Easter Memories

Today, even though I had a great brunch with family, I was feeling so ill at ease. It night seem strange, because you are supposed enjoy the time with your loved ones. As I got my first cup of coffee, I realized that my husband was at work today and my mother was gone. It felt so irregular without my Mother-in-Law Linda, and the rest of the family as well. Just so many differences. My mother loved Easter, and still bought candy for us, even as we became adults. Of course that candy, eventually, came with flowers as we grew up. My Mother-in-Law would have dinner with us and my Father-in-Law, Sister-in-Law, and Brother-in-Law, and Mom would have Dad, Lenore, Tim, Don and I for brunch at the restaurant of our choosing earlier that day. I can even recall when I was a kid going to Easter breakfast at my grandmother's house. That was always an elaborate banquet of food.

The wind up for Easter, in my family, was never the same pomp and circumstance as Christmastime, although you had the annual Allaire State Park Easter Egg Hunt, which was always fun. You had your visit to the Easter Bunny, which resulted in a coloring book, maybe some candy, and a healthy fear of people in rabbit costumes. Most of them just smelled like dust and pee. Santa, was much the same in the smell department, with a less menacing face. Santa got NORAD and transportation to deliver frivolous amounts of toys, and the Easter Bunny encourages the consumption of tooth rotting, weight gaining candy by giving baskets of it away.

Easter was easy, because I didn't have to make a list. Christmas is when you poured through the Toys "R" Us circulars and chart which toys you absolutely wanted under that tree. Most of the time parents just picked the ones they could afford or chose evenly for the both of us and then call it quits when it came to that holiday. Whereas on Easter, they pretty much bought two gorgeous baskets and a basket in the middle to share. I used to call that the community basket. A great deal of the candy was Russell Stover, which was Mom's favorite. I'm convinced it was her segue into sampling some of the marshmallow bunnies.

Everything, when it came to these points in the year, was surrounded with love and, even though I'm not religious, I still feel that void. Holidays were a special time for my Mother and she took great pains to make everyone feel special. She had this unwavering faith that everything she did had a purpose and that a higher power always had a plan for everyone. I don't think that's true, because she definitely had her own order. The holidays were always the way she planned them, even when I was hosting them, and it seems so alien to have it any other way now.

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Interesting Evening; Interesting Day (A Mobile Blog)

I went out to dinner with my Dad this evening. This wasn't your average evening, because my Mom would've been 66 years old today. My plans were hasty in the making so that my father couldn't wriggle out of going with me. I told him that I'd take him anywhere he'd like to go. He chose his favorite diner, of course. I thought that this was going to be one of those melancholy, bittersweet evenings where we'd talk about Mom for most of the meal but, it was completely the opposite. We didn't even bring her up at all. At first I thought that it was completely creepy and then it hit me: Maybe this was the best way to get through this day. It's not that we'll forget her or not revere all of the wonderful memories that we have of her. We just have those in our heart and we can enjoy a dinner as father and daughter. I think that it would've been so painful for the two of us if Mom was the overt theme of meal. It's been almost seven months since my mother's passing away. I'm getting through it without incident, for the most part, aside from some physical pain from dealing with the aftershocks of familial discord. School is on my side and my life will be my own again. I know, in my heart, that nothing will change the occurrences of June 25, 2010. That logic is what keeps me from being a driveling mess. I can be very stoic about my life and sometimes physical pain manifests itself where emotions don't show up, but that's my burden to carry. George, my father, is similar in that respect. I think that's why the dinner turned out in the fashion in which I described it. We aren't the type to make issue over certain things. This may be healthy and it may not be, but I will leave that question to my psychoanalyst. I had a panic attack this morning. Again, it didn't feel like fear. It just felt like I was very sick physically. I felt fine one minute and next minute I was sweaty, shaky, and nauseated. The limbic system is very powerful. Tonight I think I'll read a book. Right now I'm reading Under Fishbone Clouds by Sam Meekings and I'm enjoying it immensely. Mom never liked books, so that love of reading was something that I received from my Dad. My grandmother loved to read though. I can remember skimming through her copy of the Thorn Birds when I was a child and seeing countless Harlequin Romance novels on her nightstands. My Mother's books were limited to two: The King James Version of the Holy Bible, for which she barely read, and Isis Unveiled by Madame Blavatsky, another book she's only skimmed. These texts were acquired during my Mother's tenure as a Spiritualist minister. My Father's books are either about politics or technology, and he has shelves overflowing with them. My husband and I have more books than we have shelves. Some of them I can't seem to part with, others are destined for the used bookstore. I digress to the former topic before my ramblings about literature. I think that my life is moving on at a steady pace and so is my Father's, but it's an adjustment I need to take in stride. Tonight was example of taking it in good form. I can take a deep breath now. Happy Birthday Mom!

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Furry Family

How do you classify family? You have your mother, your father, your sisters, brothers or if you are married your husband and maybe your kids. I have an interesting extension to my family at home, and maybe some of you do too. My husband and I do not have children per say, but we do have pets. We don't have one kind of pet; we have a blended family of sorts or a menagerie if you will. They are the furry part of our family tree. Each branch of that family tree has an interesting and loving story behind how they came into our lives. Some of our pets were from rescues, some were adopted from friends or even found. Some of our pets were bought from breeders, and some were born right in front of our eyes. We were lucky enough to have these little furry creatures wander into our lives, and I would like to explain their stories to you. A little background about the animal family members that have been with us over the years.

Ophelia is the eldest girl in our family. She is a little Boston Terrier that came into our lives fourteen years ago as Daddy's little holiday surprise. We call her Opie and she kind of thinks of herself as a bigger dog than she really appears. She has been with us through thick and thin, throughout most of our married life, and is the kindest, gentlest dog you'd ever come across. Since she was raised with cats, my husband and I call her "cat/dog." Curley our first cat, was her first playmate, and her second playmate is our fourth cat Kirah. Now she tries to play with all of the cats, some to their chagrin. It's a little harder for her now, because she has cataracts, but she still gets around alright. Sometimes I can't believe how lucky we are to have her in our lives.

Stubby is our brown tabby and white Manx cat who is about nine years old now. For those who don't know about a Manx, they have no tail. When my husband and I moved to Ocean, New Jersey, we had Ophelia and one cat named Curley, who is no longer alive anymore. When we moved in to the apartment, I thought that Curley looked lonely and needed a playmate. So we decided, over time, to adopt a kitten into our family. We went to a rescue in Jackson and looked at different little kittens and chose little Helen. So when we were filling out the paperwork to bring little Helen home with us. The woman who runs the rescue said, "I have this other cat who needs a home. He is two years old and I have had a hard time placing the cat. The cat is really sweet, would you like to see him?" I was unsure, of course, but she went and retrieved the cat to show us anyway. The cat jumped into my husband's arms purring happily. She then proceeded to say, "He has all of his shots, and is fixed. If you adopt him, I will waive the fee." Don was won over by the cat and soon I was too, and home he and Helen came to our home. Donny calls him the Free Gift with Purchase cat.

Helen is our seven year old calico cat girl. She is probably the toughest member of our group, because she is the most temperamental. She came home the same time as Stubby, as I'd mentioned. Helen has a time limit when it comes to how long she will tolerate anyone, including her cat brethren. We thought it was something that might have happened before we got her, but then we realized that was her pathology. I have to say that I love her spirit! I love that she is not the nicest cat, and I would worry if she changed. She's not always mean, mind you. If you give her treats, food, or other types of reward type things, she's very kind. Her lovey side comes in spurts, but like a person her personality is diverse. She pretty much loves her rainbow mice and the cat tree, and her independence. This often leads to her getting in trouble as I had written about in the past. Luckily she has two responsible parents who watch out for her independent ass!

Our third kitty Tiger was a trailer park cat. My sister Stacey called me one day and told me her friend Bonnie was feeding this cat that lived in the trailer park adjacent to her property. Apparently the cat was abandoned for almost a year after his owners moved away. There is a funny story when it comes to Tiger. When I first went to adopt Tiger, I was told he was a girl. The veterinary papers given, and the shot records given on adoption said that he was a girl. We decided to name the cat Tigress and took the cat home. The cat was happy, healthy, and acclimated into our home perfectly with the other cats. Then he got a little sniffle and we ended up taking the cat to the vet and to our surprise Tigress came home Tiger. The poor cat had a drag name for almost a year. We both felt so bad for the poor guy, but he didn't seem to mind. Tiger is the eldest cat in the group now at eleven years old and the sweetest cat you'd ever meet. All he wants to do is be pet and loved constantly. I've never had a cat who was more thankful just to be on your lap.


When my cat Curley, who was ten years old at the time, passed away from cancer, I never thought that I would get over it. Curley was my baby and the first cat in our family. When something like that happens, I don't care what anyone says, it hurts badly. To this day, I still have hard time with it. I think it hurt even more because Donald and I saw Curley into this world. We helped bottle feed him when his natural mother wouldn't nurse him anymore. It was such a deep loss for both of us. When he got very sick, it was very quick. We took him to the vet and she was very honest with us. I remember the day completely and it still hurts like hell. Without going into detail, we didn't go with him that snowy evening in December of 2003.

In January, I get a call from my little sister Lenore about a cat that her friend Kevin was looking to adopt out. I immediately told her no, because I wasn't up to it after the whole thing with Curley and the unrest I was still feeling with that situation. She conceded for the time being, but called again about it the next day. Lenore told me to visit with the cat and if I really wasn't interested, she would let the situation go completely. After her constant prodding, I decided to go. Kevin, my sister's friend, had this one year old kitten they were calling "Worms." The reason being was that she had a case of worms when he got her, or so I think. That condition was gone by then, but the name stuck I guess. She was an adorable little kitten, but I guess she was a little too gregarious for Kevin's taste. She used to knock his action figures over and bury things under the carpet. Anyway, I started to play with her and pet her, she seemed to be very sweet. I kind of got suckered in and decided to take the little one home. I couldn't call her "worms," because she was too pretty for that. So today she is called Kirah, and she is six years old. She is a tortoiseshell calico kitty and she is very vocal. She loves to warble and meow at you. We call the knocking things over stunt the frequent shopper attacks, and usually it's just for attention. Now that she is doted on more often, she really doesn't make that kind of problem anymore.

We've had many birds in our family over the years. When Don and I were first married, we had one bird Chi-Chi. Chi-Chi was a parakeet who wasn't really big on being held or anything of that nature. She was a feisty little blue and white girl who laid eggs all the time. When we moved to Ocean Township, we got a cockatiel named Norbu. Norbu is a very cute, but is definitely Daddy's girl. She lets me hold her from time to time, but she mostly can do without me. Norbu, who is our only bird now, enjoys hearing music and watching television for the most part. She screams at me every time I come in the room and hangs upside down. When Chi-Chi unfortunately passed away in 2004, we eventually adopted Hyde another female parakeet. Hyde was very timid and had a very hard time bonding. She was a rescue and we didn't know what her former owners were like. Hyde was with us for six years before she passed away last year. We never really knew how old she was, but we loved her dearly and it was very hard for us to see her go. We also had Walter the canary who was with us for four years before she died. Walter was marked as a male on her rescue papers and then one day laid an egg, but since we liked her name, Walter stuck. Again, because she was a rescue, we never knew how old she really was. We miss her so much all the time. She was a wonderful bird and was a very important part of our family.

I'd had rabbits in the past, when I was a child, but they were not very nice rabbits. So when my husband found out about some rescue bunnies, I was kind of apprehensive about even approaching them in general. They were these cute little Netherland Dwarf bunnies, one steely grey and the other creamy white. When I went over to the pen, Don opened up the cage and the grey one hopped into my arms. The rabbit was immediately affectionate, and I was totally suckered. His little litter mate was just as sweet, so they went home a matched pair. Turned out that they were both fixed, which was nice. Kola, the grey bunny was a male and Schuyler, the cream bunny was a girl. The two of them were so sweet and because they were rescues, I didn't really know their age exactly. I had them both for six years, and then Schuyler unfortunately passed away from cancer. Kola is doing well and he still plays with his toys. I was worried that he was too melancholy for a while, and then I noticed he started to enjoy watching television with the bird. It was as if the television became his surrogate playmate. That was kind of scary at first, but in a way I was glad. Now he seems to be doing fine on his own and plays with his toys happily. He still enjoys to chew and spit out paper for sport, and will ham it up for the camera.

Each one of our little furry family members has brought us a sense of loving fulfillment. We will always embrace every memory they have allowed us to share with them. Animals are companions that will always be an important part of our family life. I have always been a firm believer that your life is complete with your pets along with you. These animals are most definitely our family and a very large part of our lives. They give us unconditional love and support no matter what, and they are always here for us when we come in the door. They trust us and have a bond with us that can rival some human friendships. They are the first ones we see in the morning and the last ones we see before bed. Some of them even share our bed! There are benefits to having animals in your life. They make you step out of your comfort zone. They make you get out and walk, they reduce your stress, and they can even lower your blood pressure. They all have their own distinct personalities, very much like some of the people in our lives.

I'm Not Defined By My Lack of Progeny

The other night, someone approached me on my reasons for not having children for my own. I struggled for an answer at first, because the way it came out hurt a bit. It almost seemed that lack of children was an abomination of some sort. My answer was simple, "It was never an option." When you are young, there are a great deal of stereotypes that are thrown your way. You are told that you must attend college, meet the perfect mate, marry this perfect person, and have a couple or more children. In today's standards, that can go along with the parents both having careers and paying for a nanny or outside childcare. Many families even have stay-at-home dads or moms. The family dynamic is very different as well, because you have single parent households, blended family households, and same-sex parents households as well as the mother and father nuclear family dynamic.

Now I never went the perfect route in life, because I wasn't really the healthiest person in the world. With that element in place for me, my schooling ended abruptly and I ended up getting my GED. My difficulty in life happens to be grand mal and petit mal epilepsy, which has me on many different medications that would endanger the life of the child from conception toward birth. So when my husband and I met each other, fell in love, and eventually married, we decided that it would be fiscally sound and medically reasonable if we did not try to have a child of our own. We also decided that adoption was not something that we wanted opt into either. With epilepsy, I'm not really sure that my chances of adoption would be very likely and the cost of adoption abroad is extremely costly to say the very least. That does not count the emotional roller-coaster and uncertainty that goes along with adoption as well.

Because my husband and I have made the conscious decision to not have children doesn't mean that we do not like children, it simply means that we aren't cut out for that type of lifestyle. There are many moments within our lives as a couple where we often realize that we are not parent material. We enjoy the freedoms of being able to do anything we want without the worry of having to find childcare or a sitter. With the way the economic climate is during the financial crisis we are experiencing between 2009-2010, it is not fiscally responsible for a couple in our position to conceive. My husband and I will not have to worry about the fiscal and environmental strain that one or more children will put on us as a couple. (i.e, college, cars, diapers, food, clothing, transportation, medical care, utilities, etc.) The environmental wake from every child is absolutely astounding if you think about it.

I have been married for almost fifteen years without the pitter-patter of little feet in our household. Statistically the odds for our marriage lasting over ten years were actually against us according to the most recent study conducted by the Centers for Disease Control in 2002. They say that seventy-nine percent of couples who conceived and had children within eight months of getting married were still together after ten years of marriage. Fifty-five percent of couples stayed together more than ten years if they had a child prior to marriage. Here is the clincher! Only thirty-four percent of couples, who remained childless, celebrated their tenth wedding anniversary. I found that to be unbelievable and sad at first. When I sat there and mulled it over and over in mind for a while, I thought, "Wow, Donald and I beat the odds! How intriguing!" Those who think that our life is joyless, because we are childless, distinctly forget that you make your own happiness as a couple.

Medically Challenged

Well tomorrow I have the nightmare of placing my health in the hands of another neurologist. For those who do not realize why I'm nervous about this, I have grand mal and petit mal epilepsy. Grand mal or tonic-clonic epilepsy is a seizure disorder that affects the entire brain. During these episodes I start by losing consciousness, having muscle rigidity, sometimes I scream out, and then I go through a series of convulsions throughout my entire body where I also bite my tongue and lips. These seizures can last up to two minutes, and sometimes I have more than one in a row. The most frightening part of this seizure is that I stop breathing. These seizures fatigue me so deeply that I pretty much sleep for the rest of the day. The petit mal or absence seizures are accompanied by starting spells or uncontrollable blinking and lip smacking. Those keep me from concentrating and also contribute to my overall fatigue. I've been to so many neurologists since this disorder became apparent at eight years of age. These doctors have put me on different drug cocktails, if you will, to try and control these seizures. More often than not they will work, then after a while, the effectiveness dies down.

Over the last eighteen years, this disease has not only taken a great deal out of me physically, but mentally as well. I cannot drive and I have always had to depend on the goodwill of others to take me where I need to go. From all of the medications, I'm constantly tired and sometimes I feel like the train of medicines will never end. Finally, I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. My anxiety came from the knowledge that I was constantly having petit mal seizures and the threat of having a grand mal. The fear of never coming out of it or dying is something that I struggled with every day. I've tried many different avenues to try and find a good fit for seizure control. There was a time I even entered myself in a study. The study medication, which was Keppra, almost killed me. The depression that I was under from the drug made me suicidal. It was one of the hardest and, even with therapy, embarrassing hurdles I had ever gone through in my life. I had to take a step back and evaluate what I was doing, and realize that I had so much more to live for. I have to say that after that, I didn't feel comfortable with neurologists for a very long time.

My husband and I moved to where we are living right now, and I had done the whole psychiatrist/therapist gamut. I had to analyze why I felt as if I was cursed and didn't feel that I deserved to be happy. I still have that problem, but I'm a work in progress. I was still having seizures, but I was in denial about needing to really pursue a more aggressive means of treatment. I was so scared of going through that same instance where I placed not only my physical body at risk, but my mental state. Then it happened! I had been sick for a while with sinus difficulties and an infection, and my mother was helping me while my husband was at work. I had gone into to the bathroom to take a shower and try to clear my head. I must have screamed and my mother heard me. She ran to the bathroom and I was convulsing and not breathing. I usually don't like to go to the hospital for these things, because there isn't much that they can do. I had changed my mind in this instance, because I stopped breathing and I had fractured my nose. At that point, I was only rationalizing the nose part as the reason for going.


So after a few of these types of seizures, I finally agreed to a different course of treatment with a new doctor. I was still having so many problems and I was hoping that this was going to iron out some of them. I was lucky to find this doctor locally, as I had been going to doctors that were almost one-hundred miles away from me. So when it all began, she gave the MRI and then an ambulatory EEG. Both of these tests showed all of the horrible scar tissue running around my botched up grey delco. Pardon the slang used from the movie Warlock. I was then put on a higher dosage of a medication that I had taken in the past, which helped me, but I thought was inadequate. The EEG was a horrible test that I really do not wish to ever experience again. I will do in an in-office sleep-deprived EEG, but never a three day test. The gel burned my scalp and forehead and it took me two days to get all the gunk completely out of my hair. I washed it five times and scrubbed it intensely.

Things were going along with the new doctor, and I had a couple more seizures after the test and the medication was upped. Then out of the blue, I began to have migraines. This was something that didn't appear before, and I was suddenly put on another drug for that problem. Just when I thought that I was doing well with this doctor, she canceled my last appointment. When I went to reschedule the appointment, the doctor was out of the practice. I don't know if it's superstition or whether it's just fear of new conditions when it comes to doctors, but I always feel this dread in the pit of my stomach. Even with that emotion rolling around my body, I still try to muster as much hope as humanly possible. Over the years, with all of the different turns I've taken, I've learned so much about humanity through this disorder. I was lucky to have my wonderful, adoring husband by my side, I was lucky to get to know so many wonderful people through the epilepsy support groups online and I've found the realistic part of myself that I didn't think existed. I'm hoping that this new turn gives me another learning curve and hopefully another way to control a very difficult obstacle.