Dear Gigi: Part 2 ~~~ When Normal is Gone

Okay, so Christmas was yesterday.  It’s been busy, you know how that goes this time of year.  I’ve been having a really difficult time with losing you.  It’s hit me really hard this week and I feel like I’ve just been falling apart, a lot.  I haven’t posted a blog in about 2 weeks so I figured I better get back to that before I fall completely off track.  I tried keeping busy with holiday stuff but you know how hard the holidays have been since Rachel died and everything went to shit.  Marrying you on Christmas Eve was supposed to give me something good again on that day, on a day I missed so many… so much.  Now it’s just another sad.  You never even got to celebrate a single wedding anniversary with him.  Life is so cruel. 

                          

We were going to come up again this year.  Instead I was just trying to keep my shit together.  I failed, for the most part.  I did okay through some things, but others I just… I was okay one minute but then all it takes it just one thought and then the tears would start pouring out of my eyes.  I can’t count how many times I looked at the husband and said I was so sorry, I was trying. 

I made another gingerbread from scratch in that kick ass Yule log pan that you were so jealous of last year.  It was delicious.  I had some for lunch today.  It’s only Yule once a year, after all.  Might as well enjoy every day of it as much as possible. 

But then I sit there and think of stupid stuff like, about how many people commit suicide over the holidays.  How many families look at empty seats and hear other people tell them things like… just to think of the good times.  Or even not to think of them at all, just be happy today.  As though it’s that simple.  As though I could stop thinking of you even if I wanted to, which I don’t. 

As though I could stop thinking of any of you over there on that other side. 

I get so jealous that they think it’s that easy, I really do.  I wish I still did.  But I know it’s not.

I said that to the husband the other day too, about how I don’t have to wonder what I’d do in a lot of situations because I’ve already gotten those calls or dealt with those situations. 
I already know what I’d do, because I did it. 

And then I wonder how many more things I’m going to have to figure out how to get through.
I mean, I’m only 36.  I have a whole lot of living left to do. 
A whole lot more people to love, and to lose. 

A whole lot of memories to make, that someday I’ll cling onto like a lifeline. 

A whole lot of incredibly sad days. 
And a whole lot of good ones, hopefully. 

I remember being at the hospital with you, well, with your family.  I remember your son being surprised at how many people I’ve lost.  After all, we’re not very far apart in age; just about 5 years, I think. 

I remember saying to them about how you think losing someone is the hardest part. 
You think saying goodbye will be the most difficult moment. 

And it is unbelievably difficult, just not the most.

You think the funeral is going to be the most difficult, how can I get through this?! 

And it is incredibly difficult, just not the most.

It’s the day after the funeral.  That’s the worst. 
That’s the day when everyone else returns to their normal. 

When you first lose someone you get a ton of messages and phone calls and people checking in on you.
“Do you need anything?  Anything at all?  Is there anything I can do to help you?”
When people know someone who lost someone and they ask me what to do I always tell them never to offer your help if you don’t intend to give it.  That’s not help.  You have no idea how much help they need right now.  THEY don’t know how much help they need right now.  Go ahead and say it, offer, but MEAN IT.  Be there.  Be there if they need you to get dinner or be there if they need someone on the other end of the phone at 3am just to hear them cry so they don’t feel so alone.  But mean it and be there.    Show up, or don’t say it.  Just tell them you’re sorry for their loss and leave it at that. 

Because, you see, they all forget. 

They come to the funeral, they check on you when they hear, but then they forget. 
They go back to their normal lives and things resume on schedule.  Nothing has changed, only one day of plans changed. 

You can’t.
Your normal is gone. 

The husband thought it was morbid at first when I told him that I had a folder of all of my final wishes and whatnot in my email folders.  But then I walked him through those first few days.  He hasn’t gone through it before, not really, not through all the planning and all of the stages.  I envy him, too. 
You’re experiencing the worst pain of your life.  Someone is experiencing the worst pain of their life every time someone dies.  Sometimes more than one someone, but at least one someone. 
And they have to know what funeral home to call to pick up the body pretty much immediately. 
They have to call people to let them know. 
Hurry, you have to make sure the most important know before someone leaks it onto social media like an asshole. 

You have to go visit some, because the news needs to be given in person. 
You have to eat.  If you have kids, you still have to take care of them. 
You try to take care of yourself, but you just can’t think straight.  That’s where all the help comes in handy when people show up.  They help you and remind you to take care of you while you’re trying to do a thousand other things.  The phone rings, the notifications ping, the doorbell goes off….
But that next day you have to meet at the funeral home so you can make the arrangements.  You have to hurry up and decide on the obituary because it has to get into the paper asap before the deadline.  You didn’t get any sleep last night, so you’re a zombie. 
Your eyes are burning from crying and you feel numb.
What picture goes on the funeral cards?  What saying, poem, prayer, etc? 
What casket do you use?  Are you going to be buried in it?  Or just rent on for the viewing? 
What color? What material? What type of lining?  Where are they going to be buried. Do you know? 
Are they going to be cremated?  Are you still going to rent a casket for the funeral? Or are you just going to have a memorial service with some pictures?  By the way, we need a picture of them so we know how to do their makeup.  We’ll need that by tomorrow morning at the latest.  If you want pictures at the viewing we’ll need those before the viewing starts tomorrow.  Are you having a viewing?  Will it be one day or two?  Two times a day, or one?  A funeral in a church, or at the funeral home?  Graveside service? 
Is someone going to speak?  Are you going to give others the opportunity to speak?  Who is going to deliver the eulogy?  We’ll need an outfit for them by tomorrow as well, today if possible.  Make sure it’s long sleeved and no v-necks, plain colors tend to work better against all the flowers.  What kind of flowers do you want?  How many spreads?  We have a florist we work with that we highly recommend.  How do you want their hair done, how did they normally wear it?  Are you going to have a wake?  Where will it be?  Who will cater it or will it be potluck?  Who did we forget to call?  Oh my goodness, did someone remember to call great Aunt Betty to let her know?  What about that one branch of cousins in Canada?  Okay, we have to go find some clothes and go through pictures.  Is there time to eat somewhere?  The kids are getting antsy and they haven’t had their naps and they’re all really sad and confused and all the adults are so sad and busy.  I’m so tired.  I can’t think.  I can’t believe they’re gone.  What do I do?  There’s too much to do!  Make a list, you do well with your lists.  It’ll help. 
It helps.  But it doesn’t make it much better.  I’m so lost. 
Someone shows up with food, oh my goodness, thank you so much!  I was starving and didn’t even realize it.  I don’t think I’ve eaten since I got the phone call.  Or slept.  Or stopped crying. 
You do stop crying though, for bits of time.  You run out of tears.  You get dehydrated.  Get more water.  Don’t wipe every tear, you’ll rub your eyes raw. 
Did I fall asleep?  Oh no!  Clothes! I have to find something for ME to wear too!  And the kids!  I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to get it all done.  You’ll get the kids ready for me?  Thank you so much!  Okay, I’ll try to get a shower.  Phone rings, hours go by. 

Viewings and in between things and after things. 

But then the funeral is over. 

They all go back to their normal.  You got through it because of all the busy, but now things are eerily quiet. 

Your normal is gone.  And they forgot. 

They didn’t do it on purpose.  It’s just that they really did forget. 
Do you know how many people have checked in on me in the past few weeks, seeing how I was holding up through the holidays?  Other than my husband and kids, obviously, because they live with me. 
One. 
One person asked me how I was doing.  And it was yesterday.  And it was a new friend.

Now I feel like I’ve lost so many people that they figure I’m okay and I’ll get through it.  That I know what to do.  But I don’t.  I still don’t.  I mean I do, and I don’t.  I still sit here on Tuesday afternoons and get sad that I have no text from you double checking the Skype date time or letting me know you’re running late or have to cancel because you’re just too sick today. 

It doesn’t come anymore.
It never will. 

It kills me. 

Now, you know me, I’ve talked to plenty of people since you died.  It’s just not the same. 
They forgot. 

Once again, my normal is gone. 
Or did they forget?  Or did they just, like I said, figure I’ll get through it because I’ve been here before. 
I don’t know.  I like to think it’s just forgetting. 
I do sometimes think that the minute you died, I was unfollowed by half of my friends list who didn’t want to go through watching me lose another person.  They didn’t want to deal with the sad. 
I can’t blame them.
I don’t want to deal with it either. 
Yet here I am. 

Because life is cruel. 

They went back to normal and now I have to find another new normal. 
I will. 
We both know that. 

We have before and will again.
But this fucking sucks. 

I think it’s necessary too though, don’t get me wrong. 

I think the influx of help is necessary to get through those initial days.  It really is. 
I’ve experienced loss with and without it and it makes a huge difference.

I also think the crash after the funeral helps. 

The shock is wearing off and it’s starting to feel real.  You realize now that your normal is gone. 
What the fuck do I do now?! 

You go through the motions… that’s what you do. 
Sometimes it’s one day at a time, sometimes on minute… sometimes one breath. 

But you do it. 

You find what you would die for, and you live for it.  (Credited to: Unknown)

You need it to sink in.  You need the crash to make it feel real.  Because it doesn’t feel real at first, not really.  You know it happened, but it takes awhile to really realize that it’s real. 

You need to figure out what to do and while you need support to do it, you also need to learn to do it yourself.  The reason you’re going through this is because you lost someone, you don’t want to keep relying on someone only to lose them and have to figure it out all over again, but without that help.
Like me.  Right now. 
Because you were that person. 

Not that I don’t have a support system, I do.  It’s an incredible one.  You know that. 

But they’re all so far away. 

I wish more people here, nearby, cared enough to show up. 

But that’s a whole other bitchfest so don’t get me started.  ;) 

Normal is gone again.  I’m trying to find a new one.  It’s been almost 2 months since losing you. 

That sounds unreal. 

The husband has been helping a lot and so have the kids.  It’s just something that I myself have to work through.  I have to keep going through the motions until they find their new pattern of ‘normal’ again. 

I don’t want to.
There isn’t much I wouldn’t give up to have you back. 

But I can’t.
So I have to. 

Just like everyone else in your circle of normal.  Everyone in your circle of normal has now had their cycle of normal disrupted.  And right before the holidays, you bitch. 

I spent Samhain with you. 
We got through Thanksgiving.
We got through Yule.
We got through Mercury in Retrograde.
We got through Christmas. 
Next is New Years.  And that’ll suck. 
I always did a new years reading for you.  A good way to start the year, with help, you’d said. 

It’ll be the first year without you.  2018. 
You’d have liked my cover photo.  “@2018, the bar is literally so low”

2018: Year one. 
Again. 

I’m going to keep trying for better and I’m going to carry you through it all with me, here in my heart where you will never ever leave. 

All of us will. 

On to the new normal. 

Until next week, AM.

Love always,
AD

Dear Gigi: Part 1 ~~~ Wave on Wave

Dear Gigi,

I decided that instead of our weekly Skype dates I would just make a new section to my blog entitled, “Dear Gigi” and write you on Tuesdays.  That way you still can remain a part of my weekly routine and I can still feel like I’m catching you up on things. 
The first one might be kind of sad…

First off, you know how much I hate how many references to water there are in quotes about getting through things so the title of the post is to tie that in.  The quickest way to find out how many references there are to it is to have it take someone you love.  Rachel had taken her own life drowning in her bathtub.  The worst thing I heard afterwards was to ‘drown my sorrows’ and then people saying to just ‘stay above water’ and that’s not even including all of the suicide references.  I just adore when people say, “I’ve had the worst day, I should just kill myself” because they had a bad day at work or got stuck in traffic.  I get it.  I’m sure I did it at some point.  But those phrases all sound different now.  They all hurt. 
I could say I’m just ‘triggered’ or whatever, and I am, but I don’t flip out on people for saying it.  At least not most of the time.  I will get a little pissy if they know those things. 
Oh, you’ve had a bad day?  Take a nice long bath… it’ll relax you. 
It took me a year to get in the shower after I lost Rachel without having a panic attack.  I will never sit in a bathtub again as long as I live.  And now that image is in my head, the image of her bathtub filled with the water that killed her.  Or of her bathroom covered in blood.  I’d spent hours scrubbing the bathroom, the hallway, her bedroom, through the middle of the night because I was terrified that one of her kids would wake up and have to pee and see it. 
The bathtub is always either covered in her blood, or filled with the water that killed her. 
But I get it, it’s calming for you so you suggest it. 

But anyways, I digress.  So anyways, wave on wave.  Another wave crashed over me last night, hitting me full force.  It took my breath away.  I had had a few moments throughout the day of just suddenly tearing up and crying for a few minutes, but then I’d moved on with my day.  I haven’t been feeling very well.  The tiny human brought home the plague from school apparently. 
Kids, ugh.  Amirite?!
I made it through the whole day with just little bursts of sad.  I had been doing okay for nearly a week; not quite a week, but over half of it.  I started to feel more sick before bedtime and told the husband that I was done watching TV because I needed to go to bed and I needed a bowl next to it.  Fun. 

And I laid down. 
I was fine.  I was sick, but I wasn’t sad at that moment. 

And then I was walking into your hospital room.  I had known it was bad, I did, or I wouldn’t have just up and left for Detroit.  Dave was out of vacation time and he’d had to take off to be home with Arya.  I knew it was bad, but I didn’t know it was the end.  I’d been singing in the car. 
You think trying to find something on the radio is difficult… try doing it in a different state.  And I’d lost all hometown stations around the time I crossed the Ohio border.  But I’d been singing.  I’d been worried, very worried, but I’d been singing. 
I had taken a picture of Ohio for Dave as a joke.  Because it showed nothing but a straight highway with just land and random trees on the sides.  That really is what driving through most of Ohio looks like.  I’ve gone through Columbus through to Cincinatti before, I’ve driven up through Cleveland and Toledo, I’ve driven to near Akron, and it all looks like that. 
I took a picture of a sign after Toledo as you’re heading towards Michigan of exit 420 Stony Ridge and I’d laughed about it and sent it to Dave. 
I took a picture of this really cool bridge near Toledo.  I love that bridge.  We have tons here, but not like that one.  UK Rachel had sent me a picture of a bridge not far from them like that. 

But it was a road trip.  A worried one, but I really thought the entire way up there that you’d be okay.  Not today, but soon.  That you’d recover.  You’d already recovered from so much. 
I wanted to see your face when they took you off of life support and you saw me standing there.  You’d bitch at me for driving all the way up there over nothing and for seeing you without your eyebrows on. 

But there I was, walking into your hospital room in the ICU.
I had gone to the wrong hospital first. 
I was flustered. 
It was freezing. 
I was wearing pajamas.    

This wasn’t a planned trip, after all.
I saw your husband first, he was sitting down in the chair.  Your son was standing near your bed. 
Your daughter had just left so that I could come in since there was a 3 person in the room rule. 

And there you were with all those fucking tubes. 
I felt sick. 

I was smiling, sort of, I remember that.  Because that’s what you do when you see people you love that you haven’t seen in some time.  Even when it’s not a situation for smiling, you just sort of do it anyways. 

I see your husband get up and walk over to hug me. 
Then your son walks over to hug me. 
They thank me for coming or some shit.  I really don’t remember.  I ask how you are…
They’re saying these words to me, but I’m just not understanding yet. 

And then it hit me.

“Wait, what?”

Their words were coming through but I felt like I was just standing there with an awkward smile on my face trying to process what they were saying. 
I kept looking over at you, wanting to touch you, but the tubes… they were everywhere. 
I said hello, “Hi, Mom!  Look! I came all the way from Pittsburgh to see you!  Open your eyes and say hello!”

But you didn’t. 

“Wait, what?”

They were still talking…

“Wait, you mean… she’s not going to wake up?” 

Your husband tells me he had ulterior motives for asking me to drive on up to be there… for your last rites.  To give you your last rites.  What the fuck kind of shit is that. 
You are not supposed to be dying. 

You were NOT supposed to be dying. 

All those medical terms flying around, I understand them and it makes me hate them that much more.

My last message to Dave had been something like, “I better not be here to say goodbye,” because I briefly remember registering it as being sort of ironic or something because I sent him a message saying, “I’m here to say goodbye.”
Partially so that he knew I was there, but also so he knew I wouldn’t be okay when I got home.

Seriously, Gigi.  What the fuck kind of shit was that? 
You got admitted on the DAY that Rachel died?  I sat there holding your hand, talking to you, seeing that stupid bracelet on your arm with the day she died as the day you were admitted. 

I look at that stupid final text from you asking me to be your spiritual counsel if you ended up in a coma or something. 

I think, ‘she knew,” but it doesn’t matter. 
Because you’re gone. 

The doctors would come in or out.

We would go in or not.

They stopped enforcing that 3 person rule after that first visit.
They told the hospital I was your sister so that I could be in there.

Because I was. 

I was your sister, I was your daughter, I was your best friend.
You were my person. 

“The part that makes her… her… is gone”
“Her body cannot heal.”
“The EEG confirmed….”
“They tried again, but…”

“I came to say goodbye.”

I did not want to say goodbye.
I wasn’t ready. 

None of us were ready. 

I told you to go ahead.  I told you to go hug your mom.
Lo, there she sees her mother…

Then, later, when I felt you leaving I panicked.
“I LIED!”
I didn’t, really, but it sort of feels that way.
I was telling you it was okay, but it felt anything but.
I just knew that was what you needed to hear, to help you go. 

But it’s not okay. 
I’m not okay.
We’re not okay.
You’re okay now, but we’re not. 

I kept asking you to please open your eyes, but I knew you couldn’t. 

I could see you had one foot in each world.

The body does horribly weird things on life support….

Things that made us want to hope, but they were just reflexes and on some level we knew that but didn’t care. 

I tried to help. 

I took them out to dinner that night when we got kicked out of the room.  I knew you’d want them to eat, so I made sure they ate. 

We went to Steak ‘N Shake or something.

I had never been before, it was pretty decent even if we weren’t very hungry.
We were all probably hungrier than we realized though because we mostly finished our plates.

I got to drive on 8 mile again.  I rapped another Eminem song for you, of course. 

We all stayed up on Samhain Eve to wish you a Happy Halloween as it turned midnight.

I didn’t realize until much later that I gave you your last rites shortly after midnight on Halloween. 
How fitting. 
Did you like that?  Because I think you would have loved that. 

I gave you those last rites while your husband had gone to grab me a pop from the store.  We were all dehydrating ourselves crying. 

Then we sat there by your bed, holding your hand, one of us on each side, through the night. 
We went and tried to sleep in the waiting room at different points, but neither of us slept more than an hour or two. 

Everyone kept checking in on you, privately messaging me.  Numerous group chats were going on.  You’d have loved knowing how much everyone cared.  I read you every message. 

I sat there and read you every single message that I could.  I hope I didn’t miss any. 

I said everything I could possibly think of to say. 
But it’ll never be enough.  Sort of the reason for this blog, after all.

I hope it was good enough.
I hope I did okay.
I am your rockstar, after all. 

My hips had been out.  I had stopped registering it.  My body was letting me get through this.  The 6 hour car ride was sort of torture on them, but they waited til I got home to really give me shit.
The 24 hours in a hospital chair in between the car rides didn’t help, I’m sure.  But oh well. 

Some nurse gave me some props as I was saying my goodbye to you.  Did you hear her?  That was pretty cool. 

But you in that bed with all those tubes, that was not cool at all. 
That is something I will see for the rest of my life. 

I will see the faces of your family, so heartbroken, forever.
I will hear the sounds those machines made, forever.

But I wasn’t there anymore.  That was over a month ago now. 

I thought I had been handling things sort of okay.  I’ve been staying busy.  Lots of projects. 

I was in my bed, in Pittsburgh.  Not a hospital room in Detroit. 

You were already gone.  And it crashed into me.  WHAM!

And the tears poured out. 

I had been fine. 
I hadn’t been feeling well from this plague, but I had been fine. 
And then I wasn’t. 

Because you’re not here. 

I know it takes the brain time to process things and I’ve tried more than once to just relax for a bit to let things hit me.  I should have known better than to try to force that though.  It was gonna hit when it hit.  And it hit this week. 

It really hit.  It hit like that first week all over again. 
I pictured your husband opening up ornaments to put on the tree and seeing the one I made for the two of you and it made me cry harder.  You never got to put it back up on your tree to see it again. 
It was just last year on Christmas Eve that I was marrying you. 

And then I was in the car on the drive home, screaming at the top of my lungs. 
Destroyed. 
Please, please don’t leave me. 
Please don’t leave me. 
I can’t do this without you.
I can’t do this again.
I need you. 
Please, don’t leave me.

Please. 

I hear Daylight on the radio on the way home.  Maroon 5.
The words sound completely different now.
Listen to it and you’ll see…
Another wave of sobbing and screaming.

The pain hits my chest all over again. 
It really physically hurts.  It’s amazing that you can live through pain that big.  Let alone this many times. 
I don’t get it. 
I don’t get how I’m still standing here. 

I really don’t.

I’m missing you so much.  And it’s the fucking holidays. 
I had a breakdown halfway through putting up the tree.  It was something me and Rachel always did together.  We loved it. 
LOVED it. 

And every year I cry.  Every year it hurts all over again. 
I still put on the same carols, but she isn’t there to belt out her parts. 
And as soon as one of those parts hits, I’m reminded.  I miss her voice. 
I kept on singing this year because 2.0 was enjoying it, but the breakdown still happened. 
We don’t get invited anywhere for holidays anymore.  It’s just us here, alone. 
We stopped getting invited to family functions after my Pap died.  But really it had all fallen apart before that with Rachel dying and then all that bullshit with my mom.  You know all about that though so I don’t need to go into detail. 
But like, really, did you have to pick such a shitty yet poetically perfect time of year to die? 

Remember how much fun that was last year? 
You crying to me on Skype about how upset you were that nothing felt like it was coming together right for the wedding…. That the only guy you found willing to marry you guys on Christmas Eve was some dude who kept saying GOD in all caps and you just didn’t like that at all. 
Your face when I had said, “That’s such a shame… Such a shame you don’t know someone who is ordained… especially not someone that has a really hard time on Christmas Eve and would LOVE to have a reason to look forward to it, or someone who enjoyed road trips and would love nothing more than to drive to Detroit and back on Christmas Eve to marry you.  Or someone who has a musician husband and daughters that can be a flower girl and the other to take some pictures… what a fucking shame! 
And your face, man. 
It lit up.  And then teared up. 
“You would do that for me?!  Why would you do that for me!!! Oh my gods, are you SERIOUS?!”
And I just nodded, smiling.  “Of course I would.  What are friends for?”
And you threw your arms up in the air and shouted, “I have to go! You just single handedly made everything else fall into place!!!!  I have to call my husband RIGHT NOW! I’ll call you back!” and you ended the skype call. 
I’ll remember it forever.  That was the best Christmas Eve since Rachel died. 
I’m so so so so so glad we had that day. 

But, damn. 

This week I just keep getting thrown back into your hospital room. 
I keep seeing them telling me what was going on, how bad it really was, in this fog. 
Over, and over, and over. 

Losing you over, and over, and over. 

“Lady Dragonfli’s spirit has flown.”

Over, and over, and over. 

I miss you so much. 

I really just miss you so much. 

I’ll talk to you next Tuesday. 
I just realized this a few weeks ago and I really wanted to tell you.
I can’t believe that we had our regular Skype dates on Tuesdays at 1pm and never ever said, “See you next Tuesday” laughing about C U Next Tuesday. 
What a missed opportunity that was!  FOR YEARS!!!

I love you, AM

AD

Buying From Friends: The Act of Receiving AND Giving

I know I’m not the first or the last person to discuss supporting your friend’s ventures and businesses, but I’m gonna put in my two cents anyways. 

Here’s why, instead of going to the store or Amazon, you should support your friend’s ventures. 

That money is now going to someone you know, someone you care about.  That could be making their week easier by helping with groceries.  It could be going back into supplies for them to be able to make and create many more beautiful things to get a decent inventory for their business.

That money is now possibly going towards their electric bill or rent.  It could be being used to buy their own children gifts.  Now, isn’t that a win-win?  You get a gift off of your list for someone, and they can now buy a gift for someone on theirs, possibly even through another friend’s venture, thus supporting another small business.  Can you imagine how different things would be again if we went back to that?  How much that would improve the sense of community that so many communities now are lacking?
But let’s not even look at it as a ‘small business’ thing, because a lot of the times it’s not QUITE a business.  At least not yet.  Right now it’s a venture.  

Right now they’re trying. 

They could be desperate.  They could be struggling to make ends meet and this is a desperate attempt to bring in some much needed added income.  This should be celebrated and supported, not pitied, because this is not someone asking for a handout.  This is someone willing to work for what they need and want by creating things with their own two hands.
I’m not talking about selling for some company selling mass produced leggings, kitchen equipment, soaps, etc.  I’m talking about the people who sew, create things out of clay, make their own jewelry, paint, etc. 
They could be trying to work through something using their creative outlet to be cathartic.  

They could be just very, very talented and wanting to share with people what they can make! 

People can create some amazing things with their own two hands.  They really can. 

But those arts seem to get lost now and then.  Not because people stop doing them, but because people stop appreciating the time and energy that goes into creating things.  They want cheaper.  They want to go to Wal-Mart or Amazon third party instead and pay $10 instead of $50. 

I get it.
I do.
Half the time that’s all we can afford too. 

It’s the same argument I see at local farms and little shoppes.  Mom and Pop places are going under by big corporations because we quit buying locally.  Importing is an amazing things.  I’m well aware of all of the different things and foods and such that we have access to now that we otherwise would not have.  But it’s not just destroying our economy, that’s a whole other can of worms.

What it’s doing is also killing art.
It’s killing the craftsman. 

Now, I practice Heathenry, or Heathen Witchcraft.  Whatever you want to call it, I don’t care, but one thing about Heathens that I adore is how much appreciation they have for what one can make themselves.  Industriousness.  Self-Reliance.  These are important things, but they’re getting lost with how ‘easy’ things are now. 

They’re no easier somewhere else, you’re just not paying for fair labor. 

And when someone makes something and actually wants compensated for the time it took to make it, the education or trial and error it took to learn it, the years of practice, the failed attempts, and the actual materials themselves… nobody wants to pay that.  “It’s not fair!” people say. 
But it’s completely fair. 

We’re just used to unfair. 

For example, I could get some dinky bamboo back scratcher just about anywhere for relatively cheap.  Sometimes dirt cheap.  But I spent $25 a few years ago on a handcrafted wood one and I swear to all that his holy that It is the most amazing back scratcher of all time. 
Someone created the design.
Someone created a template.
And each one is hand made. 
I am happy to support that.  100%. 

Let’s face it, I would have had to replace a lot of those cheaper ones enough time in a lifetime that I’d be spending far more in the long term anyhow.  But now I have something that lasts and is far superior in design. 
If we do not support craftsmen working out of their homes, trying to get started, we are killing art. 

Not just that, it’s us also admitting that the American Dream is dead. 

I would rather buy from people than corporations.
I would rather have something well made, than cheaply made.

I would rather support my friends getting through the next week than to pay some rich CEO money that he considers pocket change. 

So as you fill up those stockings and finish up those holiday gift lists, it’s just something to think about. 
Perhaps think about seeing what ventures your friends are trying to get off the ground and support those to finish up those lists.  You might be surprised at what you find, OR what they can make if you simply ask them because you have some idea that you want that you think they can do.  Ask.  They’ll love it.  You’ll get those creative juices flowing and possibly give them another new arc for their venture. 

You just might find that when you buy from a friend instead of a corporation that you are giving as well as receiving..

And isn’t that what the holiday spirit is supposed to focus on? 
I mean, really it’s not supposed to be materialistic at all.  Especially not to the extremes that it is now. 

So why not give a little this year during the holidays by buying local or from friends?  It might not be that much money… but the support is priceless. 
Appreciate their art, their talent, and give them hope because I can promise you that every purchase you make makes a difference. 
What difference do you want to make?  

CHRISTmas: The Hissy Fit

There have been so many articles and studies done on what birth order does as far as effect the behavior of children.  I was the oldest of seven children.  There was me, my sister, and my brother that my parents had.  After their divorce my dad remarried to a woman with two young children and went on to have two more children with her.  So we were seven children in a blended family and I could go on for days about all of the different dynamics.

Only half of us didn’t have any ‘alternate’ birth orders.  I was the oldest of all of us so that makes me the classic oldest sibling.  And then Tori being the youngest of all of us was the definitive baby of the family.  My sister Rachel was a classic middle child because she was a middle child no matter which house we were at.  My brother Evan was the baby for my mother so he was a youngest sibling in our house, but he was a big brother and middle child of all of us.  My brother Tony was the oldest sibling at his house, but a middle child with all of us.  My sister Maria was the oldest sister at her house, the youngest sister out of her and her brother, but a big sister two the younger two and a middle child all together. Mae was the oldest sibling of my dad and his second wife but she was also a middle child all together.  So, yeah… dynamics galore! 

Fun!

Being a part of such a large family growing up I’ve read a lot of the articles I’ve come across on sibling dynamics and traits based on birth order.  Some are fascinating and others are absolute crap.  With no two people being the same and no two families being the same, that always made sense to me.  Maybe that’s why I’ve been saying for years now to my husband that I was going to write about why Christianity behaves as the youngest sibling.  That’s how my brain works.

Now, I’m not interested in getting into a whole bunch of accurate dates and time frames, nor am I interested in getting into a religious debate.  I have a lot of Christian friends and I have no issue with the vast majority.  They are well aware I’m a Heathen and they love me anyhow, just as I love them anyways.  I still go to church when there are family events that occur there such as baptisms, weddings, funerals, etc.  Just as some of them even showed up for the hand-fasting my husband and I had.  As long as you don’t try to convert me and you respect my beliefs, I will do the same for you.  That’s an across the board statement.

And I also don’t play that game of, “I’ll respect you if you respect me” type crap.  Respect is given freely until I have been given a reason not to.  My grandfather was one of the most amazing men I ever had the privilege to meet.  He was a huge role model for me and he had a large family of six children, a dozen grandchildren and numerous great grandchildren.  He was a devout Catholic and went to church every morning for years and years.  His Priest, Father Crowley, was one of his best friends.  He didn’t marry a Catholic woman and he caught some crap from his family for that.  With all of his children, all of us grandchildren, and anyone he ever met he always said the same thing when the topic came up.  “I don’t care what religion you are, what matters to me is that you’re a good person.” And that was all there was to it.  That was just one of the many great things about him but it’s something I carry with me. 

I’m not writing this to bash Christianity or any person in particular.  So, if you’re reading this just to get your panties in a bunch about another made up war on Christianity, please stop reading now. 

Still here? 

Great!

Let’s continue, shall we?

If we take a look at some of the largest ‘umbrella’ religions we come up with a few.

Paganism

Judaism

Hinduism

Buddhism

Islam

Christianity

I’m well aware there are plenty more.  There are folk religions, Shinto, Taoism, Sikhism, etc, etc, etc.  If I wanted to write this about the history of religion I might include all of those but that isn’t my goal here so I’m not doing that.  If I left your religion out I apologize, sort of.  I don’t have all day to write out every sub-genre or spiritual faith in existence. Sorry.

Let’s try to stay on topic here (barring the occasional ramble, it happens)

Okay, now before we continue further, know that I live in the States.  I know that different places have different issues.  I’m not stupid.  However, here in the states we get all sorts of excitement this time of year about the alleged “War on Christmas.”

EVERY YEAR IT MAKES ME INSANE!!!  >.<

Because, you see, nobody is trying to take the Christ out of Christmas.  The only thing people are trying to do is exercise their right to practice and celebrate their religions, too.

You don’t see Pagans screaming, “Stop trying to take the Yule out of Yuletide!”

I mean, you sort of do, but it’s almost always said as a joke in response to the ‘taking the Christ out of Christmas’ posts.

For as long as most of us can probably remember we grew up seeing holiday decorations in stores.  I knew from a young age that the Christian faith didn’t fit me very well.  I was too young to have found anything else that called to me yet but I still remember loving all of the lights and trees.  Never once was I offended by the sight of a manger or a Menorah or any other such thing.  Just because I saw something that represented the holiday of another faith, that didn’t affect me in any way.  I don’t see how it could?  I thought it was beautiful.  I don’t have to practice the faith to appreciate the beauty of the celebration.

Honestly, if seeing someone else practice their faith or celebrate their holiday offends you, that says way more about you than it does them.

If someone says, “Merry Christmas” to me I certainly don’t freak out like some people now see to think they have a right to do.  I say it back because I hope they have a wonderful Christmas.  I wouldn’t wish them a Happy Yule because they aren’t celebrating Yule, they are celebrating Christmas.  Them celebrating Christmas and me wishing them a Merry Christmas doesn’t make me a Christian, it makes me someone who hopes they have a nice holiday.  And that saying goes across the board as well.  Wish me a “Merry Christmas” or a “Happy Hanukkah” or a great Kwanzaa or a Happy Yule or a Happy Holidays and I’ll take it all the same way.  I don’t care what words you use or what holiday you are celebrating.  That is something where the thought is what matters. 

And here’s where we get to the meat of it. 

How Christianity is the youngest sibling. 

Let’s start with the older ones, shall we?

Pagan is a rather old “religion” if you need to refer to it as a religion.  I’ve found it’s more of spirituality and I prefer that one, but like I tell my kids “a preference never guarantees you get your way and to expect such makes you naïve, not the other person thoughtless.”

Anywho, Paganism can be argued as the oldest of religions since it was around before there was any type of organized religion.  The worship of nature itself, the magic of the unknown, and the worship of deity as giving us that which cannot be otherwise explained. I’m not here to give you a lesson on Paganism but there have been many Goddess like carvings and cave paintings and such because before we had modern science and knew that sex with sperm and egg combining created children, they likely just thought women were magic at creating life.  So that makes sense.  You don’t have to follow that spiritual path to understand the primitive logic there.

Pagans in general (in my experience) don’t seem to care much what the other religions are doing unless it directly affects them.  If you want to bring up the Witch hunts, there are some Witches that are going to feel a certain way about it because that is something that happened, was historically documented, and with the amount of extremist radicals around anymore, could also happen again.  I don’t know a whole lot of Jews that get all butthurt about what religions other people practice either unless it directly affects them.  But you mention the Holocaust and they’re going to feel a certain way.  There is something that will cause each religion to get defensive or feel a certain way about.  Something personal that has to do with their beliefs.  Their hot button.  Don’t push it and then you have a total ‘live and let live’ mentality.   (It’s not that hard, folks)  And most of the time even if you push it you’re more likely to get a history lesson than an argument.

There’s this quote I adore by Bill Nye.  “Everyone you will ever meet knows something you don’t.”  I tell this to my kids all the time when they’re acting like they know more than someone else.  They might, but it’s unlikely given that they’re still rather young.  I tell them all the time that if you act like a know-it-all all you do is piss people off and make them get defensive or worse, make them feel stupid.  That is not the right way at all to treat people.  If you know something that they do not, teach them.  You just might make a new friend.  And if they know something that you don’t, don’t pretend that you know it already just to not feel stupid.  Ask them to teach you and they will more than likely be happy to explain it to you.  Then you have either learned something new or taught someone else something new.  If more people did this, geesh, I can’t even speculate.  It sure would be a lot nicer to talk to people though. 

The same goes for religion.  If you need to put down someone else’s beliefs as silly or stupid just to make you feel better about your own beliefs, then you’re doing it wrong.  Again, that says a lot more about you than it does them. 

You can claim that some Pagan faiths are “new age” and therefore a newer ‘religion’ than Christianity all you want.  While Wicca is definitely more new age, the Paganism umbrella it falls under is anything but.  Even the new age ones are following beliefs that have been around for an incredibly long time.  Too long to measure. 

They are not the baby here, at least not in my story. 

So I’m going to consider Paganism as the oldest child.  You don’t have to agree.  This is my article, not yours.  I’m going to say it’s the big sister given how matriarchal many of them are and how much Goddess worship is involved in many (even if only to refer to “Mother” Earth for the non-deity worshipping Pagan faiths)

Older children tend to be more responsible and less assuming.

I know many Pagans who are perfectly comfortable in their faith.  They do not proselytize because they don’t see the point.  If someone asks them about their faith, however, they’re more than happy to discuss it and have a nice chat. 

They tend to be more responsible about their practice of faiths, more emotionally aware of themselves, more socially aware, environmentally aware, etc.

Responsible.

They had to set the example but they don’t need to prove themselves.

Jesus was a Jew.  We all know this.  It’s in all the stories.  It’s rather common knowledge. So I expect zero arguments that Judaism was around earlier than Christianity. 

I also expect the same (zero) amount of arguments about any of the other above mentioned major religions having any sort of valid argument to whether those faiths existed prior to Christianity. 

We’ll refer to those as the middle children.  They tend to be more easy going. 

They are aware that other spiritual paths existed before them but they don’t allow that to concern them.  They are aware the other paths exist and they’re okay with that.  You leave them alone to do their own thing and they’re cool with that. 

“You do you, I’ll do me.  Whatevs.”

While the middle children can often be attention seeking it’s not in the direct “spoiled” way of the baby.  It’s in a more muted way where they’re more likely to just go off on their own rather than stay where they are not appreciated.  Find their own clan, so to speak.

You don’t find any proselytizing from them either. 

Now, I’m aware that there are people from ALL spiritual paths that will attempt, on occasion, to tell you about why their religion is better or try to convert you.

I’m speaking about the majority here.

They are the middle children; they are more adaptable and more likely to do their own thing without worrying about what you think of them or worrying about what you’re doing.

And then we have Christianity.

The little brother.

I’m choosing brother simply because it’s a very inarguably patriarchal religion.  If you have a vagina you are here to listen and obey and wear dresses and look pretty and get in the kitchen and make me a damn sammich.  Be pregnant while you’re at it, pop out those babies and put that vagina to work!

Totally kidding. 

Or am I?  (I totally am)

The youngest sibling, the baby of the family, tends to get doted on.  Oh, look how cute.  Oh, look at what they’re doing!  Oh, blah blah blah blah.  Whatever they can do to get some attention, they’re more than happy to do it. 

But now, the youngest sibling can vary.  If it’s an especially large family the youngest will just be used to the attention going elsewhere and keep to themselves, which I’ve found many of the sub-genres of Christianity will behave like.  I’m not naming names but you know who you are.  Keep up the good work, you’re doing it right.  

But then there’s the baby of the family, “Look at me! Look at me!”  I can do it too!!! 

Anything you can do, I can do better.  (feel free to sing along)

They want to be as popular as their older siblings but they’re extremely immature.

“If they can do that, why can’t I?  I’ll show them!” type shit.

Well, they have attempted to emulate their older siblings in SO many ways.

I mean, really, just about every holiday they have can be argued as stolen.

Christ wasn’t born at Christmas yet for some reason they celebrate it then.  They didn’t want the older siblings to have their holiday there without them so they just made his birthday at the end of December right around all of the older siblings’ holidays.

It doesn’t matter that since it has been proven as to have not been the month of his birth, or even the correct season.  They don’t care.  That’s when it is and that’s all there is to it.

Nuh uh

Ya huh!

Nuh uh

Ya huh.

Fine, whatever.  Think what you what.

I will!  We celebrate his birthday in December and you can’t stop us!

We don’t care, go ahead.

See what I mean?

I can go through every single holiday and do this but I don’t wanna and you can’t make me. :P

And then, when the youngest child does not get their way or things don’t turn out as planned, rather than admitting they were wrong and moving on.  They dig their heels in even if there is proof that they are wrong and refuse to admit it.  Or they pitch a hissy fit like a 2 year old who didn’t get their way. 

The oldest child is always irritated by the youngest child’s annoying tendencies.  It’s ingrained in our DNA.  Just roll your eyes and walk away because as every parent and oldest child knows… you do not give attention to a toddler throwing a hissy fit.  You do not feed it ANY attention or it just gets worse and grows.  You walk away and they learn that they do not get attention from behaving poorly and pitching a fit.

Now, there’s also this other saying that I like. (I like a lot of sayings and whatnot)

“The squeaky wheel gets the grease.”

So while the older siblings ignore the outbursts of the baby, they are not squeaking.

The baby is squeaking.  Like a child in a grocery store pitching a fit.  The parent knows they have to ignore it so it doesn’t continue at every store forever.  But the other people at the store look and think, “Oh, that poor baby.  What an uncaring mother just ignoring it.”

OR

And that’s a big or.

Or, they think, “God, shut that kid up.  That’s SO annoying. Make them leave.”

How does this tie in with Christianity? 

I’m getting there.

Bear with me.

So, the media completely makes up this “war on Christmas.”

Really?

It’s a “war” on Christmas?

From who?  That is what I would like to know.

Who is the aggressor in this war?

Who is attacking Christianity?

The people who want to uphold this country’s constitutional right to freedom of religion?

You see, because that is not a valid argument to any of the things I have read about.

It’s bad if someone tries to remove a religious anything from government property, even though based on the constitution it should never have been there in the first place

It is made up. 

Youngest children always make up stories to get attention and everyone else just rolls their eyes. 

Now I see memes with things like “Christmas Trees for Sale $10,  Holiday Trees $15”

Like… seriously?  Decorating trees is a pagan custom.  You don’t see anyone bitching at you for having stolen the idea and calling them Christmas trees, do you?  So why do you feel you can not only steal the idea but then refuse to let the founders of the custom still keep their own?  Like… c’mon now.   That doesn’t make sense.

There isn’t a “War on Christmas” there’s just a bunch of people using that as an excuse to be dickheads.

You took the holidays of many other religions, made them your own, and then bitch at the religions you stole it from for still wanting to celebrate their holidays.
Nobody is trying to take your Christmas or take your Christ out of it.

All they are trying to do is continue to be able to celebrate their own holiday.

You are the ones who are trying to act as though your way is the only way.

Just like a little kid.

So what happens next in complete youngest child fashion?

A hissy fit is thrown.

“Look at my, CHRISTmas tree.”  Ummm… no thank you.  The minute someone says CHRISTmas… I stop listening.  It’s nothing more than a demand for attention and for the focus to be on THEIR holiday. 

Over a holiday greeting said with good intention and love.

Over the stupid ass color of a cup that they were served coffee in.

Over what you call a tree.

Boo fucking hoo.

This is every damn year.  And guess what? 

Nobody else cares.

None of your older sisters or brothers give a shit about you throwing another hissy fit this year because you’re making up this entire attack on yourself that never happened.

This is every year now. 

Every year nobody cares except you.

Every year everyone else still continues to do their own thing and ignore you.

You just get louder and make less sense and now nobody is taking you seriously anymore.

You just want to have your way and make sure nobody else gets their own.

Freedom of religion includes ALL religions.

This is NOT a nation founded on Christian principles.  Quite the opposite.

It was founded by people who never wanted one religion to take over the others.

Who never wanted to see the word “God” in the government at all.

Not on their buildings, not on their currency, not in their national pledge.

None of it.

Learn your history.

And while you do so, your older siblings will continue to do their own thing while they wait for you to figure out what the hell you’re doing.

And when you finally figure out they’ll have enough grace not to rub it in your face that you were a complete asshole and scream “I told you so” in your face.

They’ll just be grateful that you finally realized what a dickwad you were acting like.

You are what you hate, little brother.

You have become that which you despise the most and yet you do not seem to notice it.

You are attacking anyone that CHOOSES to say “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas.”  You don’t want to have your greeting taken from you so somehow that makes you feel that you can try to take it from someone else?

You choose to get all angry at a time of year that is supposed to be about joy, celebration, family, love, and peace.  You are going out of your way to find reasons to be angry and disrespectful instead of just giving all other faiths the same respect you want for your own.

This is hypocrisy at its finest.

Respect someone’s right to wear a Mjolnir, Pentacle, Star of David, etc. just as much as you want your right to wear a cross to be.

Respect someone’s right to say Happy Holidays or Happy Hanukkah just as much as you want to feel free to wish others a Merry Christmas.

Think of someone other than yourself because until then all you’re doing is making yourself look like a ridiculous selfish jerkwad who needs to grow up.

Nobody is going to take you seriously until you start behaving.

Nobody is trying to take your toys away from you.

We just want to play with our own, too.

Pull yourself together, little brother.

Grow up.

We’re waiting.