personal

Half a Century and A World Ago

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Today would have been my parents’ 50th anniversary. They were married on February 5th, 1965.

My mother is in the center, wearing the pink suit with my father to her left. Deanne and Gerald.

Just to her right is my grandmother, Sadie and over her shoulder is my grandfather, Richard or Mo as he was known (short for Moshe), her parents. Going out right and left from her are my father’s parents, Stanley (who was from Canada) and Celia (whose brother I’m named for), and the short woman closest in the picture, I believe is my great-grandmother, Bubbi.

In this picture her hair looks reddish, ginger, but I honestly have no idea what her actual hair color was. I think it was brown, but I never saw it. Growing up she dyed it (what we thought of as crazy colors, but nowhere near the “crazy” of today, and she wore wigs. Wigs and headbands; they were a very popular accessory in the 70s. I know that a lot of her friends did the same with their hair.

This is one of two or three pictures that I have from their wedding day. They were married in Laurelton, NY at the Jewish Center and the reception was at my grandmother’s house. I don’t remember that chandelier, but we were at that house every weekend (and the other half of the weekend was spent at my other grandparents, my father’s parents.

Visiting my grandparents seems like yesterday; it’s hard to believe that this photograph is fifty years old.

We lead a very different life now. Our kids see their paternal grandmother once or twice a year instead of the once or twice a week that we saw ours. There were family gatherings with more extended family than my kids can imagine. We had “cousins” and I still have no idea how we’re “related”. Cousins of cousins, aunt’s siblings’ kids’ kids. We went to dinners and birthdays.Next week, we are traveling a couple of hours for my cousin’s daughter’s sweet 16, and for a few hours it will feel like thirty years ago despite the missing faces.

I am Facebook friends with my Dad’s best man’s wife.

My Mom’s favorite aunt and uncle are in their nineties, long retired to Florida, and married over seventy years.

Just last year, we celebrated my Dad’s brother’s 70th birthday. In fact, he turned 71 two days ago.

My parents would have been 77 and 72 on their next birthdays.

These are one of those bittersweet days, remembering the joy and the fun and the sadness that they aren’t here to celebrate this momentous milestone.

Mom & Dad's wedding reception - 1965

This second picture is the walk back from the wedding to my grandmother’s house for the reception. It looks like my Aunt Shirley and Uncle Carl leading the way with Bubbi and my parents, newly married pulling up the rear.

I can’t get over the hats, the cars and the eyeglasses.

It all makes me smile

.Mom & Dad's wedding Mom & Dad - my wedding - 1994This third photo is from my wedding in 1994.

Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad.

Always together and missed everyday.

Feast of the Immaculate Conception

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Today is the feast day, celebrating the solemn belief by Catholics in the immaculate conception of Mary, mother of G-d and mother of the Church.

My home parish is one of many in the US whose patroness is the Blessed Mother, specifically honoring the immaculate conception by taking on the name. (*)

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Today is also the tenth anniversary of my own mother’s death.

She was 61 when she died. Despite her health problems, it was still a shock when I received the phone call. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of her or miss her. I still pick up the phone to call her and it is awful to remember that she won’t be at the other end of the line.

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(*) I have no idea how churches choose their patrons or names.

If anyone is looking for a prompt today: Mothers

Follow Me (My Personal Reflection on Mark 1:17)

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Prior to two years ago, I hadn’t known much about Jesus, either the man or the Son of G-d. As a child, we never learned about his Jewish heritage, and anyone who had ever reminded us that He was Jewish did so in a condescending, but ‘he’s better now’ way.

Growing up, most of our friends were Christian, but our neighborhoods and schools were mixed, so being either was not terribly strange for us. I understood that Christmas was Jesus’ birthday, although I really did not understand Easter at all. It seemed strange to me, but all in all it wasn’t that big a deal.

I’ve always believed in G-d. Despite that most Jews don’t, I’ve always believed in an afterlife. I have this love-hate relationship with a Shirley Temple movie that takes place on a boat with a boy and it’s supposed to be heaven, both pre-birth and after-death, I don’t know. I feel the same way about Dead Again and DOA.

I follow the traditions of my family’s holidays, and carried that over to my married and family life. While we didn’t have a Seder, we did observe Passover, and consumed no bread for eight days. My kids would bring bag lunches to school during the holiday. We still use my parents’ menorahs at Chanukah.

When I wandered into the church two years ago in March, no one, especially me would have expected that twenty-five months later, I would be baptized Catholic. It hadn’t occurred to me. Not even for a moment.

Afterwards, the hardest question I have been asked sounds so simple: “Why did you decide to become Catholic?” Or alternatively, “why did you decide to join the Catholic Church?”

Unfortunately, for simple questions there is no simple answer.

The most truthful answer is that I didn’t choose anything, but there is no thirty-second sound bite to follow that introduction to the answer of my conversion or as I like to describe it, my transition.

In the middle of an unexpected crisis, I took the words of the Count of Monte Cristo (wait and hope) and a sign in Schenectady (Job) and together they were a sign that I needed a place to think. Not an hour before, I thought I would stop in and hide myself in a pew, but thought that idea was slightly crazy. Now, with Job leading the way, I drove back towards home and went in.

There were two main reasons that I allowed myself to go. One, no one would ask me why I was there, and two, no one would ask me to leave. Somehow, deep down, I knew both of those things.

That evening, a friend, G in Philadelphia posted a choir rendition of Psalm 23 and T in Nebraska sent me an uplifting, supportive message. Two weeks later, T suggested that I stay for Mass, telling me that Easter Masses were really beautiful. I couldn’t be there for Easter Day (family plans), but I began on the Tuesday during Holy Week in 2012.

I have gone to daily Mass ever since.

Sometime after that, I was still continuing to wander in when the spirit moved me (whether this was the Holy Spirit or just some paranormal poke, I didn’t know at the time, but strongly believed in the latter more than the former.)

So far, every time I had been there randomly, the odd verse or Scripture that I read or more frighteningly the chosen Gospel or reading for that day spoke to me in very real ways. Not the typical, you will overcome what is ailing you, but very specific, the person you’ve avoided for the last three days will call you after dark.

Obviously, that’s not really a scripture, but it was specific like that.

The first time, I was upset; I was crying, and I sat down, picked up the missalette, opened it to a random page, and read, “Cry to me in distress and I will hear you.”

I looked around, thinking Candid Camera, but it was pretty much on the mark and it never disappointed.

The incense would remind me of something long forgotten. The tree in my line of sight reminded me so strongly of Wales that I would tear up. When someone would shake my hand, it was electric. I’d ask a question, ask for a sign, and the bells would chime, and I would know the answer.

When my priest returned from his pilgrimage to Rome, the way he talked about Rome was the way I felt about Wales. He told a story of a red steamer trunk that first week, and that has stayed with me, and motivates me as I try to declutter my life, mostly my mind, and hopefully the rest will follow.

One day, I was sitting there, just thinking quietly. I don’t even remember what I was thinking about, if there was something specific or if I was asking for guidance, or just strength, but there was a moment of uncertainty, a hesitation. I still don’t know if it was mine or someone – something – else’s.

As unbelievable as it sounds, I turned my head and there was this bright light. Not the shape of a man, not the shape of an angel, but a glowing, shimmery white light, broader across the top, tapering at the bottom. No cross, no halo, just light.

I didn’t hear any words, and I didn’t speak.

I just stared into the light.

Just before it faded, I knew.

I just knew.

Everything.

I didn’t need an explanation. I didn’t need to hear the words, “Follow me.” I didn’t need a history book or witnesses to miracles.

I just believed.

I understood; well, as much as anyone can.

I finally grasped what Easter meant.

I had no doubt who Jesus was; that he was Son of Man and Son of G-d. There was no more, ‘hows or whys.’

I didn’t even think about joining the Church; I was happy just knowing, just having the remarkable experience of Jesus metaphorically taking my hand and leading me out of darkness.

My visits to Mass became more meaningful after that. I don’t know when I knew that I was truly missing something during the Eucharist, but once I began with my first Communion at Easter, I knew that a piece of me was returned.

REPOST: Breakdown

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[Note: I’m reposting this from January. Recently, I was discussing this and the breakdown occurred one year ago last week. I’m also going to be posting some mental health issues and coping as the week goes on, and I thought I would include this again.]

Source: http://wp.me/p2JuBV-bT

It’s been more than three months, and it still makes my heart beat faster and my pulse quicken; it is not an eventually-formed-fond memory like driving in Wales became and I’m not sure that it ever will be. It is anxiety driven, terror induced shakes.

I don’t know what led to my being so upset. It was probably a perfect storm of events that lined up in a row just so, and I was too busy putting off my anxiety to notice that it was creeping back up on me. It took more than three weeks after to finally reach a semblance of normal anxiety, and then it crept back up into a bad place again. It did slowly come back down, but it was not easy, and it is especially never easy when I’m hyperaware of what is going on inside my head and my emotions and my emotional state, and my best friend is busy, and I can’t afford therapy sooner than every three to four weeks. This could easily turn into an essay on the health care system and money, but I will stick with the breakdown; my collapse; my I-really-don’t-know-what-to-call-it other than badbadbadbad.

There was the misunderstanding between my best friend and myself that we didn’t even realize until a week later. We were answering questions not asked and it was a complete disaster on both our ends.

There was the misunderstanding about my travel plans and a delay that wasn’t a delay that set off a series of hysterical tears.

There were people making plans around me for me and I couldn’t express my disagreement without sounding like a bratty child until finally I broke.

And boy did I break.

I always listen.

I never argue.

My mantra is usually, “Okay, what do you need?” or something similar.

I accept. I do what I should. I do what’s expected. I’m reasonable.

I talk myself out of things constantly to do what works for everyone else.

It wasn’t until I began shouting at the phone, “YOU’RE NOT LISTENING TO ME! THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU! I CAN’T! I CAN’T DO IT TONIGHT! I will do it tomorrow. I can do it tomorrow,” and it was clear there was something more than me being difficult. I was crying and doing that hiccupping thing that you do when you’re five and can’t stop crying, and there was a kind of stunned silence on the other end as the scope of what I was feeling was expressed so overwhelmingly.

Another arrangement was made.

I didn’t like the new arrangement. It put too many people out, but I would accept it. What else could I do? It was a sensible solution and I could handle it I told myself.

Anyway, it didn’t matter; I would handle it. I would be as reasonable as the solution.

I thought.

By the time I arrived I was alternating between being numb and being upset, and nearly always on the verge of tears. There was another new plan, but I didn’t care. I was too numb to care at this point. I knew I would be taken care of and I didn’t care about anything else.

I was on edge and every look, every whisper, every motion out of eyeshot made me startle. I was afraid to speak. I didn’t know whether to apologize or hide in the bathroom or shout at the world. I stayed quiet, fearful that so many of my friends were angry with me. It was so hard; I felt as though I were being watched and judged, and for the most part that probably wasn’t true, but it was not an easy feeling trying to deal with my own emotional breakdown – and what else could this be? – and worrying about what others were thinking and knowing how I’d failed at getting along and just doing what I was supposed to.

I had held it together all week, and on this last day, I couldn’t hold it together, not even for just a few more hours. I wished I could just suck it up and do the one thing I was asked to do.

And I truly couldn’t do it. It was such a simple thing. I’d been doing it for twenty-five years, and I couldn’t make myself do it now. This was the one thing, the final straw, and it was too much, and even I didn’t know that until something inside took over my voice earlier in the evening. I didn’t think I’d ever fallen apart like this, certainly not with so many hearing and knowing and assuming things, and I was embarrassed as much as anything else.

The one person I was afraid to see smiled at me. It was the kind, tired look of it’s-going-to-be-alright-I-promise, and for a second I thought they were mad at me, but it didn’t matter. We’d be okay; if not today then another day, but that look was the first quasi-hug of comfort until they crossed the room and hugged me tightly with that comforting feeling of never letting go. How I didn’t begin to cry, I honestly don’t know. I was hugged tightly and I buried my face in their shoulder and neck and I held on as if my life depended on it, and in that moment it did.

There were more hugs and hand holds, and shoulders squeezed and smiles to keep me going until the next time which would be who knows when, but it was okay.

I would be okay.

There was a solution, and people were taking care of me and that was what I needed.

I love my friends. Without them, I am nothing. We are all a reflection of one another. We reflect and complement and we fit like puzzle pieces on an enormous board and when they’re not around or available, it takes a toll. I get more paranoid, I get more sensitive, I feel like no one likes me anymore, that I can’t ask for what I need, and the more I stretch out, the further away they are, and I can’t touch them and then I’m falling.

I’ve always likened depression and anxiety to alcoholism. It never truly goes away, no matter how many drugs, how many therapy sessions – it is always there somewhere, and we cope. And sometimes, we have relapses, and we need a reminder of why it’s important to be aware of our mental state, our mental health, and we check in with our sponsor, the one person who’s been there and who we trust to guide us out of the darkness, who always has what we need.

At the same time that we are being led out of the darkness, sometimes we are called upon to be someone else’s sponsor and lead someone else to their light. It doesn’t mean that we’re perfect or that we’re ‘cured’, but it means that we are all on our journeys and when we intersect, we need to look both ways and help each other cross the road.

We have that hand in the dark to hold, the whisper in our ear, and ultimately it will be all right.

This Day

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I am still in the middle of two more posts, but they won’t happen until the weekend at the earliest. They’re works in progress, and the gist is mostly written, but I don’t have the energy to edit after the last post. Not to mention, I’ve got three people clamoring for my computer.

 I’ve also been wanting to write more about Michael Brown and Ferguson, MO; more than my two line blurbs here or there, but I can’t wrap my head around it so I keep reblogging those who can say things coherently. It just makes me so sad, and I can’t focus on writing anything. I grew up in the 70s, in NYC during bussing, and I can’t imagine that we’ve gone backwards rather than forwards. It’s appalling and frightening, even for me.

The last few weeks – probably about four – have been a patchy, unpredictable roller coaster of being down and trying to force myself out of sinking into a depression. It might sound silly, but Robin Williams’ death really threw me for a loop. Besides it happening at all, for me it came in the middle of a downward swing, and made coming back up a little harder. At least I’ve been aware of it happening and can try to remedy it as best I can.

I’ve been drawing, which is weirdly calming considering I have no talent, but surprisingly, I’ve been doing pretty well. I’ll publish some pictures and I’ll write more about this when I post my wrap up for my recent retreat.

(Some of this sounds as though I’ve posted it already in other forms, so I’m sorry if I have and forgot – brain fog and all.)

I’ve been praying the rosary and reading my Grace book. These are unexpectedly soothing. They comfort me with a silent, invisible presence, there only to reassure my soul that things will be alright. And even stranger: I believe it.

I will be catching up with phone calls soon. As in, if you’ve called me and I haven’t called you back, I will. And if I’ve called you and haven’t gotten you, I will try again. Plus those three emails because I do not want to drop the ball on important things.

I can feel the darkness, but the light is around the edges and I’m hyperaware; not letting it swallow me up this time.

I returned to church yesterday and then again today. Skipping it Sunday made it easier to sleep in on Monday and choose to not go.

But there is something remarkable about receiving communion that fills me with joy and sacred presence, and then the people holding my hand for the Our Father. I like shaking hands right after that, feeling the warmth of others. Today my priest took my hand on the way out, and instead of letting me go, held it for a moment and squeezed it. It’s weird, but it’s almost as though he knows when I’m in that place and need a little extra kindheartedness; it is such a genuine gesture of caring, seemingly right when I need it.

Tomorrow is my 20th wedding anniversary.

This is the first time we’re leaving the kids home and going out on our own to celebrate. Dinner and a movie, just like our first date, and then home so my newly independent son can go out with his friends. My daughter is planning some elaborate something or other that requires secrecy, streamers, and a drum set stool. I don’t even want to ask.

It is nice, though.

My Recent Medical Scare (but it’s all good now)

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Recently, I had a cancer scare. I’ll preface by saying that I’m fine and in the end, they didn’t find anything, but on the way there, things were a little tense. When these big things happen, I tend to get quiet, listen, no thinking and okay a lot. I did it when I had my first child:

There seems to be a problem.

Okay.

We’re going to –

Okay.

That didn’t work. Emergency c-section.

Okay.

This is when my don’t question authority, your elders know better than you mindset kicks in. I think some of that is generational, but more than that it is growing up in polite-don’t-rock-the-boat society.

And so when a routine ob-gyn visit turned less than routine, I faced it with my usual aplomb. I told no one at first, not until the biopsy was scheduled and then I told my husband and my closest friend.

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What is Bullying?

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What is bullying?

According to the Webster’s Online Dictionary, bullying is “the act of intimidating a weaker person to make them do something.” It is also defined as “tending to browbeat others,” and its synonyms include intimidation (noun), domineering, and blustery (adjectives).

In modern vernacular it happens much more than in the schoolyard for some kid’s lunch money or baseball cards. For starters, and not entirely relevant, do people still collect baseball cards?

In addition to school bullying by peers, we have adults and teachers who don’t know the appropriate responses to bullying. Often we blame the person being bullied, trying to get them to change how they do things to avoid the bully and/or the bullying behavior.

We also have the internet which is both the best thing for modern technology and information dissemination, but it is also the best place that feeds the trolls and encourages some aspects of bullying because of its anonymous nature.

Using a made up name with no affiliation to a legal name or location seems to free people’s subconscious to the point that they think their abuse of others is normal and/or okay.

We all know that many bullies have their own problems, whether it is mental illness, chronic abuse by others, or any other reason that they feel validates their abuse and bullying of others.

When I was in middle school, I was told by a girl, same age, same class, her name was Donna and she told me that I couldn’t go on the field trip strawberry picking. I really, really wanted to go strawberry picking. I grew up in the city and the suburbs, which was more city-like than rural, and I had never gone strawberry picking. We barely had a backyard. I really wanted to go.

I think she said they would beat me up.

I went home and cried. I cried a lot.

I also think this is the reason I’ve always wanted a big brother, someone to beat this girl up so I could go on my field trip. This just illustrates the mentality of dealing with a bully; more violence. We know now that this is not the way.

Thinking back on it, she also had two friends with her: it was like Crabbe and Goyle with Malfoy from Harry Potter. She looked like Meg 1.0 from Supernatural, probably one of the reasons I prefer Meg 2.0 to the blond version. The first one always made me uncomfortable and it wasn’t until I started writing this that I realized why.

Anyway, I knew I couldn’t go on the trip. That was obvious; no argument there. I was upset and I’d cry, but no way could I go on the trip.

I also knew I couldn’t make a fuss.

I said I was sick. Very technically, I was sick; sick to my stomach about so many things that I couldn’t understand at eleven or twelve years old. All I knew is that it sucked, and I wasn’t precisely lying; I was truly sick.

I stayed home, and I never forgot it.

Thirty years later, I went to my son’s middle school back to school night. I came home having a panic attack and after spending about two hours talking and crying on the phone, the panic was barely soothed. I was upset for days after, on the verge of other panic attacks.

Bullying never goes away, and so when a fellow Tumblr user began bullying me last week, I became that twelve-year old again.

I tried to talk to the person, to express that I didn’t want to be harassed.

They bullied further.

I shouldn’t admit it for the satisfaction they might get (or others), but I’m in my forties and if it could happen to me, it could happen to the teenagers here who might be less equipped to handle the pressure. I cried. Every time I turned on Tumblr, my tears welled up. It was in the back of my mind at every moment. I stayed after mass and prayed on it.

Tumblr is not supposed to be stressful like this. Tumblr is not supposed to be upsetting. Nothing we do for fun is supposed to be stressful and upsetting.

I’ve taken legal steps to stop this bully from harassing me, but it’s not simple on a public site.

It also shouldn’t be my responsibility to stop this person. They shouldn’t be encouraged by others.

You can’t stop someone from hurting you by hurting someone else.

Sure, I could leave. But why should *I* have to leave? I like it here, and I’ve done nothing wrong. Tumblr is a place of diverse ideas, diverse opinions and people say stuff all of the time that I don’t agree with and don’t like. I don’t jump down all (or even some) of their throats, bully, threaten and harass them because I don’t like what they’re posting.

That is what’s called being an adult.

But it’s more than that.

It’s called respecting that not everyone will agree with you. Not everyone will share the same experience with you. Not everyone will want to follow your tactic. And you feeling that you’re right does not give you the right to bash someone who also thinks that they are right.

I don’t care what their problem is. I don’t care if it’s mental, physical, they’re a victim of abuse, what their political affiliation is, what their gender or orientation is, married with kids or single. I honestly don’t give a fuck.

My empathic nature does have its limits. I try to live my life through Christ, but human nature is at once beautiful and compassionate and it is also selfish and egocentric. Once you crossed the line to threaten me (and this person did), you lost my empathy. I have no need to have direct contact with anyone unless they come to me first; unless they talk about me with the name calling and verbal abuse.

When my first son was born, I remembered the strawberry picking field trip. It is never far from my mind when harassment begins, but when my first son was born, I swore that no one would bully him. I would not leave him to fend for himself.

And a few years ago, I swore again. I promised myself that *I* would not be bullied ever again.

I would not live in fear of some ignorant, arrogant, holier than thou, knows better than me about me person, whether in physical person or online.

So this is me standing up.

I know I’m not the only one this person is harassing. I know I’m not the only one that this person has attacked.

And I won’t be silenced.

First Week of Summer Vacation

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First week of summer vacation.

We are disorganized, cluttered, unmotivated and all the bad things that come along with a summer with no direction for now.

Next week starts summer school for two of the kids, which will give child #2 some alone time and Mommy some quiet time either at the library or the coffee shop for an hour or so on the two days that I don’t have Mass.

This summer, we have 4-6 weeks of summer school, one week each of ‘camp’ and one week of vacation Bible school for the younger two.

I don’t think I mentioned it here, but about four weeks ago, my mother in law (who is 80) was hit by a car. It was, and remains very serious and she has already had multiple surgeries for her multiple broken bones and scrapes. She is doing very well, much better than anyone expected, but we know what a tough person she is, so we are grateful for her health up until this point.

We are trying to sort out some money to see if we can visit her this summer. She is still hospitalized. She is also having another surgery next week.

I’ll include the link here to our Go Fund Me page. We are grateful for any reblogs and prayers as well as those that can afford to help us monetarily.

Go Fund Me

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Tomorrow is the first ‘activity’ for the kids. The library is having a food program hosted by the local supermarket. I was able to sign both of them up early. We’re trying to set up a summer schedule for the two younger ones. Child #2 takes things very literally and likes to know what’s going on as well as being very organized. Child #3 can get more than a little rambunctious, and I think a little schedule on notecards will help her calm down a bit.

For me, I love calendars and schedules (I wonder where my son gets it from) so it’s nice to be able to have an answer when asked what are we doing tomorrow.

Some of our plans on a weekly basis are movie and popcorn day, bake bread, bake cookies, library time, walks outside if it’s not too humid (I have a lot of trouble in the sun, so my husband might be in charge of the outdoor activities), plus cleaning out closets and toy bins and getting rid of things that we don’t need.

We are typically very cluttered and that doesn’t even include the collections that we each have, and it’s time to downsize and simplify. Ha! I’ll let you know how it’s going. 😉

In addition to all of the family goings-on (which consist of too much TV time), I’ve had a resurgence of political feels. The Voting Rights Act, DOMA, Proposition 8, Sen. Wendy Davis of Texas. My Tumblr dash went absolutely crazy in all the best ways.

For my summer, I am going to try and keep my sanity as my main goal. I have three books to read and probably review. I have a fan fiction that I need to get back to, and some new Supernatural writings that I want to begin plus a few homework pieces for my memoir workshop that begins again in September, although we’re meeting for lunch in August.

I will probably try to reconnect with some friends in the next few weeks, most notably my college roommate who is more free in the summer than the rest of the year.

And then we’ll see what the fall brings as I try to keep my head above water.

Please Help Our Family

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Just like many families in this economy we are struggling to make ends meet. It can be very frustrating when you (and/or your spouse) work very hard and it seems as if there just isn’t enough to go around. Add into that three kids who won’t stop growing, prices increasing while salaries are not and the last three years of illness and additional medical bills that our (actually good) health insurance doesn’t cover until after the extremely large deductible is reached.

When we bought our house, we thought that we were moving into a better place, both physically and financially. It wasn’t exactly a dream come true, but it was a lot. Enough bedrooms, a large backyard, a reasonably decent kitchen even though there was no dishwasher – after all, we could live without one for a few months, good schools and potential.

Unfortunately, the previous owners took care of nothing, but with ‘band-aids’ made it look as if it had been kept up very well. It had not. With an antiquated everything and a glitch in our state’s real estate laws that made it impossible to back out of the contract without losing a substantial amount of money, we were stuck with the headache that the owners walked away from with a profit.

It was not long before we had to take out a home equity loan to cover things that should have been working: a new furnace, new windows, plumbing, electrical, that were really just patches rather than replacements. We couldn’t do anything that we had planned on including a much needed (and wanted) dishwasher because it needed plumbing AND electrical installations. We still have substandard electrical and for four years, our computers were plugged into the bathroom with extension cords because that was the only electrical outlet in the house that could sustain that much power.

For the home equity loan, our contract called on us to pay interest only for five years and then principal installments would become due. We thought that was plenty of time for our kids to adjust to the schools and for me to get a job outside of the home. Unfortunately, Murphy decided to do things differently.

I had serious medical issues, both physically and mentally with increased blood pressure and changes in medication, my left knee just didn’t work on some days which put even more pressure on my right knee and right ankle. There were some days that not only could I not walk, but I could barely roll over in bed without crying. A lifelong undiagnosed anxiety disorder and severe depression swept in and made me literally dysfunctional. My husband didn’t know what was wrong with me. My friends didn’t know what was wrong with me. I was asked constantly if I was okay, what was wrong and was I drunk and in hearing questions that I had no answers to, I became increasingly more agitated and upset.

I finally went to see my doctor and we began to sort things out with medication and talk therapy. This was a long process of seeing the doctor two to three times in a month and changes in medication and this led to medical bills that I had never seen even with the births of three children.

As I became better emotionally and my knee began to work again (thanks to a tough orthopedic doctor and cortisone), our finances took a nose dive. Before we knew it, it was time to begin paying back the principal on our home equity loan. The loan went from just under $100 to just over $404 a month, tripling what we would need to find in our budget.

This was impossible.

This was impossible if my husband wasn’t laid off, and there is no word for more than impossible if he was.

We tried to work with the bank; we were under the impression (by the bank themselves) that we had positive options to pay what we could afford and extend the lower payments. They disagreed and after four months of no communication from them, they are suing us for the entire amount (just over $41,000). At the moment, I am currently working on an answer for the judge in another window. We cannot afford an attorney and so we hope that we can muddle through and come to some kind of arrangement while keeping our house (our first and main mortgage is current and we are in no way defaulting on it).

It is very stressful for all of us including our children.

I have been thinking of this route for a very long time, but prolonged it for many, many reasons. There are so many people more worthy than we are with bigger problems and bigger debts. A lot of our debt is our own making and I realize that it fosters some hard feelings. I’m hoping that people, whether they help us financially or not will remain compassionate towards us and our problems.

This is the link to our Go Fund Me Page: http://www.gofundme.com/3burrk

It is not in the initial introduction there but we have an order that we’ve chosen for paying back our debtors. First is the June payment on our first mortgage which wasn’t met when my mother in law was hit by a car and we needed most of those funds to rent a car and pay for the additional gas to travel the 250+ miles to her home and hospital. Second, money will go towards the home equity loan and the bank that is currently suing us. Third, if there is anything left will go towards medical bills in order from 2011, 2012 and then 2013, which are already beginning to stack up and it is barely six months into the year. And fourth, there are personal loans that we owe from generous friends and family who are now in need of being paid back, but who are graciously not asking us for anything while we struggle with so much.

We are calling upon your generosity and we know that not everyone has the extra income, so if you can’t assist that way, would you please signal boost this for me and my family. We would appreciate it very much; more than we could ever express.

In the last two years, I’ve seen both the bad that people can do and the absolutely gut-wrenchingly, beautiful that people can do in the tiniest of ways and it is a place I try to remain in my own life.

Thank you so much for reading this and passing it along.

Karen (kbwriting, ceirdwenfc, Cfc)

~ 10 June 2013 ~

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I had intended to be here a few times last week, but real life reared its ugly head in an especially ugly way.

My mother in law was hit by a car on Thursday and sustained multiple breaks in pretty much every part of her body. She is in very serious condition in a hospital several hundred miles from our home. I’ve been on single parent duty while my husband traveled to her with his siblings, putting a strain on our already strained finances.

One of the good news items is my teenager really stepped up in the first half of the weekend to help out with dinners and his siblings as well as being extremely reliable.

The other good news item is that my mother in law is doing well, as well as can be expected and a little better than that even, surprising the nursing staff. She is a tough person and I have no doubt that she will back to herself sooner than anyone can imagine even though knowing that the road will be a long one.

I don’t think I will putting many updates here as this is a public blog and I don’t know how she (or my husband) would feel about this, although as with most of my writings, if there is a greater need to provide information (as I plan to do with other parts of my life and have done with my depression and faith), I will indeed come back to this as a topic.

My summer plan currently is to do random free writes a few times during each week, and longer pieces as inspiration strikes. I still have ideas to share from my recent trip to Virginia.

Thank you for sticking with me in spite of my inconsistencies, which I hope to remedy beginning at the end of this week.