Family

Windy days

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I hear the wind whistling through every cracked or slightly open vessel. I feel it wind its way deep down into my soul stirring up memories that I long for but are long gone. The wind cries with an urgency that begs for immediate release but when searched for cannot be found. For me the wind cries “grandma.” It transports me back in time to my grandpa’s truck. I sit peacefully between my grandparents with the window behind my head open a crack forever whistling with the wind. Every time the wind blows, I feel a nostalgic longing for them. 

My grandma is the main reason why I survived my childhood.  She also gets a lot of credit for helping Mark through too. She is right up there with Mother Theresa in my blog. Mark and I would take turns staying with my grandparents every other weekend. She did all the little things to make me feel special. We worked on puzzles together, she cooked my favorite meals, she made cookies for me, and she always had time to listen. We always celebrated holidays at their house. One Christmas off to the side was something hidden under a large bag. It was for me. Inside was a dollhouse created partially by grandma using little pearl buttons as light fixtures. She also made doll clothes for me from patterns, struggling to get her big fingers into the little tiny clothes to sew them together. 

Last week while cleaning out my grandma’s house, I found my old dollhouse. Maybe someday I will set it up the way it used to be in its finery. After 6 years of being vacant, someone wants to buy my grandma’s house. My dad never put the house up for sale and it was left as a shrine to her memory. Despite all of his shortcomings, my dad provided loving care for his parents and aunt in their final years. Every time the wind blows, I will be thinking of them and be thankful for the difference they made in my life. 

Up north, part 3

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This past weekend I was up north with my daughters. Luke’s wife, Emily, and I threw a bridal shower for Mark’s fiancé, Carla. This is the start of another strange happening this month. Emily recently had surgery and was having some health issues related to this. She ended up driving herself to the closest ER an hour away from the cabin after a sleepless night. I was running later than I wanted to the morning of the shower and had a lot of errands to run. Through a series of strange events, I ran into my sister-in-law at the pharmacy in the middle of nowhere hours from her house. My daughter rode back with her to the cabin to help keep her alert. It seemed like a bizarre coincidence and I still don’t know why things happened that way. 

It was lunch time when we all got to the cabin. Luke bought some bread to make sandwiches with the peanut butter that was there. First, he had to call our mom to make sure that this was not Matt’s peanut butter. I had almost forgotten about this very basic rule. Most of Matt’s food was labeled with his name. You did not dare eat Matt’s food without facing the wrath of my mom. Since he spent most of his life gluten and dairy free, his food a lot of times was separate from ours. If Luke put the knife in the peanut butter and touched the bread, then it would be considered contaminated. My dad would eat Matt’s food a lot of times probably just to piss off my mom. She would worry endlessly about food for Matt to the point of obsession. 

Another thing that happened, the last time we were up north my brothers put in an A/C unit. It was really hot this weekend so we were running it with a lot of fans. We had 13 people sleeping in the cabin. Matt came out to the porch angry saying that the fans were too loud, that he couldn’t sleep. My initial response was to ask Matt how long he was trying to sleep. Luke agreed. Mark was concerned that Matt would be up all night worrying. Mom went with Matt to turn off all the fans. Now no one would be able to sleep. Luke turned the fans back on after Matt fell asleep.  Luke said, “Part of this is his condition and part of this is his conditioning.” Matt never had any consequences, seems like we all had the consequences for his decisions. I felt the familiar old resentment towards my mom for allowing Matt to be the god of our lives. The god we sacrificed to day in and day out. Sacrificing the good of all for the sake of one. I hated being forced to worship and kneel before the alter of autism. 

The bridal shower went without a hitch. Haha. The future bride left saying, “See you at the wedding, if there still is one.” Mark and Carla spent most of the weekend fighting. Everyone at the shower said that Mark and Carla reminded them of my parents. That is not a compliment. My parents marriage is filled with strife. It is not something sacred, to be yearned for. I worry. My husband says I should only worry about the things I can control. 

The cure for autism, part 9

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It started out the way these things usually do. My contractions were 2 minutes apart. I was due on my birthday and it was that week. The contractions didn’t lead anywhere and neither did the pitocin induced labor. I left the hospital the next day with an empty car seat. The nurses joked on my way out that they would see me later that day. Didn’t happen. 

The following week, I made it in to my appointment. I was now a week overdue and the doctor said it looked like a big baby. They scheduled to induce me again early the next morning. Another day of pitocin induced labor with no results until they broke my water. But they wouldn’t break my water until what seemed like 10 medical students got to feel my cervix. Then started the 2 hours of pushing without the urge to push. The baby never made it into the birth canal and was showing signs of stress. Stop pushing your baby could get stuck in the birth canal, sign these forms, and off to the surgical room. Seventeen years ago today ushered in the birth of Angelique Hope, 8lbs 13 oz. 

My mom said that this baby was going to finally pull Matt out of himself, a new cure for autism. Matt was an uncle for the first time. 

I graduated from college in May, got married in August, and was pregnant by October. After a fruitless job search, I decided to do what I did off and on for my whole life, be Matt’s caregiver this time with Angel. My mom and Matt became obsessed with Angel, the only difference was Matt’s obsession was dark.  Angel grew into a beautiful and happy little girl. I should have seen it coming, but I was blinded by optimism. 

It happened on Angel’s 4th birthday at her party. Angel wanted everyone to watch her dance around and sing. Matt said, “Everybody watch this” and proceeded to grab Angel’s arm and start twisting. Paul and Luke had to struggle to get Matt off of Angel. My mom was screaming not to hurt Matt. Luke took Matt home. Matt muttered to himself for hours, evil laughter and delight that he obeyed whatever voices where telling him to hurt her. Thankfully, Angel was not seriously hurt. 

I had now entered the second most difficult period of my life. After this happened, we decided to cut Matt out of our life for awhile. I couldn’t stand to watch my own children get hurt the way I was. This also cut my mom out of my life because Matt still lived at home and they were always together. For a period of about five years, I lost all support from my family and felt very alone. 

Still no cure. 

Imperfect perfection

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I was raised in a house full of introverts with the exception of Luke. At one time that probably made Matt’s bizarre behavior all the more shocking. Anything could set Matt off so we had to make sure that anything didn’t happen. We had to tiptoe around the house in a whisper, no loud music and absolutely no anger was allowed. Anger was wrong. But that didn’t seem to stop my parents from arguing when they thought we were asleep at night or before we woke up in the morning. Matt was the burner on high underneath my pot of water. Just when the water was rolling and coming to a full raging boil, the lid was forced on. Sometimes a little steam would escape, as from a tea kettle, but never before a full roaring scream could be issued. The hot water stayed trapped inside making my blood boil. It was a long time before I learned that feeling angry was ok. When I finally opened that spout, I boiled over with anger for a long time. 

I also had to be perfect. Completely, inhumanly perfect. When Matt hit me I was not supposed to strike back or feel anger. I was lucky to be normal. Lucky! I got in big trouble when I struck back, but Matt was never once told that what he was doing was wrong whether he could control it or not. When my grades dropped in grade school, my dolls were taken away for a semester until I was perfect again. I couldn’t play piccolo in middle school because it was so high pitched that people could hear if I made a mistake. The same thing with singing. But this perfection was not just imposed on me. Mark had to be perfect and so did my mom herself. We all knew that my dad, Matt, and Luke were flawed. 

For example, Mark put his hand on his girlfriend’s knee and got in trouble for that. Luke stayed out all night with his girlfriend and never even bothered to call. He did not get in trouble. I asked my mom about this unfairness and she said she expected more from Mark. I became judge over Mark and Luke. Most of the time I sided with Mark which caused fighting with Luke. Luke and I got in a big fight which wasn’t allowed. My mom tried to stop us. I retorted with, “Why should I stop fighting with Luke when you and dad fight all the time?” But most of the time our house was filled with silent rage and imperfect strivings toward perfection. 

Marathon training, week 8

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I am done training for the week. I worked out for a total of 2 hours this week compared to my normal 6. No, not because it was my birthday this week. It took everything I had not to go for a 6 mile run on my birthday. Pretty sad, huh? Actually I decided to take it easy to get ready for a 5k this weekend. I want to place in my age group. Looking at last year’s results it isn’t going to be a (birthday) cake walk (run). Plus we are going to have the summer’s first heat wave this weekend, but everyone will be in the same boat as far as that goes. Wouldn’t it just be the icing on my cake if I got a silver medal the week of my silver birthday? Geez. In my opinion, I already won. My mother and two daughters are doing their first 5k this weekend. They will all be walking it, but hey, there is nothing wrong with baby steps. Lol

Did I tell you that I got my first “hit” off my honk if you’re going to hit me t-shirt last week? I wear it for my long runs. Some guy came up behind me and started honking. I was bracing myself for impact. Turns out the guy only wanted directions. Talking about that, I did end up seeing the black cat out on the road again that just missed getting smacked by a truck last week. This time he ran out in front of a bicyclist. I think that cat must enjoy the adrenaline rush. I wanted to tell him he was on the wrong path. Hmmm…

My silver birthday

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The good news is that I didn’t spend the first few hours of this birthday in the ER. Instead Paul and I took the kids out for sushi. The restaurant had a nice, quiet atmosphere with live classical guitar music. I had a glass of Riesling and we all sampled each other’s sushi. Two out of three kids liked sushi. I once heard that two out of three ain’t bad. Ha ha. I bet right now you are thinking that I am a really sophisticated, classy, and perhaps elegant woman. If that is what you want to think then you better stop reading because Saturday night I was in the mosh pit. 

Saturday night? Well Saturday night I played the birthday card. The birthday card is something that I bring out the couple of weeks before or after my birthday, okay okay pretty much the whole month of July. I think that birthdays became such a big deal for me because as a kid my mom went out of her way to make me feel like a princess on that one day of the year. My autistic brother went to grandma’s or aunt Grace’s for the day. He wasn’t the center of our universe or talked about for that one day of the year. Since my birthday fell in the middle of summer I could take friends swimming, have a sleepover up north, or go mini bike riding. 

Back to Saturday night, I talked Paul into seeing a metal band with me. Paul likes classical music. No, not classical rock. I am talking about Beethoven and Bach here. Pretty wild guys in their day, but not ours. We also dragged our pastor along. Makes confession a lot easier. No, seriously, he has an appreciation for the music. This was a pretty crazy crowd. Not a quiet crowd like the one we had at the Metallica tribute concert. Who would’ve guessed? We hung out in the back, moving out of the way when average sized bouncers dragged out surly drunk fighters. Three quarters of the way through the concert I wanted to get in where the action was. Even though the little voice in my head told me to stay away because I couldn’t risk getting hurt before the marathon next month. I imagined someone crushing my foot as I inched my way into the third row, the music beating into my chest and my hair feeling the static of the vibration. The adrenaline rush, the anxiety of passing out, feeling surrounded by people yet all alone, enjoying the music. The guy two over started punching someone which edged me over into the mosh pit. The guys there moved this weak, fragile, old (strong , marathon trained, young) lady out of the way. But that happened Saturday night when I was still 40. 

Another year of life with lots of things checked off my bucket list this year and  just as many added. Another birthday under my belt!

Marathon training, week 7

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I didn’t feel like running 18 miles today, but I did it. I don’t feel like writing a blog today, but I am doing it. I had a good 3 hours to contemplate why I feel such a lack of motivation. Everyday is not a picnic and fireworks, although this time of year it probably should be. I think some of it has to do with my parents selling my grandma’s house at the end of this month. I am going to help clean out her house tonight. Even though grandma has been gone for over six years now, this seems like the final goodbye to my childhood comforter. Coincidentally, I just found out today that my longtime running partner and one of my best friends will be moving out of state the end of this month as well. 

I did decide over the past couple of days that after running the marathon I want to stay half marathon conditioned. I will probably throw in a couple of 18 mile runs in there to keep my foot in the marathon door. There are not a lot of opportunities in my climate to run marathons in the winter months. 

Up north, part 2

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The fortune cookie luck that is ordained for me has apparently not kicked in yet. But I did survive the weekend with the whole extended family and the weather was great. If I do get smitten with good luck maybe I would donate a little of it to my mom. She just missed getting hit by a tornado on her trip back home. Maybe she was lucky that she missed the storm, but she was really pushing her luck.  

I was thinking a lot this weekend about coping mechanisms and how they change over time. My brother Mark seemed to cope with being around the family by drinking. I woke up early on Saturday morning and came out to sit by the fire at 6:30 AM. Mark was on his second beer by then which concerned me.     Other than that, he seems happy. He recently got engaged and is planning a fall wedding. His fiancé is good for him, I hope that he can bring out the best in her as well. I just worry about them. Mark is so much like my dad that I think being a husband and father will be challenging. It can be challenging for the most patient people in the world. I hope and pray that if there is any genetic factor involved in autism that any future children will not be effected by it. 

Luke has two little girls ages 5 and 7. I watched them play in the water, remembering when I was right between their age and watching my younger brothers in the water. It really gives me perspective on how young I was when given great responsibility. Luke worries that his kids hate him because he is a perfectionist who demands perfection. Luke is a great dad. I sometimes feel like my kids hate me and I don’t demand perfection. I don’t demand much of anything. I want them to have something that I didn’t have, a childhood. 

I felt like I could really relate with Luke. We are so much alike as adults even though we coped with life in totally different ways in our youth. The pendulum took us from our extremes to a common middle. He is no longer the party animal. He is serious and thoughtful. I came out of my shell. I no longer feel a lot of anxiety about spending time with the extended family. I am hoping that we can finally forge a relationship. 

Just low

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I feel down today. Just low. I feel like I am climbing a mountain and can never reach the top. Running uphill and only getting a few feet from the ground. Why do I try so hard? Why must I run this marathon? Literally. I am exhausted. Tears escape my eyes with little or no provocation. Sleep is restless. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to work. I don’t want to run. I don’t feel like eating.  My muscles all ache. I haven’t felt this way for awhile, but it is no stranger to me. 

It started on Father’s Day with a slow descent. I thought maybe it was because I was mourning the relationship with my father that I never had and will most likely never be. Wishing for a moment that someone else was my father. Feeling envious of his daughters. Why was I never good enough? What is wrong with me? 

I did conquer a fear on Sunday. A fear of driving over high bridges. But I only did it because I was trying to avoid another fear, the fear of being late. Does that count? I don’t know anymore. I am trying to keep my head above water and to keep climbing that mountain. I am sure this moment of moodiness will soon pass. 

Kicked out of the roller rink

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After I was old enough to drive, I started hanging out at the roller rink a couple of small towns over. The roller rink was small too. It seemed like we were turning more than we were going straight. I always ended up with a blister on one side of one foot since we only skated one song in the opposite direction. 

There was a little girl that would go skating when I was there too. She was about 5 years old. Her parents would drop her off during open skating and head to the bar next door. It seems like when someone shirks off their responsibilities, other people take it on. Good thing I was like a big sister, protective instead of predatory. There was one occasion though when she protected me. I was hanging out with another friend when this older girl came up to my friend shoving her and accusing her of looking at her boyfriend. I told this older girl to leave my friend alone. She took my head and bashed it into the wall. My little friend told the owner I was in trouble and he kicked the older girl out. She promised she would find me and kick my ass in the parking lot when skating was over. I admit I was a bit worried.  I was used to getting hurt by my brother, but was not good at fighting back. I refused to leave early, but she never showed. 

The second time someone got kicked out again inadvertedly had to do with me. My mom thought it would be a good idea to take Matt roller skating with me. Mom took Matt by the hand, gently leading him around the rink like a small child. The slow skate started and the lights dimmed. Matt had to go to the bathroom. Mom took off his skates and put on his shoes. On the way out he grabbed a little girl by the hair and started kicking her over and over. It took a couple of people to get him off of her. The girl’s dad was furious. Once again, the owner came over and kicked us out. My mom was crying, apologizing profusely, saying it wasn’t his fault. The owner was understanding, but said we would have to leave just the same. 

It was storming when we left the skating rink. I drove home in the pouring rain, tears pouring from my eyes. I screamed at my mom that I was never having kids because I never wanted to have one like Matt. My mom kept repeating over and over that she was thankful that Matt did not have his roller skates on while he was kicking that girl. We were both crying hysterically, the thunder a perfect crescendo for our outpouring of grief. I remember listening to In A Gadda Da Vida the whole mournful trip home. It was just another day in the life.