Courage

Wikepedia defines courage, as bravery, fortitude, will, and intrepidity, and the ability to confront fear, pain, risk/danger, uncertainty, or intimidation.
If you could put a face to the word courage it would show a picture of Donna Ballinger. She is by far the most courageous person I have ever known. For the past three years or so, she has been dealing with colon cancer. She has had chemo every Friday for as long as I can remember. Even though this made her so sick I can count the days she missed school on one hand. She would come to school and not be able to eat or drink anything because of the nausea. When asked why she didn't stay home, she would tell us it did her no good to sit at home and fret or worry. She would still be at school everyday if cancer wasn't attacking her lungs now. She was dedicated to educating our special ed. students. She was tireless and never gave up on a student. If they were willing to stay after school and work she was willing to stay after with them, even though she was not paid for her time.
Today, Donna's husband walked her into Buhler High School so she could collect her books and such for the last time. By the time she got to the special ed. room all she could say was that she was retiring and shortly after that they left.
This afternoon I got the phone call from another para - Nonie, telling me what had happened. I knew it was coming because at the end of the school year she was starting to slip and it was getting harder and harder for her to make it through the day. However, you are never ready to hear that someone you worked with side by side for thirteen years is that sick.
Donna often said that even though you might have cancer it did not define the person that you are. I agree with that. Donna is so much more. Donna was and is my dear dear friend, she is a friend to everyone. She is a christian and believes that God has a plan for everyone. She loves teaching and working with young people. She loves the Nebraska Corn Huskers and is a devout fan, even though she took a lot of grief for it. Donna always asked me how I was feeling even when you could tell she wasn't feeling well. Donna is a grandmother and loved her family. She was never as happy as when she was telling a story about her grand babies or her son. She is funny! When she tells a story it makes you laugh out loud. Her stories about her mother are hilarious and it makes you want to hear them over and over. After my parents died she attended their funerals for no other reason than to show me how much she cared. She would listen to me talk about how much I missed them and we would cry together. Last year when my doctor told me the reason I couldn't sleep was because I had a hard heart she was the first to tell me how wrong the doctor was.
How do I end this? The only way I know how and that is to say I am glad to have had the opportunity to have worked with Donna and to consider her my friend.  I hope Buhler and RCEC know they are going to have a  hard time filling her shoes.

Growing Up With Crazy

Our family was what they call a blended family yours, mine, and ours. Mom had two children from her first marriage and me from her second marriage. Dad, my stepfather, had three children from his first marriage, and together they had my little brother. This put our ages all over the place. My oldest brother was 18 years older than me, and my youngest brother was six years younger. My mom had to work to help support our family. This was back in the early 60’s when women were still staying at home to take care of their families. However, with two children and child support for three my dad was not able to make enough. None of this really matters except you should know that “Crazy” was 16 when I was I born.

When mom went to work she left “Crazy” in charge and paid her to baby-sit and do some light cleaning. By this time she had already been married twice and had one child, Tammy, in reality this daughter was only two years younger than I was. “Crazy” was fun and always took the time to play with me or read to me. I didn’t really pay much attention to the fact that while she was playing with me she was denying her own child anything except the chance to yell or scream at her. I was often pulled into the abusive way she treated her daughter by making me laugh or acting silly.

My first recollection of knowing that something was wrong happened when I was around the age of six. Tammy and I were playing in the backyard when we heard loud voices and the back door open. “Crazy” and her current husband (number three) were arguing about something. He was trying to leave but she had picked up his keys and he was trying to get them back. In a split second she took those keys and threw them as far as she could into the pasture behind our house. It took a minute for the finality of the situation to soak in but when it did all hell broke lose. What had been an argument turned into a shoving and slapping match. I remember I just stood there not knowing what to do and just trying to stay out of the way. Samantha was used to seeing her mother in situations like this, so for her it wasn’t a big deal. Matter of fact she continued to play like it was nothing. In the course of the fight “Crazy” took off her wedding rings and there was a shuffle as they fought over control of the rings. In a heartbeat those rings flew up into the air as though they were feathers and fluttered all the way to the pasture.

It was in that moment that she realized what she had done and started to cry. Number Three must have known that it was his time to step in and be the hero because he faulted himself over the fence and started searching for those rings. About that time “Crazy” gained her composure and moved Tammy and I over the fence with her following. I remember feeling at the time like it was a big game, like a scavenger hunt. By that time “Crazy” and Number Three were actually laughing about the situation and were making promises to us if we found the rings and the set of keys they would take us for ice cream. We found the rings fairly quickly but the keys were never located.

That episode set the tone for a lifetime of what was to come. Episodes of fits and rage could be brought on over the smallest things. A laugh or a look could send “Crazy” into a tirade that would hold the entire house in a manic state. The men in her life, that were unfortunate to get sucked into her web, walked around like they were manikins. Knowing not to say or do anything that might tilt their world and send it careening through the universe. She blew through men, and husbands, like most people blow through bubble gum.

As I look back on a lifetime of manic craziness it is that one episode that put a shape to mental illness. It is what happened on that one day that shaped how I would handle future “episodes”. And although my parents handled “Crazy” different than I would have, I believe they did the best they could with the information that they had.