window and catch a glimpse of the pudgy older lady starring back at me I am horrified!  Wow! She looks awful. Glad I'm still young, svelte and beautiful!  We spend so much of our high school and college years wishing to be done and on with our "adult" lives only to be tricked that we are still those gangly, free spirited, goof balls...Who now have to punch a time clock and pay mortgages.  Some days I really wish there was a Neverland, an island of lost boys and Peter Pan leading the charge against the perils of adulthood.  I did, as a child,  have an unhealthy obsession with pixie dust, and am probably alive today because we didn't live in a two story home.

So here I sit, and as I have those haunting memories of my parents embarrassing me to the point of certain death by their  display of very un-adult like behavior.  I have turned into that same un-adult like person.  I think, or rather know, that losing those childlike qualities is not fun, attractive or necessary.  We need to be goofy, day dream, sing at the top of our lungs!  If we forget how to be childlike than how can we appreciate our own children, grandchildren...Here's to giggling, to playing hopscotch, listening to the car radio loud enough to burst your eardrums.  There are plenty of opportunities to don our grown up costumes and tackle the problems de jour.  If I can't feel like a kid, I won't be able to act like a grown up...Just sayin'  

The Trouble with Four Year Olds

The trouble with four year olds is that have discovered the power of negotiation.  They know if they eat their green beans they can successfully argue that green beans and ice cream cancel each other out. " Mommy, don't you want  ice cream too?"  You do of course and who can argue with this brilliant force of nature.  Four year olds have the uncanny ability to make you laugh, cry, and question your sanity all at the same time.  My friend's four year old, " Hey Mom, see those sun shine streams through the clouds? That's God. He's smiling at us."  When my daughter was four, she was obsessed with two things.  Barney and Ariel.  Unfortunately, she received a dingy Barney sleep shirt from a yard sale while "junking" with her grandparents.  She also had a pair of Ariel leggings.  Surprise!  This was her outfit of choice for months.  Did I mention four year olds insist on being their own stylists?  It's true, every four year old must pick out and don outfits they put together themselves, or you will face the dreaded tantrum.  Not only did my daughter dress herself she refused to have her hair brushed, and always seemed to have a rash on her face.  I was certain I would be hand cuffed and taken away by Child Protective Services.  She would proudly wear her sloppy Barney shirt, dirty kneed Ariel leggings and flip flops in January as if she was about to be on the catwalk during New York's Fashion Week.  All of you who haven't had a four year old or have conveniently blocked the memory out, let me remind you that reasoning with a four year old, hell bent on doing something, is like watching a presidential debate during the primaries.  It is far easier on everyone to pretend you're the babysitter and convince them to call you by your first name when in public, than to coif their hair dress them in pressed clean adorable matching outfits and having their heads spin around like the exorcist. Trust me I've done it, not pretty.  That same four year old can touch your cheek softly and sing you the lullaby you've been singing to them since before they were born.  I guess the problem or "trouble" with four year olds is that as their amazing minds expand and their beautiful personalities become solidified you lose the control you once had over their every step.  It is the natural ebb and flow of the parent child relationship.  "Relationship" being the key word here.   My four year old is now 21 years old.  How I long for the days when she would sing " A Part of Your World" at the top of her lungs while trying to brush her hair with a fork. Believing for certain anything was possible.  Release your inner four year old!  God Bless...