1989

       I graduated High School in 1989, oh how I loved the 80's. What's not to love, permed hair, scrunchy socks, and of course my beloved grandmother. It was a crazy time in my life, the thrill of approaching adulthood mixed with feeling of remorse over a childhood that would slip away at any moment. At this time in my life my grandmother (who for all intense and purpose raised me) was dying of a emphysema a miserable life sucking lung disease. She was a smoker, but I've never been one to blame the smoker. You see I'm as antismoking as you can possibly get, but I'll tell you anyone that had ever met my grandmother (Rosie) would tell you she needed a vice. She had some troubled children, as well as a troubled spouse. They didn't mean to be, they just were. They were an interesting bunch, my family. In the Lahoski (my maiden name) household their was always yelling, smoking, and the most guttural tight mucous filled cough you can imagine coming from my grandparents room. She fought for air every waking moments those last years of her life, I believe in some ways she fought for me. She knew how much I needed her then, in some ways I always will. Who doesn't need a parent?
     My grandmother never finished High School, she went off to babysit to send money home to her poor parents, than came her husband and family of five; four boys and my mother. It's a familiar story to most, poor women meets love of her life, settles down to raise a family than a disaster strikes. My grandfather was diagnosed with a mental illness. To this day I'm not sure if he was diagnosed as having major depressive disorder or bipolar. Doesn't matter either way at this point, a mental illness tears apart a family. Someone whom you love with all your heart turns into someone you and they don't recognize. It's funny what you remember as a child, I remember him being in his room all the time, except when he was up at 3am percolating his coffee and making eggs. He had a warm smile that crept up and made all the yelling that proceded in the day tolerable. That or I didn't know any different. The yelling didn't usually come from my grandparents but from one of their adult children. Looking back I can strongly attest that several of them had a mental illness of their own. Was it from growing up with a father in and out of mental wards or was it simply genetics?
    My childhood had high points. My grandfather calling me in hours before "The Wizard Of Oz" started to make sure that I wouldn't miss it. My grandmother's delicious polish food. If your wondering where my mother was she was there as well. She I believe just hadn't matured enough to be a mother, she was stuck at age 14. Stuck in her time warp of counting to make sure things were all there, counting to make sure that her world doesn't fall apart if she doesn't count to the magic number. Mental illness tears apart families.