The last time I went to the Library I didn't walk down all the fiction isles like I used to. I was looked for the book Postsecret by Frank Warren. I found it and oddly enough it was right next to the few books that the Colorado Springs East Library has on Bipolar disorder. Because my life has been greatly changed by this so called illness I checked a couple books out from that section. One was Detour, the book I mentioned in my last post and the second book is Swing Low: a life, by Miriam Toews.

Swing Low is written by the daughter of a man who lived his life with Bipolar disorder and it eventually killed him. He wrote a lot, mostly about nothing, silly facts and mindless ramblings, but he filled page after page. Everything is carefully dated. I read this and I want to cry. Chapter 1 ends on page 6, and this is as far as I have gotten. The similarities are astounding. I sit back and think about my Father...about the things he liked, what drove him, what made him tick. I wonder which of those things were only part of my life because my Dad had this invisible disease. I guess at this point it doesn't matter.

Today I might try to read chapter two. Maybe I'll learn something, maybe I'll be able to let go, maybe I'll understand, or maybe I'll just cry, and that would ok too.

It hit me at Christmas when I saw the first card in the mail box,and it's hitting me again. Moms do holidays. Moms spend hours writing Christmas cards. When it's anyone else's birthday but hers, she can be counted on to buy the gift and pick out (or in the case of my mom, hand make) the card, all I had to do was sign it, if that. Well, I've come realize that even in the absence of children to officially give me the title, I am the Mom in the S Narwold household. Which means even when it's HIS family members that are having the birthday, somehow there is this unwritten rule that since I said "I do" to loving, honoring and cherishing Stephen as long as I live I also said "I will" to handling every Christmas, Anniversary, Mother's Day and each and every birthday on both sides of family until I finally croak from the sheer pressure of it all. It hit me while sitting on the coach with Stephen last night that now I have TWO moms. "You get to handle your mom." I say to my husband, who gives me a look that says, "Yeah right." "What did you do before we got married?" "I was very bad son." Sigh. Don't get me wrong, my mom is my hero and my mother-in-law is pretty much the best a girl could ask for, but buying gifts generally brings me more chest pains than pure joy. Now I thank God for people like my brother Joel, who has more fun giving a gift than getting one, and Melanie who has a knack for giving gifts that make people cry and for Emily who always seems to know when a girl needs a special "Emily" (the kind where she's covered every blank space with inside jokes and stick figure pictures) card to arrive in the mail box. These kinds of people make the world a happier place and someday my brother will take a lot of pressure off of his wife, and Emily and Melanie will fill the role of Holiday Mom just fine...but what about people like me? Is there some sort of support group? "WWSABHM" (Women Who Suck At Being Holiday Mom) If so, sign me up.

Note: I appoligize that all of my recent posts seem to be rants....I'm trying to start writing again, and am happy if any kind of something to write forms in my mind...