Yesteryear's Progress

Back in the 80's when my memory blocks were coming down and I was in intensive psychotherapy, I declared December to be, "Therapy Month" and began to spend more of the holiday season with my therapy support network than with friends and family. As the therapy progressed, it became evident that December was one long trauma anniversary for me. The intensive sugar and spice of commercial Christmas makes for some horrific whiplash in the kiddie whorehouses. Balancing all that sugar and spice isnae a small feat. I still carry loads of guilt over what the whiplash of my own holiday psycho weirds did to the childish Christmas fantasies of my two sons as they were growing up and I remain eternally to my husband and his parents for picking up the slack as best they could. Somewhere around the turn of the millennium when my psych pros declared me ready for therapy maintenance in place of the intensive therapy, those flashbacks, et al, were easing enough for me to actually participate without triggering myself into a psychotic break. By then, ES was a young adult and YS was nearly finished with HS. Too little, too late for them. Amends in progress. . . Just hoping.

My first grandchild was born in 2013. By his second birthday, it was evident that his parental units were in serious trouble with meeting the demands of parenting. Their spirits were willing, but the real world connections just weren't connecting. Their second child was born in near secrecy in 2016. Their third was born in full secrecy last December 30th and taken into protective custody at birth. The past year has been a chaos of shifting custody and court investigations. In hopes of balancing that chaos for the children, Hubs and I turned last Christmas into a full-blown extravaganza. Sugar and spice a-plenty seemed like a healthy balance for the chaos in which they were living. I was quite relieved that my own horrific memories of Xmas in the kiddie whorehouses stayed *just* ugly memories and responsive to my preventative therapy tools. That is some pretty amazing progress in my strictly personal herstory.

Today is Thanksgiving. Santa's cartoon face has been plastered everywhere for weeks now and not a single psycho trigger from wondering how much booze it took to accomplish those rosy cheeks. The chaos of the children's lives has reached new levels since the deaths of both parents. The situation here is potentially stable, but there are still an unknown number of wild cards floating through the mix. Even without those wild cards, it has only been 2 months since the deaths of their parents. 2 months is still pretty new on the sustainability measure. Hubs and I are feeling like extra sugar and spice would still provide healthy balance to the ongoing fears and anxieties.

Our plans for today are to drive to his aunt's house northwest of the metroplex. I have only met this aunt a handful of times in the 40 years I have known Hubby and have NEVER had a private conversation with her, but somehow it was a relief to receive her invitation to Thanksgiving at her farm. She is part of that 5 generation legacy I so envy Hubs for. Like so many in the Boom Star State, the farms she grew up on are strip malls now, but she lives as close to her roots as boom town politics will allow. So I imagine through the romantic stars in my eyes. That's allot to assume about a person with whom I havenae ever had a private conversation.

Again, I leave the mood icon at, "Okay." I am still confused and uncertain, but I've worked with far less. "Okay" covers ^it^. At least, that's my prayer and I'm sticking to it.