Facing Reality (Or: When Reality is Kicking Your Ass)

Fracture
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I’ve always been the “Silver Linings” girl. Well, maybe not always. I did have a rough time as a tween/teen. Still, since adulthood I’ve tried to always keep on the bright side, to put a positive spin on things, to see the good in people and  believe in their best when they might not be showing you their good side. It hasn’t always been easy, but I’ve tried – and mostly succeeded. There’s been times I’ve been down pretty deep in the doldrums, times where it lingered. Somehow I’ve always pulled myself out. I’d hesitate to call it anything like depression because I’ve seen depression, I’ve seen what pain others feel, and I was never that deep, never that lost. This year has been rough. I’ve said it many times. It’s knocked me down over and again, every time I’ve tried to pick myself up. I thought it was just the bad times knocking me down. Those were the reason I couldn’t pick myself back up so easily. Those nasty, horrible events were the reason I couldn’t drum out the doldrums as I always had before. They were the reason the good times didn’t have the luster they usually did. In the past couple of weeks I’ve had to be honest with myself. I’ve had to be honest with my husband. And I forced myself to be honest with my doctor. I am depressed. I can’t do this on my own. I’ve been trying to claw my way back out for months all on my own. All it’s done is left me nasty, bitter, and angry on top of depressed. I was always worried I’d insult those with severe depression by admitting mine. However, my bipolar husband thinks I’m being ridiculous by thinking that. As he put it, “Would you not admit you were sick because someone else has cancer?”  Sometimes, he’s pretty damn spot on. So here I am. Being honest with you all, as I’m attempting to be honest with myself. I am surrounded by my family, but I feel alone. I am surrounded by joy, but I feel removed from it. I feel like I’ve tried to reach out, but no one reaches back. I’m tired of not going out, because I don’t see the point…and because I’m afraid no one will care either way if I’m there anyway. I feel like the bad is winning. That we will never be in a good place again, personally, financially, physically. I’ve begun to seek help, but I think it’s going to be a long row to hoe. And I’m so tired of feeling alone. Read more »

40 – And Still Hitting My Stride

Today I turned 40 years old. I didn’t fear this day. I still am not upset. I don’t feel like I’ve crested a hill, or that anything is going downhill. This weekend I ghost hunted. Went to an exotic animal sanctuary. Spent time alone with my husband. I am not where I plan to be in the future, but I am good where I am. I am about to have one of my birds fly the coop, and the other two are out of elementary school with eyes on the future. I have a husband to whom I’ve been happily married for nearly 14 years. I have a dog, and a fish, and I’m able to work the job of my dreams (writing) when I can. I am working on my 45X45 list, and have knocked out a few of those dreams this year. Now that I’m 40, I may take another gander at it to see what I may wish to change. Either way, I am 40. I am embracing it without fear or upset. Because 40 is awesome. 40 is when I feel like I’m coming into my own. Hello 40. Read more »


by Sarah Cass

Multi-published author. Mom of 3 special needs kids. Wife to 1 good man.
Redefining Perfect every day.


19 Years

I posted this last year and the year before at this time. I’m re-posting it. I will always repost it every year at this time…   I know what today is. I know what it means to our country. I remember every detail of 2001 in vivid detail…but since before 2001, this date has been difficult for me, for my family…in 1996 my family’s core was lost, the heart of us…my grandfather…so my post on 9/11 is for him. Oh, and at surface glance I hate this picture of me, but then I see the pure joy on my face dancing with my grandfather and aesthetics be damned, it’s my favorite picture.  It was his birthday. I was about four years old, and a very short kid…and he was TALL. I remember standing by as he put our coats in the closet. I leaned my head way back to stare up, up, up at him and asked, “How tall are you?” With his sparkling eyes and laugh he informed me that he was over 6′. My eyes grew wide, and all I could say was, “But you’re so close to the ceiling! If you have ANY more birthdays you’ll go right through!” His chair sat by the front door and the minute he sat the race was on – who would get the privilege of sitting on his lap, carrying on as deep a conversation as a child was capable of? Who would get to play with his round pot belly, and listen to his laughter? He worked for GM and he was proud of it, and so were we. When I close my eyes I can still smell his pipe and see the pipe carousel on his dresser. I can smell the cigarettes that he and grandma smoked. I remember that after he retired he would watch soap operas during lunch. And I remember the weddings – when my cousin and I would trade off and share him for the dance. “Grandpa” by the Judds. I remember his smile. I remember his belly. I remember the strength that he always carried in his soul and body. I remember the pain that shot through my heart at the word…”cancer”. Once it was uttered it was less than a year. 10 months. I remember the first time I saw him in the hospital-and how I had to run from the room because it made me physically ill to see my big strong grandfather lying in a bed weak and hooked up to tubes. I remember his fight. I remember when it was acknowledged in our hearts that the time to fight was over. I remember how he held on – hours past when we thought we would lose him – because he would not let go until he’d gotten to hear the good-bye of all of his grandchildren, and my brother had been in surgery for a shattered wrist around the world in Japan. Half an hour after the final phone call, Grampa was gone. I remember the sound of the tennis balls scattering across the hallway when my professor’s assistant walked up asking if she knew where I was…and all I could do was run to my car to get home as soon as I could. From there it’s a blur…a long car ride from NC to NY. The arrangements. The funeral home. The droves of people I didn’t know, but who all knew him, overflowing the room. The pain has lessened, resorted to a memory. For the most part I remember the love, the good things, the joy. But on this day every year the pain comes back to the forefront. The pain seems so much stronger now that Grandma has gone to join him. Refreshed and renewed now, they are together forever, but they will always be here in our hearts. We love you still, and will always love you, Grampa. Read more »