Schizophrenia - The Girl With The Shining Red Hair

The Girl with the Shining Red Hair

The phone is ringing for the 12^th time. I ignore it because I know it is my sister. She leaves me a message – “Hello Elaine I guess I’ll call you tomorrow I heard that they put me on Dateline and it was good, and across the street they told me that were proud that I did it Dr. Carter told me that I had more than seven bullets in my head that since I was shot and I survived that I must be innocent none the least and um Kendra just witnessed my baby rolling and farting and so I am pregnant and it’s not my mind. Love You Bye oh and don’t worry, and tell Jessica not to worry about what was on Channel 6 it didn’t hurt I didn’t show anything.”

She wasn’t always like this. She was beautiful with shining red hair and bright blue eyes. She even did some modeling in high school. She went to cosmetology school and became quite proficient as a colorist under the direction of Paul Mitchell himself. Of course like any girl, she fell in love and had the subsequent heartbreak. Many of us cry for some time, maybe get angry, but eventually our hearts heal and we move on to better things.

I remember the night I got a phone call when we were both in our 20’s. She was in New York, our parents were living in Italy and I was in Las Vegas. I could tell right away something was wrong. Her words didn’t make sense. She said that she and her boyfriend had broken up and she was afraid of what she might do. She said she burnt herself. I told her she needed to call 911 and that was the first of many hospitalizations.

Shortly after that my parents returned to the states and moved to Georgia. My sister joined them there. She seemed better for a while, even happy. She even started dating and had plans to marry. Sadly before the wedding happened, she suffered a heart attack that damaged a large portion of her heart and they postponed the wedding. Finally the big day arrived and she was a beautiful bride.

Sometimes the depression seemed to take over her life. For months she would be happy and excited about everything life had to offer and excited about learning new things. Then the bottom would fall out and she would be back in the hospital. She was a cosmetologist when the voices started.  Mostly degrading and hateful, sometimes just a whisper yet other times yelling in her ears. They were relentless.

She began a new life pursuit. She began attending culinary arts school. She loved it and she was good at it. Everything went well until it came time for her to complete her externship. She never was able to move on to that last step.

Her husband was another challenge in her life. As a chronic alcoholic himself, he was unable to help care for Gina. Part of me felt sorry for him because I knew it could not be easy living with someone with a disease that when uncontrolled can be the roller coaster from hell. Other times I was angry and blamed him because he wouldn’t get well himself so he could help her. My mom helped as much as she could, often driving the 130 mile round trip weekly to help. 

My dad, on the other hand, was angry. It was hard for him to understand that Gina was sick. He didn’t understand that she wasn’t trying to be irresponsible. He also hated that her husband was not helping her more.

I moved out to Georgia in 2009. Unexpectedly my mom passed away one month after I got here. I took over the care of my dad. As a blessing, because of his Alzheimer’s, he forgot the animosity he had towards my sister and her husband. They had the reconciliation that she desperately needed. He passed away in April 2011.

I knew their passing would be hard on Gina. I assumed the role that my mother played and went out to take her to her doctor appointments on a monthly basis. It was painful sometimes to see the living conditions she lived in. Often she would call me because she and her husband were fighting. I’ll be honest, I hoped she would finally leave her husband, but she was convinced leaving would be worse. Her agitation and aggression got worse and often her husband would call me, not knowing how to handle the situation. I recommended that he take her to the hospital or call 911 so she could get the treatment she needed. 

I had been in contact with adult social services, the sheriff’s office and even the county judge trying to get some kind of intervention. Everyone told me their hands were tied. Unless she actually committed a crime they could not force her to get treatment.

In February 2012, I got the phone call I knew would eventually come. Gina’s husband called to tell me that he had been away at his mother’s and when he got home Gina was in the closet. She didn’t recognize him so she hit him in the head. He called 911, however he was arrested due to an outstanding warrant on a DUI charge.  Gina was left alone in the trailer.

It was time. I needed to get my sister into the hospital. My best friend went with me in case anything happened. I was not prepared for what I saw. Most of their belongings were on their front porch, along with piles of empty beer cans. I knocked on the door and I could hear her screaming profanities, jumbled sentences and random letters and numbers. She opened the door and then slammed it in my face. I was trying to balance myself precariously on the pile of clothes, knick-knacks and even a mattress. I knocked again and called out that I wanted to make sure she was alright. At that moment the door flew open and she pushed me off her porch.  She never has gotten physical before nor since that time. She yelled at me again and slammed the door shut. We headed into town to see the judge. He finally signed the order to have her hospitalized. 

She was in the psychiatric hospital for 2 months, then released to a personal care home, because her husband was still in jail at the time. Since then we have not seen nor heard from him, nor has he assisted with her care. She has invented new parents, rarely ever talking about our mom and dad. Multiple times she says her husband has been killed or they are divorced. She is convinced that a boy she dated in high school was actually Axel Rose, from the band Guns N’ Roses and that he is her husband.

Upon her release from the hospital her delusions were constant but she seemed happy with her living arrangement. Mostly she talks about money the government owes her for things she has invented. She talks about Axel and has multiple names for him. She believes she has over 30 children and that she is frequently pregnant, all of which is not true. She gets frustrated when I tell her I don’t have any checks or a bank card for her, but I can usually tell her I will check on them and she seems appeased for the time being.

During the next couple years there would be multiple hospitalizations We decided it would be best to move her into town and into a personal care home closer to me. It was also our hope that we would find a better doctor for her care.

In October 2015 things became critical. Gina woke up one morning unable to breathe. She was rushed to the hospital in V-tach. Her heart was not beating properly. Test results showed that her heart was only working at 20% and the left ventricle had damaged tissue. An anti-arrhythmia drug was added and she was released. 

There were six psychiatric hospitalizations in six months. One time she was almost catatonic when she was released. She looked right through you and wouldn’t answer you if you asked her a question. As the week progressed she seemed to get better, but as time went by she started to get more and more agitated and argumentative. On a trip to the cardiologist she seemed more irritable than ever, but I assumed it was because she might have thought she was going back to the hospital. It took multiple assurances that we were only going to the cardiologist. She seemed to settle down once the appointment was done.

Less than a week later I got a call from the personal care home. Gina was screaming and yelling and trying to leave the in the middle of the night. Even when she was shown a video of her attempts she denied it. Her delusions were angry and she was yelling out random things. I hopped in the car once again knowing a hospitalization was in store. When I got there she was yelling and just plain angry. I was able to convince her to go to the hospital with me and we headed to the emergency room.

They put us in a bare room and she constantly called out random things, some of them angry. I sat quietly not wanting to irritate her more. Each time a doctor or nurse came in she told them that she was the surgeon general and that all she needed was her prescriptions and marijuana because she thinks has glaucoma. She told them nothing is wrong with her. She just has brain damage from the bullets they pulled out of her skull. 

Once admitted she was refusing to take medication and would have to have injections in order to calm her down. Security was having to be called multiple times a day. On Christmas Day I went to see her. I did not want her to be all alone on such a special day. She would not hug me and was still very angry. I kept the visit short. Her face teamed with anger. The only time she smiled was when I gave her the M&M’s I brought her for a treat. A couple days later she was transferred to a more specific and secure facility. She has been in that psychiatric hospital for over a year now and her heart condition continues to decline.

Thankfully the hospital is in town so I am able to continue to be involved in her care.  However, I am tired. I struggle, trying to balance my need to care for my sister and my need to care for my daughter and somehow care for myself. My heart aches wondering if Gina will ever be stable. I feel guilty as I ask God to please give her relief, sometimes wondering if death would be better than the torture she is enduring. I look at her closely. Her hair is still the beautiful red, with highlights of gold, but her eyes are dark, her face angry.

I wait, not knowing . . . . I wait, wondering if she will ever come out of the hospital, I wait, wondering if she will have to go to yet another facility, I wait, wondering where she will be able to live, and I wait . . . .wondering if she will ever smile again.  

Last Dance

It was January 31, 2011. This was a special day because it was my dad’s 74th birthday. My daughter and I pulled up in front of the nursing home. It was a cold brisk winter day, but Lake Crossing was warm and inviting with its beautiful trees and white wooden rocking chairs on the front porch. As we walked inside, everybody was busily getting ready for the afternoon’s festivities as today they would be celebrating all of the birthdays for the month of January.



We found my dad in his room sitting on his bed dressed nicely in dress slacks and a polo shirt. I took a moment to reflect on how the Alzheimer’s had aged him, yet it had made him child like. He looked up and said, “Hey, look who’s here!” I was blessed that he still recognized my daughter and me.

Lady J ran to his arms and they shared a bear hug. “Happy Birthday, Grandpa!” she exclaimed. I followed with a hug of my own. “Look dad, I brought your dancing shoes,” I said. He looked at them puzzled, but put them on. Lady J took him by the hand and led him gently to the recreation room where the other residents and staff were gathered for the birthday celebration.


A wide circle had been cleared in the middle of the room. I led my dad to the center of all the people watching. I tenderly placed his left hand at my waist, and placed my left hand upon his shoulder, and then I took his right hand in mine. The CD I had chosen began to play. The song was “Lollipop, Lollipop” and the tempo was strong yet moderate. At first my dad looked at me and said, “I don’t know what to do, “so I started to lead.

I started with two side steps, then a triple step back. Within moments there was a sparkle in my dad’s eyes and he began to lead. There were spins, turns, and slides. He didn’t miss a beat, but the best part was the smile on his face. When the song finished we did a big spin out for a grand finale and everyone clapped and cheered.


Breathless, I hugged my dad. Lady J jumped up and down with joy from watching the dance with her mom and her grandpa. After the celebration, she got to dance with her grandpa in his room. The sparkle remained in his eyes even though he said little the rest of the day. That was the last time I danced with my dad. He passed away on April 10, 2011, but the memory of that day will live with me forever.

Firelily, The Bipolar Fairy

Once upon a time there was a beautiful fairy named Firelily. She had a very hard time making friends. The other fairies would fly away when they saw her flying into the meadow. Now she wasn’t a bad fairy. You see, Firelily had Bipolar Disorder. Some days she would get so excited that she would talk so fast that no one else could get a word in. Even her wings would flap excitedly. Sometimes they would flap so fast they would flap in the other fairies faces. This annoyed the other fairies. She flew over to the fairies so she could sit by them on the daisies and they flew away. Of course she chased them. She thought it was a game! Pretty soon it was no longer a game to her and she got very, very angry!! Her face got bright red, her wings got very stiff and she started to scream, “NOBODY LISTENS TO ME!” Pretty soon she started to kick and there was dandelion fluff everywhere! When she started to throw the acorns, all the fairies and the animals hid in fear. Eventually Firelily crumpled in a heap, sobbing until she fell asleep.

The guardian fairy, Flutterjewel, came and sang her a soothing song and reminded her that she is loved. The next day Firelily did not go to the meadow, but the guardian did. She called a special gathering of all of the fairies. She told them about Bipolar Disorder and told them that Firelily’s brain makes her feel emotions stronger than most fairies. Instead of feeling sad, she sometimes feels deep sorrow. Instead of feeling happy, she sometimes feels on top of the world. Instead of feeling scared, she sometimes feels terror. Instead of feeling angry, she sometimes feels rage. Instead of feeling friendship, she sometimes feels love. The guardian also explained that Firelily takes medicine to help her brain balance those chemicals to help her with her emotions.

Now that the fairies knew that Firelily could not help being the way she was they got together and thought of ways to help Firelily. One fairy suggested they could all be kind to Firelily. One fairy suggested they could all say hello to her whenever they saw her. One fairy said it probably wasn’t nice to move away from her when she wanted to sit next them. Another fairy said it would be good to take time to actually listen to what she is saying, even though sometimes she is hard to understand. It would take patience but it was worth a try.

The following day Firelily was back in the meadow. She acted as though nothing had happened. It was like she didn’t even remember her anger from the other day. She was back to her excited self with her wings flapping with each word she said. But something was different. Firelily noticed a fairy said hello to her, then another, then another. First she got really, really excited! Her wings were flapping so fast everyone thought the daisy petals were going to fly away in the breeze! Then she tried to sit down next to two of the fairies, and they actually stayed with her, one even shared her sunflower cookie, her favorite!! Pretty soon Firelily’s wings calmed down as she began to talk with the fairies and they began to giggle about the squirrels and the bunnies playing in the meadow. The fairies soon learned that Firelily was a lot like them, very loving, very funny, and sometimes angry, but always a fairy friend.

Schizophrenia - A First Hand Account

People have asked me about my sister. I decided the best thing would be to post in her own words. This writing was published in Choice Voice at Augusta College in 1994.

Schizophrenia - by Gina Van Duzee

I am hoping for my boyfriend to come back. The girls at work understand. They know that my condition makes roller coaster rides out of work.

As we sit in our chairs at a meeting, I see his face in front of me. I hear laughing, and I believe the figure is he.

Later, I am cutting a customer's hair, and all of a sudden, I feel anger inside me. There is so much anger I grit my teeth. It feels like a possession by some evil being. I move from side to side of the chair, fighting this being. My customer stares at me and is uncertain what is going on. I get through the haircut, and I sit down in the office. I light a cigarette and try to relax.

Schizophrenia is a nightmare, populated by the overwhelmingly powerful beings from the dark, who control and manipulate a helpless person with their laughs, snide remarks, and allusions. Of course, these beings aren't real. They come from the inside, attacking the subconscious, paralyzing with fear, tempting to suicide.

It's been a long stressful day. I undress, put my clothes in the hamper, jump into the shower, and slip on a night shirt. I lay my head down on the pillow, ready to sleep, and then, they start.

"Gina doesn't know what's going on!" An evil laugh. "Let's get her tomorrow." I can hear the voices loud and clear. Curious as it may seem, the voices are comforting because I hear them so often.

The next day, I hear footsteps behind me as I'm walking down the hallway of the mall. I turn around and look behind me. There is nothing there. My breathing becomes faster and frantic. I hear someone calling my name: "Gina." I feel the invisible stalker around me. I look from left to right: nothing.

Like so many times before, I realize that what I am hearing is coming from within. I scream and cry out of anguish and fall to my knees, crying.

Sometimes I can recognize these voices: these are from co-workers, so-called friends, people I trust. It makes it easy to distrust.

I feel really depressed. A man whom I admire is not willing to talk to me or touch me. I am lonely, yet not alone in this city. My parents are here, but there is no one my age to talk to. So I talk on the phone to my sister, who lives in Las Vegas, but I can't think straight. My sentences aren't clear, and I struggle with simple words. I am easily startled, and waves of paranoia rush through me. I am frantic and on the edge of suicide. She calms me down for an hour or two. Then, I have to go to work. I can't find my keys. I sit on the hassock, distressed.

I call work to ask if someone could pick me up. The manager sarcastically remarks, " Call 911." I am so desperate that I do call but do not speak very well. They find me at the house, sitting on the hassock. My legs shake as I walk to the ambulance.

Flashes of light rush past me, and I think I hear the paramedic say that I am dead and laugh.

The police come an take me to Georgia Regional. I scream, "You're not going to take me to a mental hospital!" As we walk to the door, I calm down. I ask for a light for my cigarette. The policeman stops periodically for me to smoke. Then I am locked up, caged in. I can only stare at the locked doors and watch television while sitting on a hard metal bench. For two weeks, I am trapped.

But the voices aren't always threatening. Sometimes they can be just fleeting fragments of sentences: "The cow is in the house." They can be disconnected gibberish: "This they when it's here." Sometimes the voices can be friendly. For example, I am walking down the hallway at the hospital. I have just been admitted. A voice asks me, "Gina, are you ok?" I stop and ask if someone said something, but everyone says no. Nevertheless, I feel more secure.

Before I went to the hospital, I did realize that I had a problem. The voices were so normal to me, that I believed it happened to everyone. I believed that I would have to suffer from these delusions for the rest of my life.

This disability can be treated with medication. I am on Navane, among other complementary medications. Other successful medications are Rispendal and Clozaril. With daily doses of medication, this disease can be controlled to a slow drawl. If medication is stopped, it happens again.

NOTE: Since this writing even more medications have been successful in the treatment of schizophrenia and other disorders related to mental illness. The key is to not suffer in silence. If you or someone you know is affected by mental illness, please reach out and get help.

Nuclear Disaster

Recently we have had a horrific disaster across the Pacific in Japan. There has been a huge earthquake and tsunami creating massive destruction. Included in that destruction is damage to two nuclear plants. As I have read the information about the nuclear plants, I can't help but know that my dad would have known very much what needs to be done in this situation to prevent a serious nuclear disaster.
I have had the opportunity to read much of his history in the nuclear industry, both in the Navy and in the civil sector. My dad served under Admiral Rickover, who was considered the Admiral of the "Nuclear Navy". My dad was a key person in building four air craft carriers, including being the chief engineer of the Enterprise. He also was involved in the conversion of the Bainbridge, the first nuclear frigate and designed the seal, and the Nautilus, the first nuclear submarine. Dad was often referred to as "Mini Rickover", as he was third in command. Although his professional life often took a toll on his family and personal life, he took his job seriously and did his job with great pride. His officer reviews always reflected that sense of integrity and workmanship.
Unfortunately, due to the Alzheimer's, I feel my dad has his own nuclear disaster going on within himself. For years because of his brilliant mind, he was able to hide it from the public view. However deep inside his brain, changes were taking place uncontrolled. Sometimes they have problems at the nursing home because dad thinks he is still in the Navy, or because he thinks "people aren't doing their job". I am so grateful for loving and understanding staff who take the time to talk to him and comfort him until he feels safe again.
I am reminded of a story told by Admiral Rickover,
In ancient times a philosopher came to a city. He was determined to save its inhabitants from sin and wickedness. Night and day he walked the streets and haunted the marketplaces. He preached against greed and envy, against falsehood and indifference. At first the people listened and smiled. Later they turned away; he no longer amused them. Finally, a child moved by compassion asked, "Why do you go on? Do you not see it is hopeless?"
The man answered, "In the beginning, I thought I could change men. If I still shout, it is to prevent men from changing me."
I am sure that is why my dad shouts. It is as though part of him is shouting to the Alzheimer's, "HEY, STOP CHANGING ME!!"

Saying Goodbye

In some ways Alzheimer's can be a blessing. Although everyday I curse the disease I am so grateful for the time I have with my dad because I know I am not ready to say goodbye. I feel as though I am saying goodbye one little piece at a time. As his memory has diminished, I have tried to gather and record as much as I possibly can so it will not be lost forever. My dad is so different now compared to the man I grew up with as a child. He was a Naval Officer, proud, stern and demanding. We grew up with statements such as, "What's the sense of doing something if you are not going to do it right?" and "If you want something, you gotta work for it!" Although I did many, many things with my dad, compliments were very hard to come by. I grew up believing my dad was perfect and infalable. Now he is childlike as my daughter takes him by the hand and leads him to where he needs to go. His eyes light up when he sees lady J and me when we go to see him at the nursing home and I am grateful each time that he still remembers us. Sometimes he visits with us and dances and sings with us. Other times he sleeps while we read to him or we just enjoy the comfort of being with each other. It is a comfort to know that he doesn't remember how painfully my mom died, yet he remembers her beauty and he remembers dancing with her. It is a comfort to know that he doesn't remember all the petty fights we had when I was growing up, especially as a stupid teenager. It is a comfort to know that he only knows my sister in a loving manner after years of animosity. Yes, everyday I grieve a little more as my dad slips away, but everyday there is a little more acceptance. For now, I cherish every moment in time with him as if it may be the last. I love him so very much.

The Battle Raging Within

I'm struggling right now, like a lot of people do around the holidays. For me it's always guilt because I feel I should have decorated more, or given more gifts, or visited more people, or done more service. You get the picture. It's sadness from not hearing from family members, especially my children, because I feel it is a reflection of my life with them and my failure as a mother.

I am in physical pain with my back and hip and I feel agitated and on edge. Add this to my own daughter's mania and you have the perfect formula for conflict. Today she was demanding to take 12 stuffed animals to the dentist and we were already running late, after a heated discussion, we finally compromised and she took two. I want to be able to wake up in the morning and hug my daughter and say "Good Morning!" and send her to bed each night and say, "I Love You, sweet dreams!"

People tell me I am wonderful for taking care of my dad and my daughter and I just feel horrible because I don't feel like I am doing a good enough job at it. I feel like I am going through the motions in survival mode most of the time. I love them so much and I feel like they deserve someone who is tender and gentle and never gets frustrated and angry.

I miss my mom more than you can ever imagine but I feel cheated. I was looking forward to doing so many things with her when I moved out here, and now she is gone. Instead she left me with all this to attend to. It's not fair!

I feel like a golf ball..ever peel one of those things? Underneath that hard shell is a rubber ball with lots and lots of tiny elastic bands and once the shell is peeled away those elastic bands explode and the whole thing comes unraveled.

What Bipolar Feels Like

This is part of my original post dated March 20, 2009 from when I had to have my 7yr old admitted into a psychiatric hospital to have her medications adjusted. I felt it was worth repeating;

Imagine all of the emotion that you feel when you are deepest in love, that intense joy you feel. Now imagine the emotion that you feel when you have just been betrayed by that same love, that intense rage and anger. Now imagine that emotion that you feel when you have just lost that same love whether due to a breakup or death, that intense sorrow. In addition, imagine the emotion that you feel because your loved one is missing, that intense anxiety. THAT IS WHAT BIPOLAR DISORDER FEELS LIKE!!!

Halloween and Social Graces

I love Halloween!! Besides the cool fall weather and the beautiful shades of reds, yellows and oranges that present themselves so wonderfully on the trees, I love the magic of Halloween. I love the excitement of finding out what my daughter, LadyJ is going to dress up as each year in her costume. LadyJ never picks a standard costume like a princess, or a witch, or a fairy, or a cat or ghost.  If you look at last year's Halloween post you will see that she was a "dancing princess cat". This year she was a "Waitress Girl", which interpreted, meant a poodle skirt (with a cat instead of a poodle), and her carrying a tray of food. For trick-or-treating I talked her into carrying a purse instead.

My favorite part of Halloween is it's the perfect time to practice social graces.  What a better time to teach your kids the art of courtesy, respect and most of all grattitude.  Perhaps many of you have seen the same thing I have.  The doorbell rings and a bunch of costume clad munchkins stand there with a look of expectancy while you toss your coveted treats into their outstretched bag.  Then in a flash they are gone. Thankfully this doesn't happen too often.  This is my reason for coaching LadyJ while we are trick-or-treating. Because of her challenges, social situations are awkward for her anyway.

As we approached the first door I asked her what she was going to say... she says "Thank you". I said, "That's good, but how about trick-or-treat, then say thank you afterwards"  She runs up to the front door, says "Trick-or-treat", gets her goodies and says "Thank You " as she is running back to the car.

A couple doors later, I said "It might mean more if you say "Thank You" to their faces. LadyJ looked at me for a moment to process this and she said "Yeah, you might be right" So she went to the next door and got her treats.  When she got to the car she asked "Mom, why do they keep trying to scare me?" I said, "What do you mean?" She said, "They keep telling me to be careful!" I had to stifle my giggles a bit as I explained to her that people were not trying to scare her, it was a way of telling her they care, like when I tell people to drive safely when they come to visit us.

At the next house the occupant jumped out with a mask on in an attempt to scare her. LadyJ just stood there and looked at him and waited for him to give her the treat she came for, said "Thank You", turned and walked back to the car.  Once in the car, she said "Mom, that guy tried to scare the crap out of me!"  Somehow I don't think those guys got the reaction they thought they would...haha on them!

There were other things taught, like don't walk on the grass because you wouldn't want someone to mess up your yard, you only take one and "You get what you get, and you don't throw a fit". But my favorite lesson of all was to enjoy the magic of the evening. Enjoy the moment, the joy, the laughter and the bond. Don't worry about what could happen tomorrow or the next day or even the next hour.  Yes, Halloween is a wonderful time to teach the social graces such as courtesy, respect and grattitude. It was an honor to spend such a wonderful night with my incrediblly, unique daughter and I am so grateful that I have this time to spend with her.

Moms and God

I have a 26 yr old son who is also bipolar. His symptoms showed up when he was a teenager, but I was unaware of this possible diagnosis. He was the most easy going kid always full of smiles, always the peacemaker, could always make you laugh and was full of hopes and dreams. He was going to conquer the world.

"Ace" had great friends, was in ROTC, was in the student body presidency, and was accepted in a magnet program in aeronautics. One of his dreams was to become a pilot in the Air Force and to eventually become a smoke jumper because he always wanted to be a firefighter.

During my pregnancy with LadyJ, Ace worked two jobs and always had money. His friends found they could always borrow money from him. We used to laugh, saying he could always start a business as a loan shark. He bought an older truck and started to restore it. In addition to all this, Ace was quite an accomplished drummer. Slowly changes started to occur in Ace.

There were periods where he had boundless energy and would clean the house, organize his room, buy dinner for everyone, fix the car, work on his truck, and friends would come and go mostly to play music with him.

Then there were the periods where he would hardly come out of his room and the clutter in there was one to two feet deep. He would lose things, especially his wallet. His grades dropped so much that he had to drop out of the magnet school and return to his normal high school. Eventually he lost one of his jobs also. I can't tell you how many times I looked in his room searching for some sign of drugs. (He tells me now that at that time he was not doing drugs)

Since that time Ace has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and depression. He is one of the many people who "self medicate". This means they find other ways to deaden the feelings they have boiling inside of them. (I will write more on this later) Ace has tried many of them and has made a lot of poor choices because of the alcohol and drug abuse. Some of the bad things that have happened were because of the choices of others he chose to associate with.

At this point Ace has separated himself from his friends and family who love him very much. I always wonder what to say to him. I am hurt and angry for the things he has done, but I love him because he is my son. My heart aches because he feels we have abandoned him and he can't see through his pain enough to know we are right here reaching out for him. I have a very strong faith in God, yet I too struggle sometimes wondering why I have been chosen to endure these challenges. Why have I been abandoned just when I need His loving hand the most and then it occurred to me...

Ace,
Moms are a lot like God... we have been here the whole time just waiting for you to decide to talk to us. In the meantime we wait ..... We wait knowing how much we love you because of all the good inside of you, in spite of your bad choices. We also want you to know we have never turned our back on you ... we are right here. I love you, Ace!

Perspective

A couple years ago I had the privilege to listen to a good friend of mine give a speech on perspective. Now when I feel like things are spiraling down and I am going into a depression I just think of the word perspective and realize;

1. Things could be worse.
2. I have been through much worse.
4. Other people have been through worse.
5. Later on this may not look so bad.
6. I will get through this, don't give up.
7. There may be a different way to look at things.

Last week I was really missing my mom. My heart ached as I yearned for her companionship. I also felt guilt as it has become necessary for me to assume some of her responsibilities.

The other day my dad received some paperwork from his Navy retirement stating that he needed to list his beneficiaries. He sat in his chair and read the paper over and over again, obviously bothered by the words he saw there. Finally he spoke up and asked me, "What happened to my wife? I don't think I divorced her."

I turned to him and gently said, "Dad, Mom died." I could tell part of him was relieved and part of him very disturbed. He knew that he had loved his sweetheart for 50 years. After a brief moment he asked, "How long ago did she pass away?" "June 29th", I told him.

From across the room I could see him wipe the tears from his eyes as I tried to offer my words of comfort. At that moment I became aware of how difficult it must have been for him to realize he had forgotten my mom's passing and it put my own grieving into perspective.

Missing Mom

Today is just one of those days where I have just really missed my mom. So many times something will happen and I think, "I can't wait to call mom and tell her that!" and remember I can't do that anymore. I lived in Las Vegas, NV for over 25 years and at the beginning of this year I felt impressed to move here to Georgia to be closer to my parents. The planned move was to be in July mostly because it would be the best break for Lady J and school.

In April my dad went to a town close by to get gas cap. It took 12 hours to find him. Shortly after that my parents went up to their time share in Northern Georgia and my mom called and said my dad was severely disoriented. I could also tell that my mom had been drinking.

Usually when my dad is having these problems so abruptly it means he has a urinary tract infection. He had bladder cancer in 1997 and although he had a successful bladder reconstruction and is in complete remission, he is in stage 3 kidney failure. I urged my mom to return home and have dad go into the hospital.

A couple of days later my mom went into the hospital herself. This created a sense of urgency for my move. On May 19th my daughter and I and the cat boarded a plane and flew here to Georgia while my best friend and my church packed up my house and shipped my belongings here.

One month later my mom passed away. Her stomach had been hurting so she had been taking Tylenol. Unfortunately the Tylenol built up in her liver to toxic levels and because her liver was so damaged her poor worn out body finally gave up.

My mom was more than a mother, she was also my best friend. I remember once as a teenager opening up her closet and realizing she had very few clothes, yet my sister and I always had new dresses for school each year, prom dresses, choir dresses, orchestra dresses, new pajamas each Christmas all hand made and other brand new school clothes we needed. It was my mom who taught me to sew and to cook and who gave me my first start in business when I would inventory the fabric store she worked in.

I always remember our home being neat and clean, but most of all I remember her laughter. My dad was a military man to the core and he was strict, but my mom was there to soften things. Her warm smile could make any day better and a joke could turn any bitter moment into joy. Oh, she was far from perfect! I learned right away if I missed the bus for school, NEVER wake her up for a ride!! It was safer to ride my bike the five miles to school!

I have moved into my parents home in order to take care of my dad, so everything around me reminds me of her. She decorated this home so beautifully and I feel guilty for having my belongings all over the place in spite of the necessity of it all. I am amazed at how much I am like her, yet I am painfully aware at how much I will never be as talented as she was. My heart aches for more time to tell her how much I love her and that I understand now the great challenges she was facing in her life. I pray that she left this earth knowing how much I loved her.

Fly Fishing and Bubble Gum in Wal-Mart

I went to Wal-Mart with my dad(who has alzheimer's) and my daughter(who has aspergers and bipolar) today. Mind you this is no easy task, ever! It is like going with two 2 year olds, except one is 8 and one is 72. As soon as we enter the store they argue over who is going to push the cart. I try to appease my daughter and tell her she and i can hold hands while Grandpa pushes the cart. She tells me that he doesn't push the cart as well as she does. I tell her that it is not polite to say something like that and our journey begins as I direct them both to sporting goods.

I have promised my daughter bubble gum if we can get through the store without a temper tantrum. To some this may seem a bribe, but given the challenges she has had lately, I feel this is quite the reward. Wal-Mart is a huge challenge for her on any day. There is so much stimulation, with all of the lights, and colors and smells, and the noise from the people. The noise from all of the people and the intercom and the carts is the worst thing of all. For her, the noise is quite painful and on some trips I have brought earplugs, however I need to find a pair that actually stay in her ears so I don't have to stop every 10 feet to replace them.

Once in sporting goods I am trying to find tennis balls but my dad has found the fishing rods. Quickly he has been swept away to a time in our lives when he and I used to fish all the time. I mention to him that I never did learn to fly fish. I only fished by casting and watching the bobber. That of course sets him on a quest to find a fly fishing rod. I regret my comment and I am grateful that none of the rods there are fly fishing rods. I tell him that he might have to go to a bigger sporting goods store. In the meantime, my daughter has spotted at least four fishing poles, the live worms, the rubber worms, and a life vest and totally irritated my dad at least twice. Finally I find the tennis balls and move on to my next quest, shoelaces for said little girl.

The trek across Wal-Mart seems to take longer than the pioneers did across the country. My dad is tired because it is near the end of the day, and of course the toy department is between sporting goods and the shoe department. I know I had to tell my daughter to "Come On!" at every single aisle, and that of course irritated my dad some more. Just once I would like to get through Wal-Mart without my daughter thinking her last name is Da**it (Lady J Da**it, Come On!!!) (Lady J, Da**it, Get Over here !) I owe the quarter jar a lot when I get out of Wal-Mart!!

After what seems forever and a long decisive process and a desperate pleading from me to "Please just pick one!", we get the shoelaces and head to the checkout. I hate the checkout line!! This is where the battle Royale begins. My dad and my daughter usually fight over who is going to unload the grocery cart, while I try to keep both of them happy and everyone looks at us like we are all nuts!! I help my dad pay for the groceries and help my daughter pay for her gum. On the way home I relish the silence as my daughter chews her gum and my dad falls asleep knowing we got through one more trip through Wal-mart. WOW!! I didn't even have to say Da**it this time!!

Mom & Dad 1959

50th Marriage Anniversary -Ups and Downs

My parents got married in Idaho Falls, ID. They decided to take their honeymoon in Salt Lake City, UT via a small plane piloted by my dad who was an electrician in the Navy at the time. When it came time for them to return home to Idaho Falls, two snow storms converged upon them and they were forced to land on the highway in McCammon, Idaho.

As the newspaper article stated, "The sheriff came meet them and, lights flashing, escorted the taxiing plane to his own front lawn. There the plane parked until the storm passed. Then the Idaho State Patrol and the Sheriff escorted the plane, with its honeymooning Hales, to the highway, which they kept clear for takeoff for Idaho Falls."

They have a framed copy of the newspaper article in their home now. The headline read..."This Marriage Already Has Ups and Downs" Isn't that what long lasting marriage is really about? Isn't it about weathering the storms of life? Let's face it, marriage is not easy. My parents taught me a lot about balance. My dad taught me so much about the value of work and integrity and about doing the best at everything you do. My mother taught me the value of compassion and service and especially about the value of laughter. I think laughter is what got us through a lot of things. We used to have a saying....I will always love you...I may not like you all of the time, but I will always love you!!

My parents have had their challenges including death of loved ones, deployments, financial challenges, job losses, teenagers and health challenges. You name it, they have probably been through it.

My dad retired from the US Navy in about 1974 and is a very accomplished artist with some of his prints being published by Ducks Unlimited. He retired most recently from Stone & Webster. My mom did a wonderful job raising my sister and I and is an incredible seamstress and very accomplished sales and merchandising. Both of my parents are excellent ballroom dancers with multiple medals and trophies.

In this world of "throw away" relationships, this is what marriage is truly about. It is about weathering the storms and about sticking it out through the ups and downs of marriage. It is about not giving up because there is a torrential rain or a flood of bad luck now and then. Sometimes it is about finding a place to land and waiting for the storm to pass, so you can continue on in your journey. That is how my parents got through their 50 year journey.

Dancing en Pointe - Strengthening our Hearts, Bodies & Souls

Some girls during their younger years take ballet lessons. During that time, it seems like every lesson is the same thing, day after day....and to some it may seem repetitious and even boring. Some aspire to become ballerinas, perhaps to become the ultimate prima ballerina. To do this a girl practices to dance en pointe, or upon her toes. To dance en pointe a ballerina must have balance and use the entire body for support. A ballerina seems to dance across the stage with delicate grace and beauty, seeming to float effortlessly like a butterfly lightly touching her toes upon the surface. Truth be told, this is only accomplished after years of pain and suffering. Underneath the beautifully laced slipper reveals feet that are scarred, bruised and calloused.

When my daughter was diagnosed with her disabilities, many people would tell me that Heavenly Father sent her to me because He knew I would be the best mother for her. Now, when I envisioned these "Special" mothers, I pictured women with the patience of saints who never raised their voices. I also pictured these women to be calm, always cheerful, heads held high and their feet lightly touching the ground as they effortlessly guided these angels from God through life.

Fortunately, someone sent me the following article by one of my favorite authors, Erma Bombeck.....

The Special Mother

by Erma Bombeck

Most women become mothers by accident, some by choice, a few by social pressures and a couple by habit.

This year nearly 100,000 women will become mothers of handicapped children. Did you ever wonder how mothers of handicapped children are chosen?

Somehow I visualize God hovering over earth selecting his instruments for propagation with great care and deliberation. As He observes, He instructs His angels to make notes in a giant ledger.

"Armstrong, Beth; son. Patron saint...give her Gerard. He's used to profanity."

"Forrest, Marjorie; daughter. Patron saint, Cecelia."

"Rutledge, Carrie; twins. Patron saint, Matthew."

Finally He passes a name to an angel and smiles, "Give her a handicapped child."

The angel is curious. "Why this one God? She's so happy."

"Exactly," smiles God, "Could I give a handicapped child to a mother who does not know laughter? That would be cruel."

"But has she patience?" asks the angel.

"I don't want her to have too much patience or she will drown in a sea of self-pity and despair. Once the shock and resentment wears off, she'll handle it."

"I watched her today. She has that feeling of self and independence that is so rare and so necessary in a mother. You see, the child I'm going to give her has her own world. She has to make her live in her world and that's not going to be easy."

"But, Lord, I don't think she even believes in you." God smiles, "No matter, I can fix that. This one is perfect - she has just enough selfishness." The angel gasps - "selfishness? is that a virtue?"

God nods. "If she can't separate herself from the child occasionally, she'll never survive. Yes, here is a woman whom I will bless with a child less than perfect. She doesn't realize it yet, but she is to be envied. She will never take for granted a 'spoken word'". She will never consider a "step" ordinary. When her child says 'Momma' for the first time, she will be present at a miracle, and will know it!"

"I will permit her to see clearly the things I see...ignorance, cruelty, prejudice....and allow her to rise above them. She will never be alone. I will be at her side every minute of every day of her life, because she is doing My work as surely as if she is here by My side".

"And what about her Patron saint?" asks the angel, his pen poised in mid-air.

God smiles, "A mirror will suffice."

I have since learned that these other special mothers are also dancing en pointe and getting stronger with each step. Some days it is the same thing day in and day out. Some days we go to bed feeling bruised and blistered and a bit calloused.. Each day strengthens us, we are made stronger from the inside out as we reach out to have support and balance. As you unlace our hearts you will find a love that lifts us across the stage of life just as we feel the curtain might come down upon us. My slippers are worn, tattered and the laces are all but gone but my joy is full as I look upon my children.

Ignorance is not bliss, Ignorance is not finding out the facts!!!

WARNING THIS IS NOT ONE OF MY FLOWERY POSTS....IT IS REAL LIFE!!!!
For two weeks my daughter, LadyJ who is 7, has been in the hospital. Not an ordinary hospital, a psychiatric hospital.She suffers from Bipolar, a form of autism and severe ADHD. I say suffer, because we suffer from other people's ignorance! I have lost very dear friends that I have had for many years because they do not agree with the diagnosis, or because they do not think she should be medicated, or because they think I should just parent her better.
I did not come up with these diagnosis on my own. Multiple doctors have met with us, I have given full medical, family and social histories to each of them. I would be thrilled if all I had to do was change my parenting style, that would be soooo simple!!! All of the doctors, psychiatrists and psychologists agree on all three disorders, they just don't agree on which one is the worst. All I know is I watch my little girl struggle day by day.

I can try to explain to you what she goes through, and you still would not fully understand it. You just have to live it and I would not wish it upon any one of you. I will still try. Imagine all of the emotion that you feel when you are deepest in love, that intense joy you feel. Now imagine the emotion that you feel when you have just been betrayed by that same love, that intense rage and anger. Now imagine that emotion that you feel when you have just lost that same love whether due to a breakup or death, that intense sorrow. In addition, imagine the emotion that you feel because your loved one is missing, that intense anxiety. THAT IS WHAT BIPOLAR DISORDER FEELS LIKE!!!

On the positive side, my daughter runs up to me when she sees me and throws her arms around me like she has not seen me in forever and screams "Mommy!!!" and plants kisses all over me...every single day!!! She has the deepest sense of compassion for those who may need her help or caring, and cries when I cry. On the other hand, it hurts her so much more when the kids at school start to tease her because she seems a little bit odd. It makes her angry when they don't play fair, or they don't follow the rules. It makes her angry when she feels she doesn't get her way. She lacks the ability to control those emotions completely and it frustrates her because she wants so much to please those around her. Bipolar disorder is a problem in the neurotransmitters in the brain, it is also genetic. I know how she feels because I also have Bipolar disorder, so does my sister and so does her 24 yr old brother.

Autism is a little different. I, like others, believe it was brought on after she received a round of immunizations, five to be exact at 11 months old. Her symptoms were typical at first, she would not make eye contact or talk, and she did some hand flapping. She also "read" the Las Vegas yellow pages one page at a time with her back to us and would get very angry if we interrupted her. She would also sing one line of a song over, and over, and over, and over, and over (you get the picture)and over again. (try this for 3 hours in a car!). This act of repeating words or phrases over and over again is called echolalia.

As far as ADHD, her brother had ADHD and we used to call him Woody Woodpecker (an old cartoon character)....well LadyJ is like Woody Woodpecker on speed!!!!

So, here is where the ignorance comes in.... I am a single mom dealing with all of this. It gets exhausting. When I tell people some of the things she does, I get comments like "all kids do that", or "maybe you just need to spank her butt!". I tried to call someone because I was exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally. LadyJ was having a particularly difficult time and I really needed someone to come help me, even if it was just someone to come sit with me for a few minutes so I would not feel so overwhelmed. This person told me, "I'm sorry, I can't think of anybody I can send over because of the possible liability issue...." I WAS SPEECHLESS!! I told her I needed to go and hung up!! Since then, LadyJ has been hospitalized, no one has sent cards or letters, I have not had anyone call to see if I am okay, and I have been taking the bus 2 hours each way to the hospital to see her each day because my car is broke.

If LadyJ had a brain tumor or had been in an accident, people would be swarming with compassion and sending cards and letters and asking to help. Because this is a mental illness, people still think she and I have cooties!!!! COME ON PEOPLE, SHE IS SEVEN YEARS OLD!!! She did not do anything to cause this, I did not cause this, we do not do drugs, we do not smoke or drink or do anything perverted. SHE IS SICK!!! IGNORANCE IS NOT AN EXCUSE TO STOP CARING!!!!!

Dance Like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Bee

LadyJ started school a few weeks ago. I used to call my very dear friend the first day of every school year and wish her "Happy Mother's Day!" Forget that Sunday in May, where we work twice as hard and in my case, we receive our "annual sacrificial plant" at church. The day the kids go back to school after a long summer break is the true Mother's Day. Anyways, back to my title, I know the real phrase is "float like a butterfly" but #1 I don't want to be sued for using somebody else's quote, and #2 I wouldn't exactly call LadyJ's movements as "floating".

LadyJ has High Functioning Autism and Bipolar disorder and ADHD, so she has a hard time with social situations, especially teasing. The first week of school she had punched three boys, one of them twice!! At first I told her to remember she would get spanked if she hit anyone, then I realized DUH~! That just reinforces the behavior we are trying to eliminate. Then I tried the "no TV after school, and bed right after dinner if she hit anyone". Well that worked for a day...

Then....I told her she is a child of God, and He loves her and I love her. She also needs to remember that these kids that are teasing her are also children of God and sometimes they forget that. I told her that next time someone starts to tease her, she should tell them that she doesn't want to fight, she would rather be friends. That afternoon she came home and said, "I DID IT! I DID IT! I stayed in the GREEN!! (Good behavior all day!)" She said, "the boy was teasing me and I told him we shouldn't fight because I am a child of God and he is a child of God !". I said "That's wonderful!!!, What did he say to that?" LadyJ said the boy said "HUH?!?!?" and walked away.....she hasn't had a problem since.

Aren't kids great!!!!

Dancing Waters, Dancing Stars, Dancing Trees, Dancing in the Outhouse -Long

The weekend before school started MissJ and I had the opportunity to go camping with our very dear friends up in Pine Valley, UT. Now this was a whole new experience for MissJ, and an experience that I grew up with my entire life and missed doing a lot. Unfortunately our arrival was later than we anticipated and the first order of business was a visit to the bathroom a.k.a. the outhouse. I should explain that MissJ has intense anxiety issues as it is. So up the hill we go, flashlight in hand and the drama has already begun!! She has had a bad experience with a roadside outhouse in Lathrop Wells, NV (something about flies in summer and ICE COLD toilet seats in winter). I continue forward, despite her protests. We get in the outhouse and I put the huge bundle of keys on the shelf (not my keys), and let her go potty first. Then, I tell her to hold the flashlight for me. As I sit there watching her face, she starts to scream, SPIDER, SPIDER, SPIDER!! I jump up, reach for her, the flashlight, my pants, and start to laugh and comfort her all at the same time !!! The keys on the shelf, did indeed look like a great big spider. With one arm around her clutching the flashlight, I finally pull my pants the rest of the way up, and we exit the outhouse. I try very hard to keep her from running down the hill, since I can't catch her while I am laughing because I would just have to go back into the outhouse again.

Our campsite was beautiful, there was a beautiful stream running behind it, and there were beautiful stars overhead. Saturday morning we adults took one hike up the mountain to where the stream began. At some points the climb was a bit difficult, and there were obstacles, but we were able to overcome them. Once we got to the top, the stream was smaller and more peaceful. There were cedars fluttering in the breeze, and white butterflies dancing effortlessly upon delicate white flowers. There were no voices, no music, no noise, just the peace and beauty of nature.

Saturday night was an amazing dinner with family and friends around a campfire, and homemade peach cobbler and of course s'mores. While many of sat down for a card game, MissJ was getting anxious for bedtime. She finally decided she was more tired than she was scared, and had a wonderful peaceful sleep for the night.

Once everyone had retired for the evening, I had the campfire to myself. It gave me time to reflect. I enjoyed the sound of the stream dancing along the rocks, the gentle breeze as it made the top of the trees dance along with the stream. The stars were twinkling as if they had their own ballet, a single shooting star was the prima ballerina making her great leap across the great stage. And of course the embers danced slowly and tenderly with passion just waiting to be fueled once again to the burning desire held within. As I continued to enjoy the peacefulness of the evening, I realized how grateful I am for all I have. I am so grateful for the very special people who have come into my life and for their friendships and especially for the dances I have shared, and the dances I have yet to dance.

I Need To Dance!!!

I have been in counseling since December about a year after my divorce from Tony....then about 3 weeks after he died this last June, my counselor told me I needed to do something with my life, I needed to move on...
I was frustrated, and angry and as a parting comment I said, "I can't, I died a year and a half ago when we divorced!"
That comment has haunted me ever since.....I can't die!! Even though I was physically here, emotionally, spiritually, and mentally I was dying... and my daughter needed me!!
This is one of the reasons for starting the blog... I DO need to do something with my life. I Need to Dance!!!!