THE CROSSING - Part II

Courtesy of Deviant Art

GRACE: First of all, I’m not unhappy. Second of all, I'm not angry, but so what if I was? What’s it to you? You haven’t the faintest idea who I am, what I go through, how I feel. You don’t know me, Anne, so how in the hell can you even begin to understand me?

ANNE: Oh, I know you better than you know yourself. You hate me don’t you?

GRACE: To be truthful, I don’t know how I feel about you.

ANNE: Why is that? What have I ever done to you?

GRACE: You’re different than what I expected you to be, that's all.

ANNE: (confused) What does that mean?

GRACE: That I don’t know you, Anne. Maybe if I did, I could understand you a little better and we could have a better relationship.

ANNE: What in the world are you talking about?

GRACE: (angry) That you’re a coward, Anne! Always have been. You hide behind a mask of so-called perfection afraid to show your flaws because you’re afraid about what people might think if they knew the real you. (she begins to scream) Who gives a shit! It's your life! They don't get to tell you how to live it! You shouldn't care! They shouldn't matter to you, Anne. But if you want to put on that facade, hey, okay, you must have your reasons. But what I’m not okay with is that you hide your true self from us. We’re family. No need to do that here.

ANNE: Steff..... what in the world?

(Steffi begins to look uncomfortable)

ANNE: Grace, you’ve lost me. This is me, it may not be who you like, but it’s me. It may not be who you understand, but it’s me. We’re different, but why does that have to be so wrong? Grace, you’re independent - in your ways and in your thinking. And, before you think I’m insulting you, I’m not. I mean that to be a good thing. You know, truth be said, you’re tilted just a little bit off-center… the stuff you read, the music you hear...none of us can relate to that. But, again, I’m not judging, that’s just who you are and that’s a good thing. We get it, you’re different. But you have one major flaw, Grace, and that’s that you’re too honest for your own good. You need to stop and think before speaking because sometimes certain truths are better left unsaid.

GRACE: (pointing a finger at Anne) And there’s where we differ. You think keeping certain truths from people is best. I think not. People have a right to their truths, Anne, and in giving them that, you empower them.

STEFFI: (she looks at Anne and gets up) I’m going to check on Mom.

ANNE: Sometimes, Grace. Sometimes not. Sometimes it’s better to be kind and lie.

GRACE: (takes a pause, breathes in and talks calmly) You think I speak the truth to hurt? You’re couldn’t be more wrong. I just don’t believe in the concept of a lie. What's the point? In the end, people always find out, and in the end people always get hurt. You see, I think the truth, however painful it might be, is still more humane. You empower a person with the truth, Anne. Whereas, lies only weaken you.

ANNE: I’m sorry, Gracie. Sometimes lies are necessary. Sometimes lies protect. Sometimes they are the kinder of two evils.

GRACE: Truth is not evil. Anne. It’s just the truth. A fact of life. Evil is the person or the action, but the truth itself is not evil. The truth sets you free Anne. You ought to try it sometime.

ANNE: (Anne shakes her head) You know what’s so amazing? That you actually believe all of this nonsense. Young people always seem to think they have all the answers.

GRACE: I don’t have all the answers, Anne. I never claimed I had. I just think that life doesn’t have to be that complicated. There’s right and there’s wrong. That’s it.

ANNE: Grace, life is not that simple. Life is never black and white. On the contrary, it’s filled with many shades of gray. And you shouldn’t be so quick to judge until you’ve walked in another person’s shoes.

GRACE: So then why are you so critical of me and Steff?

(Steffi returns and stands against the sink looking at both sisters)

ANNE: Touché. I deserved that. Tell me something? Have you ever really bothered to see me for who I am? Not as a sister, but as another human being with feelings, a person who gets tired sometimes from all the bullshit.

STEFFI: Wow. You're cursing, Anne?

ANNE: (disregards) You know, you ever think that maybe once in awhile I’d like to run away from all these responsibilities, to escape and just sleep, drink and, hell, maybe even have sex with someone.

STEFFI: (returns to the table and sits down) What? Have random sex? Anne!

ANNE: What? Does that shock you? I’m not dead you know. I’d just like to think that I’m deserving enough to find someone who could love me and want to share a life with me. I want to feel alive again before I die...I just want to feel alive. (she looks down at the table and looks pensive.)

STEFFI: (caresses her hand) You are more than deserving. You’re an amazing woman, Anne, and any man would be lucky to have you.

GRACE: (kiddingly) Yeah, well, you’re never gonna find anyone with those Amish clothes you like to wear. We need to give you a serious makeover if you want to get your freak on.

STEFFI: (shrieks in laughter) Oh my God, Grace!

ANNE: (smiles) Ha ha. Very funny. However, I don’t think it’s the clothes men are interested in, is it?

GRACE: Uh, yeah, but no need to package it in something that screams of chastity. Not if what you want is the opposite of that, know what I mean? Listen, when you go to a department store, aren’t the most beautiful things the ones that always catch your eye? When you go out to eat, aren’t the foods that look most delectable the ones you want to try first? Hello! This is so elementary I can’t believe I’m explaining this to you people!

ANNE: Oh, Grace. What are we going to do with you? Point taken. But I think I rather have Steffi do my makeover. I’m not ready for you. Actually, I don’t think many people are.

GRACE: (smiles and changes the subject) Hey, truth or dare. Is there anything that you ever regretted doing or not doing? Steff, you first.

STEFFI: Let’s see. Well, I chose my career over the man I loved because he showed no ambition.

ANNE: So you regret that decision?

STEFFI: Yeah, I do. He was great. He was perfect in every way but ambition. I still haven’t been able to find anyone else that compares. Oh, and he was so deliciously cute, wasn’t he?

GRACE: Uh, news bulletin. I just saw him the other day and he had this huge gut and was balding really bad. He had tattoos all over his body and was wearing a wifebeater. I think he was missing a couple of front teeth too. Truth be told, Steff, he was rather unattractive. But, hey, that’s me. Maybe you’re into that, who am I to say.

STEFFI: Oh, my God, you’re too much! Thank you for that, sweet girl! (Grace winks at her)

STEFFI: (to Grace) What about you? Is there anything you ever regretted doing or not doing?

GRACE: Well, let’s see (counting off on her fingers) - I’ve had Brad, but that was after Jenn and before Angelina. You believe that ugly bastard left me for that troll Angelina? They deserve each other. I’ve had dear old, charming George who’s like 30 years older than me but I figured I had enough problems already without adding Daddy issues. Hmmm... oh yeah, I had Matt too, but he was so damn sweet he nearly put me in a sugar coma. Ach!

STEFFI: (laughing) Come on, seriously!

GRACE: Well.. (becomes pensive and looks down at table, twirling a spoon) I don’t know. I guess the only thing I ever wanted was to have a better relationship with my mother.

STEFFI: Well, you still can. But it just might not be your idea of what you want it to be because you need to understand that the Alzheimer’s gets in the way. She may only recognize you once in awhile, if at all.

GRACE: I’d settle for being recognized at all. Just once. (she smiles at Anne with sadness in her eyes). Truth or dare Anne. Have you ever done anything that you regretted?

ANNE: I think this game is foolish. I don’t want to play. (Anne begins to rise from the table but Grace grabs her hand.)

GRACE: (speaking quietly) Don’t leave Anne.

ANNE: (quietly answers) Let go of me, Grace. (The mood in the room has changed. It is no longer playful. Grace is solemn; Anne has turned pale; Steffi looks scared.)

GRACE: (smiles weakly) I wish I could, but I can’t. Sit down Annie. Truth or dare. Is there something you’ve done that you ever regretted?

ANNE: (sits back down and looks at Grace). Why is this so important to you Grace?

GRACE: Because the truth will set you free.

(Anne remains quiet.)

GRACE: Annie, have you ever done anything that you later regretted?

ANNE: (weary) Yes.

GRACE: What?

ANNE: (looking at Grace) Do you really want to know Grace? Some doors are best left closed.

GRACE: This is how the game is played.

ANNE: Except my life is not a game.

GRACE: And neither is mine.

ANNE: Why is my truth so important to you?

GRACE: Annie, what have you done that you can't reconcile with?

ANNE: (looks at Grace tenderly) You only call me Annie when you want something from me.

GRACE: (she whispers) That’s what I’m counting on.

(Anne begins to rock back and forth and finally lets out a primal scream)

STEFFI: Grace, please, stop!

GRACE: (to Steffi) No! She needs to do this! We need to do this! Dammit, Anne, I’m tired of the lies!

STEFFI (turns pale) Anne? (a secret look transpires between the two sisters)

GRACE: You knew! Why didn’t you ever tell me?

(Steffi remains quiet and does not look at Grace)

GRACE: Annie, look at me. (a little louder this time and desperate) Look at me Annie! (Anne looks at Grace. She seems catatonic) Say it, dammit! (she begins to cry) Annie, please, if you ever loved me, then say it.

ANNE (rocking back and forth) I made a deal with the devil once, Grace, and it cost me you. If I wanted to keep you in my life, I had to give up any rights to you. That was my punishment for having sinned. For having loved the wrong boy at the wrong age. You’re right about me Grace. I am a coward. Always have been when it came to her. I never had the courage to stand up to her. But you were different. And that was my saving grace. (looks tenderly at her) You are my Grace. Always have been. She always controlled me, but she could never control you. You’re everything she hated in me and tried to erase. But you came into the world screaming and you haven’t stopped. (she looks at Grace) You know I love you, right?

GRACE: (holding Anne's hands in hers, she whispers) I know.

ANNE: Do you think you could ever love me in turn? I know you think I don't deserve it and you may be right.

GRACE: I’ve always loved you Annie.

ANNE: (confused) But you hate me?

GRACE: I don’t hate you Annie. I was angry – am angry - because of what you refused to do. Give me my name, Annie. What is my name?

ANNE: (takes her hand and caresses Grace’s cheeks. Grace’s tears are uncontrolled) The truth will set us free, right?

GRACE: (whispers) Yes, Annie. It will. You need your freedom, Anne. And I need my truth. My name, Annie, what is my name?

ANNE: (whispers as she looks into Grace’s eyes) Daughter.

Grace lays her head on her mother's lap and begins to cry uncontrollably; Anne caresses her daughter's head ans silently cries; Steffi comes and wraps her arms around both women.

Lights dim. Blackout.

THE CROSSING

Setting: Kitchen. Three sisters sitting down having coffee. Annie, oldest sister; Steffi, middle child; Grace, youngest one. They have just returned from burying their father. Mother, who has Alzheimer’s, is resting in another room.

GRACE: Do you think she knows what’s going on? I don’t think she realizes he’s gone.

STEFFI: Who knows? All I can say is I wish I was her today.

GRACE: You know, I never thought this day would come. He always looked so invincible. Our little Superman (she smiles at the memory of her father).

ANNE: (irritated) Except he wasn’t Superman. He was human and felt the pains of life just like everyone else. You know, the two of you could’ve made a little more effort and visited him more often. He knew he was dying. He knew the two of you knew he was dying. And that killed him. All the time I had to hear, when are they coming to visit? Once a week, was that too much to ask? Nah, you all got your busy lives and all.

STEFFI: My God Anne, that’s just cruel! We all did the best we could. You know what my hours are like and all the traveling I do. I visited him as much as I could. I know it wasn’t enough, but what would you have me do? Quit my job?

GRACE: And so it begins.

ANNE: (speaking to Grace in a subdued hostile manner) You got something to say?

GRACE: Yeah, I do. You’re never happy unless you’ve hurt someone. What’s wrong with you? Are you that miserable that the only thing that makes you happy is to make other people unhappy?

(Steffi begins to silently cry. Anne becomes quiet. Grace starts to calm down. Neither one wants a fight today.)

GRACE: You know Anne, there’s a part of you that’s kind, selfless and giving. I’ll give you that. But, man, if you don’t have a mean streak. Not many people see that. But we do. You make us feel like we’re always doing something wrong. But you have to do that, don’t you? It’s the only way you can feel better about yourself. If you hate your life so much, then change it!

ANNE: Yeah, easy for you to say from where you stand.

GRACE: Meaning what, Anne?

ANNE: Meaning your life is simple. You have nothing to complain about. Except life isn’t simple for a lot of us. Doesn’t mean we don’t want it that way, it just means that we can’t seem to ever get it that way. Some of us carry heavier burdens, Grace. But you don’t, so consider yourself lucky.

GRACE: Yeah, real lucky. We all have our crosses to bear, Anne, except we don’t continuously complain about it like you do. We just do what we have to do and move on. Why can’t you do the same?

ANNE: Because I’ve always been the one that carries all the burdens in this family! The heaviest cross!

GRACE: (starting to get angry again) Here we go again! Woe is my life! Stop with the martyr act already, it’s getting old. It’s unattractive, it's ugly and it makes you hateful.

ANNE: (laughs at the comment) People don’t hate me Grace, only you.

GRACE: Yeah, you may be right about that.

STEFFI: Hate’s a strong word, Grace, you know you don’t mean that. (turns to Anne) Look Anne, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I did the best I could. I really did. I feel horrible because I know it wasn’t enough and I wish I could've done more. (tears begin rolling down her face)

GRACE: Excellent, Anne....happy now?

ANNE: (ignoring Grace’s comment) No, I’m the one who should apologize Steff. That was uncalled for and it was mean. You know it’s not true. Dad loved you dearly and understood the responsibilites you had with your job. He was always very proud of you and talked about you all the time with such love. I'm sorry, I didn't’ mean to hurt you. Please believe me. I’m just... I don’t know... frustrated. I’m emotionally and physically drained, that's all.

STEFFI: (grabs Anne’s hands) I know.

ANNE: It’s all just so hard, Steff..

GRACE: Oh, there she is - up on that cross again! You wanna get off and let someone else use it for a change?

STEFFI: Grace, please!

ANNE: You’re impossible! Why do you hate me so much? The day you moved out you stopped caring what went on here. I asked you once to come for the weekend to help me with them and what did you say? Oh, sorry Anne, I have plans. Bye, gotta go! Never did you stop to think that I was desperate. It’s easy to criticize when you’re not witnessing the pain and the tears on a daily basis. You visit once in awhile and then go home and sleep fitfully. So, yeah, if you say that I’m up on that that cross again, well, you know what? Yeah! So what if I am? I’ve earned it!

GRACE: Bye, gotta go! Uh-uh, speak the truth, now! I would have come. But as soon as I told you of my plans, you went off on me and hung up the phone....while I was still talking to you trying to explain that I would work something out! So, speak the truth now!

ANNE: You just didn’t want to help. Admit it.

GRACE: You’re such a liar! How can you sit there straight face and lie like that?

ANNE: (changes the subject, no longer wanting to discuss the issue). What did you with the cross the priest gave you at church? The one that was on top of Dad’s coffin?

GRACE: It’s in my bag, why?

ANNE: Well, make sure you give it to me before you go.

GRACE: (sarcastically) Oh, really, why?

ANNE: Because you know very well it doesn’t belong to you.

GRACE: Well, the priest gave it to me and I intend to keep it. But can I ask why? On what grounds is it yours? I mean, I’m his daughter same as you, no?

ANNE: Just give it to me, Grace! I don’t have to explain myself to you.

GRACE: (taunting) And, what if I don’t, Anne? What are you going to do?

ANNE: Oh, you can be so contrary and vindictive at times! That cross means nothing to you! You could never appreciate the significance of it like I do.

GRACE: Of course not, because in your eyes, I’m an immoral agnostic, isn’t that true? You know what your problem is Anne? You think you’re going to find your salvation in crucifixes and rosaries and churches. You can pray all you want sister, but if you never do right by your life don't you fool yourself into thinking you're better than me.

ANNE: Me need salvation? No, you got that all wrong...it’s you that needs it, not me.

GRACE: Go ahead, hide in denial, like you always do (gets up to get her purse, takes the cross out and hands it to Anne). Here. I wasn’t going to keep it anyway. I know you need it more than I do.

STEFFI: (finally losing it and screaming) It's always the same thing with you two! Please! Not today! Change the subject already!

ANNE: (ignoring Steffi). So, do you ever go to church? I mean, besides the funeral mass today? It might do you some good.

GRACE: (disgusted with Anne) I don’t need to do a damn thing. And, I’m certainly not gonna do anything that you tell me to do.

ANNE: Yeah, well, why am I not surprised by that.

GRACE: You think church is the answer to everything, don’t you? Well, I got news for you. There’s a whole mess of people out there who go to church and as soon as they step foot outside its doors, they go home and do the most incomprehensible things to their loved ones. They buy into the fallacy that if they go to church, then they must be good people, right? Pleeeasseee! (in disgust).

ANNE: You can’t judge an entire group by the few that stray...

GRACE: Get off the pulpit, Anne, you’re wasting your time here.

STEFFI: (trying to keep peace) Grace please.

ANNE: ..the majority of us are God-fearing and God-loving people who live our lives by the moral codes he imposes to make us better human beings. We believe in him and in his word. Something obviously lost on you.

GRACE: All these people that go to your church, Anne, I bet you all of them have skeletons in their closets. Everyone does. Granted, some are not that bad. They feel bad for whatever they've done, however small it may be in the scheme of things but major to them and they go seeking salvation and repent for their so-called sins. And they feel God touch them, they hear, they change, and they do those things they need to do to become better human beings. I think that’s wonderful. But it's those others I have a problem with. The lies they live under. And it doesn't matter how many times they go to church, you can’t break them out their vicious cycles. The continue living deceitful lives or being mean bastards to their families, and a lot of other things that’s just beyond reason. I ask - why bother? Do they think hiding under the cloak of religion will buy them decency? Please!

ANNE: You sit there and criticize good Christian people when you don’t know the first thing about them. Grace, everyone has the potential to be both good and bad. Even you. So don’t you dare sit there and be judgmental. Why am I having this conversation with you anyway? I’m not going to debase myself and stoop to your level.

GRACE: Debase yourself? Ha! That’s a good one! Let me tell you something Miss Holier Than Thou. I may not go to church, but that doesn’t mean I don't believe or that I’m not spiritual. Where you and I part company is that you need a structure to affirm your belief. Me, I just need an open, humble heart. I don’t need nor want any mediators. Especially ones that seem to have a certain affinity for little boys...

ANNE: (slamming her open palm on the table) Grace, enough! Do not go there with me! When you are in my house, you show proper respect! If you can't, there's the door! You know very well that has nothing to do with the Church or God or Jesus; that is strickly man's sin and his fallible nature.

GRACE: I thought priests were supposed to be like Jesus or God and be above these incomprehensible things.

ANNE: They are Grace, but they're human and fallible first and foremost.

GRACE: Ha! Something we finally agree on.

ANNE: Laugh all you want but until you’re stricken with some deadly disease, it's going to be you seeking that structure! Who’s the real hypocrite now, Grace?

GRACE: You know what? I’m done. It’s no use talking to you.

ANNE: You’re going to Hell, Gracie. With that attitude, you’re going straight to Hell.

GRACE: Funny you should say that. I thought I was in Hell already, right here, with you!

STEFFI: Oh, my God, Grace! (she’s shocked, but stifles a laugh) What is wrong with the two of you? This needs to stop.

GRACE: Tell her (nods head in direction of Anne). She started.

ANNE: Oh, that’s mature.

GRACE: You know what? I'm done with this song and dance. You wanna tell me what your problem is?

ANNE: You know what? I will tell you. This is what I don’t get. You have the whole world in front of you for the taking. You’re young, healthy, pretty, smart. Nothing that I can see for you to be unhappy or angry about. Yet, you seem unhappy and I know for a fact you’re angry. What are you so angry about?

GRACE: First of all, I’m not unhappy. Second of all, I'm not angry, but so what if I was? What’s it to you? You haven’t the faintest idea who I am, what I go through, how I feel. You don’t know me, Anne, so how in the hell can you even begin to understand me?

ANNE: Oh, I know you better than you know yourself. You hate me don’t you?

GRACE: To be truthful, I don’t know how I feel about you.

ANNE: Why is that? What have I ever done to you?

GRACE: You’re different than what I expected you to be, that's all.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Tim Burton

Yesterday I saw an interview with Tim Burton on Charlie Rose's show about his current exhibition at the MOMA. I've always been somewhat fascinated by this man and his unique creativity but had never caught an interview with him. I have to say he is as original as his works are themselves. He exudes a certain childlike quality about him that makes sense to me now. A very dark childlike imagination, however. Who else but one with such a twisted vision could create such films as

Edward Scissorhands, the story of an unfinished man, a creation - a modern-day Frankenstein - that is nothing like that which the outside world sees but is instead a gentle man living inside a damaged body created by another's view.

Or, Nightmare Before Christmas, a neo-gothic surrealistic fantasy film that was deemed too scary for a young audience and was geared mainly for teens and adults who were still young at heart.

Or, Sweeney Todd, and bringing his own interpretation of an already dark tale and putting his indelible imprint on it.

Or, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, making Johnny Depp's Willie Wonka appear more creepier and sinister than Gene Wilder's 1971 version.

Or, Batman Returns' Penguin, who to this day, is still to me one of the most disgusting and vilest characters that I've ever seen on film. Just watching the scenes with him made me squirm and most uncomfortable.



Or, Beetlejuice, one of my all-time favorite films with Michael Keaton giving one of his best performances ever.

The man's creativity is dark - from his drawings to his films but I suppose that it is the dark that has always attracted me and many others to his films. I dare say his work is genius. Watching him on Charlie Rose proved that. He dances to a different drummer, is not held in by convention, does not believe in labels or what should be and shouldn't be. I loved him. I loved his mind and the sometimes childlike way he expressed himself speaking without editing. I now knew why Helena Bohman Carter and Johnny Depp found him so attractive and loved him as well. They, like Burton, are also cut from different cloths. Yes. He speaks for all of the inner rebels inside of us. And, after awhile, his uncombed hair just became part of who he was and it no longer bothered me (I think, I'm still working on this) .... but I still wanted to know....

I tell the Beloved, "Why can't he at least comb his hair?"

His answer held the slightest bit of annoyance that he tried hard to cover because he had to explain something that should have been obvious and gave him the impression I wasn't listening," Because he doesn't have to."

But I was listening and I still wanted to know, "Why, because he's Tim Burton?"

"No, because where is it written that you have to comb your hair?"

"Eh, social convention?"

And then he goes ahead and musses his hair up, "There."

Yes, there.

"Well, point taken, but you're not Tim Burton, so you'll never get away with that. I dare you go to work Monday and you tell me how that works for you..."

And, it's sad, but it's true. Only the geniuses of this world can get away with such things because it is part of their creativity - part of their 'norm.' To the rest of us, we unfortunately have to conform. Oh, but we can still rebel somewhat, can't we?

I'd like to think we can....what's your inner child telling you to do today? What's your inner Tim Burton or Johnny Depp or Helena Bohman Carter telling you to do?

Do it....just do it.

*sigh*

Courtesy of Deviant Art

So, remember back in June when I wrote about a premonitional dream I had where I believed something had gone awry with me? Where I wrote that dreams for me often foretold of things to come?

Well, heeding the advice of my subconscious, I proceeded to have a complete physical and followed up on other things as well. Nothing was wrong.

Or, so I thought.

Per, what the doctor said.

I am changing doctors. That tells you everything.

The last couple of months I’ve been more tired than usual. Tired actually is not the appropriate word: exhaustion would be more like it. I can't keep my eyes open beyond 9:00 p.m. and sleep on the weekends an unhealthy amount of hours. I just haven't been feeling well.

I went to my internist again to complain. More bloodwork. Nothing. Just, "your triglycerides are very high and they need to come down."

I’ve been hearing this from him the last couple of years but still can’t find a way to lower them. But that’s all he tells me each time..."bring them down."

This last visit I tell him I want a referral to see a nutritionist because I’m desperate. If there’s nothing physically wrong then it's my diet and I eat relatively healthy so I was stumped....and frustrated. "I’m tired of feeling tired, I’m tired of waking up in the middle of the night trembling and hungry, I’m tired of feeling sick," I say. Still the light bulb in this man’s brain who I’ve been seeing for over ten years and knows the medical history of my family is not going off and I trust him to know what he’s doing.

I go see the nutritionist. "I’m hypoglycemic," I say and proceed to tell her my history. She gives me a new diet that is different from the diet I’ve been following and gives me a glucose monitor to mark the readings at fasting every morning and whenever I am feeling weak, lethargic or tired, which by now is pretty much every day.

The first two days the numbers are very low. Hypoglycemic episodes. The rest of the week, however, after following this new diet (but just kind of eyeing it and not measuring it) the numbers begin to rise. I begin to feel a little better but I’m still waking up in the middle of the night hungry as hell and trembling. Hmm? The numbers are reading fine, so I don’t get it. Later that week the nutritionist explains to me the reason I wake up hungry in the middle of the night is because my pancreas is not releasing the glucose to my cells (or something like that, don’t quote me). All I know is that it’s not because I have an eating disorder but because a certain organ in the body is not working properly.

I go see my internist again to get a script for the test strips that I had run out. He's out that day but his partner sees me. He takes one look at my latest blood work, sees the high triglycerides number and asks if I am a diabetic.

"Uh, no."

He says, "Usually when you see a number this high it means the sugars are high as well but there is no way I can say whether you have it or not without looking at your fasting numbers."

"Well, hold on," I say, "I have them right here." I read them to him.

"It appears you’re diabetic."

What?!!! I try to hold back the tears back but can’t. I suppose relief that I was finally diagnosed coupled with anger at this mamaluke of an internist that I had been seeing was the result of the crying. He knew diabetes ran in my family and we talked about it every year. And he missed this?

I go see the nutritionist. She sees the numbers. "Yep," she says, "I kinda had the feeling last week when you came in but I didn’t want to say anything until I saw the fasting numbers and blood work. Sorry to give you the news, but you are."

"Please," I say, "don’t apologize. It is what it is and all I want to know and all I need to know is how do I get this under control."

"The good news," she says, "is that you can control it with diet alone."

"Terrific. I can do that." She starts eliminating almost everything I love to eat. Large quantities of pasta and sauce and rice and fizzy drinks and ice cream and orange juice and chocolate and french fries and onion rings and pizza. Not that I ate these regularly (with the exception of pasta) but these foods were part of my own personally-revised food pyramid. "I can’t have them," I meekly ask.

"Nope. Only a half cup of pasta or rice (really? you're joking), the sauces are laden with sugars (but it's good!), so that’s a no, the greasy stuff is a definite no (but i love my onion rings!), and the fizzy sodas that you love so much only puts more acid in your blood which is already high because of the diabetes. More acid, sugars go up." I take a deep breath. I can do this. But this means no more mindless pigging out at parties, no more processed foods (which come in handy every once in a while), no more this, no more that. Everything measured. E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G. And everything that's good for you too. God! I don't drink, I don't smoke, I don't gamble, I don't do drugs. Food was my vice! I enjoyed it! I loved it! And, now she's telling me I'm on permanent food lockdown? Boy, am I going to be the life of the party at get-togethers. Just stick me on the sofa with grandma so we can trade stories about medical restrictions, doctors, pains, etc. *sigh*

Again she apologizes. I tell her not to mind the shocked look on my face, that I promise to not pummel her and that I’ll get over it.

She starts going down the list of proteins. Pork. "I don’t eat pork," I say.

"Why? Because you don't like it or for religious reasons?"

"Do I look like a person who'll give up food for religious reasons? Seriously? No. Look, I'm Catholic and I eat meat on Fridays during Lent okay. God doesn't restrict on people that have conditions and anyway that was some rule made up by man to...." I stop myself. Get off the pulpit Rebecca. Stop wasting this woman's time with your personal shenanigans. I continue, "I don't do pork because the beloved doesn't like pork and I refuse to cook two meals."

"Well, cook the pork and tell the beloved to pick up fast food. That work for you?"

"Actually, yes it does, thank you."

I like her. I like her a lot.

"Turkey," she says.

*sigh* "Really? The only turkey I like is the one on Thanksgiving. And though I morally object to the slaughtering of turkeys to fulfill some tradition that was man-made, I still find that it doesn't bother me enough not to eat it and that in itself bothers me for I feel I am slowly losing my moral center."

She looks at me like I'm a loon. I think my sugars are going south cause I'm talking a lot of caca. "Do you mind if I eat some nuts," I ask.

"No, please! Go ahead. Let me see what you have."

I show her. She agrees it's a good choice coupled with the dried cranberries to bring up the sugars. And then biting into an almond, one of my molars break. I spit out part of my tooth. Terrific. Can anything else go wrong today? She freaks out. Shouldn't I be the one to freak out?

"Oh my God! Is that your tooth?!"

"Uh, yeah," I calmly say. Why am I calm, I don't know. I suppose the realization of having diabetes and knowing that I could have gotten seriously sick and having a tooth break just doesn't seem to measure up equally. One is definitely more serious than the other and I'm all for perspective.

"You need to call your dentist now!"

"No," I say, "I'll worry about this tomorrow. Please continue. Tonight is yours, no distractions. I'm fine." But, I didn't want to tell her half my tooth was gone.

"Fish and chicken," she says.

"How much?" She tells me. I answer, "I can’t possibly eat more chicken than I do now. Seriously, I’m going to grow feathers."

"You’re not going to grow feathers. You'll be fine."

Red meat once a week. "But I like red meat, why can’t I have it several times a week?"

"Once," is all she says. "I’m sorry," she adds.

"Don’t be. It is what it is and I’ll just get used to it. Hey, at least I don't have to eat tofu, right?"

"Yeah, well you can have that too."

"Nope, and don't put that in my meal plan because I won't eat it. Hey, do you think now's a good time for me to become a vegan?"

She looks at me, "Do you feel okay now with the sugars?"

I get her drift. Haha. "Yes. Look, I've always wanted to become a vegan but everytime I try, I get very sick."

"And what does that tell you?"

"That I can't become a vegan?"

"Excellent. You see, you're learning already."

I wanted to tell her that I didn't like her attitude but actually I liked her. She was no-nonsense.

So, in a nutshell, my eating pleasure days are officially over. If I want to live another thirty or so years to witness the deterioration of my mind and body, they are officially over. That night I tell the beloved, "I feel sorry for you."

"Why," he innocently asks.

"Because. Because you had your chance to do away with me and blew it. You blew it big time Bub. And, you will be crying soon."

"Pft! I can handle you. You're the one who's going to be crying. You're now on food lockdown." He laughs.

"Aww, wrong again, precious! You’re the one that’s going to be crying because guess who's eating those foods with me? See how that works?"

Silence. Yep. That's what I thought. Who's laughing now?

Oh, yeah, I just love it when I do my job so efficiently and in so few words.

So who's the Daddy now?!!

A Mother's Struggle

Courtesy of Deviant Art

I first caught a glimpse of her sitting in her car. Her youngest was asleep in the back. As I approached, I noticed she was quietly crying. I hesitated not knowing what to do. Should I afford her her privacy and continue walking or stop and say hello?

I rapped on the window. She looked at me and laughed. She felt embarrassed having been caught. It didn’t matter what her heart had felt a moment before, all traces of anguish were now gone and she was smiling, trying to make me comfortable. I know that type of personality – the type that would do anything to make others feel at ease. I am the same.

“Hey, what's going on,” I quietly asked. I got in the passenger side of the car and kissed her hello.

“Oops! You caught me!” She wiped tears from her ruddy face and laughed. She clearly felt embarrassed. But we are friends and I knew that my gentle prodding would eventually lead to what I felt she most needed at the moment: an unburdening of a heavy heart.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, business as usual,” she shrugged as if to say, what else is new?

“The kids alright?”

She laughed that nervous laugh she uses to hide a multitude of uncomfortable things. “The kids? When are my kids alright?”

I smiled and waited for her to continue.

“I’m sorry. I just...you know, it gets to be too much sometimes, that’s all.”

“I know.”

“I usually don’t get like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” Again, she apologized.

“What’s wrong,” I softly inquired.

She was quiet for a moment looking out the window. Then, “I’m tired of the criticisms, that’s all. I’m tired of people judging and telling me that nothing’s wrong with my kids and that I’m the one that might be doing something wrong.”

“I think people sometimes find the truth to be too uncomfortable to deal with. So they live in denial,” I said.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t help me or my kids. Look, the truth is that I have special needs children. And don’t think I’m complaining because I’m not. I love them with all my heart and I wouldn’t trade one single one of them for one that was normal. Well, what others think is normal. To me, my kids are normal. That’s their normal, you know what I mean? I only wish others could see them and accept them as I do.”

I knew this to be a recurring problem for her and her husband with some members of the family and some friends. They would not – could not – accept that something might be wrong and instead judged on what they felt was their lack of proper parental skills. I confess that I too at times had paused to ponder but then all I had to do was spend one afternoon with her children and it would bring home the fact that indeed they were different and their problems posed a challenge.

“They have feelings. What people don’t seem to understand is that they have feelings. And many times I have to go home and deal with the fallout of why they are treated in such a way. They get taunted at school and come home crying. They shouldn't have to feel that with family members as well, you know? I’m not saying everyone does this, just a few people. They give them looks like they're some sort of errant children and make judgments in front of them where they can hear. They notice this. They’re getting older and they notice this. And it breaks my heart.”

“Why don’t you and your husband have a sit-down with the family and speak to them truthfully about what this is doing to them? I think if you let them know, they might be receptive. They love them and I don't think they realize they're hurting them. I think if they knew what they were doing, they would stop. I don't think they mean it intentionally, you know?”

“We’re tired of talking. It doesn't do any good. So we just don’t say anything anymore. And we've cut down on the family functions too. I have to protect my kids, you know?”

“I know,” was all I could say.

I felt for her. She might have well been a modern-day Hester but instead of the scarlet letter A written across her chest she was wearing UM for unfit mother. In her world, these are the letters she wears each day in constant judgment of her primary role in life which she does to the best of her ability, but not to the best of what others believe. As a mother, in the eyes of those that don't know her or her children's history, and even some that do, she has failed. It is something that she sees and hears, but it is something she does not do anything about. “I know what people say about me and I would be lying if I tell you it didn’t bother me or I didn’t care. But what can I do? People want to believe what they want to believe, so I let them. All I care about is my kids. They want to understand, fine; they don’t, that’s fine also. C’est la vie, right?”

How sad to live in constant judgment in front of others who have had the blessings of not ever having had to walk in her shoes; others who have raised their children without the constant problems/crisis she tackles on a daily basis (and they are serious); others who in their egos believe that they are better in their parental skills than she ever could be and if they were their children they would not have those problems. These are children with clinically-diagnosed problems and they have been to a multitude of doctors and all are in agreement. So those that judge are right then? Their emotional conclusions override professional conclusions?

I see their problems and my heart breaks to see them go through this. They are trying to be the best parents they can possibly be and are being pulled in so many different directions. Four children is a full plate when three pose a challenge. I sometimes wonder why they were chosen to carry such a tremendous weight. It is a life not for the faint of heart. A person whose belief in God resides strong in her heart, she once said to me that she believed she was chosen because God knew she could handle it. And, I have to say, she can. She is always cheery, has the energy of 20 people, and has the patience of Mother Teresa. So, to see her crying was something very out of the ordinary. But, then again, no matter how strong we are, we all have days where our strengths fail us. After all, we are human.

I, in my ego, sometimes would say to myself that I would talk to them in a softer voice to calm already frayed nerves. But, then, if I step outside of my ego, what do I see? I see myself also making judgments of something I have no right to make judgment on. Can I say if I lived in her shoes each and every day that I would have the benefit of being calm when the situation called for it? Each and every time? No. So who am I to judge?

Who are we to judge? It is a murky road indeed that we walk when we rush to opine without benefit of another's disclosure. What we see is never the whole. And while we hanker for our voice to be heard because the ego intervenes and feels it is right, we should, instead, stop from ever voicing any opinions and just witness. Witness with eyes truly open.

And this brings to mind that this world would be such a better place, such a more loving and accepting place, if we all listened with our hearts instead of our egos. The heart is never wrong because the heart is the truthful voice of the soul. Ego is its nemesis yet it is the one we often side with because it carries power and we like power. But perhaps it is time for each of us to let go of the gratuitous ego when facing a person whom we are ready to judge and allow our hearts to guide us instead.

To listen with empathy, to love unconditionally, to accept without judgment...let your heart be the voice of your soul.

Lithium

Courtesy of Deviant Art

Karma. I never used to believe. But now I know...

He hates me. It is evident in the way he treats me and looks at me. I can see love has long departed the palpating chambers of his heart and he no longer considers me his own. He no longer bothers to find the emotion that currently disrupts my heart. My tears no longer hold equity.

I fell in love with him and his tender actions. I fell in love with his tender words that promised protection and eternal affection. I wallowed in the sunshine that had entered my life and rejoiced with wild abandon. I was raw and alive and wanted to experience anything and everything. I stopped sleeping and started living once again. He was my drug.

But then began the lies. Rumblings of accusations that something was awry. The lies he fed that told me I needed help. Why would he do this? Didn’t he see how happy I was and how happy I made him? Why would he want to ruin it?

I no longer believed. I no longer believed in his words and he ceased to be my reason for living and my crutch. I withdrew. Days and weeks would pass where not a word was spoken. Clouds already had made their way into my world again and had returned with that constant familiar of hopelessness and despair.

He offered words of reason and hope and love. But I no longer believed. Instead I wanted apathy. Just sweet, disconnected apathy. Leave me alone.

Slowly he began to learn my ways. Two strangers living in a house divided.

“Never stop loving me,” I would whisper tenderly in his ears late at night when he was asleep.

“Never,” my heart would respond.

And in time, he eventually left, no longer wanting to enable, no longer wanting to obey my requests, no longer standing sentry to my desire to self-destruct. With withered heart he kissed me goodbye. A tear escaped from his eye with a whisper of "I will always love you."

He hates me. He doesn't know it, but I do. Of this, I’m sure. He no longer loves me or considers me his own. He no longer cares to find what emotion fills or riles my heart. My blood-shed tears having lost their equity. Karma, manifest destiny, call it by whatever name you desire, because in the end, that which I gave I received; in the end, I am once again left alone.

A Story That Warms Your Heart

A beautiful reminder of the limitless love we have within ourselves to share....


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