What I have Learned...

I have learned to hate lilies. The smell of them will always take me back to a small half darkened room in tiny nowhere Texas where my grandmother lay, her face puffy in death. A small room we drove fifteen hours,one way, to sit in and look at the one person in this world that made me a better person.

I sat there in silence trying to understand how the world could go on when someone so wonderful had ceased to be with us any longer. How can people smile and go about their days? How does one prepare for this strange anomaly? That the world for some can be completely shattered and yet for the rest of the world it is as if it never happened....The world has no moments of silence, no sounds of wailing. The sun still rises, the birds still sing, the world still continues as it did the days before.

I remember being told we needed to eat dinner after the funeral. I thought of how preposterous  that sounded. We were going to eat and yet my grandmother was lying in some drawer somewhere like precious holiday china, unable to ever eat again. How horrific. How bizarre.

I let hot tears sting down my face as we drove across the Texas border to go back home. I felt I was leaving her behind. Her body not yet cremated. I felt like I was abandoning her. How do I explain such utter nonsense to myself? How am I not supposed to feel like I left her there in that place, alone?

 I am dead inside. I want to feel something but my mind has shutdown. I am currently on auto pilot.

 I yearn to self destruct.

 I would drink myself into a stupor but  I can not stand the taste of alcohol. I want to do what I used to and eat my feelings. One cookie at  a time. I want to drown my emptiness with food. Fill my stomach with acid and grease. But alas, as a diabetic, I can not do that. I want to smoke cigarettes until I can't breathe anymore.....but I quit a month ago and Grandma would be so disappointed if I picked one up again. Hell, she would be pissed if I did any of these things.

So, I am here writing these things out. Pretending that it helps to type away my misery, which I can assure you, is still completely there. Maybe, in time, this will be  helpful. Not today, but maybe tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next.

I have no idea. I have no answers. I am uncertain of the truth right now.

I want to be inspiring and leave meaningful words and hopes for you all but I am afraid that right now any words I have are choked back with tears. Any meaning they may have had seems to have died away with the birth of my grief. Any feelings I have have been buried deep in the heart of Texas where I last said good bye to my Grandmother.

I miss her so much sometimes it feels like I can't breathe.

I hope someone tells me this shit gets better over time because it really doesn't feel like it's getting any easier.

Anyway, I hope you all are doing better than me right now and I hope you all are having a great weekend. Hopefully, my next post will be less morose and macabre. Till then, Neurotic Nelly.

Bah Humbug...Bah Higgins.....

          Thanksgiving dinner went fantastic. All of my food was great and I finally broke my five year turkey dressing curse in which I have bought stove top as a back up for my mad scientist concoctions of dressing recipes which have all been ultimate failures every year. Inedible bricks. Gross slop in a bowl. Unappealing mushes. Tasteless fluffs. Terrible tongue torturers. This year my sister gave me our old family recipe and it turned out delicious. I am beyond stoked. The curse has broken and all is right in the Thanksgiving world of breads, dressings, and stuffings. I can now officially reclaim my southern woman card now that I can make great dressing and sometimes my homemade gravy is actually edible. Sigh....

.................Now we wait for Christmas to arrive.

              As I brushed my cats tonight, I had a realization. Hobbs loves to be brushed. Lola is over excited when combed. They will actually chase me around the couch if they see me with their brush in my hands. In anticipation of all of the scratches and scrubs the brush gives them, they will flop on the floor and rub their fat fur bodies all over the carpet. But my cat Higgins hates to be brushed. He eyes it with a wariness only those who know the betrayal of a glove of soft rubber bristles will understand. He hides from it. He gives you the stink eye when you edge ever so closely to comb his unruly mane. Brushes are Higgin's number one enemy. Though I have no idea why. The brush has never maimed him. It has never scratched him too hard or even pulled a tangle in his fur. Nary even a hair pull, but he mistrusts it. He dreads it. He hates it.

              And it came to me.....there are two types of people in this world when it comes to the holidays. There are the Hobbs and Lola's of the world loving everything Christmas or holiday related. Basking in the l.e.d. glow of Christmas lights and cinnamon scented candles. Rolling around the eggnog flavored beverages on their tongues. Chasing the big hand holding the holiday sale coupons around the block with glee. They watch Christmas movies and make hot chocolate and string popcorn garlands. They love the smell of Christmas trees and delve into wrapping presents with a gusto rivaled only by Martha Stewart on baking and craft day. They relish everything holiday related and everything holiday related makes them feel happy and accomplished and most of all, warm and fuzzy inside. They love Christmas and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

              Then there are the Higgins' of the world. They are mistrusting of the holiday season. It makes them uncomfortable and edgy. They may have very good reasons for feeling this way or absolutely no reason at all but that does not lessen the truth of their feelings. It makes it no easier for them. They may stink eye other's love of holidays or hide from the crowds of caroling masses. They may ignore the friendly holiday greetings or turn away from the numerous three month long commercial adds proclaiming the holidays are soon upon us. Something about this time of year is upsetting to them, or sad to them, or painful for them and they have to go through it anyway because days will pass and Christmas comes once every year. Just like being a cat that needs to be brushed, it is inevitable. There is no true avoidance of it and we should remember to be extra kind to them.

              I am not saying we shouldn't be jubilant and happy around the season of giving and thanks and family. I am saying we should also reach out to the Higgins of the world and see how they are doing because the holidays can be a very stressful time. It can be a very lonely time. It can be a very hopeless time for some.  While we are focused on buying or making our loved ones gifts for the holidays, we should remember that the best gift is caring about someone to begin with, and we should show how much we care by making sure that the Higgins of the world know that they are loved and appreciated and thought of. Especially, when they are struggling just to get by the hardest part of the year when they are grieving, or depressed, or have anxiety issues, or simply have jerk faces for family members.

            When I brush Higgins, I talk to him nicely and I remember to not brush very hard so he isn't more upset. I make sure to comfort him and make him feel safe. Because really, all anybody wants in this great big world is to be loved and appreciated and to feel safe. People really aren't that different from cats.

              So, be happy if you are a Lola or a Hobbs and celebrate but please remember people like Higgins who aren't as excited about the holidays as you are. Let them know you are there for them. Let them know you care and if you can, let them know that you understand the way they feel because there is nothing wrong with not loving the holiday season either.

 My best wishes to all of the Hobbs and Lola's out there and my understanding and best wishes to the Higgins' of the world as well. We will get through this holiday season, one breath at a time just like we always do.

Neurotic Nelly

Gutted.....

              I must have broken a mirror, whilst standing under a ladder,  holding an open umbrella in my living room, while a horde of angry black cats crossed my path. That must be what happened and I just don't remember it because I was drunk. (I don't drink) But, clearly that must have been the case.

I am so over Christmas. Hell, I am over this year. This last month was horrible. So horrible in fact, that I have to sit and laugh at it because if I were to sit and cry about I am not sure I would ever stop.

Lots of people do a count down till Christmas. This year we had one of our own but it wasn't the painstakingly hand sewn red felt calendar with the happy motifs of Santa Claus or shimmering glittery snowmen with the candy cane counter. Ours was more of a countdown on moldy torn fabric warily clinging to the nail, praying to God that it didn't blow away in the shit storm that we are weathering.

Before Thanksgiving my husband got hurt at work. He chipped his hip bone and hurt his back. He was in pain but he is a hard worker and so he went to work everyday despite numbness in his back and feet.

The day before Thanksgiving, my grandma became very ill and had to be hospitalized for eighteen days. She almost died on us.

Two weeks before Christmas my Christmas tree (the one thing that made me still feel hopeful for Christmas cheer) dried up. Most people have Christmas trees that sparkle. Mine molted. Most are full and fluffy, mine was crispy and stabby.

Six days before Christmas my husband was laid off. "Merry Christmas to you and by the way, we don't need you anymore....have fun with trying to pay bills and buy Christmas gifts for your kids..."

A few days later, my oldest cat became extremely ill. We did everything we could including taking him to the vet to get shots and medicine but his kidneys had stopped functioning. He had lost six lbs in two weeks.

Two days before Christmas, he had to be put to sleep....He was in pain and was going to die a painful death within the next few days and the vet told us the humane thing to do would be to end his suffering rather than let  him suffer.

The day before Christmas eve instead of having happy thoughts of Christmas gifts and sugar plumb fairy dreams, my kids stood outside in the rain as we buried beloved Geves. (We didn't ask them to stay out there with us. They both just walked outside while we buried him. I was very proud of what little men they are becoming.) Instead of cheer my eight year old tried to come to grips with the truth that no, cats do not actually have nine lives. I had to explain to him in detail on Christmas Eve, that even if he did throw a coin into a water fountain and wish for Geves to come back, it wouldn't work because life doesn't really work that way.

Then we had a reprieve and went to my mother's house which was nice. We had a good time full of family and love. We didn't really want to come back home to a house without Geves though. To have to come back to our home and pretend we don't feel the glaringly obvious absence of one of our buddies. The other three cats are grieving just as much as we are. Now, our house is just a big grief sandwich filled with sadness and uncertainty. He used to sleep with me. I can't sleep in my bed because it makes me too sad to not feel him at my feet. My other cats won't go upstairs anymore, so I am now sleeping in the living room.

Christmas morning, my kids opened their gifts and played. A quiet relief of them forgetting for a second that all is not right with the world right now for us. I was thankful for that.

Santa had brought them "stickies" in their stockings. Those little oddly shaped creatures that are sticky to the touch so you can throw them on the wall and watch them "walk" down the wall. One of my kids had flung one on the ceiling in the dining room. It was so sticky it didn't fall down even after hanging there for two hours. When my husband stood on a chair to get it down, it ended up pulling off a plate sized portion of the plaster off of the ceiling.

 I laughed and laughed and laughed. Ridiculous. This month has been so bad it has been utterly ridiculous. I asked them not throw them on the ceiling anymore lest my whole damn house start to fall in around our heads when we pull them off.

I was laughing but then I was sick to stomach. So sick of Christmas and dead trees, and sickness, and pain, and loss, and of having an unsure future. I looked at all of the decorations I had lovingly hung and it made me feel even more disgusted. I looked at my husband. I looked at my kids happily playing in the other room and something inside me snapped. I started tearing down the decorations. I couldn't remove them fast enough. It was almost as if they were now, for me tainted somehow. I put away the stockings and dismantled my dried husk of a tree. I threw it off of the porch to let it stagnate in the yard until the trash man comes. I removed the what now seemed to be a sick joke of festive decorations and boxed them in their bubble wrap and tape. I swept the floor of the pine needles like I was cleaning out the negative emotions in my head. Each sweep of the broom was sweeping away the tears and sadness that had become my constant companion these last few days. I was purging this bad Christmas away from my home, my eye view, and hopefully, my recollection. I packed up Christmas and forbid myself to even think about it again until next year, where hopefully it will not be as much of a disaster as it was this year. I left my kid's tree up. I  didn't take away their decorations and joy because I am not heartless. I just couldn't stomach one more second of looking at the red a green and gold balls dangling in the light happily or the wreaths proclaiming joy and peace. I couldn't swallow one more cheerful Christmas carol or digest one more sniff of a cinnamon candle. I couldn't tolerate one more paper angel or blinking Christmas tree light. I wanted to erase the unfulfilled Christmas feelings that now felt like lies. I wanted vomit Christmas back up like it was something rotten I had eaten as a midnight snack. It left a bitter bile taste in my mouth. So much wrong in such a short span while the world is happy and telling you that you should be as well, activated my gag reflex. I couldn't take it.

I couldn't even have the lights on the tree plugged in because the tree would catch fire and yet deep down I dreamed of setting the damn thing on fire in my yard myself as a protest. I protest this Christmas and all of the suffering and fuckery that it entailed this year. It was a horrid, horrid year and I wish I could erase it from my memory.

And if things weren't bad enough to ramp my OCD into overdrive, I just went to urgent care for pain in my tailbone and was told that I have a congenital dimple there. When I told the doctor there is Spina Bifida in my family he was concerned that I may have it as well. Now, I have to have an ultrasound done on my spine and maybe a cat scan as well....So, I am more than just a tad bit upset. Fuck this year, seriously.

As always, I am remaining positive. (Ha ha ha.) I should say I am trying my damnedest to remain positive even though everything around me seems to be falling apart. I am trying to remain hopeful and thankful and I am praying. Like I always do. I know that everything will work out eventually, it just has been so hard. So stressful. So devastating. I feel numb. I feel angry. I feel sad. I feel....hollow. Empty. Gutted.

Luckily, I am blessed with a wonderful supportive family and friends and they are helping us deal with all of this...crap. I can't help but think of others going through this and not having that support. It really upsets me. No one in this country, let alone this world, should work so hard only to be one or two paychecks away from losing everything they have struggled for. But that is my opinion and this is reality. I have decide reality blows.

Here's hoping your Christmas was better than mine and that next year is a better and happier year for all of us. Because I have always loved Christmas....just not this one. Not this way and not this time.

Hopefully things will be looking up soon and my next post will be less depressing. You can bet that at 12:00 a.m. on Jan 1st there will be cheers and hooting and hollering like there always is. Only this time the loudest will probably be coming from my house. Screw this crapified year and all of it's heart break. Come on 2015 don't fail me now! We could really use a break here...and maybe even some good news as well.

Until Thursday,
Neurotic Nelly

Messed Up.....

I took a blog hiatus for my last two blogging days. It has been a mixture of things that have left me exhausted, overwhelmed, and incapable of processing all of my thoughts on paper.

Basically, my OCD has come to a head. I couldn't figure out just what was causing it. Could be my husband's new job, or Christmas coming up, or all of the online school things I am responsible for, or the weather...but honestly all of these things have been going on before my OCD decided to kick into full fledged panic. No, there has to be something else that I just can't handle at face value.

You see, how my OCD works is that when something is stressful, instead of me reacting to said stressful thing with stress, I go numb about it. As a result of the stress I should be feeling, my OCD kicks into overdrive. If bills should be the cause of my stress, my OCD brain will go numb to the fear of not being able to pay them and start concentrating on whether a small pain in my side is cancer. I get anxiety about the thing that isn't real and not about the things that are.

I often compare it to Dissociative Identity Disorder. Not that I have more than one personality, I don't. But that when a person with DID comes across a situation the main person can not handle a different person takes their place so they can cope. My OCD is very much like that when it is triggered. Instead of me dealing with whatever is stressing me out, my OCD reacts instead of me reacting. I can't handle dealing with whatever is triggering me, so my OCD numbs me to it only to stress me out about something I know is not very likely. Almost like it is some defunct coping mechanism.

It makes no sense and it is not helpful to me at all but that is what is going on with me lately.

In my last few blog posts I have been more angry and less positive. I mean, my blog isn't always going to be happy and inspiring. I am a real person, not some robot. My blog is usually positive but that doesn't mean it is always going to be rainbows and unicorn farts. Sometimes it will be sad, or painful, or glum. It happens. My life happens and let's face it, sometimes my life can be sad, painful, and glum.

 So, I took stock in the things that were changing around me to try and figure out what has gotten me in such a state I am unable to even sleep properly and it hit me. Two weeks ago......two weeks ago I asked about my Aunt's autopsy results. It has been two months and we still have no idea what she died from. I still haven't been able to grieve but I feel it bubbling up inside me. It just won't come out. I have tried and tried to make it come to the surface but I feel almost like it is jammed up. Like the flow of my emotions are dammed up with anger, frustration, broken promises, wet newspaper, and little bits of straw. I can feel the current moving underneath my skin and I am hopeful that the autopsy results will give me the answers I seek and in turn  unleash the damn and let the stagnant emotions free. The stench of the black water that is my emotions is literally making me feel insane. I need to be able to understand, to acknowledge, to breath again. I feel like I am drowning in it. I am praying that this little printed piece of paper can unwind my ties to it. That it will finally allow me to grieve. That I can finally stop waiting to feel again and start to heal.

Everyday I wait for my mother to call me and tell me what some medical examiner found in my Aunt's body. I don't know how to feel about her being cut open and dissected, so I feel nothing at all. It is necessary but still it is hard for me to put into words the oddness of talking about a paper that describes her like some specimen in a jar. That the person they are describing by organ weight is the same woman that taught me that I should put perfume behind my ears not on my neck, or how to play gin rummy and never lose , or that there is, in fact, such a thing as a panty line and that people do actually notice such things. (Well, I don't but apparently other people do.)

I know I should be devastated and yet everyday I sit both eager and horrified to know just what happened. I need to know. I can't accept not knowing, and honestly I don't think I can let her go till I do know and yet I am terrified to know all at the same time. I fear I have blocked up my emotions so high and let that dam get so big that when it finally bursts it may actually take me down with it and drown me in it's sorrow. I feel so inadequate. I feel so broken. I feel so numb and yet agitated. So helpless. So emotionally stunted. So desperate and yet not caring equally. I am an emotional ball of raw nerve endings and burnt out electrical impulses. In all honesty, I have never felt so crazy in my entire life as I do right now.

So after waiting on pins and needles and anxious nausea, I just found out that the reason it hasn't come in the mail yet is because they just mailed it....last night.  And now God knows how many more of days of this I am going to have sit through. I am guessing three or four. I really have no idea. Anyway, that is why I haven't written. I am just so broken right now. I am not sure that anything I am doing makes very much sense. And when I feel this completely messed up, my writing suffers with it. I plan to write on Tuesday as usual. Maybe by then I will have some answers and be in a better mental state. I hope you all are doing well. Sending positive thoughts your way....


Neurotic Nelly

It Will Come...

After I heard the news I wept. Not right after the news specifically, but after I called everyone. One would think saying it over and over again would laminate it over in my mind, "I have bad news....I am so sorry....she is gone.....I love you too." That it would soften the blow each time I said such ugly words. "I am so sorry, she is gone." I am always the one to make the calls, because it is what I do. I am the calm one. The one that can lambaste the information quickly and slightly monotone one phone call after another in rapid succession. I knew that it would be too hard for my grandmother or mother to have to keep relaying the news to others, so I became the Paul Revere of death. Crying out the information to anyone that would listen, "The grief is coming! The grief is coming!" I wanted to help, no I needed to help. To do something, anything but sit there and think about what was to come next.

Then I went in the kitchen wiped my face and had a violent argument with myself. Took stock in my own feelings. I did not want to go through this. I do not want to grieve. I hate this and I know exactly what it is going to feel like. The pain and devastation, the anger of loss. I don't want to do it and so I declared that I wouldn't. I simply wouldn't grieve the loss of my loved one. Instead, I dried the last of my tears off of my raw face and made dinner.

I am good at distraction. I am a semi closeted control freak. Usually, when a loved one passes, I immerse myself in the plans of what is to be done next. Funeral arraignments and helping the family consume the time normal people use to grieve. I do not allow grief for my own loss until everything is in order and over with. I have to be strong for my family. I am here to provide a function of getting what needs to be done, done so they can deal with the pain. I am good at distracting my feelings because it needs to be that way during this time. And so I wipe off my tears and make dinner, and do laundry, and make phone calls, and set up plans, and send flowers.

But this time is different. I am not making plans and funeral arraignments because I am not there. I am here and I have nothing to consume myself with. I can feel the deep overwhelming pull of grief swirling within me and yet I am unable to touch it with my fingers. Unable to immerse my hands in it's black gritty desperation. Unable to stick my palms into it's sticky darkness. I am simply waiting for it to reach me...

I have found myself doing 'busy work" to make the time sludge along faster. Making pointless pintrest posts and reading too many mind numbing facebook statuses. Watching B movies with the sound off. Internally planning upcoming events. There are birthdays and Thanksgiving and Christmas still to come. I am careful to avoid the mental mine fields that would hasten the memory of loss. Birthdays are fine to think about because her's was in May, and Thanksgiving is just turkey and stuffing, but Christmas is off limits. I will think of what to get my children, and husband, and follow down the line until I reach her name. Except it wont really be her name anymore, just a gaping black hole where her name used to be. Almost as if her name was written on yellowed brittle parchment only to have been scratched out and excised with a scalpel. I am afraid if I look closely I can still see where it used to be and then my battle to avoid my feelings will be lost.

 I am scared. I am scared that soon this facade will crumble and my mask will fall to the floor exposing what I know to be true. What I am currently and openly denying is happening. That I am not okay. I don't want to go through this. I do not want to feel this. I do not want to hurt like this and yet I know it is coming. It is a delayed reaction. It is much like watching a train barreling towards you as you try to jump to safety only to realize it is too late. You have already been hit by the train, you just don't know it yet. I am aware I have been struck, I am just waiting for it to arrive. I am waiting for the grief to overcome my paltry defenses and make me deal with it. Make me look at it's hideous face. Make me spill out my tears and tear out my own heart. I am sitting here waiting because I have no delusions of grandeur. It will come....and I will lose.

Rest in peace Aunt Patti,
Neurotic Nelly

She Could Fly...

Sunday was a sad day for me. I have been trying to figure out how to deal with this issue. How to get out my pain. How to honor someone who meant a great deal to me. You see, Sunday my Aunt died.

To start her story I have to go back to a time when not a whole lot was known about birth defects. My Aunt was born with Cerebral Palsy. Unable to speak, walk, or have full use of her hands. Unable to do many of the things most of us take for granted everyday.  Her family was told that they didn't know how long she would live. As it turned out my Aunt proved their assumptions wrong. She not only lived, she lived happily, strong, and full of laughter for fifty nine years.

Looking back in my memories of her, I can remember many things. I remember her struggles to use her hands. Her struggles to point to a board that had words on it to say what she wanted. Her struggles to go out and not be stared at. But I also remember something else. Aunt Debbie's strength.

She wasn't just a person with a disability, she was a whirlwind of laughter and joy. She had the brightest smile. A great sense of humor. She loved animals and children. She loved music and bowling. She loved life and when I think of Debbie I can hear her laughter in my head. She had quite possibly, the biggest most fullest laugh that I have ever heard. One of those infectious laughs that once you heard it you started to laugh as well. She was like that. Infectious with her joy.

She faced obstacles and judgments I am sure. I am sure she was stared at and possibly even pitied by those that didn't know better. What those people failed to understand is that Aunt Debbie wasn't someone to pity, she was someone to look up to. She was able to look at life in a way that most of us never do. She was able to see joy in the little things. The things we take for granted everyday. A child's laughter, a small breeze, a butterfly landing on your shoulder. Things we overlook because we are to busy trying to achieve whatever we think is so important that we fail to see that the big achievements aren't what makes us who we are. What makes you who you are, what  is important are the little things you do in life. The things you take time out for. The things you really look at and appreciate. Aunt Debbie was more aware of this world than we ever gave ourselves the chance to be, because we surround ourselves with excuses not to. We are too busy, we will do it tomorrow, we will procrastinate and look at that sunset later on, when we have more time. She didn't hesitate or procrastinate. She took joy in every moment.

One of the biggest most vivid memories I have of my Aunt was the first time I saw her participate in the Special Olympics. She and another woman were in the wheelchair race. I am sure she had been told many times that she would never walk. That she would never be able to to run. That racing would be something she would never achieve. Instead of listening to that, instead of giving up, she raced. She was laughing all the way to finish line. She was beautiful and graceful as she glided down the race track as fast as her wheels would carry her. I think that is when I first realized what a strong woman she was. That she ignored what people said she was capable of and not capable of and just did what she wanted to do. She did what she wanted. She believed in herself.

I don't remember the whole day or every course that she participated in. What I do remember is that race. Her race. That was the moment I realized with the wind blowing through her hair and the smile beaming on her face that a  girl in a wheelchair didn't have to be able to run to fly.  She only had to believe in herself, spread her wings, and laugh all the way down the race track. That is when I realized my Aunt wasn't special because she was disabled, she was special because she refused to let it stop her from living the life she wanted. In my small child's brain I saw her for the first time, as not just someone who had to work three times as hard to do the things everyone else takes for granted but that my Aunt did something no one else knew how to do. She knew how to live unedited. She knew how to give everything she had. She knew how to fly. And I was certain as she flew down that race track that she was a miracle. A miracle person that had a superpower. She was strong, funny, beautiful, and she could fly right in the face of everything others had said she would never be able to do. Her superpower was faith in herself. Stubbornness in what she wanted, and strength in her ability to live happily no matter the obstacles she encountered. She did those things regardless and she did them with a flare that showed just what an amazing person she was. Although I am sure she never really knew it, my Aunt Debbie was in many ways after that day, my hero. A humble hero that never knew how that one race changed my outlook on things.

To say everything that spending time with my Aunt taught me would take hours, days, months, years even but I will leave you with a few things that she taught me without ever uttering a word. Things I think, have helped me to grow not only as a person but a person that struggles with a mental illness. Things that she obviously knew and things that we all tend to take for granted or simply don't take time out for because we always expect them to be waiting for us tomorrow.

Life is precious. How you treat others in the face of adversity is what defines you as a person. Hardships and struggles are a part of life but there is always tomorrow and tomorrow can always be better. Believe in yourself. Be stubborn and never give up. Love with all of your heart. Take pleasures in the small tings in life. Admire the butterflies, smell the roses, listen to the sound of your loved one's laughter and laugh with them. Love deeply, Smile freely, and Laugh often. Be proud of all you have accomplished. Look for tomorrow but always be present in today. Go bowling. Do things that make you happy. Never allow your disability to make you give up. And maybe most importantly......Never let anyone tell you that you can't fly.

Rest in peace Aunt Debbie. I will always remember you and all of the laughter you brought to my life. And when I think of you I will always see you as you were that day with the wind blowing through your hair and the smile on your face...and I know that is an accurate depiction because I know that now you don't need the racetrack anymore, you fly with the angels.


Neurotic Nelly