Shayne, my oldest child

Its the day after Christmas and i'm filled with an overwhelming sense of calm. Our children were all here with us this year, and to see them all grown up, with their own lives I can only be thankful for how they turned out.

To appreciate my overwhelming sense of pride, it's important that you know what they haveovercome to get to where they are now.

How do you measure what damage was done to people as a result of a series of events? How do you know whether or not certain situations would have arisen regardless of previous events? You don’t. But you can assume and surmise.

I am confident that Shayne’s way of looking at life is a complete and direct result of his childhood; his past that I allowed to happen.

These events have followed him around most of his life.

Shayne was a very happy baby, up until his second year I would say. .

Children are very perceptive. I lived for a long time very stressed and tense. Even if I tried to hide it on the outside, I am sure Shayne could sense it. Stress is one thing that you can’t mask for long, especially if you wear your emotions on your sleve like I do. It shows on your face, mannerisms; the tone of your voice, even the way you hold a child.

Children are finely-tuned instruments when it comes to detecting stress.
The famous machete-crib incident was just the first of what would surely make it almost impossible for him to not carry around a great deal of anger and fear.
My past, my mistakes unfortunately fell hardest on Shayne. Being the oldest he is the one that saw and felt the anger and pain that raged in our home.

I am once again ashamed that I let it go on for so long.

He is my most insecure child, to say the least. Secure in his looks but insecure in every other aspect of his life.

All Shayne ever wanted from a young age was to be liked; to have friends that he could count on. That was not always the case, as children can be hurtful and very mean. That’s just the way it is with kids.

But when you are insecure, it hurts even more.

I can vividly remember a group of kids that lived across the street from us when Shayne was about ten years old. One of the boys was Shayne’s age and not the nicest. He would invite Shayne over to play then send him home if other kids came over.
To watch your child, hiding behind a tree in the front yard, watching the other children playing across the street, knowing that he isn’t wanted, is heart wrenching. There isn’t a damn thing that you can do about it either.

You have to sit back, love them and tell them that things turn around for them.
Shayne finally found his audience and some confidence once he was in the Middle School. School was a place for Shayne to meet with his friends, hold court, meet girls and make people laugh; this is when he felt the most comfortable.

The guys loved his sense of humor, the girls loved his face and the teachers were at a loss as to how to corral his mind on things like school work.

As for school work; homework was rarely if never done. Oh, he knew the material well enough – he just chose not to do it. If he was given a test, he would pass it. If he was given homework, he wouldn’t do it. That was that. Nothing that Matt and I did made any difference.

While Shayne was in Middle School, I spent more time in Mr. Billis’s office than I did at my desk at work. Mr. Billis was the Vice Principal, and we became, what I would consider, almost good friends. I saw him more than my husband some weeks.
I will say that he was fair. When Shayne was on the other end of a misdeed, and both mothers were called in, it was handled fairly. I respected that.

Shayne’s first suspension from school was for fighting; it was in his first year at the Middle school.

That particular incident was one of the ones that Matt and I backed him on. He was being physically picked on at school; items taken from him and broken, punched and pushed.

We advised Shayne that if someone hit him he was to defend himself.
The next time he was pushed around, Shayne struck back. Both boys received detention and the bullying stopped. That was one of the only times that child took our advice.

There ya go!

My life as Shayne’s mother while he was in school consisted of being called in for some infraction or another that Shayne was involved in and visiting the Vice Principle. It got old quick, but you love your children and you do what you have to do.

Drink heavily; oh wait, did I say that out loud? Well, not really, but I did my share of elbow bending during those times.

In high school, Shayne and his best friend Mike would skip school and hang at my house. Or, go to school for a few periods, come to my house and then back to school. They made up their own schedules.

As angry as Matt and I would get at him for his antics, it was comical at times. Matt and I had left the house for work one morning; Shayne had already left for school. Half way up the parkway Matt had to turn around for something he had forgotten.

He pulled in the driveway to find Shayne and Mike hiding behind the garbage cans; it seems Matt's arrival had surprised them as they were on their way back into the house, having left school after only one period.

Matt never let on that he saw them; it was just to rediculous; two big guys crouched down between the rubbage. Amazing.

I should have gotten a job at that school for all the times I was in the Vice Principal’s office. The day he graduated was one of the happiest days of my life for many reasons. I knew that I wouldn’t have to go visit with the VP anymore.

Shayne and Mike were best friends throughout highschool, with Mike spending most weekends sleeping on a pile of clothes on Shayne's floor.

Four years had come and gone and surprisingly, we all survived.

High school graduation in our town is held on the football field, weather permitting. The day started out beautiful; but, with the threat of thunder storms looming over the ceremony, it was ominous to say the least.

When the music began and the graduates started their ceremonial procession, the skies got dark and the rumbling of thunder could be heard in the distance.
Lord forgive me but all I could think of was that it was God showing his anger at Shayne for how he had behaved all through school. My husband and I looked at each other with dread, held our breath and waited for the bolt of lightning to strike.
Needless to say, the graduation went off without a hitch and his life was now about to begin.

Shayne had a vision. Shayne wanted to be a Marine. Because of an injury at the end of his senior year, he wasn’t able to enlist when he wanted to in 1996, the year he graduated, but by 1999 he was healed and ready to go. What an exciting and anxious time for all of us.

We all knew how much Shayne wanted this, but we were apprehensive knowing how much Shayne disliked authority, especially when he thought he was right. We didn’t think it would go over well with his Drill Instructors if he was given an order and he decided he didn’t want to do it. But, being as competitive as he is, we were sure that his pride would prevail and he would come to terms with the life of a recruit.
In the Marines you are not called a Marine until the end of boot camp when you earn your Eagle, Globe and Anchor. Only then are you a Marine. All during boot camp you are a recruit, nothing more and nothing less.

It was funny, when he was preparing to go and a friend of Matt’s and mine happened to call about something entirely different, I mentioned that Shayne was leaving in a week for boot camp at Parris Island. This "friend" said to me. “Don’t worry if he doesn’t make it, it isn’t for everyone”. I was so insulted. This man had not been a Marine, he had been in the Army decades before. What the hell did he know about Shayne or the Marines, for that matter? God I was pissed. Once again Shayne was written off before he even started.

I am well aware that people’s actions dictate how people perceive them, but I am also aware that Shayne did many good things during his time in high school. The few people that seemed to underestimate him the most had children who, on the outside, looked perfect. If their parents only knew what they did behind the scenes, when they weren’t around, they might not have had so much to say about other people’s children.

Guess what? He made it; with flying colors. Our son was a Marine, a United States Marine. When our family went to his graduation, I was filled with such pride. To this day I look at him and the time he spent in the Corps., and I am so proud of him.

His journey up to that point had been difficult to say the least.
Not long after Shayne graduated boot camp and was stationed at Camp Lejeune, NC he proposed to his girlfriend of several years. This proved to be disastrous. Shit, maybe it’s genetic?

We knew that it was too soon for him to take such a big step, and we knew that he should wait. We also knew that this girl and her certifiable mother would prove to be more than Shayne could handle. If we could only have known the extent of their deceitfullness, we might have stood a chance.

I'm sorry to say, we could not persuade him to postpone it and wait at least a year before getting married.

With no other option, we embraced our new daughter in law and planned a wedding.
Three months after the wedding, his bride had moved home and Shayne was alone. Matt, Brittany, Anthony and Madison (our granddaughter who has yet been identified) and I drove down with pots, pans and all the food to cook Shayne and his friends a Thanksgiving dinner.

Shayne was devastated and our family was beyond pissed.

No one can say why or what happened behind closed doors, but the way it was handled by her side caused great stress and bitter feelings on our side. Once more Shayne’s perception of life was tilted by the actions of others.

Once that mess was over and done with, (with the help of a lawyer and a letter threatening a lawsuit against her mother) I can honestly say that Shayne’ four years as a Marine were, I believe, his happiest. He saw and went places he might not have had an opportunity to experience otherwise. He climbed Mt. Fuji, was stationed in Okinawa for a year and got to visit Tokyo. He got his deep water scuba diving certificate in Okinawa also.

When Shayne was at Camp Hansen, Okinawa he was in a class and they were given the assignment to write a paper about the person that they felt exemplified the Corp .values the best. Shayne wrote about his father, Matt. When he read the letter to the class, his Commanding Officer gave him a direct order to call his father back in the States and read him the letter. He thought that it was the finest thing he had ever heard.

With Shayne and Matt’s permission I have included a copy of that letter. After reading it, what else can you say about their relationship? The letter says it all.

Honor, Courage and Commitment

By: Lance Corporal Shayne Santa Lucia, 2002

When I think about those words one person comes to my mind. I think of my dad above all others.

When I was three years old, my mother divorced my biological father because he was a drug addict and an alcoholic and I have never seen him since. My mother got remarried when I was about 9 years old to a man who loved her but more important than that, he loved me and my sister like we were his children.

My whole life it has bothered me that I never knew my biological father, and when ever I wanted to try and find him, Matt was the first one to offer me help no matter how much it hurt him. To pay him back for everything he did for us, when I was about 14, me and my sister had our last names changed to his so that he would always know that we were his children. I think that was the first time I ever saw my dad cry.
Because of those examples and too many more to list, I think of my dad when I think of the core values.

My dad shows Honor by taking on the responsibility of raising my sister and I as if he was our biological father.

He shows Courage by always being there for us when we need him. When I tried to find my biological father, he offered to help, and not because he had to but because it was the right think to do no matter what it did to him inside.

When I was 21, I found out where Gary lived and my dad offered to pay for me to fly down and meet him, even thought I had a job and made enough money to do it myself.

When my parents got married, my dad made a Commitment to my mother that he would be there till death. But, he also made a promise to love my sister and me as if we were his own. No matter how many times we fought with him or how many times we said things to each other that hurt the other one, he always remembered the commitment he made and never went against it.

I have looked up to him my entire life and hope that one day I can be half the man he is.

My father was never a Marine, but yet he lives his life by the Corps values. For this reason, among many others, I have a great deal of respect for him and most of all, being able to tell people that he is my father.

My dad is the one person that comes to mind when I hear those words.


If that didn’t bring a tear to your eye, I don’t know what will.

Writing that letter was a turning point for Shayne in his feelings of abandonment from his biological father. A great deal of the rage that Shayne had held towards Gary was gone. Not all of it, but a lot of it. This was the first step in his healing.

Shayne was finally able to see that nothing he did caused Gary to leave and there was nothing he could have done to make him stay. He also realized that biological or not, Matt was his father and would be until the day he died. Nothing could change that.

Iraq was on the list of places he also went. Shayne was with the 10th Marines when the war started. He was stationed in Kuwait until the war officially started, and his division went through the center of Iraq. He was promoted to Corporal in Bagdad.
His time in Iraq was the most fulfilling. He fell in love with the Iraqi people and felt that the United States was doing what was necessary for our safety and the safety of Iraq. He still does.

Shayne left the Corps. after his four years and it hasn’t been an easy transition for him. His dream is to become a police officer in a large city. This was not to be the case. His life would take him on many broken roads before he was to find his true path.

Of the many relationships that Shayne has had; ranging from disastorous to almost perfect to down right dangerous, I believe that they all had to happen for him to come to the place in his life where he is now.

Shayne has found his soulmate, his career and his confidence.

Meet the in laws

To understand Matt and his issues with control, I think that it is very important that you understand his family.

Matt was the oldest of Tony and Joanne’s two children; sister Patty, was seven years younger.

My in-laws had a rocky start to their marriage. Hell, before the wedding it was rocky. Joanne’s parents were not especially fond of Tony, but, not wanting to lose their daughter, (hmmmm, sound familiar) they planned the wedding for friends and family alike to come and wish the couple well.

A Catholic service to be followed by a lavish reception.

This was not to happen as planned. Tony convinced Joanne to run away and elope, two weeks before the wedding. Needless to say, that did not make the family happy, considering that not only had the invitations gone out, the reception was booked and paid for.

Luckily for my in-laws, when they came back from their sudden trip to the altar, they agreed to marry again in the church and the reception was still a go.

Unfortunately, feelings were hurt and lines drawn; the stage was now set for a power play between Tony and Joanne’s father.

Tony won.

This chain of events would ultimately break Matt’s grandfather’s heart. His only daughter, in his opinion, had married a bum.

It took the birth of Matthew to soften Joanne’s father into speaking to his daughter again. Matt was his grandfather’s pride and joy. He called him Mickey and that was all it took to bring the family together again. I am not saying that they liked Tony any better, but at least they were talking again.

The bigger problem came when Joanne and Tony packed up Matt and moved to California for a job offer that Tony had. If the family had decided to make amends with Tony, it wouldn’t last.

When Matt’s parents relocated to the west coast, and Tony acquired his first girlfriend, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that the family back East was not going to be happy once their daughter let them know what was going on.
It was during this time period that Matt’s Uncle Bob, Joanne’s little brother went to visit during the summer for a month.

That was the plan. Bobby would fly out and spend four weeks with his sister, nephew, and brother-in-law.

After three weeks Tony told Joanne to send him home. It seems that Bobby was seeing more than Tony wanted him to see. I guess screaming and verbally bashing your wife is ok in front of your toddler child but not your teenage nephew.

Well, Bobby got home and told his parents what was going on in California, and they immediately called Joanne and begged her to come home with their beloved Mickey.
Her dad vowed to have the marriage annulled, and pleaded with her to leave Tony and move back East.

It seemed to be the smart thing to do. Not only was her husband cheating on her but making her life miserable.

Isn’t hindsight great? I can look at this situation and say to myself, Jesus, why didn’t she leave? When I myself put up with much worse and didn’t leave. I just don’t know why women, and some men for that matter, don’t leave when the trouble first starts. Are we so desperate for the fairy tale ending? Are we afraid that we have failed? What is it that keeps us with these men?

I don’t think there is one answer for this question. It is complex and so personal that it can never really be defined. But wouldn’t it be great if we could see into the future and know if the man we loved was going to change for the better or was really just a big asshole, never to get any better.

Regardless of whom he saw or what Tony did, Joanne would not leave her husband. She loved him and that was that. This is beginning to sound like a pattern with us women. With all our brains, we can be just plain stupid when it comes to men. I hope that evolution can play a part in correcting that in the next million years.
Anyway, after about two years, they moved back east and things settled into as normal a life as can be expected.

It is when Matt got to be in his teens that I think most of the problems started that would carry with Matt until, well, today.

How does a son react when his dad tells him he has a girlfriend on the side? How does a young man in his early teens deal with the fact that his mother knows about this woman, about all the women in her husband’s past and is now dealing with a son who is starting to explore the finer sex for himself?

Because of all of this, and more, my in-laws were not very happy people. Joanne was so bitter, I don’t know if she ever really forgave Tony for the way he had treated her so much of their married life, or for his infidelity. When he finally did realize almost too late what he had done, he tried very hard to make amends.

Can you ever truly be forgiven for spending almost your entire married life unfaithful, harsh and mean? Can people really change when faced with what they have done to the one person they should have loved the most?

I don’t know the answers to those questions, but I do know that my father in law tried up until he died to make things right with the wife that he had for so long taken for granted.

On one of Joanne’s birthdays, Tony made reservations for all of us to have dinner at a very up-scale restaurant in East Orange, NJ. This is about an hour away from our home, so Tony reserved a limo for us, hoping to impress Joanne.

When the stretch pulled up to their home, we were all so excited to see Joanne’s reaction and surprise. Well we could not have foreseen what was to come. She was livid, and the entire ride up to The Manor, she either sat in cold silence, or berated Tony for being so stupid as to think that she would actually enjoy acting like a snob in a limo and going to such a restaurant.

Dinner was no better. This is an absolutely beautiful restaurant with fantastic food and service, but it was the most uncomfortable, tense evening that I have ever attended.

Poor Tony, for all of his wrong-doings during their marriage, he tried so hard to make up for his sins. I wonder why she stayed with him, knowing that she would never forgive him. She did love him though. After she died, Matt found an unfinished letter that she was writing to her children, telling them how lonely she was since Tony had died and letting them know how much she had loved him.

As a result of all that had happened in their past, no one was ever good enough for Matt. And for that matter, Matt was never good enough either.

Now, his sister was another story, although they did a number on her too. Patty never took the blame for anything in her life. If something went wrong, it was someone else’s fault; never hers, ever.

This was a young lady who was the most self-absorbed human being I have ever known. If it didn’t affect her in a positive way, she either didn’t give a shit or she hated it and would do anything she could do to thwart it.

She spent her lifetime doing anything and everything she could to make everyone around her miserable.


She tormented her parents, used everyone that she knew and pushed away any good friend that she ever had, and she did have some very good friends during her lifetime.

Even good friends have to take a step back sometimes and decide when the relationship has become more of a burden than that of true friendship. Every person close to her had to finally, at one point or another sever their ties with her.
Her need for attention was all but encompassed her life.

She was a diabetic who bragged when her sugar was over 400; reviled in the thought of her next hospital stay. She loved that she had so many ailments at such a young age. It was the only thing she ever wanted to talk about.

Pity.

In the end she got what she always wanted, to be sicker than anyone else; she died suddenly at the age of 39.

I realize that I sound harsh. The simple fact is that we are what we are in life, and death does not by definition turn us into Saints. Patty was a hurtful and hateful person who manipulated and intimidated her parents and that in of itself had such an impact on Matt. For that, I don’t think I will ever forgiver her, even after death.

How sad it is that when a young woman dies, and only a handful of people mourned her.

After her death I cried for a young life that was lost prematurely, but not for the person that she was. The only real sadness was for her young daughter and husband.

Matt has never cried over the loss of his sister; to him, she had died years before.

She came in and out of our lives only when she was in trouble or needed something. One of her disappearances lasted almost two years and ended only when her first husband left her for another woman and she needed Matt’s help.

I am not a psychologist by any stretch of the imagination, but I believe with all my heart that for most of Matt’s life he has been a tortured soul whose only wish was to be happy, loved and needed.

It took Matt most of our married life to realize that the demons of his family’s past and his inability to rid his mind of them were taking away any chance he had at being the man I knew he was deep down.

We had that in common at least, it took me just as long to realize that if things didn’t change, I would once again be faced with a decision that I did not want to make.

Don’t’ get me wrong, Matt had some shining moment throughout the years; thus, proving that I was right all along about the man I knew he was. The man buried so deep within himself that he didn’t even know he had a choice and a chance of healing and ridding himself of the baggage that he carried around his whole life.

My declaration that the marriage would end unless we did something about his inner turmoil only worked because I was serious. It was not an idle threat; I meant it.

So now I’m going to give away our ending.

The road to healing has been long and painful at times; but worth it. It’s unfortunate but necessary that you rehash and dredge up things that you never wanted to face again before you can truly find peace.

Purge and move on.

Matt and I are at a place now that we should have been all along. And inasmuch as my heart hurts for all the wasted years, I need to stay focused and look to the future, our future.

It’s never too late to get it right and I am so thankful that I decided to trust my instincts (which have been wrong so many times before) and stay with the one person I believe was put on this earth just for me.

We are soul mates and we won the long-fought war.

His inner wounds are healing and he found his smile.

I’m hoping that it won’t be too much longer before he can even smile when he looks in the mirror.

I hope it’s soon; he has such a sweet smile.

WITH VISIONS OF SUGAR PLUMS DANCING IN MY HEAD

With the Christmas season upon us, I was hoping to find visions of sugar plums dancing in my head, but, I found the ghost of Gary lurking there instead.

Talk about a downer.

I mean really, was it too much to ask him to vacate my brain during the holiday season? Sure, I had invited him in while I wrote my book and blog, but for him to assume that I wanted him to take up permanent residence in my head was just plain selfish on his part; and too much to take for me.

Thus, I decided that this week, I would take a stroll into my memory and relive my Christmas past.

That ought to kick his ass out for a while, don’t you think?

Let the stroll begin………

I’m not sure if it was the times or my youth, but things seemed so much simpler back then.

There were no malls or cyber Monday; no camping out at the electronic store to get 150% off the one item that you had to purchase, only to find out that 1,000 other people were there for the same item; of which there was only one available.

High tech shopping meant perusing the Sears catalog, placing an order by land-line telephone and picking it up at the store; you remember the hundreds of numbered bins you had to search through to find your purchase? It was great…

Shopping was done in little towns scattered across the nation. Christmas decorations would line the streets and carols would be playing over a loud speaker for all to hear and enjoy.

Mangers and Menorahs shared the spotlight with no one being insulted or outraged, threatened or confused. It was a time for tolerance and acceptance.

Children wrote out their Christmas lists for Santa with no expectations of getting everything they had put on their list.

Christmas was not a time of greed, but a time of family, traditions and togetherness.

I have such fond memories of my dad taking my sisters and me into town to shop for the perfect gift for our mom. I looked forward to this every year, as it was one of the highlights of the season for me.

Being alone with our dad, who worked so many hours each week was a treat; and the simple fact that he let my sisters and I have a say in what his purchase would be made me feel very special, and almost grown up.

An outfit or a piece of jewelry, it didn’t matter what we purchased, mom would love it; she always did.

Back in the day, Thanksgiving was actually an important holiday all unto itself; not just the lead-up to Christmas. So, decorating for the holidays never started until after Thanksgiving in our house; with the most exciting build up to Christmas being the placing of the Manger on the mantle.

Every evening we would move the wise men closer to the stable; having them arrive on Christmas morning.

It was the little things like our Manger, things that didn’t cost any money that meant the most to us. Family traditions, embedded in our lives; always there in our memories and hearts.

About a week before Christmas we would all pile into the car and search for our perfect tree. Our tree was put up on Christmas Eve evening; never before. We would all have dinner in front of the TV watching Amahl and the Night Visitor. Then the decorating of the tree would begin; all the while my sisters and I would giggle and laugh with excitement in anticipation for the following morning.

The hanging of our stockings and the placing of the milk and cookies would come last, and then it was off to bed with us.

Sleep came hard that night; the excitement for the following morning was almost too much to bear. Gifts, relatives, food and more; we couldn’t wait.

At 7:00am we were up and ready to go. Whichever one us my sisters or I got up first, we would wake the others and off into our parent’s room we would go to wake them up, then it was back into our room while the gifts were placed and the lights lit on the tree.

Let the fun begin.

With my sisters along side of me, we would race down the stairs to see the most beautiful sight; our tree all lit up with lights, and a treasure trove of gifts lying around it, just waiting for us to rip them open and revile in the gifts that Santa had brought us.

In our family, we always spent Christmas day with my dad’s side of the family. We would rotate each year between our house and my dad’s brother and sister’s homes. I loved it, we got to see our cousins, exchange more gifts, eat and just laugh.

My mother’s family would come the following weekend, thus making Christmas last even that much longer. Eating, presents, and family; God I love holidays.

Those innocent years are something that I find myself longing for. It is so true that youth is wasted on the young. We struggle to grow up faster than we need to when we should be cherishing the time that we have as young, carefree children.

It was when my family moved to Illinois the summer preceding my going into the eighth grade that some of my favorite traditions started.

I might have become a teenager, but my family and our holiday traditions still meant everything to me. It was the stability of it all I think that made even our move across the country doable. We survived because of our strength as a family and our traditions, new and old.

Moving was a difficult time for us. We had left Barbara, our older sister in New Jersey at college, which added to the stress of moving to a new state so far away. She would be alone without us; although close family friends were near enough to lend a helping hand if needed, but it just wasn't the same without her with us.

Our first Christmas in the great state of Illinois was snowy and cold; and with nothing familiar to us, we forged ahead and proceeded to create new traditions and memories for our little family.

My sister Susan was very smart and popular and was usually out and about with friends or studying. She was the cool sister, and the oldest for me now that Barbara wasn't at home with us.

So, when it came time to go tree shopping my dad and I went alone. Thus, starting a tradition that lasted until I got married; my father and I went alone, every Christmas after that for our tree.

I looked forward to that outing as much as I anticipated with excitement Christmas morning. It was a time that was just for me and my dad, no one else. We picked the tree together; with my mother always loving our choice.

That first year, as I said was difficult for us. The evening we chose to buy our tree was cold with wet snow falling. We were in a state that we were not familiar with, with people we didn’t know and just looking for something that we could hold on to.

So, as the search continued for our perfect tree, we wandered into the town of Aurora and into a jewelry store. It seems that my dad had more than just a tree on his mind.

We were going to buy my mom diamond earrings.

I was so excited to be a part of this; and when the jeweler asked me if I wanted to hold the earrings to get a better look, I thought I would pass out for sure. This man was going to trust me to hold on to these beautiful diamond earrings; and my dad had actually asked for my opinion on which ones to purchase.

For me, that bitter cold snowy evening on that December night so long ago is one of the strongest and fondest memories that I have of any Christmas still to today.

Alone, 1000 miles away from family and close friends, that first Christmas in Illinois was perfect. My sisters and I, along with our parents shared that time alone, just us.

Being alone with the ones you love, when away from home and familiarity, can cement the feelings that you always had; just forgotten; or had unknowingly taken for granted.

It was that Christmas that I realized just how much I needed, loved and cherished my family. I missed our relatives and the hectic hustle of the day, but every once in a while, I think families need to be alone on such significant days, to remember and to see just how important each other is in our lives.

Dinner was magnificent. My dad was the one who came up with new traditions and special things that made difficult times more bearable. He had a way of making even the most difficult times special.

The table was set with our finest china, linen napkins and best glasses. We dined on filet mignon, red leaf lettuce, potatoes and more.

That evening, when I went to bed, I thanked God for giving me such a perfect family.

Life might not be so bad after all in this very strange state of Illinois.

We lived in Illinois for two years. Moving back was bitter sweet for me; but to see family and friends again, especially during the Christmas holidays was great.

Christmas became very hectic for me once I married Gary. Shit, he’s back…. Fast forwarding to my life with Matt; I don’t have the strength to visit Garyland this week.

When Matt and I married, one of the things I had the nerve to insist on was that we always get a real tree for Christmas. I couldn’t comprehend having a fake tree; ever.

Not having that beautiful evergreen aroma spread through the house was not something that I would tolerate; still wont.

Christmas morning for our children was like it was for me; waking up at 7, setting up the gifts and setting the perfect stage for the day.

Shayne would undoubtedly get up at 5am; with Matt and I forcing him back to bed till 7. Once 7am came around and Matt and I had gotten things ready, the ripping would begin.

Shayne would tear through his gifts in about two minutes; Brittany would methodically open each gift with great care, never tearing the paper; and Anthony was the steady-as–you go type.

Life was good.

We have had our tight years, and years when things weren’t going well for the family in general; but it always seemed ok on Christmas.

It didn't matter if the pile of gifts was smaller from one to the next. It mattered that we were healthy, together and with family.

There truly is something magical and special about the Christmas season that tends to bring out the best in everyone; regardless of family situations or problems.

With the loss of our mother last year, Christmas, to say the least, is different.

As the different memories of my mom flood back into my mind, I remember her with laughter and joy, sorry and sadness.

On this second Christmas without her, I have come to believe that Christmas morning has a mystery and mystique to it that tends to calm and sooth; at least for me anyway.

I will cry my way through the preceding weeks leading up to the 25th, and then wake up with a sense of peace, knowing that my mother is still with us and sharing with us as we celebrate together as a family.

She is always in my heart and I know that she burns brighter during this time of year; and for that I am so grateful.

For this holiday season I wish for all my friends, family and blog readers a joyous, healthy and peaceful Christmas and a Happy New Year.

PHOBIAS AND WHO CAN I BLAME THEM ON

Who can I blame all my weirdo phobias on? It wouldn’t be fair to blame my parents, they have been nothing but wonderful. I mean, I could, but that would just be wrong.

I could blame Gary. Let’s face it; life with him was not serene. As it is, I still have nightmares about those days, only in present tense. But my phobias, I don’t think so, not all of them anyway. Some of them are just so odd and so far from the mainstream that I can’t come up with anything that would link them to my past. Who knows, maybe Dr. Phil could shed some light on them. Oh wait, I think I’m afraid of him too.

Let’s take feet as an example. Feet are harmless; they don’t have teeth, a mind of their own, or an agenda to make your life miserable. So, what is my fear of feet all about? Not other people’s feet, just mine.

I am 50 years old and this summer is the very first year since I was a teenager that I would wear flips; or as my mother called them when we were growing up, go-aheads. I have no idea where that came from and have never heard it from anyone else.

Anyway, the company I am employed with set a goal, we reached it, and our reward was a trip to Mexico with a guest, all expenses paid. How cool is that? Well Mexico is hot and I would not really be able to walk around the beach and pool in my sneakers and socks.

Socks are very important to me also. So, talking with the five women I work with, it was decided that I would buy a pair of flips and wear them to work to get used to them, and used to people looking at my feet.


I have delivered three children with socks on, I go to my OB/GYN, get naked and in the stirrups spread eagle, but I have socks on. My feet are never bared to the public.

So, step one, I purchased three pairs of flips. The first day that I wore them to work, my heart was pounding so fast it was a miracle that I didn’t drop dead right then and there. But, I made it through the day, no one laughed at me and I didn’t die.

Things were progressing.

The next step was for me to get a pedicure. That was going to take some doing. The thought of someone looking and touching my feet was almost too much for me to handle. But, I am a mature woman and this is something that I could overcome.
NOT. All the ladies of Andantex (where I work) and I were going to go together to get our pedicures followed by dinner.

Now mind you, it came out at a later date that we would be walking into the bar/restaurant with flips on, if not the cotton between our toes. It appears that the polish needs time to dry, thus making it necessary not to cover up the toes immediately after the pedicure. I don’t think so. But, I was assured that this was going to be fun. Forget it, it never happened.

The first date that we had was cancelled because a few of the ladies couldn’t make it at the last minute. The next date was decided on and the closer the day came, the more agitated I got. While talking about it to Mary Ann and Deborah at work one afternoon, I actually started to hyperventilate and it took everything I could not to cry. I kid you not; I was starting to tear up.

There are words for people like me. Anyway, I was explaining to them that I had not been sleeping because I could not stop thinking about this fun day that we were all going to have. Mary Ann looked at me and told me that it was crazy to go through with this, so it was decided then that I didn’t have to get one. I was off the hook. I immediately calmed down, got my breathing back to normal and was so fucking relieved that you would have thought that I was spared the electric chair.

I was actually so relieved that it didn’t occur to me to be embarrassed at my reaction and fear for our upcoming jaunt.

That was an honest and true reaction to my getting a pedicure, but looking back on that I ask, how stupid and immature can you be? Feet, we are talking about feet. I just don’t know where this comes from. I know that Gary always laughed at my feet and it was an issue that used to cause me great distress. He would embarrass me all the time about it. That is when I started to wear sneakers and socks all the time. Come to think of it, Donny laughed at my feet too. He told me if I wore sandals to a wedding he wouldn’t take me.

Jesus Christ, what is with these guys, I don’t’ have the most beautiful feet in the world, but they aren’t hooves. But to get so distressed about a lousy pedicure and feet in general is just plain moronic. I need to overcome that one if for no other reason than it is just so ridiculous.

Others include heights, which I have had since I was ten. Bridges, I hate bridges. It goes beyond the height of them though. I am convinced that when I am on a bridge it will collapse or we will crash through the guard rail to our deaths. My poor husband forgot once and drove over the Driscoll Bridge in the far right lane. I leaned over so far so, as to make sure the car did not plunge into the Raritan River, that I almost ended up on his lap.

So, if you are going to go over the side of the bridge, just lean over because the weight distribution will change and your 200 pound body moving over to the other side of the car will stop the two ton vehicle from going over the side, right? Makes sense to me.

Car washes; who the hell is afraid to drive through a car wash? You guessed it, me. If I am not driving, I love it. I just get such a kick out of the colors the soap makes and the suds. But, I have never, ever, gone through one alone. Am I afraid I will die, get attacked, get lost, nope. I can’t explain it, don’t understand it and I probably never will. Actually, I’m not even sure I want to know. That might be too weird for even me.

Flying to Mexico. Once again I am convinced that because I am on the plane, it is going to go down. I didn’t want to sit next to the window because if it blew out I would get sucked out. I didn’t want to sit near the engine because if the window blew out I would get sucked into the engine.

I won’t go to the bathroom on a plane because I am afraid that my ass will get stuck in the toilet in some bizarre, one of a kind accident. I am also afraid to get up and walk on a plane because I don’t want my weight to cause the plane to shift. (Hey – if I can keep a car from careening off a bridge, who knows?) Now, I know that can’t happen. I am not that crazy or stupid, but I can’t get that thought out of my head, that I could actually tip the damn plane.

Comments like that make people look at me like I am either a nut or looking for attention. I wish it were for the attention. These are very real fears for me and I just don’t know how to get over them. Logic tells me that they can’t happen, but my mind won’t let it go. Not good.

I have been on two cruises in my life. I love them. As much as I am afraid of falling overboard and getting eaten by a shark, I love to cruise. My fear of what I am about to share with you makes me worry for days on end before we arrive at the ship. It is so crazy, even I have a hard time comprehending that I am actually losing sleep over it, but I still do, to the point of nightmares.

The ship is approximately eight feet from the dock, right? The gangplank that you need to cross over on in order to get on the ship goes over the water. You can see that water below as you are walking over to the ship.

Are you with me so far? If you were to fall off that gangplank and into the water, oh my God, typing it now, safe in my home on dry land, I am shaking and have goose bumps. I can’t imagine anything worse than falling into that water between the ship and the dock. Awful, just awful. I don’t think that is a common fear and where it came from, I have no idea.

I drive home from work the same way every day. If I think I might want to change routes because of traffic or just for new scenery, I have to convince myself that by changing the way I am going is not going to insure that I get into an accident. By simply changing my route, I am tempting fate.

My mind works in very strange ways.

It wouldn’t be fair to blame all of this on Gary, but I think that those days had to have some bearing on how I am today. Always tense, always fearing the unknown. Maybe that’s it, the unknown.

Now, if you can explain this next phobia and fear of mine to me, you are good. It is real, is scares me to death, even knowing it can’t happen. Well, 95% of me tells me it can’t happen. There is still that 5% that you just don’t know.

I mean really, who the hell really knows what could happen given the right circumstances. No one can.

Picture this. You are working at night in a large, very open office area with a loft that contains about 10 offices, several cubbies and a very large open floor space for the machines downstairs.

There was a time when I worked with Brittany cleaning that office building. Many late nights I would clean alone. It was on those nights that one of my worst fears would grab hold of my mind, and it would take everything I had to get through the night and get the hell out of there.

This office building, warehouse has cameras all over inside and out. This is to protect the employees and the company from abuse and theft. When I am working I am constantly looking the monitors that are placed throughout the office area. I can see the parking lot, the warehouse and the offices. I find myself staring at these screens. Am I looking for an intruder who plans on stealing from this company? Am I looking for the mad rapist who knows that I am there is just waiting for his chance to have his way with me.

Nope, zombies.

Yup I am afraid of the undead. Absolutely cannot shake this fear. The thought of having my flesh ripped off my body, corpses taking bites out of me while I am alive is almost more that I can take. I watch those screens just waiting to see one of them, with that awful walk and gray skin searching for a live victim. I have to force myself away from looking at the monitor. Taking the garbage out to the dumpsters is always fun, waiting to get ambushed by this band of undead.

It doesn’t help when my very comical daughter sends me a text message, knowing that I am there alone and frightened, tell me that an escaped madman is on the loose and consuming human flesh. I just love that child.

It also, is always on my mind when I am there alone that horrible movie, NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD. My honor roll friend, who was supposed to be the smart one, was babysitting with me one night many years ago at the house NEXT FRIGGIN DOOR to my parent’s house. We decided, because we were idiots, to watch NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD. We were so frightened, when the parents came home, we ran, arms entwined around each other lest the zombies would get us, into my parent’s house and up the stairs to my room. We were in the tenth grade, hell, what did we know.

Some of these fears make no sense so it is very hard to explain how in one breath I can tell my family that all is well and we need to keep our faith (and really mean it), and in the next breath tell someone that I am afraid to go in the ocean because it is a certainty that I will get bitten by the one shark in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of New Jersey.

I make my friends laugh, my kids think I am nuts, and as Brittany would say, “Mom, you have serious issues.” I know I do and I think long and hard about them and try to convince myself to change, to stop being so weird. It works for a day or two and then I slip right back to the person I guess I really am.

One day I will have to learn to accept myself for who I am. To embrace my idiosyncrasies and let my mind wrap around all my little oddities, and then strangle the shit out of them.