I never thought I would be able to forgive…

           

             

 “Forgiveness is not always easy.  At times it feels more painful than the wound we suffered, to forgive the one that inflicted it.  And yet, there is no peace without forgiveness.”   

~ Marianne Williamson

Reading that quote on my sister, Melissa's, Facebook wall made me sick to my stomach, tears poured down my face, it gave me goose bumps, and the images and memories I have been hiding from flashed before my eyes.  Then as I took a deep breath to calm my nerves I felt sorry for HIM.  I’ve been trying to heal for 16 years now and it happened in an instant all because of that quote.

I refuse to give details or discuss much about it because I still live in fear and those are memories best locked away.  What I will say is that for many years I was put through a living hell and lucky to have escaped with my life.  I endured things most of you can’t even begin to fathom.  I’ll tell my story one day because it is better than fiction, in a sick and twisted way, with an unbelievable ending that left the police officer sobbing on the phone with me when he had to tell me the news.  But I’m not writing about that today, I’m writing about forgiving.

Forgiveness has never been easy for me.  It is something I have always struggled with.  I’ve found that with distance and time I have forgiven others when recalling events.  There is always an instant feeling of peace when you finally let go of that negative energy and truly forgive.

Forgiving someone who destroyed your life, made up stories to hide the truth about HIM, continually tortured you for 16 years and counting was absolutely out of the question!  Wouldn’t you agree?  Well today it all ends!  I forgive YOU for the 13 years you took away from me.  Most of all I forgive YOU for what you have been doing to her for the past 16 years.  I forgive YOU and I also know you’ll either hear about this or maybe even read it yourself.  I pray YOU can forgive yourself the way that I have forgiven YOU today!

Yes, my hands are shaking and tears are flowing as I write this and yes I’m terrified of what might happen because I am forgiving HIM in such a public forum; but I’m finally free all because I forgave the unforgiveable!  I took another deep breath and felt the tension, fear, and torment leave once and for all.  I truly feel at peace! 

Thank you Marianne Williamson for such a powerful quote!

©2014 Lysa Wilds

             

Stop This Ride I Want Off!!!!

Being the parent of two teenage daughters is a lot like being Bi-Polar; ups, downs, highs, lows, giggles to tears in an instant, and not wanting to get out of bed to face them and the drama.  It’s enough to make a sane person seek professional help!

            I struggle with Bi-Polar; I have my whole life, so I personally know how the two are so very similar.  For a little over three years now I’ve been stable on my treatment plan.  The most stable I’ve ever been.  I have a wonderful team of doctors, nurses, counselors, and other staff members and we’ve been through hell and back to get me where I am today.  My life has never been better.  I can finally function like a normal person; whatever normal is.

            Then a month ago it happened…my beautiful daughters, who I love more than anything in the world, completely lost their minds.  I’m at my breaking point mentally and physically.  My doctor has increased my anxiety medicine and unfortunately told me there wasn’t a pill I could take to deal with teenage girls all the while giggling at me.

            It’s a war zone and roller coaster mixed into one in my house.  There is constant fighting between the two of them where blows have been thrown and lips have bled and then there is this horrific high pitched scream that makes my ears bleed every time.  Needless to say they are in individual counseling but no luck there; at least not yet.

            The only thing I’m certain of these days is that these monsters are not the sweet, kind, and caring young ladies I raised.  It’s been about a month since I’ve seen those young ladies.  I see my daughters every day, well at least the shell of what use to be my daughters. 

            When will this madness end?

©2014 Lysa Wilds

The Waiting Game...

My doctor requires his patients to check in 15 minutes before their appointment time.  I have no problem with that.  What really irritates me is that here it is 15 minutes past my appointment time and I'm still waiting on him.  I've been here for 30 minutes now and I'm over this and ready to go home now.

     The appointment all together shouldn't be loner than 30 minutes. I have very little patience to begin with but when I'm feeling like crap the last thing I want to do is sit in a doctor’s office and wait for an eternity. 

     The time keeps ticking forward and my blood pressure is rising and my patience is running thinner.  I didn't see an ambulance outside so there obviously isn't an emergency he’s attending to.

     I just find it rude to have me just sit here waiting.  If I would have been 15 minutes late they wouldn't have seen me at all and I would have been charged $25 for a missed appointment.

     Here it is 25minutes past my appointment and I'm still waiting.  Oh wait, I hear him at the door of the exam room...yep he just knocked. 

     So after 40 minutes of waiting to be seen I've been referred to a neurologist and a nutritionist and had to have blood drawn as well.  I still have no answers as to why I came in here for in the first place. So now on to round two of the waiting game that I despise so very much!

©2014 Lysa Wilds

My Grandma’s Kitchen…

 

Ever since I was a little girl I was fascinated with my Grandma Rizzo while she cooked.  It was like a well choreographed ballet of sorts.  Family members could show up unannounced and she was always able to make a meal with plenty of food to go around the table several times with what seemed like little effort on her part.

The smells that would fill the house made you hungry even if you had just eaten.  I can smell her pot of gravy (spaghetti sauce) simmering on the stove as I type these words.  Oregano, garlic, basil, olive oil all the aromas of an Italian meal always filled the air in my grandmother’s home.

In my late teens my grandma FINALLY included me in on her recipes while she cooked.  A pinch of this, a pinch and a half of that, nothing was ever measured with a measuring spoon or cup yet it tasted the same each and every time.

By the time I was in my mid twenties I started paying more attention to what she was doing in the kitchen.  I followed her around with a pen and paper writing down our family recipes that only existed in her head.  Since everyone’s pinch is different the written down recipes were like a secret code and extra special because I was one of the few people in the world who knew exactly how much her pinch was supposed to be.  To the rest of the world it was a mystery they would never know so the recipe couldn’t be repeated.

In my grandma’s kitchen I learned more than how to cook I learned how to be a lady as we discussed how a lady should act.  I grew into a woman the last time I was in her kitchen.  Her words of wisdom helped mold me into the lady and mother I am today.

I have kept this tradition alive with my own daughters beginning from a very young age.  They would watch me cook with the same adoring eyes I watched my grandmother with.  I have never measured a thing from her recipes with a measuring spoon or cup and for many years now I have cooked them without a recipe in front of me for I also have them locked into my memory.

Every time I smell the pot of gravy simmering on the stove it takes me back to my younger years; back into my grandma’s kitchen where the number one ingredient that made all of her food taste so amazing…that ingredient was love!

©2014 Lysa Wilds

        

My First Winter in Iowa…

   

 I grew up in Phoenix, Arizona so my first winter in Iowa was a total and complete shock to me.  I had no idea how to prepare for what was coming my way.  30 below zero temperatures with the wind chill and snow, lots and lots of snow!

      We purchased snow boots, heavy jackets, hats, and gloves to help keep us warm.  I learned quickly that dressing in three layers kept me warm in this below zero temperatures.  Within the first month of bad snow storms I finally thought I could handle it.

      One day I decided I was ready and able to drive myself into town about 15 miles away.  I got all bundled up and walked out to my car to start it and let it warm up for awhile.  I put the key in the driver’s side door to unlock the car.  The next thing I knew was that I was now lying underneath my car.  I crawled out from underneath my car and attempted to unlock the car door again.  This time my feet were in a different stance and I was able to unlock the car without slipping on the ice.

      For at least a week, every morning I would bundle up and walk out to start my car and every morning during this time frame I found myself right back underneath my car.  I kept forgetting about my “magic” stance that kept me on my feet.

      Feeling completely defeated the following Monday I bundled up and walked out to warm up my car.  This time to my surprise the ice patch wasn’t there.  It turns out my next door neighbors had been watching me every morning and laughing as I slipped and went under my car.  So they decided enough was an enough and felt sorry for me so they kindly put some salt down around the driver’s door so I wouldn’t slip again.

      They came out that morning to tell me how funny it was to watch me over drinking their morning coffee which gave me the opportunity to ask them a question.  “Every morning when I come out to warm up my car my nose suddenly hurts.  It’s a feeling  I have never felt before, do you have any suggestions as to why?” I asked.  Carol replied while laughing hysterically, “It’s your nose hairs freezing Lysa.”

      All I can say is that if it’s so cold and icy out every morning that you slip and fall winding up underneath your car and your nose hairs freeze instantly when you walk out your door it’s time to move somewhere warmer.  That’s exactly what I did a few years later as soon as I could afford to, I moved back to Arizona where I plan to stay until the day I die.

©2014 Lysa Wilds

Where Did The Building Go?

    

        I moved to rural Iowa from Phoenix, Arizona the summer of 2003.  Once there I realized I had a bad case of culture shock.  The town we moved to had a population of 800 people and the majority of them lived out on the surrounding farms.

        Being a city girl all of my life I had no clue what I was supposed to do in a small town in the middle of nowhere.  I even had to look at a map to see where Iowa was before moving there.  I was use to having a variety of stores and bars to choose from on every street corner; but not in this small town.

        The grocery store was the size of a Circle K and it was filled with things I’ve never even heard of before.  There meat section was a butcher who cut your meat to order.  They didn’t have the meat pre-packaged for your convenience you had to ask the butcher even for a pound of ground beef.

        There wasn’t even a bar in town, only a bowling alley which was open odd hours and odd days of the week.  The pharmacy reminded me of the Andy Griffith Show where the old ladies went to gossip, but hey they delivered.

        The one thing I could never wrap my head around was the elevator that sat at the end of Main Street.  I was always curious about what happened to the building around it and why they left the elevator there standing all alone.

        After I had lived there for awhile and had made some friends I finally felt comfortable enough to ask about the building.  My biggest fear was that it had come tumbling down in a horrific tragedy, my over active imagination at work again.

        So I mustered up the courage and finally asked, “What happened to the building at the end of Main Street?”

        “What building Lysa?” my friend asked.

        “The one that the elevator belonged to,” was my response.

        Everyone erupted into an uncontrollable laughter for what seemed like an eternity, and then my friend said, “Lysa, it’s a grain elevator.  It’s where the farmers store their grain.”

        I felt like a complete idiot but started laughing at myself and said, “Where I come from they are used to take you up and down the floors of a building.”  Needless to say for the next four years, until I moved back to Arizona, I was constantly teased about the elevator without a building at the end of Main Street.

©2014 Lysa Wilds

Don’t Answer the Door EVER…

     

     All of our friends and family members know to call or text before coming over for two reasons.  First we can’t always hear the doorbell from our bedroom.  Second the lady that lives next door is crazy. We’re talking Coo Coo for

Cocoa Puffs kind of crazy. 

      We barely woke up this morning and someone is ringing the doorbell and pounding on our door frantically.  Next we hear them banging on our garage door.  Kenny and I look at each other in shock trying to figure out who in their right mind could be making all this noise and wanting us to open the door.

      I sent a text to a few friends and family members and nope none of them were at our door.  Finally Kenny gets up, because I wasn’t going to, and goes to the front door.  Considering he’s not fully dressed he opens it just a crack.  A couple of kids on the other side say, “Lysa your dogs got out.” Kenny thanks them and lets the dogs inside.

      A short while later there’s the doorbell and knocking again.  Kenny goes to the door and quickly returns telling me that there is a police officer at the door and that the officer needs to see our dogs.  I’m thinking are you kidding me?!?!  So I carry the puppy to the front door and the officer says, “I need to see the puppy.”  So I open the security door, he looks at her and says, “Well she doesn’t look skinny to me.  Where is the other dog I was told it was limping?”

      “Just a moment sir,” I replied.

      I walked down the hall, grabbed Torque’s leash, and called his name.   When he came to me I put his leash on his collar and led him to the front door.  He walked out the door and the officer said, “I don’t see him limping.  Both dogs look healthy to me.  I’ll call her back and tell her that they are perfectly fine and healthy.”

      I thanked the officer and locked up both doors.  Furious over what had just happened I went back to my room to find Kenny.  We began discussing how in the world the wood fencing was knocked down allowing the dogs out of our yard.  We had a storm but nothing that powerful.  Then it clicked in my head, the officer said her.

      It had to have been the crazy lady next door because Thursday night she knocked on the door and asked to speak to me.  I reluctantly went to the door.  She began complaining about my dogs barking.  I told her I’d bring them inside just to get her to shut up and go away.  As she turned to walk away I realized that it was her dogs barking not mine so I said very loudly, “I’ll keep my dogs quiet when you keep your dogs quiet.”  With that I shut the door and allowed my dogs to stay outside.   I thought I had the last word until this morning.

©2014 Lysa Wilds