By far, this is the hardest chapter to
write. As of this writing (spring 2017), I’ve had few meaningful conversations
with practically anyone in my family in quite a while.
Things have been rough for many years, on
and off. But, when my tumor was discovered and removed, things improved – for a
while. But, then it all unraveled again. I’m sure most of my relatives think
it’s because of my instabilities, but I think it’s due to a combination of many
factors….
My two sisters and I have three very
distinctly different personalities. I am the oldest, and so, of course, they
were compared to me at home, in school, church, and other places. I was the
skinny one, the one with the best grades (National Honor Society), the most
athletic and on and on. That had to be difficult to “compete” with. I love my
sisters, but we don’t really have
anything in common, other than we “popped out” of the same mommy (with the same daddy). My sisters are also gifted. Joyce is an excellent chef and baker. Jayne is an excellent educator.
anything in common, other than we “popped out” of the same mommy (with the same daddy). My sisters are also gifted. Joyce is an excellent chef and baker. Jayne is an excellent educator.
My mom and I go back and forth. Sometimes
we are close, and other times we avoid contact, since we sometimes agitate one
another. This has been true since I left for college many moons ago. We have
some things in common (like our outspokenness) and many things not in common
(like her domestic capabilities in the kitchen and throughout the house
compared to my incapacities like that). I recall her happily ironing my dad’s
handkerchiefs, but at the spot where my ironing board is in my condo, my sign
says, “Ironing Bored,” and that’s NOT a spelling error. I actually have another
sign that says, “The only thing domestic about me is that I live indoors.” Very
true!
Unfortunately,
I did not inherit the “clean gene” from my mom. She kept an impeccably neat and
tidy home for us all. My sisters and I had to clean up our bedrooms every
Saturday morning. [And I mean clean – dust, vacuum, change the sheets….]
Now, I don't
want to label myself a slob, but I sure know vacuuming, dusting, etc. are too
annoying for words. I only do them when I absolutely have to. My kitchen and
bathrooms are moderately clean, at best.
Because of
this, only a selected few people are allowed into my “inner domain.” And, I
like it like that.
I’m
not saying that my mom and I got along perfectly before I went to college, but
we did better when I was younger. However, I do remember a big fight we had
over what words should be underneath my senior picture in my high school
yearbook.
I wanted the words from Fleetwood Mac’s
song that goes, “Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow….” She wanted some
mushy-gushy love words. She won, and to this day, every single time I browse
through the pictures of the graduating class of 1978 from Red Hook High, I’m
not nostalgic as much as I am annoyed that I gave in on that one. It’s a
black-and-white example about the fact that the words you choose can haunt you
forever – even if in a yearbook. To that same end, when I hear that Fleetwood
Mac song on the radio, it also agitates me that I didn’t stick up for my
opinion enough.
My mom has had it rough medically and
emotionally for a few years now. She was diagnosed with a brain tumor about one
year after mine was removed. She had some similar symptoms to mine, and that’s
one of the ways it was discovered. Luckily – hers was much smaller, since it
was caught way sooner. Then, she was diagnosed with Parkinson’s. This has truly
been a hardship, and I respect all caregivers who help their loved ones with
this debilitating disease.
Then, my dad passed away from esophageal
cancer. Their relationship had a warm ending, which was unfortunately
short-lived, because they had been separated right before his diagnosis. After
that, she had colon cancer. And then, hip surgery because she fell. All of what
I just wrote about for her took place in only about six or seven years. That’s
too much for anyone to handle!
My dad was a true IBMer. When he died, I
gave his eulogy two times – once in the Daytona Beach, Florida, area, where he
lived at the end of his life, and once in Poughkeepsie, NY, for a Hospice
service, since many of his New York State friends could not attend his first
service. I made the other IBMers laugh when I stated, “He died in true IBM
fashion – 5:55 a.m. on 12/12/12.”
Dad worked for IBM in Kingston, NY, and
then in Boca Raton, Florida, for many years. Growing up, I remember going to
the IBM Country Club on Kukuk Lane in Kingston for swimming lessons, picnics,
BBQs, and so much more. That was a very happy time of my life. I still remember
the excitement of going over the Kingston-Rhinecliff Bridge to enjoy a day
there. My dad’s being a “Beemer” really had its perks!
My father had high expectations for me. He
expected excellent grades. When I didn’t get a 100% on a spelling test, for
example, we “discussed” the words I spelled wrong versus celebrating the ones I
got right. This led to years of trying to be perfect, which is never reachable,
but this did make me a better teacher later on, congratulating my students for
their right answers, rather than criticizing them for the wrong answers on the
spelling test. As a side note, he became very upset with me the first time I
told him that I wanted to be a special education teacher because he wanted me
to follow in his footsteps and work for IBM, too, or become a lawyer.
My dad and I had lots of arguments over
the years. The biggest was when he cancelled my wedding reception with my first
fiancé, because during our engagement, we discovered my fiancé had retinitis
pigmentosa. My dad was worried about my future, as most dads would, but he
handled it badly and apologized profusely for all of it on his deathbed. He
realized that the failure of that marriage had a lot to do with the rocky start
that marriage had, due to him. That marriage’s failure led to a long, hard road
of other failed relationships in my life. I truly believe that a little girl’s
relationship with her dad has a lot to do with the choices she makes as she
grows up. I know that was true for me!
I miss my dad every day. I talk to him
when I see his picture somewhere in my condo. I know he made mistakes, but I
also know he got a lot right. I wish there were some conversations and
arguments I could “take back,” but I can’t…. So, I try to focus on what he got
right instead of the negative. Fathers of girls have a special place in heaven.
I will be eternally grateful to my parents
for the camping trips they took us on. We had a pop-up “Skamper Camper” that we
used for our cross-country trip. Most of the sights I saw when I was only 13
years old I have never seen again. But, when I hear John Denver’s song “Country
Roads,” I remember my dad popping that tape into our station wagon’s cassette
player, and listening to that song’s words as we drove to California and back
from our driveway at 18 Cedar Drive, Rhinebeck, NY.
As I’ve stated earlier, I have two sisters,
Joyce and Jayne. Since our last name was Johnson, all three of us were JJs.
That nickname was not fun for very long. And to make matters worse, all of our
middle names began with the letter A: Janet Ann, Joyce Aileen, and Jayne
Alison. (Or is it “Allison”? I can’t find out, because my sister and I really
aren’t speaking at the time of this writing. I hope that will change.) For some reason, my parents thought this was
a good idea. I can’t speak for my sisters, but I think naming your children
similarly (either on purpose or just because it works out that way) is kind of
silly. But – those similar initials are really one of the only similarities we
share….
We were each born a couple of years apart,
five years from the eldest to the youngest, but it seems like a bigger
separation than that. When we were young, I was the “Miss Priss.” My clothes
were always neat and tidy. When she was young, Joyce was the “tomboy.” She
loved mud puddles, among other things. Jayne, the youngest, had a bit of both
of Joyce and me in her at different times, and at other times…hardly at all.
But, now that we’re all in our 50s, I’m no
longer too concerned about my wardrobe. I wear wrinkled clothing, and most of
my outfits are out of style or the wrong size, depending on whether I am
dieting or overeating. I wear T-shirts more than anything else. Guess what? I’m
happy with all of that!
Now, Joyce, on the other hand, is the
opposite of that, or at least she was at the last time I saw her. The last time
I saw Joyce (2011), she looked well-dressed and was concerned about her hair.
The only days my usually unkempt hair looks good is when I step out of the
salon!
Joyce has changed into a woman who
genuinely cares about her looks. I turned into the tomboy she once was. But,
that’s not the only big difference between us….
Joyce can cook! She is also an excellent
baker. She sure can mess up a kitchen, but the results are phenomenal! My
messes in that room are more on the paperwork side (piles and piles of chapters
for this book are stacked on my kitchen table as I write this). There is NO
room for food in my kitchen – other than in the fridge or microwave oven. I eat
in my living room. My kitchen is truly one of my many workspaces.
Joyce and I have hardly spoken since she
left after a visit here in the fall of 2011. Right before that visit, our
grandmother had just passed away. Joyce and her husband did not attend her
funeral, though she loved Grandma and lived in Florida only a few hours away.
Joyce and her husband’s visit to New York State had been planned way before we
knew we would lose a relative.
I was beyond hurt and angry that she
wasn’t present at the service that the rest of our family attended in Florida.
I was counseled by more than one therapist about how to behave when she arrived
here. She stayed at my condo while her husband visited his family in nearby Red
Hook.
At first, I was able to squelch my
opinions and questions about why she didn’t attend the funeral. But at a lovely
local restaurant, with a lobster bib still on, I “lost it,” and became enraged
when she spoke of our parents in a negative way. Her relationship with them is
why she skipped the funeral. I was so livid, I walked out of that restaurant
mid-meal with the bib still dangling around my neck. Some woman at the bar told
me that it was still on me, as I was running for the door.
My boyfriend, Aiden, literally had to
separate us that night because it was so volatile. The next day, Joyce and I
cordially said goodbye. I vaguely remember talking on the phone somewhat after
she and her husband arrived back home in Florida. But, we have completely left
each other’s lives since Dad passed away.
Joyce didn’t attend Dad’s funeral, either.
Though I’ve spent countless hours discussing forgiveness at various doctor and
therapy appointments (as well as at numerous Bible study groups), I have yet to let this one go. I don’t know if
I’ll ever be able to understand her choices. Therefore, it’s better that I’m
not around her so I don’t say or do something worse than the silence between us
already is.
It is truly amazing to me how siblings
from the same parents can see certain things so differently. Her version of our
childhood situations is one way and mine is another way. That doesn’t make one
wrong and one right. It just makes us separate.
My sister Jayne did attend the funerals
I’m discussing here. But, just like Joyce and me, we don’t have much else we do
(or did) in common either. She’s the mother of two girls. I haven’t spoken to
either of my nieces for a very long time. I was very close with the older one
when she was a little girl, but now she doesn’t like me. I’ve never been told
by anyone in my family exactly what I did to cause a rift with her, so all I do
is speculate.
That speculation led to more problems
between my mother and me because she would constantly speak of her two
granddaughters with me as if I wasn’t affected by all of their stories and how
I wasn’t included in any of them. My nieces ignored me for birthdays and
holidays when I was still acknowledging them with cards. But, my mother would rattle
on and on about occurrences in their lives. When I asked her to please stop,
which I did at the suggestion from my doctors, she stopped talking to me
altogether. I firmly believe that everyone has the right to say what subjects
are the ones that are off limits to discuss.
At first, I had asked my mother politely
not to talk about my nieces, L. and G. But, phone call after phone call, she
continued to do so. My doctors helped me to write a script, keep it near the
phone, and then read it to her if she brought them up one more time.
Of course, she did bring them up. I was
silent and listened to five or more minutes of it all, and then I read the
words that had been prepared. She became furious with me, and the call ended
very badly. At the time of this writing, we speak for a few minutes to thank
one another for the “obligatory” birthday/holiday flowers or cards. We also are
sometimes able to talk about our various health conditions.
What I have never understood about my
sister Jayne is why she didn’t help
repair my
relationship with her daughters. My mother taught us to respect and appreciate
our aunts when we were children. I miss terribly the relationship I once had
with the elder niece, L., and I never really got to know the younger niece, G.,
very much.
The little bit I did learn is that G.
really disliked me. I’ve never been spoken to by any other child the way she
did when I used to gather with my family. I stopped sending cards with money to
my nieces and then just cards altogether after I was ignored for so long.
My sister Jayne sent me one lovely card
after I did recognize her 50th birthday by sending her one of those
booklets about the year she was born. It had facts and fun information about
the year 1965. Though I had done the same thing for Joyce two years earlier
when she turned 50, and I never heard from her, I wanted to let Jayne know I
was thinking of her.
Jayne’s thank-you card was very sweet. She
addressed how messed up our family relationships truly are. About this, I
couldn’t agree with her more!
It’s truly sad that I have a very poor
relationship with almost everyone in my family. Once, when I had Aiden drive me
to Florida to help my aging mom, and I hadn’t seen my sister Jayne in over two
years, she met up with my mom and me at a mall for
only about one and a half hours.
When Jayne first saw me, all I got was, “Hi,
Janet.” No smile, no hug, no warmth whatsoever.
For a very few minutes, we discussed “business”
(i.e., Mom's doctor appointments and such). We never asked each other one thing
about each other's lives. I just mimicked her. You get what you give. If she
had a hint of a friendly face when she first saw me, I would have joined in.
Instead, I just bit my tongue.
Then, as we walked in the mall, she bumped
into someone she knew. That woman introduced Jayne to her sister. Jayne did not
introduce either my mother or me, so I just moved my mom onward. I was so
crushed by this, I talked out loud to God as we rolled along.
My mom was facing me since I was pushing
her in her walker. (She brought it to the mall instead of her wheelchair
because she thought she would be able to get herself around.) However, she was
too sore to do that, so I did it. She just sat facing me and watched me crumble
with this most recent hurtful gesture.
Mom's eyes could read into my soul and see
how absolutely devastated I was that my own sister cares so little about me. I
have no idea what I've done, since Jayne and I hardly communicate, but it
really must be something!
As I pushed my mother towards the next
store, she asked if I was okay.
“No, Mom. I'll never be okay with siblings
that dislike me so much.”
She patted my hand. When we were joined
again by Jayne, I left Jayne with our mom so I could go take my calming-down
medicine. How sad that family members cause so much heartache for other family
members! To this day, it's never been explained to me why they harbor so much
distaste for me. And by “they,” I mean my sisters and my nieces. If I had been
told, I think I would remember it.
I've asked my mother to intervene too many
times to count. She says that when she brings the subject of me up, no one wants
to talk.
This is so gut-wrenching for me that Pastor
Wes, a wonderful man who guides me at my church, prayed with me before this
trip, because I knew ahead of time that my mom was not doing well and that I'd
be ignored by other relatives there. He also gave me specific Scripture
passages to read about self-control, which also helped.
And I was right about being ignored. I was
there for six full days but never heard from anyone (except for Jayne's brief
mall visit). Pastor Wes told me to label this trip “MM” for “Mission Mom” (vs.
what “MM” usually stands for in my life – “Mickey Mouse”). As I struggled with
being ignored, I just kept telling God that I was there for my mom, and the
rest didn't matter.
But, of course, it did matter. If I knew
what was wrong, I could try to repair it. But, I don't know, so I just struggle
trying to be nice and as polite as possible. This is no easy task. And, there
are many times that I don’t get it right.
After our short mall visit was over, I
initiated the hug goodbye to Jayne.
She said to Aiden and me, “It was nice
seeing you.”
It was??? We barely talked, and you never
asked why my back was in a brace, how our trip went, how my book is coming
along, etc. Because she won't talk to me, I shy away from all conversations
other than ones involving Mom. Since Jayne allows her daughters to completely
ignore me, all respect is gone. I pray that someday it returns.
I think Don Henley's song “The Heart of
the Matter” says it best (even though I believe this is a love song, it applies
to family heartache as well).
So – let me wrap up this section about my
family. To end on a better note, I will be eternally grateful to my two sisters
for coming to New York State the week I was at the NYU Medical Center. They
cheered me up by their brief visits (with chocolate) as I recovered there from
brain surgery. They didn’t have to leave their busy lives to help care for me
that week, but they did.
My parents came to care for me when I got
back home. The month of August 2009 was filled with delicious meals prepared by
my mom or at their favorite restaurants in towns from long ago when they lived
here. I enjoyed the drives around the various towns so they could visit with
friends they hadn’t seen in years.
My mother helped me with the wraps that I
wore around my head to cover the huge, ugly scar where some of my hair had been
shaved off to prepare for the surgery. My dad enjoyed going to watch Aiden
pitch a game or two for his softball team. All four of us got along because we
were all so grateful that I survived. Little did any of us know that, though we
were back together, it wouldn’t last for very long….
I have some cousins whom I once stayed in
better touch with than we do nowadays. I hope when I put this pen down, I get
to see my cousin Craig’s family, because they live the closest to me. (Elsewhere
in my book, my other cousins are mentioned.) I was at one time very close with
their parents, Aunt Valerie and Uncle Bobby. Though my uncle’s personality was
almost opposite to his brother’s, my dad’s, I have loved him very much. My mother
and her sister-in-law Valerie had their ups and downs, but their relationship
has improved tremendously.
I still remember when these members of my
father’s family lived on Long Island and I went to visit them each Thanksgiving
after my immediate family moved to Florida. I can still smile about the times I
would watch the annual Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in their living room, go
shopping the next day for Black Friday with my aunt, and then help them cut
down a live Christmas tree the next day for them to decorate after I left.
Those Thanksgiving weekends were some of
my fondest adult-life memories of Turkey Day. I miss that whole family now and
again throughout the year, but at Thanksgiving time, tears come to my eyes when
I recall when we were all so much closer. Nowadays, I just send cards to my
cousins’ kids for birthdays and holidays. I wish I could see them more, and I
wish I heard from them more.
In the fall of
2016, I watched a “Dr. Phil” episode about a 74-year-old grandmother whose
teenage grandson was afraid of her due to her outbursts.
This woman
had long ago suffered a brain injury from an aneurysm, as well as having many
other problems in her life. I connected with her so much as I watched her angry
behavior. Our similarities were frightening:
· public
outrages
· temper
tantrums
· resistance
to change
· bossiness
· poor
judgment.
Though the
term “brain injury” was not stated, I know from all of my research that an
aneurysm is one form of acquired brain injury.
Her life's
circumstances had torn her family apart. One of her daughters had contacted Dr.
Phil, and then the grandmother, named Sonia, and her two daughters were on his
show.
At the
beginning of watching it, I kept thinking two things:
1) my
editor's “no more additions – your book is getting too long” and
2) Dr. Phil
better really help this woman.
Dr. Phil seemed aggravated with her rude
behavior for a while, but then, he didn't. Dr. Phil stated that a brain
aneurysm alters the way you function. He truly helped this family by offering
her treatment in places specializing in care for people needing special
attention.
When the show
was almost over, her two daughters got out of their seats, and hugged their
sobbing mother. They all were so angry in the beginning of this episode, and by
the end, the family took a turn towards repair.
I sobbed the
first time I watched it and each time since (it's saved on my DVR list).
Thank you,
Dr. Phil, for giving her the help she deserves, and thank you, Dr. Cooper, for
allowing this entry. I pray my family comes together like Sonia's did!
So – that’s it for my family chapter.
I’m quite sure some of the details I’ve told here will be disagreed with by
whoever reads this book who is in my family. But that’s okay, because this is
how I remember it. I just pray that we do all come together before it is too
late.
Rest in peace, Aunt Jen, Cousin Heather,
Grandpa Johnson, Grandma Johnson, Grandpa McColl, Aunt Margaret, April, Grandma
McColl, and Daddy….
As one writer
put it: “I believe the hardest part of healing after you've lost someone you
love is to recover the 'you' that went away with them."
[And, Daddy, I am trying my best to live
up to your last words to me, “Be nice to others, Janet.”]
###
For the coming year, I will be excerpting, weekly, material from this fine book by Janet Johnson Schliff, M.S.Ed.. She wrote it over a three-year period, with some coaching and editing help from me, through my business, WriteYourBookWithMe.com. The excerpts are from the almost-final version. The book is now available from amazon.com and from its publisher, outskirtspress.com:
###
BOOK TALKS AND SIGNINGS
Janet Johnson Schliff was on WKNY Radio 1490 at 9:10 a.m. on Thursday, March 1, Kingston, NY.
Janet Johnson Schliff spoke at 1 p.m. on Saturday, March 3, at Barnes & Noble, 1177 Ulster Avenue, Kingston, NY.
I attended, along with almost 40 other people. The talk was especially well received, with several questions at the end, as well.
Congratulations, Janet!
Congratulations, Janet!
Janet Johnson Schliff spoke at the Starr Library in Rhinebeck, NY, at 7 p.m. on March 6.
She will speak at the Golden Notebook Bookstore in Woodstock, NY, at 2 p.m. on March 17.
She will speak at the Morton Library in Rhinecliff, NY, at 6:30 p.m. on March 28.
She will appear at RCAL in Kingston, NY, at 4 p.m. on April 3.
More signings will be coming up, and a feature about her by John DeSantos [845 LIFE] will appear in the Middletown Times Herald-Record on a Monday in March, which is Brain Injury Awareness Month.
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