Our last day in Maui was a little somber. We had to check out of the condo at 10am and had about 5 hours to kill before we were due at the airport. We didn’t really know what we wanted to do, so we drove around to a little town we had driven through earlier in the week and found a restaurant to have lunch. Then I did a little souvenir shopping, and we still had a couple hours to go. I told Russ that we should find a beach so I can put my toes in the sand one more time before we head home. As luck would have it, not even 5 minutes from the town where we had lunch, we saw a sign for Ho’okipa Beach Park. There were a couple cars parked there but when we got out of the car, we pretty much had the beach to ourselves. It was beautiful.

There was one woman on the beach to our left, and she may have been nude, or wearing a string bikini, my eyes aren’t so good…either way, I turned to the right to walk in the other direction. It was just as beautiful. The sound of the waves crashing on the shore was magical. I wanted to soak it in as much as possible. We had spent the past 4 nights letting that sound put us to sleep every night, and there’s really nothing like it in Illinois.

I dug my toes in the sand, and felt the cold ocean water. As I was walking along, there looked to be large, smooth rocks just out of reach of the water. As I headed that way to find one to sit on…I had to do a double take. And luckily I did, or I would have smooshed a giant sea turtle. SEA TURTLES! There were 6 of them! It. Was. Amazing.

I hollered for Russ to come over to look at them with me, and he was just as enthralled as I was. We were afraid to get TOO close, we didn’t want to scare them away. But from the looks of it, they weren’t moving anyway. So we called the kids on FaceTime to show them.

And while Russ was talking to the kids and looking at the turtles…another one started making its way out of the water! The other ones might have been there for hours they were all dry and looking like rocks. The newest addition was shiny and green and it was so exciting just watching him. He would get washed in with a wave and then inch up a little bit more, but if the next wave that came in was too strong, it would take him back out to sea. This went on for a while, and we were just in awe.

At one point we even thought he had given up. But up he came again with another wave. And this time, he made it all the way to join his family. Since this made 7, we were pretty certain that they were representing the Russell children. The first one I saw, of course, I named Jack. And Nora was next to him, and you almost didn’t even see the 3rd one which was almost buried in the sand…that had to be Carmella. A little further down was Gina, and around the last bend were Maggie & Amy cuddling. Of course the late comer was little Clayton.

I took lots of pictures. And I probably had that big stupid smile plastered across my face the whole time. It was truly the highlight of our trip that was already full of many wonderful memories.

Just today, a week after returning home, I saw my therapist. As I relayed this story of the turtles, she commented on what a great analogy that made. It really got me thinking. The last turtle as he struggled to make it up onto the safety of the sand…was a lot like someone in recovery. Just riding the waves as they take you forward and sometimes backwards. But you just keep swimming, and just keep reaching for the safety of the beach…and your family…and eventually you’ll make it. The waves can be anything – memories, triggers, just whatever life throws at you. The goal is the same – safety and family. And amid the struggles, if I can remember to breathe and look around, I’ll see God’s blessings in everything. I’ll hear Him in the waves or in the wind. I’ll see Him in the beauty of a sunset or a rainbow, or even in sea turtles on a random beach near Paia, Hawaii, where we just happened to stop to kill some time.

I took a video, not sure how to share it here. But I put it on YouTube, so I will try to link it. If it doesn’t work, go to https://youtu.be/aiSTBIRNhv8

I received some devastating news last night that has really shaken me. One of my very first friends ever has lost her battle with breast cancer. I’ve been flooded with memories that I hadn’t thought about in ages. I need to write them down.

I don’t have any memories before Betsy Traczek. I honestly don’t know if they lived in Bolingbrook before us or not, but since my parents bought our house before I was born, I guess it doesn’t really matter. As long as I could remember, just down the street and around the corner on Delaware Drive, lived our best friend Betsy. She had beautiful long, straight, blonde hair (it was almost white!) that she liked to wear in pigtails, and it was so foreign to me since we Gogliottis have hair so dark people would say it was black. Betsy was 1 year older than me, and 1 year younger that my sister Gigi. I never had trouble remembering my husband’s birthday because it was the day before Betsy’s, and knowing Betsy’s birthday was like knowing the birthdays of all my family members. (February 8, if you were wondering.) The three of us (Gigi, Betsy, and me) were partners in crime from a young age. I don’t know how old we were when we were allowed to make the walk to her house alone, but I remember ringing her doorbell many times asking if Betsy could come out to play. Betsy had 3 older brothers and an older sister who were all SO cool, and were probably endlessly annoyed by us!

Every New Years Eve, the Gogliottis and the Traczeks would celebrate together and we would toast with sparkling grape juice as we watched Dick Clark. Every time the Wizard of Oz was shown on TV, Betsy would come over to watch it with us and we would pop popcorn and put it in a brown bag and we got to eat in front of the TV for just that movie. Betsy’s dad, Al (who we called Bubba) coached our t-ball team with my dad. He also played 16” softball with him too, and as kids we were always there to watch…or actually to play on the playground nearby while the dads played ball. Betsy’s mom, Marilyn, was my 4th grade CCD teacher. She drove a station wagon and I remember trips where we got to sit in the back. I don’t think my parents had too many date nights, but there were a few occasions when Chris or Cathy and maybe even Greg or Mike were our babysitters. And I don’t know how many times we shared overnights with Betsy. I do remember she was over one night when my crazy grandmother made a visit in the middle of the night. There weren’t any family secrets from Betsy. She knew our family like we knew hers. Her Oma and Opa would come for family parties and there were many pig roasts in Betsy’s backyard. There was also a willow tree back there that we talked about building a treehouse in and we hoped when it was tall enough we could connect it to Betsy’s bedroom window.

I remember playing Charlie’s Angels and running around the neighborhood, playing at Cherrywood Park. I remember playing Running Bases in front of Betsy’s house with her brothers and other neighbors. I remember Kick the Can, Ghost in the Graveyard, Statue Maker, and Red Rover. I remember stacking up brown paper Jewel bags full of newspapers in the Traczeks’ garage. (Why did they have so many??) I remember helping to pick strawberries that were planted along the side of the house by that garage. I remember singing and dancing along to the soundtrack of Grease which was played on a record player built into the coffee table in their basement family room. And there was a laundry room down there where the gray cat named Shadow would sometimes hide. Sometimes Betsy’s older brothers would let us play board games or Dark Castle with them. Sometimes they told us to scram. Betsy’s sister taught us how and let us help make tissue paper flowers when she was working on decorating a homecoming float.

I almost killed Betsy once. We were playing lasso with a jump rope. Not sure how old I was or why we thought that was a good idea…or how I ever managed to get it around her neck, but I do remember she had rope marks around her neck when we ran to her house and her mom saw it! Sorry about that, Bets.

We walked to school together, there was a picture in the newspaper of us walking in front of the corn field which later turned into the White Castle on our way home from North View when I was just in kindergarten. I don’t think we were ever in the same class, though some of the challenge classes were split between grades. She had the same teachers as me, just the year before.

As girls get older, they get goofy. Somewhere along the line it stopped being the 3 amigos. Gigi didn’t want her younger sister around. Sometimes they would play and I would be left out. But then the tide turned again and Betsy and I would play when Gigi wasn’t around. It was one of those days when I was 11 and she was 12. She came over to our house and we were being silly and I was giving her a horse ride in our living room. We played with Barbies on my bunk bed. I don’t know what else. Something was going on though, and later after she left, I discovered that I had gotten my period for the first time. I don’t think I ever told her. But when I look back, I remember that day being my last day of innocent childhood fun.

We didn’t hang out much in high school, she had her own friends and I had mine. Long gone were the days of ringing each others’ doorbells and sleepovers. Looking back, I think her older siblings must have all left the house by then, I wonder if she ever got lonely?

Betsy went to Marquette University after high school. I went away to Catholic University the next year. We didn’t keep in touch. But our moms did…so we kind of did. Marilyn altered my wedding gown, and all the Traczeks came to my wedding (just as we were included in all of theirs.) When my kids were little and we would visit my parents, I walked them over to meet Marilyn. Several years later when I had 4 kids and was living in Ohio, Betsy invited us all to her wedding. Even my own cousins didn’t invite my kids to their weddings, but Betsy did. It was in a beautiful office building in Chicago. We were honored to be included. And she didn’t even mind that my little daughters were dressed in their white communion dresses they had worn earlier that year for their baptisms.

As the years have gone on, I’ve come to rely on Facebook to keep in touch with anyone and everyone. Betsy was not on Facebook, though. Her sister and one of her brothers are though. And I absolutely loved when one of them shared a picture where I could sneak a peek at my old friend. The last time I saw Betsy was at her mother’s funeral. When I learned about her cancer, I got her address from Cathy and sent a card. I wish I had done more. I mailed her a Christmas card last week. I hope she got it and that it brought a smile to her face.

My sister Anna beat cancer. My friend Sue beat cancer. I think I just assumed that Betsy would, too. 46 is way too young. It’s just not fair. Thanks for all these memories, Bets. I know you’re in a better place now where there’s no pain, and I know your mom was there to welcome you. I know I’ll see you again, too. Rest easy, friend.

2019 has been fantastically crappy. It started with horrible health issues resulting in my hysterectomy. I had probably the worst birthday of my 45 years. My marriage was falling apart so we started counseling. I was mentally preparing for another separation and maybe another divorce. Post-surgery I was feeling better physically but not emotionally. Four months into marriage counseling, I made a discovery that made everything that I was previously feeling seem insignificant, it was that much worse. My mental health started spiraling and I added individual therapy and 12-step meetings to my new routine. I read everything I could get my hands on, educated myself on things that I never really wanted to know about. Hearing professionals put technical words and definitions to the struggles that I have been having in my life for the past 25 years was a blessing, but also a difficult pill to swallow. Speaking of swallowing, I lost a crown in my burger one day…yeah pretty sure it was swallowed. Dentist couldn’t just get a new one, the tooth underneath needed to be pulled, and I needed an implant. (a 6-9 month-long process, ugh!) A month later, I developed an infection under another old crown…same result, pulled tooth, implant needed. We lost the live-in babysitters to college x3 plus grad school for the Originals. The little girls transitioned to public school. Amy is not adjusting well to full-day kindergarten (she’s fine at school, just a bear when she gets home!) Clayton still won’t pee on the potty. The basement flooded, and 2 weeks later it flooded again. It wasn’t covered by insurance either time. Russ changed jobs (and health insurance) which decreased co-pays for all the counseling yay…but the new dental plan sucks and my implants that were halfway done are not covered and are going to cost a small fortune to complete. And just when I thought things couldn’t get much worse, they did. In one call on the cell phone from an unfamiliar number that I would normally just ignore, I picked it up and one of my babies was hurting and nothing else mattered.

Three days before Halloween, Carmella was calling from a hospital where she had just checked herself in because she was experiencing suicidal thoughts. My happy little fun-loving child was in crisis. I dropped everything and drove out to the Quad Cities to be with her. It was frightening and I felt utterly helpless, nothing can compare to that feeling of not being able to fix whatever is hurting someone you love. (Though as a growing understanding is developing in me, I’m learning that there’s very little that I can control or fix in general…but that’s part of my own problems and another blog post for another day!) With this going down in October, which I had been reading about as National Mental Health Awareness month, I knew I wanted to be able to share this story, but it has taken a while to be able to put my feelings down on paper. While much of this may not be my story to tell, Carmella did approve. (And if she reads this and does not approve, I won’t be posting this anywhere.) I hope she will one day tell her own story, or at least go through the process of writing it down to help understand it better herself.

Russ agreed that I should go to be with Carmella immediately when I hung up the phone. The girls were already home from school and I found it difficult to explain what had just happened on the phone call. I know it worried Maggie when she saw me in tears. I sent her out of the room so I could try to compose myself enough to at least fill Russ in on the details (he had only heard my side of the phone call.) And then we explained to Maggie and Amy that Carmella was sick at the hospital and needed her mom. I packed an overnight bag for myself and one for Carmella with whatever clothes of hers I could find that she had left at home. Russ booked a hotel room for me with his points. I left the house around 4pm on a Monday afternoon. I stopped by the Marco’s Pizza where Jack was working to fill him in on where I was going and why. With his history of depression and the closeness that all my 4 big kids share, I knew this wasn’t going to happen without full disclosure across the board. As I drove I called Nora and Gina to fill them in as well. Nora started making plans to see if she would be able to meet us in the Quad Cities on Tuesday so she could be there for her sister. Gina was in the middle of a band rehearsal and was able to return my call during a break. That might not have been the best idea, but she knew when I left a voicemail for her to call me (instead of a text like I normally would have) that is was something serious. The 2 hour drive seemed even longer.

When I arrived in Rock Island…I actually had put the wrong address in the GPS and was actually not in Rock Island, but in Moline. (Why in the heck is every hospital named the same thing in all 4 of the Quad Cities???) So when I actually arrived at the RIGHT hospital and found my way to where Carmella was, I learned that the overnight bag I had thrown together for her was not allowed. Neither was anything else that I carried with me such as my purse or cell phone. The ward was locked down and I felt like I was entering a prison. And there was my daughter dressed in blue scrubs. She couldn’t even keep her hoodie because there was a drawstring in the hood of it. I couldn’t squeeze her hard enough when we hugged. Visiting hours were held in a common room where the TV was behind protective glass. It was playing a Harry Potter movie. We sat at a round table that had a deck of well-used playing cards and some Uno cards. I knew my girl was alright as another patient called over “Hey, Hufflepuff!” – that’s Carmella, in a matter of hours she had made friends and discussed which Hogwarts house she would belong in. So we played cards and started to talk things out.

When she called the hospital originally, she was looking for an appointment to talk to somebody. They were scheduling appointments something ridiculous like 6-weeks out. She made the appointment but then called right back saying she thought maybe she shouldn’t wait that long to see somebody. The person on the phone recommended she go to the Emergency Room and then she would be seen much sooner. That of course was because they had her sign herself into this crisis unit. The psychologist on call just talked to the people in the ER and recommended she do that, even though he knew he wouldn’t be back to see her until the next morning. That process took about 4-5 hours from her first call to when they told her she would be staying overnight and then she called me. Of course her first words to me were, “Mom, don’t freak out.” Which, as I’m sure if you’re a mom you understand…I was already freaking out. But I did try to keep my cool that first night. We visited as long as I could stay, then I left my baby there and grabbed a late dinner and checked into the hotel.

The next morning I woke up to snow covering the Camaro. The car we never want to drive in the snow. Without a snow brush. I used my hands and a sweatshirt I found in the car to brush it off. I also had left in such a rush that I didn’t even wear a jacket the day before. As I was driving to the hospital again it was just gorgeous. The fall foliage that was still in full-swing was now covered with a beautiful dusting that stuck to the branches of the colorful trees and looked like a blanket that God just laid right over the Quad Cities. I wanted to take pictures to show Carmella, but knew that I wouldn’t be allowed to bring in my phone, so I didn’t stop to take any. Visiting hours didn’t start until 10am, but by then Carmella should have met with the psychiatrist. I was confident that when she got to talk to him that she would explain that she was just being proactive and he would see that she wasn’t a danger to herself and sign her out. He didn’t. When I arrived for visiting hours, Carmella was visibly upset. She said he didn’t say anything about releasing her and he ordered 2 medications. She had sat in on a group session and was following all their rules, but still just didn’t know what was going on. So we started asking questions. Who’s in charge? Where is this doctor? Why can’t we get any straight answers? If she checked herself in, can’t she just check herself out? (The answer to that was sure…in 5 days. “Too bad we’re in IL not Iowa,” the nurse said!) And then we were both starting to freak out. Carmella was worried about all the school she would be missing and band rehearsals and work and she couldn’t even bring in her laptop to do any homework because…prison. Here she is, doing everything right, calling for help when she recognized scary thoughts, but now she was literally being punished for doing the right thing. I’m sure there are good reasons for all the protocols that are in place at a facility like this; however, it didn’t seem like a good fit for my baby. I don’t know how isolation like that is helpful when she was just reaching out for help. The psychiatrist wanted Carmella (and me) to have a family session with a therapist. And luckily with a little Mama Bear determination, we got the nurse to help us track someone down to get that done immediately.

This session was very productive. And eye-opening. My baby wasn’t as strong and invincible as I always thought she was. The sweet, bubbly personality that we had become accustomed to over her lifetime was sometimes just a disguise for inner turmoil that I didn’t know was locked up inside of her. A perfect storm of school-related stress, gender identity issues, and unresolved issues at home had collided and brought my girl to this breaking point. She found herself with a Google search open to “Where can I buy a gun?” which she admits she would never do. She felt homesick but didn’t want to burden me because she knew that I was going through so much already with our marriage troubles. And she wasn’t sure if we (her parents) were OK with her coming out as bisexual…even though we said that we were, she had her doubts. She’s still figuring things out herself. And that’s OK. The doctor prescribed her some medications to take and since she had already started taking them by the time we had our family session, the therapist really didn’t know if she would be able to talk the doctor into signing off on her release. She did agree with us though, that Carmella was not a danger to herself and she set up some appointments for her with a psychiatrist and a therapist right at the hospital going forward so she would have that outpatient care that she had been hoping to establish when she first made that call the day before. After a few more hours of waiting (and a little retail therapy for me after visiting hours ended) the doctor did finally agree and Carmella was allowed to leave the hospital on her own and even made it to a band rehearsal that evening.

Nora had been on her way to visit even before we knew what the result of the doctor’s recommendation would be, so the 3 of us had a nice old-fashioned girls night complete with a carb-loaded Italian dinner and a sleepover at the hotel. We were finally able to see the other kids on a FaceTime video chat so they knew that Carmella was OK. The little ones were a little put out about Mom being gone for 2 nights…but it was all going to be OK. I breathed and slept a little better knowing she wasn’t locked up and isolated from all of her support at home. She shared that her band director and friends at school were also being very supportive, and I felt like she had a handle on what was to come. She was determined to follow-through and do whatever was needed to stay ahead of this depression. Like most people who end up somewhere like this, she had been holding onto a lot of this and keeping it hidden for a long time. She thought she was “too much” for anyone to handle. She didn’t want to burden anyone with her problems. She learned those coping skills (or lack thereof) from me. Putting other people’s needs or feelings above her own and thinking she was strong enough and didn’t need any help was just the example that I set for her from a young age. It’s a fine line between raising independent daughters and modeling codependency.

The ride home didn’t seem nearly as long, and I was able to make it in time to take Clayton to his tumbling class on Wednesday morning. I finished up getting the craft project ready for Maggie’s Halloween party at school the next day. And life went back to “normal” as much as possible. I didn’t want to lose the connection we had just established though. I loved how my family all pulled together in a common goal to help out when one of us was hurting. I loved seeing the siblings relate to one another and show up for each other. I loved that I was able to count on Russ to hold down the fort at home. I decided to start having those more difficult conversations. I instituted a new tradition in our family group chat called Mental Health Mondays. I asked everybody to check in and just let us know how they are doing. We’ve had 3 weeks now and though participation isn’t always 100%, everybody (with a cell phone anyway) has taken part and I hope we are able to keep doing this. There shouldn’t be a stigma around mental health. We all struggle in some ways. It’s new, but it doesn’t have to be scary. Opening up and being vulnerable with people who love us will hopefully become our new normal. And we’ll take things one day at a time.

I am a stay-at-home-mom to 7 children. Four big ones and 3 little ones. I’ve been married for 23* years, but there’s an asterisk there because we had a little hiccup for about 5 years in the middle of that time which explains the 11-year gap in the kids ages separating The Originals (as they call themselves) from The Babies (as we all call them!)

I am writing this blog to share my story. We used to laugh at how much our lives resembled a soap opera. I hope to share encouragement and maybe a laugh or two, as there’s always something going on in this crazy, messy life of mine.