JENNIFERPAVLOVIC
Different Articles and stories I have written. For more go to www.writerscafe.org.
My Friend Ellen (a short story)
I picked up the paper and read what they had written. "Ellen Dunbar, age 84 of Ashford, OH died Sunday in her home, she was preceded by her husband....." I sighed and put the paper down. I was thinking about all the things that were not said. Ellen Dunbar was a very special woman and very active in the community. She was also my best friend and had been since first grade.
I remembered her then as a little girl with freckles and no front teeth, her hair in two long braids down her back. She was always getting us in trouble, but I always went along because she was my best friend. I remember a long Thursday afternoon in fifth grade spent scrubbing down the bathroom because we were caught writing on the walls. I remember when she came to me in tears the last year of high school because she was pregnant and didn't know what to do. I remember letters sent back and forth to her at the home while she was away, and remember holding her in my arms as she cried for the baby she would never see. I remember a couple years later her running to my house all excited because Joe had asked her to marry him, and her fear as she waited for word of him during the war. I remember how she worked long hours at the red cross trying to help any way she could and her compassion as she held the women whose husbands were lost even though her heart was still over there.
I remember the happy reunion when Joe came home and her happy tears at the wedding six months later. I can still feel the warmth of their first child in my arms as Ellen smiled up at me. I remember the fun of the cookout we had for her birthday two years later when her husband gave her a television for her birthday and how we sat in fascination and watched the people moving around on the screen as our children played quietly in the playpen. I remember watching our children grow and eventually get married and move away. I remember long talks as we tried to get used to not having the children to take care of. Ellen was the one who decided that since neither of our husbands wanted us to work we should do volunteer work and I remember her excitement when our husbands agreed. I remember her holding me when my husband Frank was killed in a car accident, and holding her when she lost Joe to cancer five years later. I remember her laughing when disco became the big thing, and reminding me when I laughed at the dancing our own jitterbug from our youth. I remember the shock of finding out she was seeing someone, and the joy of seeing her remarried, and my own marriage several years later.
More recently I remember her dedication to the youth building in our town. Her work with young girls who were pregnant, and the selfless way she gave time and energy to helping the girls get on their feet again. I remember her way of getting up extra early on Saturday mornings to bake cookies to take to the youth building, and the way she was tireless in collecting donations and food to assist the families. But of all the things I remember about her what I remember most is timeless. I remember her open smile that made you smile right back, her love for all children, her compassion for those who's hearts were broken, and her selfless giving in everything she did. I remember that she was always someone you could go to no matter what, nothing shocked Ellen. No obituary could tell you all this about my wonderful friend.I stood at her grave this afternoon as they lowered her into the ground, and all these thoughts washed over me. It was as if that television Joe got for her birthday was on and the story of our lives was playing. I am alone now; Ellen is gone and her husband a year before her. My second husband Bill passed away three years ago. My daughter was killed in a plane crash, and my son lives halfway around the world caught up in his own life. For now I will continue her work, and make arrangement so that her work will not die with her. That was an agreement we had, that whoever outlived the other would take care of. I soon will join her and look forward to seeing her again.
She will smile at me and then rush off to show me everything. I will smile and follow her, simply because she is Ellen.... my very best friend.
Sunshine (a short story)
Low growls fill the night and bright lights shine. She trembles and curls tighter in her little hole. She remembers the warm bed she slept in, the children laughing and playing, the feeling of curling up safe. The memories of a full belly and a good rub have grown distant. She dreams, wondering...if she will ever again feel so safe and so loved. Strange noises frighten her and she shivers. The growls grow louder and shake the ground; she snuggled in tighter to try to stay dry. There is no safe anymore she thinks, no more laughing children, no more food brought to her. Now there were only pains where the food was, only noises that frighten her. She is so lonely, and so hungry. She licks gently at the bite where that man's noise maker bit her. She only wanted something to eat, but he yelled, angry at her. It didn't matter any more. She was so tired.
She remembered the last night she saw them. They told her she could go bye with them. She was so happy and jumped into the car. They drove a long way, she fell asleep. When she woke he told her to come on and she happily jumped out of the car to go with him. He didn't go though; he got back into the car and told her to stay. So she stayed. She sat there and watched him drive away. Then she got scared and ran after the car, but it disappeared. So far away, she couldn't smell them anymore. She ran back and waited, but they never came back.
She wondered who watched over the children now, who woke them up in the morning, who gave them kisses to make them feel loved. The pains had stopped and she was getting so sleepy. Instinct told her the end was near, she wouldn't be alone much longer. She wished she could see her children once more, hear their laughter, run and play with them. She knew now this wouldn't happen, they weren't coming back, but she missed them so. The growls were quieter now, and it wasn't as wet. The other animals would come out soon, but she no longer had the strength to run from them.
She closed her eyes dreaming of the soft bed, and the patter of feet as the children came to kiss her goodnight. She dreamed of running with them playing in the sunshine and listening to their laughter. And then she dreamed no more. There was no more pain or loneliness. Only silence as she slipped away.
Kids with Issues
Sometimes the hardest thing of all is to have to admit there is something wrong with your child. But it’s even harder for the parent of the child of a mental or behavioral disorder. Not only is it hard to deal with the guilt, anger, and denial that go with the diagnosis, it’s also hard once you have accepted it to get the treatment you know your child needs. Balancing Medications makes balancing your checkbook a breeze. You also have to deal with modifying your life to revolve around this child, advocate for him with doctors, schools, hospitals, and even sometimes law enforcement and judges.
You deal with people who can’t understand how you’ve let your child get so far out of control, and who condemn you for your parenting skills. Family members who refuse to accept the diagnosis, and may even go so far as to try having your child(ren) taken from you. Teachers may see your child as manipulative and bad, telling you to punish him rather than medicate him. Child services who is certain they are being abused either physically or sexually because of their hypersexual behavior.
You fight your own feelings of helplessness, anger, self-condemnation, and guilt. You believe you’re not a good parent, you’re doing something wrong, you’re not punishing them enough, you’re punishing them too much, or you’re punishing them wrong. You didn’t work hard enough to teach them right when they were still little. It must be your fault, Mrs. Smith down the road doesn’t have these problems, little Jane and Michael behave perfectly, they almost never sass, and they pick up all their toys without being told twice. She manages the perfect house, it’s always clean and whenever you are over there the children are playing quietly while chocolate chip cookies bake in the oven. You don’t have time to bake, you’re too busy keeping Johnny from chasing the neighbor kid down the street with a weed eater, or picking up glass shards from yet another broken window. Wishing the house would clean itself. You shutter at the thought of friends coming to visit, since your house is somewhere between purgatory and hell.
When the fights are over and the day is coming to a close, you get to spend quality time with your child. You spend the evening calming their rages, controlling aggressive situations, reassuring the depressed, holding the panic driven, and trying to relax those who can’t sleep because of too much energy or the fear of the nightmares that torture them each night.
Then the last tear has been dried, the last outburst quieted, and the now precious angel’s dreamy face is lying on the pillow. It is still and quiet. Now you have time for you, but you walk into your room and fall into bed, promising you’ll take time tomorrow. Unfortunately tomorrow never comes, and soon your facing medications as well, just to survive another day.
If you have ever wondered what the life of a parent of a kid with issues is like, you’ve just read about it. It’s a never ending balance between guilt and pressure to get them help, a constant battle to keep yourself sane through it all so you can be there for them. Day after day of falling into bed too exhausted for the tears that fight to get out. Anger at the parents who condemn who have beautiful healthy children and have no idea how hard you fight every day to make your family appear normal. You have anger at the unfairness to the other children in the home who have to take second place to the child with an illness.
Try to remember that these parents face most of the same issues a parent of a child with leukemia would face. They have the hospitals, the doctors, the medications, but what they don’t have is the acceptance. Most people if they hear a child is suffering a lifelong illness with a chance of death due to this illness send cards and encouragement. They visit the child and the parents and put up with any inconveniences due to the illness. They assist them any way they can. They help them financially, emotionally, and stand by them through the fight. Families of a child with a mental or behavioral disability or illness are not so lucky. The parent of that child suffers equally alongside of them. They are cast outs. People don’t want their child playing with your child, they don’t want them to come over, schools have no tolerance for the illness your child suffers and often you end up in front of a judge due to excessive tardy’s or absences. People shun the family and see them as losers. Either they whisper about the “mental” problems, report them to child services, or they condemn the parents for raising them wrong.
Parents who have a child with mental and behavioral disorders have additional fears the other parent will never face. Will my child commit suicide? Will my child end up with a criminal record? Will my child pass this on to their children? Will I be accused of abuse? Will my child be taken from me? These are just a few that the parent of a kid with issues will face. They will fight for medical care since most health insurance doesn’t cover mental issues, or limits their service. They will fight for education, since most schools won’t recognize or being willing to work with a kid who has these issues and often the child will be shipped off to a second rate school in the district for “problem” kids. They will fight with doctors to get the right treatment for their children. They will fight with courts for the right to continue raising their own child. They will fight with friends over their child’s behavior, and often end up solitary with few friends.
To those of you who have not been blessed with a child with issues, try to be understanding. Not all “bad” kids are “bad” kids. Often the parent you are blaming is suffering the most. To those of you who have been blessed with kids with issues. Try to enjoy their quirks that make them so different. Your child is special, don’t give up on them … they will most likely surprise you.