Tortured Genius and the Final Conclusion

Be Yourself - Audioslave
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WC5FdFlUcl0

To Thine Own Self Be True. It's not an easy mantra to live by but I tried. We are all influenced by various factors in our lives. Traumatic events, abuse, self-doubt and with the constant bombardment of "Hollywood Perfection" we struggle to cope with self-love. Not easy to accept and be yourself. I think I was mostly successful.

By the time I had my children, I liked myself pretty well. Yeah, maybe lose that excess baby weight but, as a person, I could look in the mirror or in the eyes of my children and know I was okay! Although I was at times terrified knowing that I could not call my mom for her sage wisdom and advise, I was in fact ready for motherhood and knew I could rock that role! Go ME!

That was the kind of self-confidence I was dealing with at that time of my life.

Ten years later, I had made the decision to part ways with my then husband. I told the kids we would be moving wherever I got a job. I ended up with a job in the Toronto area and so we packed up our lives and moved. Life was good and after settling down I had a quick change of employeers to the Dufferin-Peel Catholic District School Board. I had a split school situation that year and to find my place in the organization, I chose to find a location the following year where I could be full time in one setting.

That year I met the first two of three Terri's that would come to mean a whole lot to me, they were classroom teachers. The student I worked with was amazing, the staff at the school was great. It was a wonderful time. Financially I had to take a second job teaching piano to make ends meet as support from the ex was not forthcoming.

It was the third year with the board that things changed. The school, staff and student were all the same but the classroom teacher was different. She believed my role to be "slave" for my CP student rather than assistant. She said I was working myself out of a job. She insisted on everything being done for him before he even decided himself that he wanted help. She made my role in her classroom very uncomfortable but I sucked it up. I didn't realize that there was a profound change in my demeanour until the custodian commented that I never smile anymore. On my breaks, I would write profusely about what was going on and she took great offence to that thinking I was writing untruths about her. My daily planner never left my side and I pleaded with the powers that be to cut me some slack.

The family of my student moved the following year so a transfer of location was in the cards for me too. As an aside, the parents of the student were aware that I was being handcuffed from doing my job as they saw a regression in the ability of their son. He was refusing to do anything independently whether it was put his coat on or propel his own wheelchair, even practicing with the walker had taken a dramatic slide. Years later I met them in a store and they reminded me how valuable I had been for their son compared to the other support he has had. It made me feel grateful that I had been able to tough it out for his sake and the validation of a job well done didn't hurt either.

It is difficult for me every September on that first day meeting all the new students and with increasing frequency for me, new staff as well. But as many difficulties we face in life we "suck it up". And so I did. It was really no different every evening that I walked into the piano student not knowing if I had a new student or a make-up lesson for another teachers student. Exposing myself to the the unknown was a part of my life whether I was comfortable with it or not. I doubt many people even recognized my inner turmoil.

Year 4 was a professional success and I met some amazing people that are still a part of my life. But as that year ended, declining populations dictated that I once again be moved. I could have used my growing seniority to insist on remaining but I took the moral high road and sucked it up. In hindsight...well, hindsight is always 20/20.

Year 5 was the year from hell. By the end of the first week, I was begging and pleading to be moved to a different location. On the first day, I walked into the school to introduce myself and the principal barked at me and I immediately cowered. And unfortunately time would prove that that in fact was the most civil she ever spoke to me. Not that I gave her a lot of opportunity, I did my job and avoided her like the plague. In the mornings, I would arrive and sit in my car until my yard duty started and then to avoid being stared at by her, I would hide behind trees. She would later claim that I was late every day because she never saw me in the staff room or in the yard. I won't get into all the details of her levels of madness, partly because it is still too distressing and partly because I have blocked many of the memories out and only know what I do because I have copious amounts of daily notations. The student I worked with bore the brunt of the abuse on my behalf. An autistic child with whom I had an excellent relationship with, and his mother and the classroom teacher too.

There was no denying what was going on but it was a school community that lived in fear of the principal. I was her current target. If I had the day off, when I returned I would be chastised for some behaviour that allegedly occurred by my student in my absence. I sucked up this degradation to my character and professionalism until March Break. I had been crying everyday on my way to and home from work for months. I saw my doctor during the break and he knew immediately that things were not okay, he approved an extended leave from work. The board said that I was angry. While I think I had every right to be, I was more frustrated and demoralized than anything else.

I eventually made it back to work at the beginning of June, but not before assurances dictated by my physician that it would not be to that place of torture. I could never be made to return. I would not even go back to collect my personal belongings. According to the teacher who did it for me, guess who hovered like a hawk to see what I had? Was she looking for journals or personal writings?

The rest of my career was spent in a single setting. A setting where my strengths as an Educational Assistant were really able to shine, a high school. Two good years were followed by a change in department head whose greeting to me in September was "I never liked you from the moment I first met you". Well hello boss! Yikes! I had two more long term leaves of absence under her rule and it became my last school placement.

In a brief nutshell. it was December 2010 and I was transferred to a school where the worst of the abuse started for me with the board. I was to start after Christmas break. I never went back again. I could not go back to the place of so much trauma. I had a profound understanding of PTSD and the fear of going back to the pain. That placement letter was the bomb that exploded in my head.

Knowing I was good at my job but they didn't like me I tried to change myself. That's when the distorted eating and extreme self-loathing came into play and remains a struggle. My doctor was supportive of my mental struggles and I started seeing someone professionally in late February 2011.

When the first round of papers came up after my sick days were done in March and I had squeezed all I could out of EI, I called upon our former union rep to help me fill out the multitude of overwhelming legal papers. She was awesome and I was soon (less than 1 year later) approved for both CPP-D and mortgage insurance coverage. For the record I don't understand how anyone of sound-mind could navigate all those forms let alone someone who is struggling either physically or mentally!

The board insurance company stood firm on their denial of benefits. They claimed that any trauma/breakdown I was suffering was due to a car accident I had been involved in 40 years previously. And while that accident was horrific, the two simply weren't related beyond affecting how I viewed the world and leaving me vulnerable to the maltreatment of others.

Anyways, denial upon denial and we kept going up the ladder of corporate fish at the Insurance Company. All this time, the former union rep was supporting me. But mentally I was getting worse. Lawyers wouldn't touch it because I had a union and they should be fighting for me. Our union with the new president was shit, a board patsy! So, my union friend became my legal representative and with that designation and some lawyer-ish documents I was finally approved for short-term LTD. Meaning that they decided that I could not work at my previous job. But I received that designation in May 2013, covering me for the previous 2 years that expired April 2013!

And so mentally and physically unable to fight anymore and on the verge of losing my house (mortgage insurance only covered 2 years), I decided to leave. But before I did I hired a lawyer that specialized in disability cases. Upon reviewing all the paper etc he decided to take on the case. Yes, he cost money but I had long passed the point where I was capable of opening any mail that came to the house. Bills terrified me because I knew I couldn't pay them. Seeing the Board letterhead on an envelope caused me extreme anxiety and the demeaning and belittling tone they took on the phone had me screening every call that came in. If I was going to leave my residence, I would have to leave forwarding information. We decided that the lawyer would handle all communication with the Board and Insurance company from here on in. He took care of all the paperwork and BS from my tormentors and gave me peace of mind.

Faith of the Heart - Rod Stewart

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t1sYjDc8i4I

Earlier this year, I was sent to see a psychiatrist appointed by the Insurance Company. I felt confident that he would indeed remain unbiased and not blame my Mother for what happened with the Board. My faith was misplaced. He took my words and the words of my professionals and twisted them, for they all knew me well enough to know that I am of at least average intelligence. His determination could have concluded the case, but he decided that with my ability to write my blogs and volunteer that I was smart enough to be retrained.

Logistically I was over the half-century mark in years on earth and by the time re-training was complete, I wonder how many employers would jump at hiring someone closer to Alzheimer's age rather than a 20 something ready to conquer the world. Did this re-training come with assurance that I would be employed and not lose my benefits on top of everything else? You have to look at the whole picture...not just the spot in the middle that is in focus. I had a career that I lost...not a job at MacDonalds that could be replaced by going to Wendy's!

Now, if you had asked me, I could have told you I'm smart. I was smart when I was 12 after my Mom and sisters passed away. I was still smart after my brother passed away when I was 22. And for the next 30 some years my intelligence level, if anything increased as opposed to going in the opposite direction. My intelligence saved me because I used it to keep myself going - I wrote about it all. All my life I've been writing. But even perfect diamond can crack with the right blow.

According to Psychology Today there is relationship between high intelligence/creativity and mental illness, although it is not a mutual exclusive relationship. You can have one without the other, but I bring up the concept as it relates to me. I think that it unreasonable for that psychiatrist that I saw to assume that a change of career will somehow cure my depression and anxiety.

Kurt Cobain was a tortured musical soul who took his own life, should we have taken the guitar from his hands and given him an accountants ledger instead? Would training Robin Williams to be a bus driver have saved his life? Could training me as an x-ray technician have made what happened at the Board go away? Or would it make it okay for them to hurt me? In many instances talent and demons seem to go hand in hand, in my case the demons where living and breathing members of the School Board. I couldn't make them go away.

October 2015, nearing 5 years off work and a decision was finally made. A settlement was reached. I paid a high price for the suffering that was doled out to me. If the same people had come to my home and robbed me of my personal belongings there would be some form of justice, they would be held accountable in some way. But my perpetrators/demons robbed me of my livelihood and career, the life I had worked so hard for. My house, my dreams, my life. I have to start over.

But at least I can start over. Not everyone has the stubbornness to want to prove them wrong. To prove that I am okay. That you didn't beat me, you broke me. There is a difference!

It wasn't easy and I don't wish these types of struggles on anyone. I wish I believed in karma so I could wait for the day when justice will be meted out, but instead they will become non-people to me. I write them off and give them no more space in my mind.

*If you or someone you know is struggling with abuse at the hands of their employer please support them anyway you can and understand that mental illness just means that we are given more than we can handle. We each have a cup that can "runneth over" and each one is of a different size.
Many of my supervisors were bullies who sensed the weaker in the herd to prey upon, no different than the schoolyard bully that we warn our children about. When the term schoolyard bully is uttered, everyone in that yard should be suspect - including teachers and principals. Sometimes they are also psychopaths.
FYI: I don't have a hate on for teachers. My mother and the most influential people in my life were teachers.

*If you know someone who is fighting for Long-Term Disability, know you don't have to fight alone. There is help out there. Don't be afraid to ask for it. You're worth it. Please, do not try to scam the system because it makes life so much harder for those of us who need the support for real.

*****NO!! I DO NOT CONSIDER MYSELF A TORTURED GENIUS!

Credit where credit is due:
Psychology Today
https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/ending-addiction-good/201503/is-there-link-between-intelligence-and-mental-illness
Huffington Post
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/09/02/creativity-mental-illness-health_n_5695887.html

The Memories are Forever, If the Breaths of Life are Not

Bookends - Simon and Garfunkel

Music choices for me is not about popularity but how it touches my soul at that moment. Hearing the above track just recently I was swept away in a flood of memories and knew immediately that it had to be the song for this post. 

Memories. Sometimes it is all that is left. I consider myself lucky that music can trigger those memories for me, because then I can feel peace at any moment in the day. For besides my vast collection of Pink Panthers I am known for my love of music. 

I come by it honestly. The more I research my family history the more I find relatives that have the same passion and often talent for music. Be it writing or playing or listening. It's in the genes. My mother taught me that passion by example. 

My earliest and fondest memories involve music. Back in the day choices were limited. With enough homemade wine passed around the adults would break into song, belting out all the traditional songs from the old country. The children sang along - for we were all familiar with the language and the lyrics. If there happened to be an accordion around, well that was the accompaniment. 
In the past quarter century, I have had limited occasions to recall those beautiful words in public but rest assured the lyrics come flooding back with the first strains of the melody. It feels like I am surrounded by my family when I hear those songs. "Sul Cappello, Evviva, Evviva il reggimento."  

With Sandra and Ron in the foreground you can see
the stereo that Dad built in the background.

My mother had a fair collection of albums but the majority were songs from Italy. In fact that was the title of one of the LP's. I still own those records, but unfortunately have no equipment on which to play them. But I have many fond memories of adjusting the pennies on the toner arm of the stereo that my dad built. It was a beautiful piece of furniture that had space to hold LP's and 45's on one side and a turntable on the other. I'm told that the inner workings of the unit were created with the help of my Uncle that passed with my Dad. It was a collection of tubes and wires but had such fancy details as a light that not only illuminated the controls but alerted you when it was left on. Reception for the radio was astounding considering it's basic simplicity. For nostalgic reasons only, I hung onto that stereo well into my 40's and I kept one of the knobs from it, still in the top drawer of my desk to this day. 

Not mine but a reasonable facsimile :)

Mom was not beyond using the tactic of bribery to get her four children to do what she wanted. Case in point, when she got tired of employing all the tried and true methods for getting me to stop chewing my fingernails, she took to the darkness and bribed me. And for a 33 cent 45 I quit - at least temporarily lol! That 45 is still in my collection with it's original price tag entact. Day After Day by Badfinger was released in 1971, and it was the start of a collection that blossomed to more than 550 at last count.  

To appease the tastes of so many different musical minds in the early days, we often gravitated to K-Tel purchases of compilation hit music. The first one that I got to pick out and call my own was another bribe of sorts. I desperately wanted a chocker and my mom didn't like them. She slyly suggested that I would want music instead - a whole album. A chocker would have been soon forgotten. To this day I scour old bins of records to find that precious collection again. I would also like to know how it disappeared from the house in the first place - curses on the culprit whoever you are. I remember the cover artwork in my mind but can't seem to reproduce it on paper, the only song that I remember is Obla-di Obla-da by the Beatles. The album meant a lot to me. 

Sandra and I in our music-themed bedroom

We didn't just listen to music, we used it as a source of entertainment. In the evening the local radio station CKPR would hold a contest called The Top Ten. You had to listen to all 10 popular songs and recite them back in descending order to win a prize. The trick was to have a quick finger on that old rotary dial phone to key in the last number upon hearing the first few notes of the number one song. Of course you had to have entered in the previous 6 numbers prior or you would never be the first caller in. It was competitive and I don't think we ever won but we sure loved playing. It was a real family event. 

Linda at the piano. She learned by listening to
her older sisters practice.

Linda (youngest sister) and I took music appreciation to a whole new level. We spent hours upon hours listening to songs over and over again and we painstakingly tried to decipher and then immortalize the words in our own hand. You don't know how good you have it now that a simple google search or simple click on the Shazaam app will get you all that information without the toil. And between those two extremes of lyrical searches was the magazines that included lyrics of the popular songs of the day. I had such a collection of those lol! 
When we actually got to the point where we bought an album by a single artist, it was a real treat to find the lyrics printed within. But with compilations and "best of's" it wasn't likely to happen. So with either her or I at the control of the arm of the turntable and with a steady hand we would move the song back one or two grooves in the vinyl over and over until we came to a consensus. With an ear right next to the speaker, eyes closed and face scrunched in concentration it was like the worlds best game. In the end, having those lyrics so we could confidently sing along meant the world to us. And that folks, is probably why to this day I can listen to the same song over and over again ad infinitum and not tire of it ever.  

A gorgeous lady, A wonderful Mom. A beautiful soul. <3

Rod Stewart and his Every Picture Tells a Story release in 1971 heralded my departure from an egocentric child to awareness beyond self. I thought of my mothers musical taste more along the traditional, country or pop genres. This was a u-turn from the norm. And as I sat at a safe distance, hidden from view, I watched as my mother sat on the floor shoulder to shoulder with a man. To my burgeoning hormones, it was love. The man was a university student who was boarding with us. Chris might have been in his early or even mid-20's, Mom 10 years his senior. Today, I think "Way to go Mom!" Back then my jaw hit the floor and my diary got a page full of shock. And every time I hear a song from that album I still think of love and compassion and of the look of happiness on my Mom's face. Bliss!  

We didn't remain passive listeners for long. Starting with a paper keyboard on the kitchen table, Sandra (my oldest sister) and I began piano lessons 6-8 years old. Maybe younger. It wasn't too long before the need for a real piano became a necessity as we continued to pursue lessons with the nuns of the Avila Centre in Royal Conservatory format. Ron wanted to learn guitar - a few lessons in piano would be helpful. His health and Mom's death sidelined the aspirations of guitar, and he did continue with his piano. Although alternative music on the radio station became more his style and not the classical repertoire or the nuns. My youngest sister Linda picked up piano playing of her own volition. She would try and get in on the action after we had practiced and very quickly was picking out tunes she had heard. A talent not to be wasted she soon found herself tickling the ivories as well. Moms original intention was that the ability to play an instrument made you a more well rounded person. Personally, in hindsight, I think that she had the desire to play instruments but was never offered the opportunity. Hearing music in my sleep may have been her trying to teach herself to play in secret. 

And then there was dance. For what is music without the dance. Sandra, myself and Linda all took dance lessons. Ballet, tap and jazz. To be honest I sucked! Well at least compared to my sisters I did. Let's just say choreographed dance wasn't my thing, but really, I dislike lessons. I felt bad because I was only in the back rows of the dance numbers while Linda and Sandra shone in the front and lead positions. Oh well, we can't excel at everything we try. 

Just Breath - Pearl Jam

"Meet you on the other side"

After they were gone there was a considerable time were Ron and I were estranged emotionally if not physically. He tolerated me and I didn't know what to do with him. We didn't know how to rebuild our family from 5 to just the two of us. 

But with a physical separation when I moved out, we found our connection. We were just two kids trying to make our way through the world on our own and hanging on to each other with spiritual threads. Music gave us that stepping stone into the world together. I called on him to help me build and compile my audio system and he shared the music that he had gravitated towards. To this day still my favourite genre of music, the alternative format and the Canadian musician. Bands like The Deserters, the Villians and Audience. Gone was Top 40 radio and I searched out the CFNY of Toronto for my fix of new music. 

It didn't pigeon-hole the music I gravitated to, it expanded it and the vinyl collection. And although I may get a little teary-eyed when I hear Slade I will never stop listening to it because the memories are all I have. Even if some of those memories are sad not all of them are.  

**On this day, March 21st I have endeavoured to remember my family in the written word in many different ways. This is one of them. For I never feel alone like I do on this day because 41 years later it still hurts. 

For other stories please see:
Website
http://www.pinkpantherfan.caFamily Here and Gone Blog Listing
http://www.pinkpantherfan.ca/Family_Here_and_Gone.php

I am eternally grateful to have found this forum to share and release some of the intense feeling that I have kept to myself for so many years. 

R.I.P. 

The Love of Two and the Strength for Four - Happy 18th Birthday Mom!

Seems Like a Long Time - Rod Stewart

Today is my Mothers birthday! She would have been 18 years old. Seriously, I never knew how old she was because whenever we asked, she said 18. It wasn't until the year of her birth was carved into her headstone that I could do the math and figure it out for real. Today she would be 72...I can't wrap my head around that. She was just 34 years old when she died - timeless and forever young. For her brief time on earth and even shorter time in my life, she left a gaping hole in my heart and a lasting impact on how I view the world. To say that my Mom overcame a lot of diversity would be an understatement. Her upbringing in a strict Catholic Italian family was dominated by the notion that the rules were different for a girl than a boy. Education wasn't important, marrying well was. When Mom fell in love, her relationship was kept a secret because Dad wasn't the professional that Mom was expected to marry. She did anyways...Go Mom! :) 

Livia and Dante Sdraulig eloped on January 9th 1960 and in the space of 4 years, had four children. When the youngest was just one month old, Mom lost the love of her life and embarked on a decade long battle to avenge his death and hold someone accountable. Bad legal advise prevented that and life was a struggle financially for Mom. Of course, her own mother wasn't too far behind reminding her "I told you so". But Mom had a sunny disposition and did a remarkable job making us feel that we were a "normal" family despite our Dad had died. It is because of my Mother that I love music, love to read and am so well-rounded, Mom valued intelligence and talent. I remember her once saying that she was at a party and was envious of the guy who pulled out a guitar and began to play. Ironically none of us ever learned to play the guitar (although I did try in recent years with minimal success). But we had lessons in just about everything else going. I may miss a few but here we go - swimming lessons and members of a competitive swim team, gymnastics, figure skating, piano, ballet, tap, jazz, art/drawing and modelling. For a time, there was ballet, tap and jazz on three nights a week, swimming five nights a week and piano lessons once a week and practice every night. But there was still time for friends and social although a lot of friends were at the lessons and a lot of social was with the siblings lol! Although I personally wasn't a fan of all the lessons (I prefer to be self-taught lol) I don't regret it, because I have drawn on those experiences many times in my life. 

Besides lessons, Mom's passion was photography. She loved to go out on a Saturday or Sunday to some city landmark or park and take pictures of us. Sometimes posed, sometimes not. It was always fun family time. Quite often the three of us girls would be dressed in matching dresses that Mom had sewn herself. Mom did a lot of sewing, either costumes for dance recitals or day to day clothing. I don't know if it was a passion or necessity to save money, either way we loved getting new clothes that she made. She was a multi-talented lady to be sure. Besides her prowess with a needle and thread, she could also knit and crochet. She tackled many craft projects and was a talented artist and photographer. She was qualified as an educator and did teach English to new immigrants as well as having a few years behind the desk in the mainstream classroom. But I don't remember my Mom as being a teacher, I recall the job she took at the auto body shop as a book keeper and office manager possibly to pay off the debt from a unfortunate encounter with a deer. I remember Mom attending Lakehead University to up-grade her education so she could return to the classroom. She was unceremoniously let go from the Board when she took some time off after Dad's passing to care for her four children all of pre-school age. 

Things were beginning to move forward for her when my brother was diagnosed with Hodgkins Disease at the age of 9. Coping with this new challenge and the on-going financial struggles, Mom suffered a nervous breakdown which had her hospitalized briefly. Despite it all, Mom was still able to keep her sunny disposition and a smile on her face. And we felt safe and loved. She had the love of two to give and the strength of four to carry on. But don't ask her to turn that old Mercury Meteor on a dime because she fought with that standard steering. The car was a tank! And there was a good chance her feet were bare because shoes were not a friend to her bunions. I am my mothers daughter...she passed her bunions on to me. And her laughter...the nicest compliment I ever had was when my aunt told me that when I laugh I sound just like my mother. 

There have been times in my life when I have been angry that I didn't have my Mom around. Often in times of crisis when I feel like only a mother could help me. Also in times of joy when I want to be able to share with her. In times of sadness when I would like her to hold me close and reassure me like she used to do. In times of confusion because there was no one that has ever had her ability to make me feel worthy and worthwhile. But I cannot change the circumstances of my life and of her death, as best that I can I have learned to deal with (if not accept) the cards I have been dealt. Today I wish my Mother a very Happy Birthday and know that she is celebrating with all her loved ones in heaven and me here alone on planet Earth. Miss you Mom! 

Me and my Milestone

Forever Young - Rod Stewart


Well, those of you in the know are aware of what milestone I hit exactly one month ago today. Those who don't keep guessing...a lady never tells :)


I have now had one month to get used to the idea and decide how I feel about it. I need more time! I think that would have to be the bottom line no matter which way I look at it. And I think my body might just be in agreement with me. No word of a lie, I got a pimple on my chin just the other day. I don't want to get old and wrinkly but seriously, teenage maladies at my age? On the positive side, checking it out in the mirror I don't feel (or look) my age with that blemish. 


I sort of fall into this weird abyss. I have never looked my age and I am told I don't act my age either. We'll get to the act in a moment but for now, that reflection in the mirror. In my early 20's I used to get a real kick out of going to those age guessers at the carnivals because I would always win. They always pegged me for my 30's at least. At that age, who cares! During college I had a practical work experience at a day care, a wee child told me that my hands looked like her grandmothers. Out of the mouth of babes indeed, but I understood then why I was thought to be so old. I wasn't trying to look that way, the scars did it for me. 


But then a strange thing started to happen, I started looking younger than my age and then much to my disbelief people started to say they didn't even notice the scars. Initially, I thought they were just being nice. I mean, I sure could see them; but it kept happening. Not everyone was "that" nice to lie to me. So maybe the scars did fade even more with time, maybe I hid the worst of it with my hairstyle. Either way, I went from looking 10 years older to looking 10 years younger than my chronological age. I can live with that.


Attitude and outlook can have a direct effect on our perceived age. Consider that crotchety old person you know - we all know of at least one. Now compare their physical appearance with someone else of the same age group but with a positive view on life. Who looks older? When I think of my grandmother, I think of someone who was 70 years old always...she was miserable, angry, bitter, suspicious. In reality she was probably in her 50's when she came into my life on a daily basis. My mom at 30 was cool. We could play games with her, laugh with her, joke with her. She liked our kind of music - the music grandparents dismissed as noise compared to their preferred Perry Como and Lawrence Welk. It probably didn't help that we had no idea how old Mom really was for anytime we asked she said "18". No question about it though, she was a parent and we didn't get away with anything. We knew right from wrong and where the line was that you didn't cross.


I was learning how to be an adult, a woman by Mom's example. But then she was gone and as a pre-teen, my example became a miserable old lady. The point is that I missed learning how that mid-life woman behaves. I missed the frame of reference for an entire generation. When I got to my early 30's and had outlived my mother, I made up the rules as I went along to suit me. How is a 40 year old supposed to act? I don't know. What is it like to be a caring, loving and doting grandmother? I don't know that either. But I am sure I will make it up when I get there! 


So back to how do I feel about reaching this milestone? Well I have to honestly say that there were times I didn't think I would make it. Not of my choosing but the fact that my family doesn't exactly have a stellar track record in the longevity department. So, in some ways it was thrilling to achieve it - with a hint of melancholy that I was the lone one of 6 to do it. About a decade ago, I considered the possibility of this event and joked to my children that to memorialize the event they should replace the 2-seater sports car that I had to give up when I got pregnant. A few years later, thinking that a vehicle might be out of their financial realm, I suggested shipping me away - on a cruise. Little did I know at the time that the Mediterranean cruise I had in mind was more expensive than the vehicle. Matters not, one day I will have my 1982 Datsun 280ZX sitting in my driveway. 


One month in and I am still driving practicality and the closest I have been to sea is the bathtub. Priorities change. I may have finally begun to act my age and become practical. Yikes! Ahh, but not completely, nothing puts a smile on my face like a new-found item with a certain cartoon character on it. But the goals I personally set out to achieve did change. I knew that both my children would have finished post-secondary studies and I hoped for success for them. I knew that with them embarking on careers of their own that the financial burden on me would ease and I looked forward to getting a grip on my debt and focusing on my own retirement years. I also made the decision that I wanted to once and for all quit smoking. Having more time to myself I wanted to put more time and effort into finding my special someone or just enjoying the hunt! :) All in all, I saw this time of my life as a positive chapter that was just a natural progression of life. A new and exciting chapter with some Me time. 


Circumstances beyond my control and of no fault of my own have surfaced in the past year or so to completely change my life. I have been beaten down and then kicked until I was no longer able to get up. I am speaking metaphorically, no one laid a hand on me. Regardless, I still struggle every day to heal the scars that were laid upon me and to survive. Much like the children they purport to protect, I was bullied by the school board that I worked for. So, here I sit in more debt than I had when I was raising 2 children alone on one income, because I do not have any income at all. I work at trying to regain my former self. I want to be happy again. 


On the positive side, my children did graduate from their respective post-secondary programs and immediately found themselves in rewarding full-time positions. I am now more than one year being smoke-free and loving it. The rest...I am still working on and it will take more time. All I can ask of myself is to try, and pray that it is enough. 


If I have enough time, I want to believe that I will be vindicated. I want to believe that I will heal and become whole again. I want to believe that I will have control over my life again. I want to believe that I will be the smiling, happy person that I once was. I liked her!