memories

The darkest day of the year

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It’s been unseasonably warm here in Wisconsin. It looks like we will set an all time high record on Christmas day. No white Christmas for us this year. We barely had any snow fall yet. It doesn’t feel like Christmas is just a few days away.

Today on the darkest day of the year, I always think of my great-uncle Harold. He would’ve been 98 years old today. Every year on his birthday we would go to his house and celebrate with him. There would be steaks and pineapple upside down cake. Aunt Grace would serve food on the multi-colored Fiesta plates, the only day of the year they would leave the pantry. It was one of the few days we saw Harold laugh and tell stories. Most of the time, he was next door working on cars at the family business.

Harold died unexpectedly the year Paul and I got married. I remember the last time I saw him. Paul and I were visiting my family to tell them the exciting news we were going to have our first child. We were able to tell everyone except Uncle Harold. He was outside working on a car while talking to clients. We didn’t want to interrupt him so we asked Aunt Grace if she could share the news. That was the last time I saw him alive.

We never really know how much time someone has left. If I knew, maybe I would’ve waited longer to talk to Harold. I think that is where a lot of my irrational guilt kicks in. If I’d only known, I could’ve done something different. I’m starting to let go of things, but it takes time to process. I couldn’t prevent the suffering of the people I care about and that hurts.

I tried reaching out to our previous employee today. But it was too little too late. I haven’t seen her for 5 years and I thought I could do something to prevent her from struggling with addiction, from committing a crime, and even from the attempt I think she tried to make on her own life? I want to help people. I want to fix them but I can’t. It’s as if I am wanting to play God and even He does not step in to keep people from physically dying and making their own choices.

I am feeling a lot better today. I wasn’t feeling the greatest yesterday, but I decided to volunteer yesterday and I’m glad I did. For awhile I forgot about my own pain. I spent a half an hour holding the baby of a homeless teen mom. He brought me joy as I held him and made him laugh. The mom needed clothes for her kids and was on her last diaper. She is a single mom living in her car with a two-year old and a baby. We had a record number of people who came in needing help yesterday.

Yesterday we had a new woman sign up for help from Africa. She is a single parent who recently came to America. She doesn’t speak any English and has zero education. She lives in a bad neighborhood. What really struck me was that there were several women from the same community that only speak Swahili. They are all parents between the ages of 20-25, the ages of my own children. I can’t even imagine what that must be like and to have absolutely no education. There is a language barrier with a lot of families that come in. It’s my goal this new year to become fluent in at least one other language starting with Spanish because I do know a little from high school, like way back from the last century.

There was a woman who came in that got arrested last week for child abuse. Ever since my own daughter was arrested, it’s really changed my view of criminals. Offering to help someone in need does not equate with me agreeing with the choices they make. They are people too. I am not afraid of them as much anymore. But that doesn’t mean I would walk down an alley by myself at night in a bad neighborhood.

Then there was the lady who stayed at the domestic abuse house. There was the lady that didn’t know she was pregnant with twins until two months before they were born. The people who reek of alcohol, cigarettes, and weed. The mentally ill. The intellectually challenged. Those who are going back to school to try to build a better life. The grandparents raising grandchildren.

I can’t go back and change anything in the past. But I can move forward and help people today.

The places I volunteer at are really hurting for volunteers over the holidays. So I decided to sign up at the places the next two days. Tomorrow helping families in need and Saturday at the cat sanctuary. I almost enjoy holding the cats as much as I enjoy holding babies. I especially love the feral cats or the cats that don’t warm up well to other people.

Maybe I can do some good to negate some of the bad in the world.

Bad memory

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Several years back I remember my brother Mark and I talking about something from our childhood with our Aunt Jan. My aunt replied to my brother that she thought he had a bad memory of his childhood. I laughed and responded to my aunt that he didn’t have a bad memory just bad memories. Sometimes you just have to laugh.

All joking aside, I have been thinking about childhood memories a lot lately. The new couples therapist my husband and I are going to has her office in a clinic with multiple providers of different types of wellness services. One of those services is hypnotherapy. I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of being hypnotized since my friend and I tried to hypnotize each other in middle school. I really never had the opportunity therapeutically and didn’t think about it much until I saw it listed as an option last week.

I’m sure there are a lot of things I don’t remember. Maybe I don’t want to remember? The most troubling question to me is what would I do with the information. Would remembering offer solace and closure to the naggings of my mind? Or would I be opening another can of worms? Would I view other people differently if I remembered how they hurt me and may be hurting others?

Should I keep the door locked or should I peer at the fiery demons contained inside? Part of me thinks that I don’t remember for my own protection. The other part of me wants to tear down the walls to see what is inside. Will it help? Will it hurt? Only one way to find out I guess.

Life lately

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I started having bad dreams again, nothing too terrifying. Last night it was the wild animals. I spotted a bear in the distance that wanted to get inside of my house. Then there were the dogs. They snarled and clawed outside my door if I tried to lock them out. It was horrifying to let them in, but if I did they ran through my house then were gone.

Sometimes I feel memories clawing through my mind. Memories I want to repress, but the more I do the more they nag me swirling endlessly awaiting connection. Incomplete memories, a camera, the fish tank upstairs that I don’t remember being upstairs, other things…

My therapist asked if remembering would change the way I feel about myself. I said it could go one of two ways. I could be more bitter than I already am. Or I can think I survived more than I thought I could with a certain courageousness.

My therapist asked if it would change how I felt about my parents. I said I didn’t think so. I will always view my mother as weak. She always seemed to protect the wrong people. My dad, I don’t even think all my children would even attend his funeral. He never made an impact on anyone’s life. Oh, I stand corrected. He never made a POSITIVE impact on anyone’s life. At this point, what would it matter?

I did learn something new about my dad. When my brother Luke called he told me about some things my dad did to him that I didn’t know. But the new details weren’t upsetting as much as my brother calling me to vent. You see, Luke is the strong one. Most times I think he is stronger than me. He rarely calls to vent. He said that time wasn’t healing his wounds, instead they are oozing and festering. I feel sad he can’t escape the pain anymore than I can.

Then Arabella came to visit for a few days. She lost her job. She is never to work on time and has a tendency to not get along with her managers. It is hard not to get wrapped up in my worry for her.

Then my mom came over. She didn’t sleep well the night before and emotionally was a big mess. I can’t help but feel some of it is her own fault. She has had several therapists tell her if she doesn’t like her life, she should change it. They tell her she should leave my dad, but in the end she always leaves the therapists who tell her that. My brother Luke said if my dad dies my mom will either wake up and realize she was in a bad relationship all along or she will immediately find someone else just like him.

I think about that a lot lately, my parents dying. My mom is in a really bad head space right now. It wears on me. Then I am worried about my daughter and my own aging. My doctor appointment is less than two weeks away. My therapist said I should focus more on my wisdom and insight versus the aging process. She is right. I might not have all the cards I want in my hand, but it would be smart to play my strong suit.

My therapist also said I have an extraordinary amount of stability for everything I have been through. I sometimes wonder…shouldn’t I be crazier? I found her words to be very encouraging. Yet I have to be careful. Last week I read the whole childhood portion of my book. I thought to myself, what a bit pile of shit. I got into a ferocious mood. I have to take writing and reading in small doses. I can’t do it when I am under a lot of stress. Writing has been healing for me. But it also can be the sword that cuts open my wounds if I am not careful. Having nightmares and a hard week with family is a good time to back off a bit.

I have not be happy lately. I feel as if I have been neglecting this blog. I am going to try to write more even if I don’t have anything to say.

Crossed that one off for sure

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Honestly, I didn’t know if I was in Connecticut before or not. But this time I crossed it off my bucket list of states visited for sure.

I think I was 19 maybe 20 when I went out east. I was dating this guy named Brad. He was in the Navy. It was a long distance relationship for the most part. His mom’s house was an hour from my parent’s house. His college was 2 hours away from mine. Then there was the time he spent 6 months at sea. Once he graduated he was sent to a Naval base in Rhode Island. We dated almost 3 years. I guess we just couldn’t sustain a long distance relationship on letters and long distance phone calls when he wasn’t overseas. But anyway…

Back in the early 90’s Brad came home for Christmas break. Maybe that was the year he had the little jewelry box under the tree which disappointingly at the time contained a diamond necklace. He was a nice guy but we were too much alike to for it to work out anyway. We had the same personality. We were perfectionistic. Neither of us liked to talk on the phone and we were both left handed. But that year after Christmas I flew back with him to his Naval base in R.I.

I don’t remember much about the trip, just strange things. We flew into Boston and took a limo back with several other passengers I didn’t know. Brad was gone during the day and I stayed at his house by myself. He shared a place with his step-cousin and his wife and kid whom I didn’t know. His cousin was always stationed somewhere else. It seemed kind of weird actually that he actually lived with someone else’s wife and kid. But the wife and kid were gone the whole time I was there. So I sat all day by myself. I did a lot of laundry but never cleaned the lint tray which I got yelled at for from Brad by the wife when she got back. I remember I read the book Salem’s Lot by Stephen King. Why do I remember such crazy things? At night we watched Beavis and Butthead.

We drove around and looked at the mansions along the ocean and walked the cobblestone streets. I was there in January. It was really cold and snowed. The snow stayed on the ground which seemed to be rare as children looked excitedly for something to make into a sled. We went dancing in a club that played dance and rap music by a DJ with a record player that played backwards a bit to make the classic rap sound.

We spent some time in Boston. I hated it there. There was a woman that made a snide remark about me to her friend as we were entering a store. I was a small town girl and I was afraid there. I was not used to gas stations that you had to pre-pay gas for where someone stood at a register behind bulletproof glass. I felt it was a dirty and unsafe city. I wonder if I still would feel that way.

I remember there was turbulence on the flight back home. I remember my parents picking me up late at night from the airport. I remember it was 50 below. They brought me my warmest jacket just in case the car broke down. Those were the days we thought we would and probably could freeze to death if our car broke down on some lonely country road. I remember times it was so cold you were afraid to turn off the engine to fill up with gas. Sometimes a car wouldn’t start in that kind of cold, especially if they were low on gas. I remember getting stuck behind a train for a long time and the couple in the truck in front of us were full on making out while my parents and I sat in awkward silence.

It’s almost been 30 years and I remember all of those things. But I can’t remember if I’d been to Connecticut or not. I remember being in Massachusetts and Rhode Island. I remember crossing a bridge and seeing a sign that welcomed me to another state I’d never been in. It thought it might be CT. But of all the things I remembered, I can’t remember that.

One thing I can say for sure, I’ve been to Connecticut now.

Gratitude week 15

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  1. It’s Easter! Although this is probably the first Easter that I didn’t go to church, it was one of the most enjoyable. We colored eggs while watching church online. We have the technology to do amazing things. Plus I didn’t have to dress up or anything.
  2.  And more compliments on my hair.
  3.  Clara was able to travel safely back home to Germany where she was reunited with her family.
  4.  We have been getting cards in the mail from friends and family telling us how special we are to them. It really means a lot.
  5.  I have been digging out memory boxes from storage from our wedding and when the kids were little. It brings back many happy times that I’ve almost forgotten.
  6.  A huge snowstorm is making its way through Wisconsin and it looks like it might miss us.
  7.  Life has gotten a lot quieter and less rushed. I like it more that way. When this whole isolation thing is over I might examine how busy I want my life to be going forward. It has given us the opportunity to look at what we want to keep or get rid of.
  8.  I am thankful for self-awareness.
  9.  I am thankful that all of my friends and family are healthy and safe.
  10.  I am grateful that today I am making the most out of the situation we find ourselves in. Although it doesn’t feel like Easter, or spring, we can take what we have and make the best of it.

Unrest

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I don’t want to do this anymore, this whole life thing. I want to hibernate somewhere, hidden away under cover.

I don’t know how I got to this point. I’m just tired of it. I’m just tired.

I couldn’t fall asleep last night. It was after midnight before I silently fell into slumber. This happened twice this week although this type of insomnia rarely happens.

I couldn’t stay asleep last night. I slept restlessly. I awoke several times. At 4 AM I had to go to the bathroom. This is the type of insomnia I call home.

I had one of the most intense nightmares that I had in a long time. I was a little girl. I was brought to an empty house because there was going to be a lot of blood, my blood. I went willingly because I knew I had to be the sacrifice. I was afraid. I was going to be hurt badly, but I would live through it. Before anything happened, the owner of the house came back. She looked like a grown up me. I told her that she needed to leave because she would get killed for being there. She tried to help me, we ran away. She was killed and I hid in the closet terrified knowing I would be next. Now we both were going to die because she tried to save me.

I awoke at 5:30, less than an hour before my alarm was going to go off.

Today is the day that my video is being posted. I didn’t know it until this morning. I hate the video. I want to destroy it. I feel so anxious about it.

Why do I have this need to tell everyone about the things I’ve experienced? I just don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to write. I don’t want to blog. I want to disappear off the face of the earth like I never even existed.

I thought of strange things. I remembered the book my mom used to read to me about Toad and Frog. They left the door open and winter came in. They were cold, sad, and lonely. They made soup out of their tears. It was almost as if the hauntingly sad child me came for an unwanted visit. But to cast her away would destroy us both.

I struggled to find the motivation to do everything I needed to do. Some days are like that. I’ve been stirring up my demons. But I was able to make it through. It is hard to do when my body and mind doesn’t let me rest.

Maybe tonight I will sleep.

Unrest.

 

The nursery

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A few days ago, I posted about trees. Sounds boring, I know. Sometimes I have an idea that scratches around my mind that I want to write about that leads to more ideas, and yet more until it takes root.

Today I am going to write about trees again and family roots.

I just want to be upfront with you right away…I do not have a green thumb. I’ve killed every house plant that I’ve ever had. Once I got a chia pet for Christmas. I ended up regifting it because it was too much pressure.

My grandpa had a nursery located on the edge of my parents property when I was growing up. Most of the trees in the photos that I posted the other day were of trees that came from my grandpa’s nursery. My grandma came to my house and helped me plant those trees. My grandpa passed away the year we bought our house. Even my grandma has been gone for almost a decade now.

We are thinking about moving in the next year. It seems silly to say that one of the things I will miss the most is my trees. It is one of the last connections I have left to my grandparents now. I remember painstakingly deciding where to plant the trees with my grandma.

Thinking about the trees again made me think about growing up. Oftentimes my grandpa would remove the trees that weren’t thriving. He would put them on a pile to discard. When I was a young girl, I decided I would rescue one of the dead trees. It was a little pine tree with brown needles. I planted it in my parents backyard. I watered the tree everyday, but it still looked dead.

Then one morning I went outside to check on my tree and it was alive with leaves of brilliant green. I did it! I saved my tree. Things went downhill after that with my green thumb. I don’t know who replaced the tree. It probably was my grandma, but I will never know for sure..

Then my memories started taking me down a darker path.

Strangers stopping by to buy trees. Grandpa coming over in his truck. The smell of fresh dirt. Fertilizer. The musty smelling plastic bags the trees were sent home in.

Strangers in our yard. We must be alert. We worry. Are there children? Are there little girls? I give my mother a report. Keep an eye on Matt while I walk over. We could prevent Matt from going places where he could hurt someone, but we could never warn the strangers that came into our yard unaware.

I never felt safe. It would probably shock you if you knew how many times we had to worry about the safety of outsiders. My brother Matt is violently autistic/schizophrenic. We couldn’t control Matt but we did our best to push other people away to protect them.

Today I sit in public places with my back to the wall…always watching. I notice when patterns are off. I do everything I can to be a protector although I am never needed anymore.

It is strange how thinking about something neutral like trees could take me back.

What I truly want for Mother’s Day

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What I truly want for Mother’s Day…

Baby, I want to hold your tiny hand in mine one more time.

I want to gather you back into the safety of my nest.

I want to be able to kiss your owwies and take away your pain.

I want you to still think that I have all of the answers and that the world is a good and magical place.

I want to sit you on my lap and read your favorite stories…I can’t seem to remember the day it all ended.

I want to laugh off the people that say it goes by so fast as I hold a crying baby in my arms.

What I truly want for Mother’s Day…

Mother, I want to see the excitement in your eyes as I give you my scribbles on a piece of pink construction paper.

I want to see the beauty of your young face and the natural color of your hair. I don’t want to see signs of you slipping away from me.

I don’t want to think that this could be our last year together like last year was for my husband’s mother.

I want to think that the little things I do or say give you lasting happiness more than flowers or a card someone else wrote on this one day of the year.

What I truly want for Mother’s Day…

Grandma, how I long to hear your voice again…to hear you sing like a bird…to tell you that you gave my daughter your gift. I want you to fully understand the influence you have had on my life and how that impacted my children.

I want to smell fresh cookies as I walk into your house and know that you made a special batch just for me.

I want you to answer the phone when I call.

I long to see your house again, the way it was before the new people moved in.

I want to smell your sweet perfume, even the scent that remains in the half empty bottle is beginning to fade.

I wish you could walk alongside of me on this journey again..

This is what I truly want for Mother’s Day.

Autism’s sibling, journal 3 part 2

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One time when mom’s old friend stopped by, Matt threw rocks at her car and she left..

What I don’t understand is why the nice friendly Christian ladies at church didn’t offer to give us an hour break from Matt. We never got a break. I only had two friends that lived with me, my two cats. But Matt was mean to them and they eventually ran away. Life with him has been hell. Even though Matt is small, he is very strong.

I also have a lot of nausea. Once my depression and nausea got so bad I couldn’t eat. Nobody cared about me. Nobody cared about Mark either. They cared about Luke because he was a troublemaker and got a lot of attention. Sometimes he would even be as bad as Matt.

What I hated most was talking to relatives. They always asked how Matt was. That really hurt because it is like I don’t exist. Usually people ask how you are. But imagine if they asked about your brother and not you. It hurts to know that people really don’t care if I’m alive.

I remember when the three boys were wild at the table. Mom had to feed them. Mom and dad would fight. Mom would get upset and go upstairs to cry. I was her best friend. I would talk to her and tell her that things would be better tomorrow, but it never did. There were always more problems or more doctor bills. Things are better now, but I still feel the pain and it’s holding me back from being happy.

I had a friend that stayed over once in awhile until Matt kicked her. She never wrote back to me after that.

Alissa, 1990

Isolation…being completely alone…emptiness…a cold barren winter devoid of color….loneliness…the crying of the wind…sadness…the darkest days of the year.

Isolation…for three years Matt had a school teacher come out to the house to educate him. He was deemed too violent to attend school. My mom took a leave of absence from work and pulled my younger brothers and I out of school as well. Sometimes we only left the house once a week to go to church. I spent a lot of time alone in my room writing in my journals.

Emptiness…Robbed of joy and childhood magic…My dad couldn’t handle the stress…he was there physically, but he was gone emotionally…I had to step up to the plate…the firstborn…the caregiver…the fixer…weighed down with adult worries…numb to pain, numb to joy…Pushing all feelings away…left empty inside…Not able to feel anything.

Loneliness…Friendships were severed. When friends came over, it was a disaster. We only had people over once or twice a year and it usually did not go well. My mom and my cats were my best friends. I had more pen pals than actual friends, it was safer…the friends we had went away and never came back…

Sadness…My mother, the kindest and most compassionate person that you would ever meet. I think that it truly hurt others when they had to kick us out of public places because of Matt’s violence…he hurt someone…I have to kick you out…you are welcome back again, but give it some time…Those were the years when I saw my mother’s tears more than I heard her laughter.

Isolation…being completely alone…emptiness…a cold barren winter devoid of color….loneliness…the crying of the wind…sadness…the darkest days of the year.

I spent three teenage years completely alone..Those were the darkest years of my life. Years that I don’t talk about.

 

Autism’s sibling, journal 3 part 1

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Now I am ready to tell you about myself, my family, and you will understand everything..

Everyday Matt would be violent. He would bite me and claw up my arms. I have the scars to prove it, although they faded a little because he’s a little better. But it was awful. Everyday he would be uncontrollable. It was always me he hit.

Once he had this thing about men with beards. He would scream and be awful. Once Matt, mom, and I went grocery shopping and Matt saw a guy with a beard. He got really mad. When mom was checking out, she had to hold him down on the floor because he could hurt someone. 

Or how about the time when we had to move the knives because he took one out and threatened to stab my eyes out.

Or when my mom got a bloody lip because he threw his head back on her. She started crying and it really upset me when I heard her say, “What kid would do this to his mother?”.

The stress was unbearable.

I couldn’t have any friends over because they might have on a fragrance and he might react. So you could say that I never really had many friends over because he would hurt them or me. I couldn’t wear any hair spray or anything with a fragrance.

Other times he would hurt small kids.

We had to do different things. We had to get unfragranced soap, shampoo, deodorant, and laundry soap. We had to close the windows when there was an east wind because the auto exhaust would bother him.

He couldn’t leave the house. He had to eat special foods. We never had anyone over because Matt might hurt them.

He can’t read and when he was younger, he couldn’t talk. He would do weird things like grind his teeth and hit his head. He broke about 5 stereos, one of mine, one of mom’s, and the rest were his.

He couldn’t go swimming because of the chlorine. He would be wild for two or three days in a row. He threatened to run away.

Alissa, 1990

Over time, I have forgotten the magnitude of the stories written by a younger me.

To be honest, something has been scratching at my mind since I stirred up my demons.

My last post was on locker rooms of all things..Talking about locker rooms seemed to bother me more than it should have..Memories swirl through my mind. My mom taking a too old Matt into the girls locker room? There weren’t options back then like there are now. A too old screaming autistic boy in the ladies locker room would have been memorable back then, but I don’t remember more than a flicker.

There are whispers quietly echoing through my mind, but I can’t make out the words.

I am nervous as I type.

Do I really want to remember?