Michelle L. Rusk's Blog, page 43

Forging Ahead With A New Story

It's been just about two years since I've spoken to any sizable audience. In about three hours, I'll be on my way to Phoenix to keynote the second day of the Arizona State Suicide Prevention Conference tomorrow morning. And I'll be doing this complete with a new last name and a new story.

For years I basically told the same story, gave the same information about suicide grief. Of course it morphed and changed over the years, but tomorrow will be much different. 

There is less focus on my younger sister's death and more focus about the accumulation of losses in my life and what I've done to go forward and find happiness. I'm not so sure that it's not that I've never been happy so much as it was making sure that I didn't allow myself to get caught up in the negativity that the grief process can sometimes bring on. 

The message has changed because I have changed. I have grown. I have moved forward in my life. And in all of that, I haven't forgotten who I am or what's happened to me. Or what I lost. It's just the opposite– making sure that I make the most of each day so there are no regrets.

The Coach's Wife and the Race

There are just two district games left in the soccer season, including one this evening. The season has been up, down, and around, the district filled with parity, and no clear cut one team is the best in the district or in the state.

But what's most frustrating is seeing Greg's team lose which has happened more than it should this season. While I usually remain quiet during the games (unlike when I was a cross country coach and one season I was presented with button that said, "I yell because I care"), I couldn't contain myself Saturday. It doesn't help that the coach on the opposing team is not a nice person (leaving her players on the field when they lost to Cleveland a few weeks ago) and the energy at this particular school is not the most positive for some reason. In my nervousness, I thought I would start to cheer, especially because it felt as is if the opposing parents were cheering more than the Storm parents. I might not be a parent but I don't like the team I'm rooting for to be out cheered.

Still, they lost. I don't judge any soccer moves– I don't know enough about the game for that. But what I have found most frustrating is that the girls just don't seem to really want it, or they don't want it all together in one day. Someone inevitable makes a stupid move (or no move at all). 

While I understand that life is all about learning and sports are a great way to learn, I know too well what it's like to not be all that I could be– or should have been. I hate for the girls to live with what I have lived with– of what I left out on the track or the cross country course. I had to learn to parlay that regret into the rest of my life as I went forward, assuring myself that I wouldn't make those mistakes again. All I had to do was think back on the fact that I hadn't made the state meet and it was enough to help me accomplish a whole lot of other things in my life.

So to watch this group of girls, knowing they have just as good of a chance to win the state tournament as any other team is disheartening. I keep my glass half full even though they have a tendency to knock it over. And yet I keep refilling it.

On Sunday, Greg and I ran the Duke City 10K. I have written before about how it's been a challenge for me to find the motivation not to run but to compete. That need from so long ago is now gone and pushing myself beyond what's comfortable is difficult for me.

And we managed to be two minutes late to the start (simply because we were on the wrong side of the barriers). This really wasn't a big deal because we quickly caught up with the field (except that we thought they were using chip times in the race and they were using the actual start time so our finish times weren't reflective of what our watches said). I did really well the first three miles, too.

Yet then I lost it. While I was happy to finish, and while I did do better than our 10K in the spring, I left something out on the course. The exact thing that I want those girls on Greg's soccer to not leave on the field when they play. It seems that despite the fact that I have learned this lesson everywhere else in my life, I still can't quite put my head together for running races.

As I sit in the stands for these final games, my prayers having changed from them winning to at least them all playing to very best they can, I could live with that. When we have done all we could, then we can pack it up and move on to the next thing. Life is too short not to but for whatever reason, that's a lesson they don't seem ready to learn.

The Connection of Disconnection

I admit I am too attached to my phone. While I don't use it as much as most people, I have come to realize how much time it's taking away from me doing other things.

There are times when it's good for me to have it, especially when I'm waiting in line at the grocery store and checking it can take my mind off my impatience if it's taking too long to check out. But I also see that my phone has made me always have access to doing something so any free moment I have, I pick it and look at it. And if I don't have it, I'm tapping my foot, annoyed I have to stand there and wait. What I'm forgetting is that a moment like that is the perfect time to spend letting my imagine wander, to think about characters in a book I'm working on or how to make something better with my bucket bags and paintings.

And while I spend quite a bit of time in the morning running and walking and in other prayer, giving my mind some time to wander, I'm finding that I need to still spend less time looking at my phone and more time reading and just being present in my life.

While I text various people– and it's a way of being connected– we also are more connected when we disconnect from our phones for periods of time. If I'm having a party at my house, I generally won't look at my phone for the duration of the party because it's about the people with whom I am present, not those who couldn't attend.

And in the evenings I'm trying to put the phone down and spend more time reading my magazines and books. There is only so much worth to the time on my phone (and a lot of worthless information I don't need to look at). By focusing on my time without it, I'm more creative and more connected to life around me.

Cubs Fever

I admit that I have been a fair-weather Cubs fan in recent years.

I used to follow baseball religiously, particularly the Cubs. I suffered with everyone else when they had losing seasons and when they lost in playoffs. I can still remember the first game I attended– I still have the hat my dad bought me– and how (of course) we had to leave before the game was over to "beat the traffic." When you were with my dad, you never saw any sporting event until the end.

In high school a friend and I would take the train and L up to Wrigley and sit in the bleachers. My dad often took my younger sister because he knew a man through his work who had season tickets ten rows behind first base (even taking her when opening day fell on her birthday one year). I went once with a friend, I believe the only time I got to sit in those seats. There were other times I went to games although I can't say I remember all of them now. 

My sister Denise's big claim to fame was the time Mom took us to see Cubs and Mets play at Shea– back when Mom worked for Midway Airlines when I was in high school. We went on a Sunday, just for the day, and I walked around the stadium, finally finding the press booth to give our names to Harry Carey (believing the person at the door would take care of it). Harry would always mention names of Chicagoans at away games and this was our chance to be included. 

People heard us mentioned on television in the Chicago area, but it wasn't until we watched the recording– on a VHS tape that I have somewhere– and it went something like this, "Marianne Linn and her daughters Michelle and D-D-Denise are here from Naperville."

Yep, Harry stumbled over Denise's name and I'm not really sure that was alcohol related. Still, my walk around the stadium wasn't in vain. Harry had mentioned us.

I have few photos from any of these excursions to Wrigley (the only ones I could find included my ex husband, the last time I was there which was fifteen years ago) making me realize that it was about attending the game, not taking a bunch of photos.

One time I put the bats in the dishwasher (photo above) and for some reason posted it on Facebook. It was the only time my mom posted a comment ever on Facebook. She was horrified that I would do such a thing. I thought they needed baths and the dishwasher would clean them better than I could.

We have limited cable by choice and TBS isn't included in the lineup and I didn't know the game was on the radio the other day until Greg came home from soccer practice and put the last few innings on as I swam my laps. When I was done, I sat– all bundled up his bathrobe because the pool water is still hovering around 65 degrees– next to the radio listening.

When the Cubs won, my eyes teared up. This was a big deal. And while I had become a fair-weather fan because of the losses, it was also because baseball was something I did with my sister. It was a big piece of our shared siblingship. Now of my favorite memories of our time together was making frozen yogurt sandwiches and watching a late game from Los Angeles on the little black and white television in the kitchen. But life has changed and it's not so much an important part of me, it's a part of my history.

And yet if they make the series, the tears will be streaming down my face. After all, we've all suffered long enough.

 

The Flexibility of Life

It has been a quite a day. It's almost 5:00 pm and my plan (note the word plan) had been to write my blog first thing this morning– like at 7:45. However, I've been dodging curve balls all day. And quite a few good things have happened. Tomorrow I will catch up, but today was a reminder of the lesson of flexibility.

The kitchen faucet started to leak on Monday (compounded by replacing the water heater two weeks ago). It had been repaired two years ago and I knew a new one was going to happen one day. Tuesday morning I bought a new one, but when Greg and I contacted two plumbers and didn't hear back from either of them, I started to worry.

And I especially began to worry today when I went out for an hour and came home to find water not just under the sink (we had buckets and towels soaking up the water), but also under the dishwasher. I couldn't wait any longer, even though I had a long list of things I needed to do. 

Thankfully, a friend had told me yesterday how reasonable and good her plumber is. He was at my house within twenty minutes (yes!) and despite feeling a little overwhelmed (apparently acupuncture today didn't do much good for my stress), within an hour John had easily replaced the faucet (easily is important here– we all know how repair jobs lead to second and third trips to Home Depot or Lowes) and I could use my kitchen faucet without having to worry about what was going on below.

It was a quick fix despite my worry. And always the lesson I can never quite learn: be flexible and remember it will all get done. After all, there is tomorrow. So for now I'm off for my afternoon swim. Everything will be waiting for me in the morning and I'll get it done even though in this moment I am not sure sure of that.

Doing a Sally

At the party for my new book, Flowers by Day, Stars by Night: Finding Happiness after Loss and Change, the other night, my friend Alicia (who sits behind me every week at church) made a comment after someone noted my silver shoes. She said, "You got those out of Sally's closet."

Since reading my book The Green Dress, Alicia likes to tease me, "Did you get that dress from Sally's closet?" If you haven't read the book (and of course you should!), the main character, Audrey- finds herself cleaning out her Aunt Sally's house, one that's filled with incredible clothes and shoes. That's only part of the story but you can figure that there is a green dress involved somewhere.

While everyone tends to think that the book is based on my life and my own experiences– and there are things that really happened like the coffee and maple shake incident– most of it comes from my imagination. Or are loosely based on things that have happened to me.

When I saw my friend (my California Mom I call her) Lois in California when we stopped there on our honeymoon to pick up the surfboards, Lois was already reading book and laughed and said she knew the part about the bathrobe and being late to water aerobics was based on her. 

It's true– Lois wears a fuzzy bathrobe over her bathing suit to drive to water aerobics and she's usually late.

I'm still swimming 20 minutes a day in my pool (again, Alicia likes to say just like Sally) even though the water has dipped to 65 degrees. Unlike Sally though, I haven't turned the heater on. Greg has a big, thick bathrobe he doesn't use and I've been grabbing it to wrap myself in after my swims. As I did it the other day, I laughed to myself as I walked around in the robe warming myself up.

Just like Lois. And Sally.

Going Home

I returned to my hometown last weekend for the first time in over a year. This is the longest I have been away since I moved there in 1994. I used to go back twice a year and then much more, eventually moving back for a year and a half.

However, when my mom and I moved back to Albuquerque (Mom's only move outside the Chicago area in her entire life)  in 2013, I knew that I would be limiting my time in Chicago. As much as I love the area and saying that's where I'm from, I know that my life is here in New Mexico. 

Most of my family is there and many friends. And a lifetime of memories. Going home means running my old routes, eating all the fun foods I miss (Italian beef, thin crust pizza that doesn't taste the same anywhere else), and spending time with the people who know more about me than anyone else.

But it also means being reminded that my parents and my sister are no longer here. All the memories I have are it. No more can I ask the questions; I must rely on the stories I was told and what I've filed away in my head.

Those two chairs were in different rooms in the house I grew up in– one in the family room and one in the living room. At some point my parents had the wood floors redone and everything was moved to the kitchen where they were put side by side. Together they would sit in the kitchen, just like Ma and Pa Kettle (the Kettles are movie characters my parents always made jokes about). We moved the chairs to the house on Hidden Spring where Mom lived with me but this was the day they were left out for the trash when the house was put up for sale.

Looking at them not just reminds me of all that was but all that made me who I am today.

The Bats Attend Amy's Wedding

In 1993, within a few weeks after my younger sister's death, I wrote a letter to her that was published in the Ball State Daily News, the school where I was earning a journalism degree. The letter was then picked up by the newspaper in my hometown, The Naperville Sun, and published there as well.

As these were the pre-internet-as-we-know-it-days (what I remember of the internet is a guy I knew in the computer lab looking at NASA stuff online– what looked like a bunch of lines of words and nothing else), my mom sent me a copy of the newspaper in the mail. Knowing my mom, she probably included the ads as well because she wanted to make sure I got the full experience.

But also in that package was a short Chicago Cubs bat with pliable arms and legs. He became a fixture in the newsroom and eventually he was named Bat. My mom found him at the cashier counter at her favorite card store, an outlet of sorts, near the house. That summer we took him with us when my parents (and older sister) drove me to the Olympic Training Center in Colorado Springs for my journalism internship. Somewhere buried in my belongings is a picture book we created called Bat Takes a Vacation with photos of him in various places like Rocky Mountain National Park.

That fall we added to the Bat collection, Mom buying several more. My sister had Corky and Mom bought one for my friend Amy and Amy named him Slugger. Unless of course I have that backward (Karen didn't know, I haven't asked Amy this yet). And then a fourth one, whose name I don't know joined the family. 

The Bats have gone back and forth between Chicago and Albuquerque for over twenty years, their arms and legs no longer moving in the directions I would like. I ran them through the dishwasher once (they needed baths!) and my mom was horrified that I would do such a thing. Since I moved back, they've been sitting on a shelf in my office.

On Sunday they attended Amy's wedding. As Karen said, "The Bats couldn't not be there" on such a significant day. We attempted to tie pink and gray ribbon (the wedding colors) around them but it didn't quite work so well with their, well, bat shapes.

And as the Cubs play the wild card game tomorrow night, I left them with my sister to be part of the festivities in the Chicago area. They'll make their way back to Albuquerque eventually.

Most of all, it was one more way to include my mom who started the whole bat family in the first place.

Defining Ourselves as We Choose

It's easy to walk around and talk about all the bad things that have happened to us and how we feel like a victim. Yet when we do that, we often don't realize that we're letting those events not just dictate our feelings, but they leave us feeling bad.

The reality is that stuff happens. Some of us get more of it than others. There is that saying that we can't control what happens to us but we can control how we react to it. Not only that, but we also control whether or not we let it define us.

You have the choice to define yourself as you choose. Sure, go ahead and let all the bad stuff define you, but the days will look darker and you'll feel like you want to sleep all the time.

However, if you choose to face life and see yourself as you want to be, then your perspective will change. When I was in high school, I let events define me. But slowly through adulthood, I have learned to shed that image of myself. After writing manuscripts and short stories about what now I see as weak people (and not being able to watch certain television shows because the characters annoyed me), I realized that isn't how I want to portray myself to the world. And it left me feeling tired and less hopeful. The older I got, the more I realized I didn't want to be Mary Decker Slaney being carried off the track in the 1984 Olympics by her then-burly field event boyfriend. I wanted to be the runner who got up after the track, dusted myself off, and finished the race.

I realize that the big buzzword these days is vulnerability. It's kind of silly because most people know there is a certain vulnerability to anything that you do. But we don't sit around lamenting it like many people are now. Instead, we acknowledge that it's part of going forward– of defining ourselves– and we move on. Part of being strong is being vulnerable at times. It doesn't mean we are weak, it just means we have learned that at times we need to let others help us or acknowledge we can't do everything on our own. 

How do you want to define yourself to the world? It's your choice to control the image and the message. 

Stars and Flowers as Symbols of Hope

The title for my new book, Flowers by Day: Stars by Night: Finding Happiness after Loss and Change, was the most difficult title of the ten books I have written. While I have learned in the process of each of these books, they are finished when they are supposed be (which isn't necessarily on my schedule– they usually take much longer), it felt as if Flowers by Day took much longer.

I struggled to write the book and ended up with at least four versions of it that I needed to weave together for the book it is now. But I also felt held back because I couldn't figure out a title. I had settled on Finding Blue Sky but it never set well and finally, when Gary Keene had already begun to draw the cover, I changed it to Flowers by Day, Stars by Night. 

It was only then that it felt right. And once it felt right, I could finish it and move on.

The images of stars and flowers are important because I see them as symbols of hope. During the day, the vivid colors of flowers, something that Mother Nature creates, not us, make us see that there is much more beyond the darkness that we might feel in our lives.

And yet at night, when the darkness is most prevalent in our physical world, we look up and see the stars in the sky. They are brightly lit and they, too, remind us of hope. 

No matter where we are, no matter how badly we feel because our lives are not as we had thought or hoped they would be, there is ways something there to remind us that somewhere hope exists, even if it's buried under a stack of papers on the dining room table.