Rev. Nwaiwu Sermon, Patching New Clothes with Old Cloth

From Rev. Fortune Nwaiwu of Nigeria:

http://thewhisperinghope.blogspot.com/2018/03/are-you-patching-your-old-garment-with.html

Rev. Nwaiwu Sermon, Are You Running Away from God?

Rev. Fortune Nwaiwu of Nigeria has now established his own blog, the first entry in which is:


http://thewhisperinghope.blogspot.com/2018/03/are-you-running-away-from-god.html

WHAT EVER HAPPENED...? Germ Phobia

MYSOPHOBIA AND ME – THE GERMOPHOBE GIRL

As I stated at the beginning of my book, this debilitating fear of germs can practically ruin your life. I embarrassed myself, family members, and other loved ones when I behaved the way I did with this aspect of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD).

I recently watched a documentary called “Howard Hughes Revealed” on the National Geographic channel. This show was excellent in making me feel better about my peculiarities around my past fear of germs.

It discussed Mr. Hughes’s multiple concussions and head injuries from plane crashes. It explained his many OCD behaviors that were exactly like the ones I experienced.

It brought tears to my eyes when it showed the times he had to layer tissues to be able to touch a doorknob…because there is a relative of mine who rarely speaks to me anymore, and I think it has to do with my bothering her in a public restroom in New York City when I couldn't touch anything without her help, many years ago.

I'm sure there's way more to her dislike for me than that, but seeing Howard Hughes struggling like I did brought back all the times I used to take her to Disney World and have so much fun with her. Now, I'm not even invited to big events in her life. My brain tumor changed our relationship. Forever?

As someone stated in this documentary, “The head injuries would tend to just make the OCD worse.”

My brain tumor caused this strange behavior of mine. The brain injury I now have due to that tumor causes other behaviors I have written about at length in this book.

I hope and pray that whoever loved Mr. Hughes was able to forgive him for what he suffered from. I hope and pray the same for me.

I need to list the many things I could not do and the new behaviors I did do because of this horrible brain tumor. I thank God every day that these behaviors are done for me, and I pray for the millions who suffer from them still…

Of course, having mysophobia does not mean that you have a brain tumor, but a brain tumor caused my fear of germs. Though my list of symptoms is due to an undiagnosed brain tumor, this list can apply to many others who have no tumor but have to live this life anyway. There are strains of this phobia. Some people wash their hands just a little more often than most people do. Others demonstrate many, or all, of the behaviors listed next. And sadly, I am pretty sure there are behaviors I cannot remember anymore or ones that affect other people, but did not affect me. Here's MY list:

·       Doorknobs: I wouldn't touch them with bare hands – always needed someone else to turn them for me or I had to find a tissue/paper towel/toilet paper to use. I even had to do this in my own home! Sometimes, outside my home, I had to kick some doors open, if I had nothing to touch the doorknobs with or no one to help me.

·       Toilet seats: I could not sit down anywhere except my own home, and even there, only sometimes. I used chemical wipes from my purse to clean all seats. I became a master at hovering!

·       Movies/church: I heard a DJ on the radio say there are two places that are never cleaned, so I stopped going to the movies for four years, and I stood at the back of my church until a sweet woman, Sandy, helped me by laying my coat down for me to sit on, a simple thing, but one I could not think of on my own back then. By the way, the church I go to – Grace Church in Lake Katrine, NY – does clean their chairs and pews, as does the Lyceum Theater in Red Hook, NY.

·       Clothing try-ons: I could not try on clothes of any sort that had been tried on by someone else. One store in my mall opened the gates early for me so I would go in the back room to try on clothes fresh from the sealed plastic bags.

·       Bras: speaking of clothes – the only bras I would buy would be sports bras because I sort of knew my size, and I would wash them in hot, soapy water with bleach before I wore them. . Right after the brain surgery, my mother took me shopping for real bras, and we made the other women in the try-on room laugh when I shouted, “Mom, my boobies are touching a dirty bra that someone else tried on!” I was so happy I was cured.

·       Hotels: if I had to go out of town for something, I packed an entire suitcase full of chemical wipes, hand sanitizer, toilet seat covers…. I even packed towels to cover carpets because I couldn't step on their carpets or even use their towels. [One of the too-many-to-count fights I had with Aiden was on the train trip to NYC when I packed this type of suitcase to clean my hospital room when I got there. Who gets mad at their loved one as they’re about to have brain surgery???]

·       Hot tubs/bath tubs: speaking of hotels---and even in my own home---I couldn't go into those because once I heard someone call a hot tub “a giant cesspool”. We all know how relaxing they can be, so this was a big loss.

·       Beaches: I could not go barefoot on the beach. This was terribly sad because I grew up going to the beach in Hampton Bays, Long Island, because both sets of my grandparents had houses there. I missed that so much!

·       Envelopes: I could not lick envelopes. I had to use a small dish of water with a paper towel to pay my bills, send birthday cards, etc.

·       Haircuts: I couldn't rest my neck on the sink at my hair salon. God bless Lisa Smith, who helped me through this, visit after visit, at J.C. Penney. Lisa is also the first person who washed my hair when I had this huge scar on my scalp after the 42 staples were removed from my head following brain surgery.

·       Doctor appointments: I had to have doctors’ tables covered completely in order that I could sit down undressed on them. Those thin pieces of white paper were never wide enough, so nurses in various offices had to help cover the area completely. I made doctors wash their hands in front of me and to use gloves to touch me. I thank Dr. Keller at Hudson Valley Foot Associates because he was so sweet about this annoying request. Another doctor – who will remain nameless – laughed at me and refused to do it. Any doctor who can laugh at a sick patient is heartless. Another doctor, who will also remain nameless, didn’t wash his hands after he used his restroom that was right near his waiting room. I had heard him urinate, flush, and open the door. I told him to go back in and wash his hands. His staff clapped and smiled at me when he did what he was told to do by this patient.

·       Floors: I mentioned floors in hotels before, but I even had trouble in my own home. I could never go barefoot. I wiped my feet down with wipes before I got into bed each evening. When workers came to the condo to repair heaters and washing machines, etc., I made them take off their shoes and walk on the plastic I had put down before they arrived. The guys from Lowe’s Plumbing and Heating and Air Conditioning in Kingston, NY, were extremely considerate and cordial to me.

·       Cars: after each trip, I wiped the entire front two seats of my car down, using the chemical wipes. I also cleaned the steering wheel and the shift lever after each time I drove. I had to sit on a towel whether I was in my car or in someone else's car. This became truly necessary when the undiagnosed brain tumor caused frequent wetting “accidents” while sitting. Again, these wetting incidents were blamed on my meds, but I found out later they were another sign of the undiagnosed tumor.

·       Friends’ visits: I rarely allowed anyone into my condo. This wasn't because I was messy. It was because of how exhausting it would be after they left, as I would have to scrub down everything they had touched. My friend Marian would lay paper towels everywhere in her house for me to sit on when I visited there.

·       Shopping carts: nowadays when you go to many stores, there are wipes available for you to use to clean the cart before you load it up. I feel sometimes as though I helped that idea along because I did this long before stores offered those wipes. I carried my home wipes into each store and wiped my carts right away. Because I had memory problems due to the tumor, I sometimes forgot the wipes. Then I would hold my sleeves down from my shirt or coat and hold the cart handle with my sleeves instead of with my bare hands. Also – I NEVER put anything into the spot where babies are put, because of what “remnants” might be left there from a dirty diaper.

·       Shared pens: when I was at a bank, doctor’s office, or anywhere else where pens are shared, I always had to dig through my heavy purse for MY pen. If I forgot it somewhere, I had to find a tissue or napkin to hold a pen touched by others.

·       Soap: I could only use soap that was from a pump dispenser. I could never touch a bar of soap, even a new one.

·       Microphones: I could never hold a microphone. When I sang karaoke when I first met Aiden, I had to wrap napkins around the mic so I could focus on the song.

·       Straws: I could never sip a drink from a glass, cup, can, or bottle. I HAD to have a straw for each thing I drank. That was very dangerous with hot tea or hot chocolate!

·       Faucets: I could not touch any faucets either at home or out and about. I turned them on with a tissue, paper towel, hand towel, or toilet paper, and then did the same to turn them off.

·       Phones: all telephones had to be wiped with chemical wipes before and after each use.

·       Remotes: if I was home or at a friend’s house, I used a remote control for the television with a paper towel, so I could touch the buttons. If I was in a hotel, I wiped it down repeatedly with chemical wipes.

·       Escalators: when I went places like malls, airports, and others where I needed to ride on the escalator, I couldn't hold the hand rail, so I had to be very careful not to lose my balance. I had – and still have – balance problems.

·       Elevators: I could not touch the buttons in an elevator, so I would ask someone else to do it for me, if there were others riding at the same time. If I was alone, I touched the buttons with my knuckle. After I did that, I scrubbed my hands with sanitizer, which was always attached to the outside of my purse or was in a pocket of my clothing. I lost the skin on my knuckles because of the overuse of hand sanitizer. I had to use layers of Band-Aids to cover my exposed skin.

·       Church: I already explained about not being able to sit in a chair or pew without help. But, I also was not able to take communion. When the communion basket was passed, with the symbolic body of Christ, I took one wafer to look as if I was participating. As the ushers went around the whole church distributing the wafers, I talked to myself silently and tried to convince myself the hands that laid that wafer into the basket were clean, so I should swallow it when the pastor indicated. I never could.

Also – I wrote earlier about “licking” envelopes by using water and paper towels at home. At church, I would put my money in the offering envelope but then would ask whoever was sitting next to me to lick it closed for me. If I was alone, I put an open envelope in the basket and didn't worry if my money fell out, as long as I hadn't had to lick the envelope closed.

·       Laundromats: before I lived in the condo where I live now, which does have a washer and dryer, I rented an apartment that did not. I had to bring my laundry to various public places to wash and dry my clothes. I brought my chemical wipes and wiped down each machine I was about to use, so no one else's germs would get on my clothes. This caused a few stares by others, probably wondering what was going on with me.

·       Shopping: I spent approximately $1000 per month on cleaning supplies. Some of those supplies I used to wipe down the packages holding those exact same supplies I was going to use. I couldn't touch any container of anything from the store before I scrubbed it over and over with the wipes. I shopped at Stop & Shop in Rhinebeck, NY, where the staff there was very sympathetic when they observed me load an entire shopping cart full of cleaning supplies each week onto the conveyor belt to be scanned. When I was cured of this nonsense after my brain surgery, I went to the store and told them what had caused it all. I got smiles, hugs, and warm comments from the various people who worked there then. To this day, I get asked how I'm doing whenever I shop there (now called TOPS) for the “normal” shopping cart items.

·       Condiments: I was unable to touch salt and pepper shakers, sugar dispensers, etc., in restaurants. Whoever was eating out with me was asked to do that for me. If I was eating out alone, I skipped using anything I typically enjoyed. At home, dispensers were washed oh-so-frequently. [I was reminded by my friend Marla that I wiped down things in restaurants with hand sanitizer.]

·       Shelves: in my own home, I could not lay food, plates, clothing, and/or towels on bare shelves. I had to scrub them down with chemical wipes and then lay coverings on all shelving. To this day, some of those coverings are still on my shelves only because piles of stuff are on top of them now. When I move out of my current place, I'll smile when those coverings get thrown in the garbage, rather than taken with me to a new place.

·       Gasoline pumps: I was unable to pump my gasoline without gloves on. If I had forgotten the gloves, which sometimes happened because they were in and out of my car so often to be washed, then I used napkins or tissues to hold the pump. When I got back in my car, I scrubbed my hands over and over with hand sanitizer. To this day, I wash with that after each gas pumping episode, but now it's only to get rid of the smell of gas on my hands.

·       Airports: though at this writing I no longer fly, because when I do the pain in my head is excruciating when the plane goes up at liftoff and down for descent, I know that before my brain surgery, I had a very difficult time in airport security lines due to the mysophobia. I always had to remember to bring extra socks so that when my sneakers had to be removed and I stepped on airport carpeting in my socks, the clean second pair of socks could be put on after I cleared security. I would not put the socks that had touched the carpet back into my sneakers. They went into the nearest garbage can.

In the airplane, I had to scrub down the seat, seat belt, and food tray with chemical wipes before I could take my seat. Of course, this was annoying to those trying to get to their seats who were in line behind me. I am pretty sure I bothered a lot of people who just wanted to get settled so the plane could be cleared for take-off.

When we first sat down, I had to wipe with my chemical wipes the instruction card in the seat back ahead of me. I always followed along when the flight attendants went over the safety procedures, but until the cards were cleaned, I couldn’t touch them. I kept thinking about the dirty hands that had touched those cards before me, instead of concentrating on what to do if there were an emergency. Most of the time, I saw others ignoring this routine, but I am such a teacher, I had to listen.

I always had to have a window seat with Aiden sitting next to me. I could barely tolerate his arm touching mine, so I could NEVER rub elbows with a stranger. We all know how crowded airplane seating can be.

I always had to wear a hooded sweatshirt no matter what the temperature was, because I had to put my head into the hood before I could let my hair touch the headrest.

When the flight attendant came around for our drink orders, I was adamant that I needed a straw with my soda, because I could never drink directly from a can or plastic cup. If she or he forgot to give me a straw, my drink just sat on the food tray in front of me until the clean-up began.

During the flight, I used more chemical wipes to clean the buttons on remotes for the TV screen or for seat adjustments. If the person sitting in front of me moved the seat back to get comfortable, I jumped, because I was so scared of the seat being too close to me.

If, heaven forbid, I had to use the restroom on the plane, my chemical wipes went with me so I could clean off the door latch, toilet seat, and faucet. It’s quite an accomplishment to tinkle while hovering over a toilet on a bouncy plane flight, but I could do it. And that saying, “If you sprinkle when you tinkle, please be neat and wipe the seat” was done by me with such finesse.

·       Garbage duty: I would not take out my own garbage. Many friends came over to help me dump my wastepaper baskets into plastic garbage bags, and then they brought the bags out to the dumpsters.

·       Housecleaning: I could never go near the vacuum cleaner or dust cloths for fear of germs, so numerous friends helped me with that, also. This seems very odd to me now, because you would think I would have loved to get rid of the dirt and grime. But, I couldn’t do it. Thank God for friends!

·       Brushing teeth: I had to wash my toothbrush each day with soap and hot water before I put toothpaste on it to brush my teeth. I purchased several new brushes often.

·       ATMs: I couldn't touch buttons on an ATM machine without much deliberation. Sometimes, I did my bank transactions with my knuckles. If my knuckles were covered in bandages due to lost skin from too many chemicals used to clean my hands, then I used a pen or pencil from my purse to push the buttons. All of this caused mistakes.

·       Restaurants: if a waitress or waiter held my teacup by the part where I would sip from, instead of the handle, then I couldn't drink it at all. Too many staff put their thumbs and fingers where mouths go.

A funny story I can write about is that when I was being checked out of NYU Medical Center (July 10, 2009 – only three days after brain surgery), my sneakers got “lost” in all the confusion of that process.

My sisters were there to say goodbye before they traveled home to Florida. Aiden was there to drive me home (because the doctors said I shouldn't ride a train yet), and Aiden's friend was outside in Aiden's car trying to stay out of trouble with respect to parking regulations.

So, when it was time to get out of the wheelchair that had rolled me to the front door, I walked on a New York City sidewalk in my socks only. I laughed hysterically, since just a few short days before, I lugged an entire suitcase full of cleaners into the hospital so I could clean the room entirely before I even undressed.

Now, I was parading around a filthy city sidewalk with only a thin pair of socks on and loving every minute of it! I was smiling, and getting into Aiden's car, thanking God that the fear of germs was FINALLY over! I had made it to the “other side” and I was so radiant.

Many people have called my story a miracle. What I think is truly inspiring about it is that it's one more example of getting through whatever life hands you. You can do it. Don't give up. God never said it was going to be easy. We all have situations and circumstances that are tough to take. But, getting to the other side of them makes you all the more joyous and fulfilled. I'm glad that I've lived to tell my story.

I know that prayer works. Once, when I traveled to Boston, Massachusetts, for a conference to hear preacher Joel Osteen speak, mysophobia was taking over my life. I couldn't even sit in the bleachers without covering the seats with something because I got upset with myself on the ride there that the pants I wore were made of too thin material and the germies would touch me.

I told all this to a woman working there selling Joel's books. She told all the other workers to stop selling and circle around me, don't touch me, and pray. They did just that, and I was able to calmly return to my seat and listen to God's message from Joel.

I know there are some people who don't approve of God's word being spread in this way. But I believe I've come closer to God because of speakers like Joel. His workers could have just kept on selling, but they didn't. They talked to the Lord. Two or three years later, I was free of this phobic chokehold. Amen.

          As I was putting the “last leg” on this chapter, I met a couple of friends for lunch. Of course, we discussed how it was going with this book.

We all had an amusing chat about my peculiar habits years ago when I was petrified of germs. I remembered some of the crazy behaviors they brought up.

But, then one of my girlfriends said something that I don't think I ever knew. She told me that I lost a lot of friends because of my behaviors when I had mysophobia.

That shocked me because I didn't even realize that was so. I was so shook up by that information, I didn't even ask who she was referring to.

So, I decided the way I would wrap up this chapter is to apologize to anyone I may have offended, upset, bothered, etc. when I behaved irrationally. We now know why that all took place (my brain tumor), but hopefully, whomever I've bothered, I hope they can let it go. I have to say, I still have a wonderful amount of friends who have seen me through this. Those of you who couldn't, I get it.

And to those of you who can relate to this list, do absolutely everything you can to get better. Life is too short to obsess about germs!

[A very humorous incident happened as my editor and I were proofreading my manuscript. It took place at a restaurant one night when I “ran away” from the stress caused by all of this work. The waitress had inadvertently thrown away my wrapped-in-foil leftover garlic bread with cheese. When I noticed what she had done, I retrieved it from the bucket of dirty dishes the busboy was about to bring back to the kitchen to wash. I just had to get it back, as it is the best appetizer I have ever had. Obviously, I could NEVER have dug through dirty dishes before the brain operation! So, those of you who suffer from mysophobia, I hope you will have a story like this to tell someday yourself.]

###

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 memoir is now available in paperback and ebook formats from amazon.com and from its publisher, outskirtspress.com: 

What Ever Happened to My White Picket Fence?

                                                ###

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!

Janet Johnson Schliff spoke at the Starr Library in Rhinebeck, NY, at 7 p.m. on March 6. 

She spoke at the Golden Notebook Bookstore in Woodstock, NY, at 2 p.m. on March 17. 

She is speaking 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] appeared in the Middletown Times Herald-Record on Monday, March 12, as part of Brain Injury Awareness Month. 

WHAT EVER HAPPENED...? My Family

     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.

   

  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 50^th 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: 

What Ever Happened to My White Picket Fence?

                                                ###

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!

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.