Grandparents do not always grow on trees. Sometimes, even their lengthiest branches bear no fruit. It appears that the limbs of these family trees end here. Some of us are fortunate to know the parents of our parents. Many people do not have children. Others have children with alternate aspirations. Grandparents do not always grow on trees, but sometimes if you climb high enough you can reach them. Some grandparents are adopted.
Twenty years ago, I volunteered at “Vacation Bible School” with my church. I was assigned to co-teach the art class with another woman. Her name is Sandy. There was a palpable sense of camaraderie. We conversed easily and became fast friends. I mentioned that none of my grandparents were local. She told me she had no grandchildren and likely never would. Tears filled her eyes when I asked Sandy to be my “Grandma.” We planted our own family tree.
Sandy and I built a strong friendship and grew closer over the years. We were neighbors. Often, I ran a loop from my house, passing hers on the right. Countless times, I stopped for a “water break,” which became a visit, a Diet Coke, and a ride home after dark. I always felt safe in her home, and it was a place of great comfort. I grew up knowing her, loving her, and skipping school to visit her. Sometimes, when the burden of anxiety was too heavy to attend a drawing class, I knew without a doubt where I needed to be. The television played in the background as Sandy and I talked; I ate my favorite ice cream (which was always on hand), the anxiety melting.
Years passed. Decades faded away. We moved to separate locations, but we were always together. When I ask Sandy how she is doing, her most often reply is:
“Gouda, gouda, gouda.”
Grandma’s tree blossoms in my heart all year long.
The thirteenth of July is a sacred day of celebration. Not so long ago, my mom was born on this day; an angel on Earth. Her presence in this world showers those around her with joy. My mom has always known how to cure my colds, my headaches, and upset stomach. She is especially helpful when I call her late at night, to discourage my thoughts of imaginary ailments. I always know that she will banish my suspicions, but I call her for the comfort of her voice. She is the sun in my sky. Mom makes me laugh harder than anyone with whom I have ever encountered in this life. A five hour car ride together passes as if in an hour. She is great company. When Mom is asked for gift ideas, all she wants is time with her family. I have never doubted her love for us.
Often, when I introduce a new friend, I say “This is my mom.” Margaret Buice is not only a mom. She is a beautiful woman, inside and out. She is patient and kind. She cares about others, and puts herself last. She is gentle, compassionate; a nurturer. She is gorgeous, and humble. I love her more than she could ever know, though I remind her every day. On this day, and every day I am so grateful to have such a great mom, and a best friend.
There was a missing piece in our life puzzle. I turned to my husband one night and said, “I want a dog,” to which he responded, “Okay.” I don’t think he knew I was serious until I started looking. I was in search of a puppy; I viewed many online profiles and looked at several pictures. My quest was complete when I discovered a litter of six puppies born on the Fourth of July; there were five females and one male. The shelter was accepting applications for adoption.
Rush (my husband) and I went to visit the shelter. I drove forty-five minutes every day for a week to see the puppies. I sat with them in their kennel; the shy, quiet, male puppy stole my heart. We adopted and brought him home as soon as we were allowed. His name is “Logan.”
I started carrying Logan on my shoulder when he weighed about three pounds. He still rides there, but now weighs about ten. A few days after his adoption, we ordered food from a restaurant and went to retrieve it. The waitress saw Logan and said that she had recently adopted a puppy that looked similar, and we made the connection. They were from the same litter. His sister’s name is “Juniper.”
Naturally, we became best friends. Every year, we have a party. We tell them that the country is celebrating their birthday.
“If it’s so great outside, why are all the bugs trying to get in?” -Jim Gaffigan
Mathematics can be programmed into your mind at a young age. Some students are capable of retaining that information for a lifetime, while others struggle for years to keep up. Math contains facts. Facts can be taught.
Children born into bilingual households may theoretically grow up with knowledge of two cultures and fluent speech from both. Young minds are most malleable. Reading and writing are important skills to hone. Facts can be learned, skills can be practiced, but imagination is imbedded in our minds at an early age.
Today, imagination is not so easily accessible. There are children’s television shows based on how to play and how to pretend.
Once Upon a Time, play was important and essential to growing up. Playing fostered social skills. It was a gateway for friendships. Imagination is the root of play. You will not find it on a screen that provides all the answers and causes lethargy in the mind. Imagination seeps through the cracks and slowly fades with brain cells.
Go outside? Why? What is fun about playing outside?
Make real friends, outside of your virtual reality. Create original games with your friends. Climb trees (their bark is worse then their bite). Make forts. Run through the woods. Lay on the grass; have a picnic and read under the shade of a large tree. Swim. Take your time. Appreciate the reality around you and enjoy every minute.
You won’t find this magic inside.
I am grateful for a childhood spent outside, and for my imagination that lives on.
There is so much hate in this world. Look around, read the news, watch as people become hostile to one another. Love hovers above us, within reach if only we aspire to seize it. Nothing more than a warm smile and eye contact with a stranger can brighten a day. Our lives consist of moments. All we are afforded is “Now.” Squeeze every drop from your life’s lemons. Share your lemonade with those thirstier than yourself. Appreciate the light in your life, and understand that nothing lasts forever; indeed, this makes it more valuable. When you depart from the company of family members and friends, resolve issues before they build up and ruin your relationships. Otherwise, you may live your life with grief and misplaced guilt. We cannot control the past, but we are capable of slowing down to embrace the world around us as it is at present. Let love conquer hate, and may we welcome each day as if it is our last.
–SJB
“You pile up enough tomorrows, and you’ll find you’ve collected nothing but a lot of empty yesterdays.”
One night, when I was not quite two-years-old, my parents went to the theatre to see the new Batman flick, starring Michael Keaton and Jack Nicholson. They left me in the care of my uncle. During these few moments-before the movie had ended-I tripped over a root as I ran eagerly to the playground. I knocked out half of one front tooth. There were no cell phones, so my uncle contacted the theatre in search of my parents. The aisle attendant waved a flashlight, calling for, “Sam Buice.” They took the call, and abandoned the movie.
My parents watched painstakingly as I suffered the extraction of the remaining tooth. The tooth did not grow back until I was in the third grade.
Somehow, I connected “Batman” to that experience. Batman was my hero that day. Days later, my dad asked me playfully, “Who loves you?” to which I replied enthusiastically, “Batman!” He was expecting to hear, “YOU!” Years passed, and we deduced that Dad was “Batman.”
Happy Father’s Day to my Batman!
–SJB
~~~
My husband and I dated for a few years before we got married. During that time, we adopted a puppy. I am incapable of having children with two legs and sans tails. This dog is our kid. Rush is the father of “Logan.” He plays the part marvelously. Today and every day, I am grateful for our marriage, and for the pawther of my furry baby.
When I was in the eighth grade, my fellow students and I were assigned a basic task. What are your dreams for the future?
In a job interview, you are asked, “What are your goals? Where do you see yourself in five years?” The answer is complicated. The potential employers want to know how invested you are in this position. Often, these questions are met with blank stares and wandering eyes. Sometimes we are not prepared for what comes next. As an eighth grader, I was a dreamer. My answer was broad. “I want to achieve greatness but not fame. I hope to write something people want to read.” The perimeters for this dream were flexible. What do people want to read? How do you achieve greatness without fame?
I have discovered that many people are interested in the lives of others, especially when their stories contain juicy gossip. Writers are often encouraged to “write what they know.” What better way to spread gossip than to tell the world your secrets? In my experience, the truth is not always well received. When the unknown is exposed, there are those who are quick to judge your book by its cover. Some are reluctant to open the book and continue to read, whereas others eat those pages like a dog with homework.
My family moved to Savannah, Georgia when I was halfway through my eighth grade school year. During that transition, I developed depression. I felt physically ill, but there was an additional attribute I didn’t recognize. My pediatrician was confused. No one knew how to solve this mystery.
Time in a new school crushed me for a while. I stayed at home some days, and my mom helped me to stay on track with assignments so I didn’t fall behind. The curriculum was much more advanced in Savannah than the studies I had left behind. It was overwhelming.
When I reached high school, I fell into a different phase of chaos: mania. I was lost and thought this was my new normal, until my dad took me to a psychiatrist. I was diagnosed with Bipolar 1 Disorder. I was relieved to have a name and a treatment plan, but I was spilling my guts to anyone who would listen; I had no filter, so most people stayed out of my way. I trusted and told the wrong people my “secret,” and they spread it around. I was ostracized. The other students treated me like I was “crazy.” The next year, I transferred to a different school to start over. I strived to keep my secret hidden.
How did I achieve greatness without fame? Years later, I trudged through Hell and back when I was committed to several different mental health facilities across the country. My secret was safe. I wasn’t famous; few people knew where I was. It was as if I fell into a deep, dark hole grasping in vain to grip the rope as I descended. After much determination, medication and experience, I climbed out of that hole and greatness washed over me.
Many believe that greatness is equal to fame; power is related to money and greed. Success is related to greatness and I certainly did not achieve it on my own. My family and friends held me close and lengthened the rope.
Years passed, and I realized that my secret could help countless others feel less alone. I shared my story with everyone who listened and the reluctance to share my secret has vanished.
I have obtained greatness without fame, and hopefully shed light with healing words. Sometimes, overcoming mountains and pushing through strong winds, dreams are realized.
My dad is one of the kindest people I know. He is helpful and turns no one away, thoughtful of others’ feelings. Dad lends an ear, a hand, a shoulder, and a heart for the people he cares about, and for those less fortunate than himself. He loves his family deeply and unconditionally. I have never doubted his love. It is written all over his face and reflected in his deeds. The path is clear and bright when he leads the way. He is not only an exceptional dad, but an outstanding person. Many lives have been touched.
Dad is an ever present figure in my life, and I realize how lucky I am to have such a great relationship with my father. We are close friends. When I am in trouble, no matter how big or small the issue, he is right by my side. Dad casts his light in my life, so I am not afraid of the dark. My life began when he squeezed my tiny hand, and I hold his hand now and forever. Happy birthday, to the roots of my family tree!
Depression is a close friend of mine. Now, it is only an occasional visitor due to medication, therapy, and family support. When it occurs (for me), I have absolutely no desire to get out of bed and live an adult life. It causes lethargy, physical aching, low mood. Watch out! I am irritable and push others away instead of holding them close. The Little Mermaid wanted to be where the people are, but when I am feeling so low, I want to be where the people aren’t. I have so little energy that a smile (even a fake one) is almost impossible to conjure. While depression is an unwelcome state of mind, it is closely followed by anxiety. I am attached to that fishing line, striving in vain to free myself from the pull of the rod.
I am anxious more often than depressed or manic. Through my own experience, I have discovered helpful tips for coping with these feelings. You are not alone in your boat, though these waves crash onto your deck.
Helpful TipsFor Depression and Anxiety:
*Go outside. Touch the ground. Sit on the grass and breathe slowly and deeply.
*Garden. Get muddy on purpose.
*Swim. Hold your hand under the sink faucet. Let the water ground you.
*Purchase a weighted blanket. Before you buy one, research. Measure the dimensions and the weight in proportion to your size and weight. When you are anxious and cannot fall asleep, cover yourself with the blanket. Sleep underneath it if you feel the need (I do). A cheaper option is to pile heavy objects on your chest, such as books to weigh you down. It will bring momentary peace during a difficult time.
*Lay a stuffed animal or soft object such as a pillow, on your chest and stroke it slowly. The light weight and sense of touch stimulate calm feelings. I have a large plush bat. I situate its wings across my chest like a hug, then pet the fur on its back. Try lounging, not even leaving the bedroom while performing this task.
*Drink more water and less coffee (easier said than done).
*Force yourself out of bed and go for a short/long walk outside. This activity is the last you want to experience when you are feeling low, but the fresh air, sunshine, and exercise produce endorphins. Endorphins lead to high energy and an abundance of serotonin in your brain, inspiring happiness.
*Resist triggers whenever possible. These are typically outside forces which cause us to fall into despair. When I experienced my first bout with depression, I was in bed for several days eating nothing and drinking solely apple juice. I can no longer drink the juice without negative emotions. When I was hospitalized I ate oatmeal with butter and brown sugar every morning at breakfast. Having left that horrible event in my past, I still cannot eat oatmeal without dragging myself back to a cell. There are songs and books that trigger me as well. Best to stay away from these memory induced stimuli.
*Spend time with animals. Consider training an emotional support dog.
*Hugs are encouraged.
*Talk therapy has been helpful for me. Many people call this “visiting the shrink,” and it has a negative connotation. Speaking to a person about how you feel and what happens in your life, especially a person who legally cannot voice your concerns to anyone else, can be beneficial. If you are opposed to this method or cannot feasibly take part in this relationship, find someone you know you can trust. Pain is a huge burden to keep inside. Talking about your personal issues can be relieving. One piece of advice from my therapist stands out. For years I thought that not being “in the mood” meant being lazy and procrastinating. She assured me that with a mood disorder, being “in or out of the mood” is natural.
*If you have no energy or drive to take a shower, and definitely no desire to wash your hair, there is this great product called dry shampoo. Stock up!
*Dance like no one is watching when no one is watching. It is stress-relieving to be open and honest with yourself. You have nothing to hide, but I am such a terrible dancer, that I do make sure no one is watching before I crank up my tunes. I feel silly, but that’s part of my process.
I hope these tips are helpful. If you have any questions, I am open to answer them as I am able. Email me privately if you do not wish to comment. I am here for you and want to clarify that you are not alone in this struggle. My email address is listed on my site, but in case you do not wish to search for it:
Years ago, a little girl said to her mother that she would “Run and run and run, and never stop.” So I ran that day, the next, and almost every day after; but one day, I was forced to stop.
Growing up, my favorite activity was running. In my earliest moments, it seems I ran before I walked. Running was breathing. When I reached elementary school, none of the other children would race me across the football field at recess because they knew they would fail. I am exceedingly competitive, so this was a bit of a disappointment. Running came naturally to me; it was my special gift and I treasured it. I could never imagine the end, but years later the Sandman caught up to me.
Soccer was popular in middle school, so I played the midfield where I covered the most ground. In my sophomore year of high school, upon discovering that running was a competitive sport, I eagerly joined the cross country team. In my first season, I was the fastest team member. After basking in the glory of all my races won, my life turned upside down.
In June of 2004, I was diagnosed with Bipolar 1 Disorder. Most of the days that followed were full of questions, lethargy, weight gain, medication combinations, side-effects, and great disappointment. I could run, but all I wanted to do was sleep. I suffered great pain watching other girls run faster than me. I was slow, one of the slowest. My coach was supportive and encouraging. He knew I would make a come-back, though I had significant doubt. The Sandman kept my eyes closed and my limbs heavy.
The following summer, I attended a running camp where I regained my strength. Despite my obstacles, it seemed I was back on track. I was captain of the cross country team that year; just as my coach had been certain, I was the fastest girl again. Could this runner’s high last forever?
No.
I developed a rare side-effect called “ocular gyro crisis.” It was extremely difficult to explain, so it continued much further without definition. I lost control of my eyes. I could not focus on the path in front of me. My eyes continued to travel up, no matter how hard I tried to focus. My coach suggested I drink more Gatorade. When I was able to voice this concern with the appropriate language, my psychiatrist recognized this condition; it was rare, and he had never seen a case. He contacted a neurologist, who determined that this was an accurate diagnosis. He had never seen a case himself. The neurologist reached out to a specialist in eye movement, who confirmed and had only seen nine cases in his whole career. Fortunately, there was treatment available, though there was no cure. This phenomenon occurred most frequently when I was running.
In my senior year, our team achieved the opportunity to race at the regional cross country meet in Jekyll Island. Just before the finish line, when I was sure to win second place, my eyes betrayed me and a member of my own team passed me and took second position. This is still one of my biggest regrets, though I was without control of the situation. This memory haunts me.
I can no longer run without an ocular gyro crisis, knee pain, or voices in my head. My mental illness failed that little girl.
I ran and ran and ran, but one day I had to stop.
Now, my dad drags me to the gym, where I ride the stationary bike like it’s going out of style. I feel my heart rate rise and my face fill with color. I recognize the adrenaline rush and push myself to the point where pain becomes pleasure. While I ride the bike, I think about that little girl inside me, knowing she is proud.
