Hurting to Remember

Last year I found it impossible to visit my husband's grave.  I amused myself that this was because I had moved past the need or the desire.  I pretended that it was quite acceptable for me to not go.  I had any number of specious reasons- gas prices, difficulty, his parents- specifically his father's health, the flooding of the year before.

I hated myself for the coward I was being.  Still do.

I can only visit my husband's grave during the thaw.  The cemetery we chose was perfect for him- a view to the city he loved and close to the city he grew up in.  A place he rode past on his bike every day for the years of his growing up.  The place he said he wanted to be.  A place two hours north of where I live.  The place I will join him when I am not here.

I went back.  I had to.  For the first time since he died I reached out to a dear friend and asked for help.  I needed her to go there- but I didn't know why.

My friend is an ADHDer too.  She actually LIKES to drive.  I can't hardly stand to.  I drove to her house, she drove from there.

She gave me freedom in that time we spent together.  Amazing freedom.  A place to hurt- and let the hurt be part of living.  A place to find joy in things that he and I would have found joy in.  She expanded on the life that he and I shared by going places we always said we would but hadn't had time for.

She forced me be part of living.  Not in any negative way, but in a healing one.  She made me consider life outside of my accepted practice of checking into a hotel room and hiding under the bed.  While I would have been content to order in and hide until I could go back to the cemetery, she suggested a bravery I didn't feel- that we should go out for dinner and enjoy it.

After dinner, she decided we needed to cross the Lift Bridge.  In Duluth, the icon of icons is the Lift Bridge.  Mike and I always said we would explore the other side- but never had.

We found a place to park and explore the Lake Superior beach.  In the freaking cold, we picked up bits and pieces that I will cherish "forever" and pieces I could leave for my Mike.

We went back to the hotel and watched the greatest bad horror movie ever- "The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra"- a b-movie so great- and so bad that other b-movies must cower in shame of it.  You can find it on Netflix.

Having to leave the next morning was painful.  I keep wanting to bring him back with me.  I want him to be safe.  I fight with the reality that he is gone.

My friend helped to bridge the reality with something new and novel- a place I had never heard of, but had great breakfast.

Driving home we sang to Simon and Garfunkel and Crosby, Stills Nash, and Young- the voices of our lives, the music of our generation.  And Josh Garrels- a voice so unique I can't fully define it.  Find him here: http://joshgarrels.com/

Having to leave my husband's grave still leaves a mark.  I have been known to spend hours talking to him.  I'm a rational person and I understand that he is gone.  Doesn't change a thing.

I am grateful to my friend.  She gave me a new way to celebrate the life Mike and I had- and a way to celebrate the life I still have.  Even when I don't want to.

The "Generation We Are" Project

If you have been born, there is a seeming need to define you by your generation.  We've seen the "Greatest Generation"- generally turn of the twentieth century to roughly 1949.  These are the people who lived through WWI and WWII and the Great Depression.  Tom Brokaw wrote two wonderful books about this generation- "The Greatest Generation" and "The Greatest Generation Speaks".

Fannie Flagg has written several books that directly speak to this generation and speak as well to the the bridge between this generation and the next- the Baby Boomers.

Boomers went to Vietnam and protested it.  They wrote the anti-war songs, protested, sat in, and dropped out.  They marched and some left the US for Canada or any friendly shore that would hide them from a draft to a war that wasn't a war but a Police Action.

In the middle was a blending.  We called it the Korean War but it also was never a war.  It too was a Police Action.

We left Vietnam in 1975 (considered to be the end of the Vietnam War).  The next declaration of war wouldn't happen until Iraq invaded Kuwait.  Desert Shield and Desert Storm.  In it's way, this marked the beginning of actions based on terrorist acts that would be outwardly called terrorist acts.

It is said that the end of the Baby Boom generation was 1964.  The next generation was called Gen X, followed by the Millennials.

What I am interested in are the stories of these generations.  From the Boomers- I am one- to present day.  Tell me YOUR story.  What has your life been like, what were the influences, what shapes your thinking?

I'm a Boomer with ADHD.  I fight with my brain on a daily basis- and know it.  That said, I can speak to how I got this way- how I both chose the morals and values of my parents and how I chose to reject what I found to be unworkable.

My sisters are Boomers and Gen X.  I see a difference in how we think- regardless of being raised by two of the Greatest Generation.  Somehow, we are influenced by something.

I'm collecting stories.  I want to hear yours.

ADHD Mothers and Daughters

We are all sons or daughters.  We may be mothers.  What we all are is people who try our tails off to please our mothers... and fathers- but I'll talk about them later.

When my mother went on her first date with my father, she was 16 and he, 17.  When she came home from that date, she told my Grandmother that she was going to marry him.  My Grandmother's response was that if she felt that way when she was 18, that was fine.  It was 1946.

In 1948 my father and mother prepared to marry.  It would be two more years before they did so- but not for trying.

In 1948 my uncle's plane- and occupants- were found and returned to the US from Japan for burial in a common grave at Jefferson Barracks in MO.  My Grandparents had to travel to MO from New England for the burial of their only son.  My parents put off their wedding.

In 1949, my father enlisted with the Air Force.  He would be needed in Korea.  A skirmish, not a war.

In July of 1950- after putting off the wedding twice, my parents were (finally) married.

My eldest sister was born in 54 but it wasn't until 61 that my elder sister was born.  My mother felt like a failure because she hadn't been able to conceive for so long.  What she wanted in all the world was to bring brilliant children- reflections of my father?- into the world.  Not being able to conceive for all those years left a mark.

I was born in 62.  From day one- according to my mother, I was different.  This difference would press her to find out why I was different and to figure out how to "solve" that difference.

She had two more children- in 64 and 67.  After her last, my father who wanted, "six, all girls", had to be satisfied with five.

In every birth order there are classifications.  In ours- as far as I was always concerned, it was easy.  Nancy was the eldest, Wendy was mommy's miracle, Janet was daddy's miracle, Marcie was the baby. I was the mistake.

I was diagnosed with MBD- Minimal Brain Dysfunction in June of 1967.  I was four years old.  Diagnosis was based on an EEG- a method believed to be viable for another twenty years by some sources.  At the time, MBD was thought to be something that one grew out of.  At best, it was considered to be incidental.  Ish.

I was on Ritalin as a child.  It worked.  No one ever told me what I was dealing with.  Many years later, I asked my eldest sister what was wrong with me.  She told me that I had MBD but it was nothing to worry about, I had grown out of it, and it was a mild case, regardless.

No one ever asked me.

What I remember of my mother is how ashamed of me she always was.  She failed as a mother- regardless of her other "perfect" children.  We were never able to have a "normal" relationship and she was never able to accept my ADHD.  She was convinced that I was mentally ill, never willing to recognize that a neuro-biological differentiation was different than a mental illness.

Strangely, she was fully accepting of my younger sister's bi-polar illness.

I never was able to make my mother proud.  I never will.  I was never able to be good enough for her- no matter what my achievement, I should have done better.  This isn't conjecture or belated bitterness- these are words she said- and wrote to me.

When my mother died in 2008, I knew.  I knew so well that I got a haircut the morning she died and told the hairdresser that I needed a trouble free haircut because I would need to go to my mother's funeral.  An hour later I got the call from my sister that my mother had died.

If you have ADHD and are the first of your family to be diagnosed, life isn't going to be easy.  You will fall short and will be told it's your fault.  It's going to suck.  It's NOT your fault.  You have a neuro-biological differentiation.

If you are young enough, please direct your Mom to this blog and to http://adhdcommunity.boards.net/. Information is strength and ability.

Living With Grief- In The ADHD Perspective

I've been dancing up to this but still don't know what I can say.

When my husband was diagnosed with terminal cancer, I went into a strange hyperdrive.  Unfortunately that state didn't help much.  I became obsessive about learning about his cancer- what therapies had been tried, what new therapies were being considered, why those therapies might be helpful, what the nature of his disease was and what we were reasonably facing.

Let me take a moment and be explicit.  The people with the healthcare organization we were dealing with were never once willing to deal with the slice of hell we were dealing with.  To be plain, my husband's diagnosis has a 99.6% death rate in the first 12 months of diagnosis.  We got 13 months nearly to the day.

I was lucky enough to assume that my husband's doc was an idiot.  I researched his disease instead of considering his doctor's pronouncements.  In short, I learned truth to contrast the fiction I was being fed.  At the same time, I was being told that the "internet" would only confuse me.  Really?

At last check I am able to tell the difference between speculation and science and I don't recall needing permission to clarify this.

Unfortunately his doctors assumed that they could say what they wished and no one would question it. Except me.  I questioned whenever I thought it reasonable or relevant to do so.  This won me no points.

It doesn't require huge cranial skills to Google "non small cell lung cancer" and get a clear understanding of what you're up against.  The love of my life was going to die and I could do nothing about it- even while his doctors were telling him he could live for years.

Thirteen months.

My research was the only reason we had direction to manage our legal affairs, or to consider how he would like to die- or where- or how.  It was the basis of several discussions about what he wanted and how he wanted to be remembered.  It was the foundation of trying to fill his bucket list.  In truth it was the foundation of acknowledging that he HAD a bucket list.

I was there in his last days.  I was there when he took his last breath.  As a nurse, I had to fight the wish to try however vainly to keep him alive.  As his wife, I had to fight even harder- I knew he was dying, I knew why- I would have killed for one minute more... in complete selfishness.

My wonderful husband died on 4 September 2010.

The crushing grief that I have been trying to deal with has, in it's own way, been the foundation of this blog.

Who Am I? Claiming Myself

I love opera and my absolute favorite is Les Miserables.  I have it on DVD and frequently go to sleep with the beautiful music of a France in revolution and the lives of those who were a part of that undertaking.

Let me explain...

Must I lie? 

How can I ever face my fellow men?   

How can I ever face myself again?  

My soul belongs to God, I know  

I made that bargain long ago  

He gave me hope, when hope was gone   

He gave me strength to journey on!  

Who am I? 

24601! 

Les Miserables - Who Am I? Lyrics | MetroLyrics 

It is currently a kind of requirement to insist that people toe an often invisible line.  If you unwittingly cross that line, the requirement is that you apologize immediately, regardless of your values or morals.  We have devalued the idea that even those who speak their truth have a right to do so.

When you live with ADHD, you live a life of constant screw ups.  The "polite" filter was likely never developed and you find yourself speaking your mind... only to apologize for it later.  If not, you find yourself crossing out whole numbers of people because you know you screwed up and you're too embarrassed to address it.

In our current world this can bring on even greater impact.  Jobs that we with ADHD can't get or keep, the "requirement" of constant apology that keeps us from even trying to be social.  We hide, we refuse to proclaim our truths, our beliefs, we become small.

Well, okay.  Let me tell you who I am.

I am a Catholic.  I chose this religion for a variety of reasons.  None of them involved my mother-in-law who is also Catholic.  That said, I have been grateful to be able to discuss with her MY reasons for conversion.

I am conservative.  My parents were both unashamed Republicans and it rubbed off.  That said, I have been told that many of my beliefs are decidedly liberal.  I wouldn't know.  This might make me an Independent.  That works too.

I believe that you have a right to be exactly who you are at all times and without apology.  I will fight for this right.  In return, I believe that I should be allowed to be who I am and without apology.

Finally, I think that if you are offended by me or my beliefs you want to be offended.  My beliefs haven't hurt you nor will they unless you try to build a home in my garage.

I'm an ADHDer.  I can't fix that.  I can't really change many of the ways it shows.  I can do my best to understand how ADHD affects me and I can develop coping strategies that are workable.  At the end, I will simply be an ADHDer who has learned to function marginally in the world I live in.  Like Jean ValJean, I can't change who I am.

Who am I?  An ADHDer with a blog.

A Blessing To All Mothers

If you are an ADHDer like me, you greet the idea of Mother's Day with both expectation and doubt.  Expectation because THIS year you have figured out how she wants to be honored, and doubt that you have truly nailed it.

From one ADHDer to another, simply don't go there.

Ages ago I learned that all I had to do was give her everything she wanted- within my ability to give.  So simple, so difficult.

Rather than get caught up in the "sit and spin" of life, let's take a moment and value what we can of our mothers.

My lovely friend Mary remembers her mother as being a part of her heart.  My mother in law remembers her mother the same way.  I must join them.  Our mothers shape and define us- even when we aren't looking.  When we can't be with our mothers on their special Mother's Day, many of us feel lost.  We yearn for our mothers.

We're normal and rational.  Imagine that.

ADHDers bring more luggage to this party.  Many of us feel sorrow, shame, and regret along with more.  We are not- and never could be- the daughters our mothers hoped for.  We fell so short of the expectation that soon we quit trying- even though our emotional self was pleading to keep trying and our logical self was pulling the brakes.

For an ADHDer, Mother's Day is more than a Hallmark Holiday, it is a gamut that must be run every year- much to our own chagrin.

This year I urge you to just take time with your Mom.  I can't get to CA to place flowers on my mother's grave but I can take steps to honor her and remember her.  I can take my mother in law to brunch- her request- and relish that I can still have her in my life.

ADHD and Menopause? Can't a Girl Get a Break?

The answer is "No".

The fact is that if you are a woman with ADHD, menopause is coming for you.  You can't run, you can't hide.  It will find you.

The unfortunate truth is that peri-menopause will find you first. Peri-menopause is the biological equivalent of Ingrid Bergman's nightmare in "Gaslight" without the great costumes and porcelain skin.

Well... crap.

Getting very personal- I began menses at age nine.  At that time all I knew was that my mother wanted nothing to do with my "feminine issues" and tossed it onto my eldest sister to manage.  For my own part, I wanted nothing to do with what was happening to my body and wanted to believe I could wish it all away.

With little information and less direction I tried to deal with having a period at a time when most of my friends were mostly disbelieving that such a thing could happen.  Like my ADHD didn't separate me enough.

At around 43 or 44 I stopped having periods.  I called it progress and thought nothing of it.  I had already been fighting the peri-menopause fight and assumed that full menopause had taken over.  All I had to do was figure out what this new reality would bring.

So here I am at 45.  My husband has been diagnosed with massive (it spread) non-small cell lung cancer.  Non-small cell is ugly pervasive.  He's going through chemo and that isn't pretty.  I'm the caregiver and have no clue how to deal with that.  All a ton of fun.  Literally a year earlier my mother had died as had my aunt, and my father had begun a steady mental march downhill.

Suddenly, I had a period.  After two years of nothing, I had a period.  Or something.

Did you know that extreme stress can cause vaginal bleeding?  Me neither.  I was terrified.

If this were cancer I had no time for it.  My husband was dying and I had no time for this.

I chose to put myself through the pain of finding out what in hell was going on.  I needed to know- my husband was terminally ill and I had to know what I would be able to do for him.

Both my GP and GYN made sure I knew that I was ten years too young for menopause.  Both my GP and GYN had to inform me that I was officially post menopausal and that my bleeding was stress induced.  *sigh*

After my husband's death in 2010, I found myself in the position of trying to figure out how to go on.  One of the things that confounded me was dealing with menopause.

I didn't take this on scientifically in any form or fashion  I just learned a few things.

After menopause your memory goes to crap.  If you have ADHD, your memory goes to crapx2.  Lovely.

In my own experience, my ADHD got worse.  To me, it seemed like 100 times worse.  Reasonably, at the time I was dealing with a different kind of hell.  Menopause had to be a second consideration.


Women with ADHD have to recognize that they are going to have to deal with disparate symptoms and probably when they least expect any of it.  All I can tell you is to be clear with your docs, demand that they do appropriate tests and value that your experience is valid.

I knew a woman at the time that all my hell was going on.  She had personal experience with cervical cancer- my only experience at this time was breast cancer.  To my considerable surprise she basically told me to "suck it up".  When I confronted her she denied that she ever went there.  I have a log of the conversation.

When I tried to mend that fence, she simply refused to acknowledge me.  Life is life.  I refuse to acknowledge her now.

You have ADHD and are over 30?  You may be beginning peri-menopause.  This is a process of challenging you- body and mind- to deal with life going forward.  This could get interesting.

The Manipulations of Life

Every day in a myriad of ways we are manipulated- by advertisements, trusted others, the television and society among countless others.  What I'm thinking about is positive manipulation that hurts no one, supports potentially all involved, and leads to good things over all.

If you're an ADHDer like me, you aren't easily moved by most forms of manipulation.  In fact, you've probably become resistant to manipulation- you see it for what it is and reject it outright.

But...

If you live with an ADHDer, you can manipulate them without anyone ever knowing.  In return, you will get only good things.  Willing to give it a try?

This is the worst kept secret in the history of secrets.  I'm only going to tell you- and know that you will never tell another soul.

Are you ready?  Here goes.

Praise an ADHDer for what they do right.  Be lavish.  Go over the top, even.  Tell your ADHDer how wonderful they are.  Tell them at the moment and tell them the next day.  Then sit back and reap the rewards.

The personal history of many- even most ADHDers is that they hear a ton about what they get WRONG but less than little about what they do RIGHT.  Tell an ADHDer that they got something right and they will move heaven and earth to do it again.

So why is this such a secret?

We live in a shaming society.  I enjoy "My Cat From Hell" usually, but recently they started a Pinterest thing about shaming your bad cat.  Are you kidding me?  Not only do I have to live in shame but now there is an expectation that I will take it out on my cat?  My cat???

That said, we live in a society that thrives in shame.  As an ADHDer, the shame is soul-killing.  I can't stand it.  It just makes me want to hide in a corner and never come out.  Want to insure that I will either become very small and unwilling to engage or a fireball that no one wants to contend with?  Use shame.

My husband was a wonderful guy.  He also never completely grasped this.  And that was AFTER I told him the secret to my psyche.

My mother in law has been rehabbing from a hip replacement.  Her laundry is in the basement.  I don't want her in the basement- the stairs are steep and narrow.  Logical fix?   I do her laundry.

I told her the secret to getting an ADHDer to do what you want.  She uses that secret- to her benefit and mine.  She gets clean laundry and a fresh bed and I get to feel good about having done something RIGHT.  I get to be successful.

I'll take it.