Stupid Bi-Polar Disorder!

Have you ever had a friend or family member who was seriously ill? That needed to be taken care of or had to be hospitalized? If so, think about how stressful that was, worrying about them, wondering how things would turn out, arranging schedules to be there for visiting hours or doctor appointments. And think about how you reached out for support, receiving sympathy and hugs and kind words that helped you cope with the seriousness of the situation and the 'what-if's' going on in your heart. Now picture the same scenario with a twist. Your friend or family member has a MENTAL illness. They don't want people to know...they may even deny they are sick and refuse help. You can't tell anybody what you are going through because you don't want to break trust, and for too long mental illnesses have had a stigma attached to them so folks hide if they have one. Nobody is ashamed if they have cancer or are injured in a car accident, but nobody wants people knowing they were picked up by the police because they weren't acting normally, maybe even hospitalized against their will, or that they were ranting and raving to anybody and everybody about government conspiracies, secret jobs, great rewards or whatever. So there you are, alone. Dealing with your life changing and not knowing how things will end up....a loved one who denies they are even sick..that it's "you not them" that has the problem and you end up doubting yourself or hating the person with the illness. Mental illness needs to be taken out of the shoebox...stop being hidden, stop being a stigma. People with mental illness can't help it anymore than the patient with kidney failure or cancer can help being sick with that, and maybe if it was talked about frankly and openly people might find out folks they know have had a problem or been close to someone who has. And people could reach out for that emotional support that is usually lacking, and life could be just a little bit more bearable.

O Christmas Tree

My memories of Christmas are definitely seen through rose colored glasses. Dad would drag out the big box the artificial tree was stored in....reinforced by many layers (and years) of masking tape, and the big ornament box...equally strengthened by yellowed and peeling layers of tape. Dad's job was to assemble the tree (with Mom's assistance) and put the lights on. Then my brother, mother and myself would put up all the ornaments on the tree. We'd ooh and ahh over each one as it revealed itself from nests of old newspaper and some still in their original boxes. Each had a story, some were sentimental and brought back past neighbors and friends, some were clumsy handmade school projects that we were both embarrassed and proud of at the same time. And some just brought back memories of Christmas past.....trekking thru shoppers at after Christmas sales, gifts from exchanges at work and school, simply more of the mortar that creates and binds families.

I struggle to reconcile these childhood memories with the more laid-back attitudes of my present day husband and son. I was determined to instill that same love affair with the decorating of The Tree in my son, and create a perfect evening. So the first year that my son was old enough to understand what was going on I turned off the t.v., turned on the CD player with Christmas music and proceeded to begin the tradition. Within 20 minutes my son was done decorating, my husband had turned on the TV (granted the sound was muted) and I was the only one hanging ornaments on the tree. Granted the boy child was only 4, but the husband was 48! Each year my son would help a little bit longer, but it was NEVER the event to him that it had been to me...it was more a kindly yet grudging "lets get this over with for Mom" kind of attitude. Don't misunderstand, they are happy to see the tree go up, and my husband is very helpful at locating all the ornament and decoration boxes (now stored in more modern plastic totes instead of cardboard boxes), but I just don't think they get the same emotional tug that I experienced as a child. So I have to wonder...WERE those past childhood Christmas tree deckings really that much of an event as I remember? Or is that just history rewriting those special days.

So anyway, as I sit here looking at my pretty Christmas Tree, I remember those Christmas's past and smile, because even the Christmas's that aren't 'picture perfect' are still there, still mortar, still gluing my family together. And maybe someday my son will be remembering these Christmas's through his own rose colored glasses, thinking how perfect and wonderful they were, and hoping to share that same experience with his family. I hope so.