Category: siblings

Happy Stuff: Making a Bad Day Better.

Published on by Mary Gelpi26 Comments

Yesterday was a tough day. It was one of those days that you sit in a room by yourself in silence and then out of nowhere this question makes itself known; Who am I and what am I doing?

This isn’t such a rare thought for me to sit on, but spend too much time sitting on it and you’ll be no one and do nothing. The question arose in me because this week has been rough for me health-wise. And when it’s your fourth day in pajamas- no matter how awesome your pajama pants are- it makes you consider your existence in that essential kind of way. I’m like, dude, why am I here? And feeling like a human wasteland is just not a good feeling. But also, it’s more a thought derived from our egos and it is mostly untrue. In a clearer head I know that my existence matters and everyone who is alive matters. That is true. One of the shitty goals of the ego is to make you feel separate– from earth, from society, and from God. The truth is that we’re connected to all of these things and that our existence matters.

So there I was feeling all down on myself and I’m like you know what? This is crap. I’m not going to sit here and feel sorry for myself. I’m going to do something happy. And strangely I felt this weird desire to run. Strange because mostly I hate running. But if I had energy, I would have put on those professional looking running clothes that my sister and brother wear when they go jogging and feel the wind in my face. But the truth is, I’d probably tire myself out getting dressed before even getting out the door. Plus it’s so hilly here, I’d probably vomit after the first hill. My fatigue level has been rough this week, which I think contributes to those existential crisis moments of Who Am I and What Am I Doing and Am I Going to Live on my Siblings Couches Forever? But you have to cut life into slices. Sometimes you take it by the week. Sometimes by the day. And yesterday, by the hour.

Sometimes you have to reach out for help, so I texted Gabe “Life is hard!” and he texted back, “Yeah, it is!” And I remembered, oh yeah, everyone’s life is hard. Haha. Then I was like, OK, I need to bring some happy energy into this room. And the quickest way I know how to do that is through music. So I started looking for energetic happy music to start. I was g-chatting with my friend Emily and I was like ‘Dude, I need some good music. Happy stuff. What movie has a great soundtrack?” And Emily responded “Beauty and the Beast.” Which made me 1. Laugh out loud. 2. Play that song “There must be more than this provincial life! and 3. Remember why I love Emily so much. So then I was like OK, more music. And I kept listening to different things and put together a playlist of upbeat stuff. And I don’t know how, but somehow Tom Jones “It’s Not Unusual” made its way onto the playlist, and if you can imagine a scrawny girl in her pajamas blaring the one and only Tom Jones and dancing like an idiot to that weirdly catchy tune, well then, maybe I’ve made you smile. Because soon I was laughing at myself and what a hilariously tragic day it was.

Next, I took out my favorite sharpie pen and decided to do arts and crafts, because it’s fun and, well that’s the only reason. The thing is, I’m pretty terrible at drawing and painting. But, I enjoy the process of creating. And in the last two years there is one thing I discovered I’m decent at; drawing straight lines. So I have all these pictures at my mom’s house, a few in frames and a few in a folder, of white paper with black vertical lines. Mostly because it’s all I can do and also it requires focus and patience and time, not unlike actual good artwork. And there’s something fulfilling about it. The more lines you draw, the more disorienting it becomes on the page as you continue. Like the lines in your peripheral vision become blurry and then start to move on their own. It’s weird. And fun. I show you.

First You Draw a Couple Lines
Then You Draw a Couple More
Then You Draw Them Till You Feel It’s Done

And that is the art of drawing straight lines. If you’re thinking ‘What is this hippie shit?” I hear that. It’s mostly meaningless. But I like how long it takes. And that it’s simple and looks that way but also requires patience and focus and something about it makes me usually feel a little better. SO LAY OFF ME AND MY LINES OKAY?! Jokes. This one is for sale for 1 dollar and is titled “Welcome to America.”

After that, I received an email from a stranger who told me she reads my blog and that it makes her laugh and she felt the need to reach out and tell me that. I was like dude, the Universe works quickly! I was doubting myself and then this stranger writes me and tells me to keep it up? Cray cray. Thank you for that email Annie wherever you are. Whatever convinced you to write me, pay attention to it, because that just happened to be something I needed to hear at the time that you sent it. Yay for serendipitous universal connections!

And then after that, I came across a video of a rather large dog riding a bicycle and I was like, holy cow, dogs are incredible. And if this doesn’t make you smile you may want to check yourself because there is a very real possibility that you are a robot. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just good information to know about yourself. Just watch.

A Dog Riding a Bicycle

And if that didn’t do it for you, then maybe you’ll appreciate this dog that dances better than you.

And if THAT didn’t make you smile, maybe this picture of a really cute baby I know will.

Dude, just look at her feet.

Something about this photo just makes me happy every time I look at it and I’m pretty sure it’s her feet. But who can say. Anyway, after the drawing, and Tom Jonesing, and dog cycling and baby photos, I felt a little better. Then I thought of the many ways this day could have unfolded; it’s very easy to fall into a sad day and stay that way. It has happened to me countless times. But I am realizing just how big our role is in the outcome of our days. I had a friend in high school say to me once: “Do you the know the difference between a good day and a bad day? ATTITUDE!” And I remember wanting to punch something when I heard that, but also, it’s kind of true isn’t it? Perception plays a huge role in our lives. If we look at life as against us, we’ll find opposition. If we look at life as for us, we’ll find peace. There will be good and bad days for the rest of our lives. There will be reasons to laugh and reasons to cry. But when given the choice on mediocre days, and we do have a choice, choose the laughter. It’s more fun that way. And most importantly, pay attention! The universe gives us signs and symbols all the time. It is up to us to piece it all together.

Health, Happiness, and More Happiness.

For the Loved Ones of the Sick Ones

Published on by Mary Gelpi17 Comments

List of Characters:

Gabe: Boyfriend, Likes to be doing things, Going places, Shooting things.

Mary: Girlfriend, Likes to lay around, Drink coffee, Talk about death.

Monty: Dog, Drinks out of toilet, Plays hard, Sleeps Hard.

There’s something sick people tend to forget sometimes, and this is that being sick isn’t only a struggle for us, but also tends to be a struggle for the people around us, too. It’s nobodies fault really, it’s just the reality of these circumstances. Spending the last month with Gabe, I saw how the illness effected more than just me, and the trouble it can stir up in our everyday relationships.

Gabe seems to me, limitless. It’s like he never tires. He can go and go and go and then he can go some more. Sometimes I tire just watching him. I envy his energy and resilience. He can only sit around for so long before he starts to go stir crazy, and that’s a huge fundamental difference between us. I don’t feel the need to be going places and doing things, and Gabe, well, does. “Do you want to go drive bumper cars today? Do you want to go to the shooting range? Do you want to go hit golf balls for a while? Do you want to go camping tonight? Do you want to get it on? Do you want to go jet-skiing? Do you want to go to an amusement park?” All of these questions are usually answered with somewhere between a grunt and a moan, sometimes a staunch “No” and sometimes a yawn and a “Maybe” if I’m feeling dangerous. Poor guy. How he ever ended up with a girl who barely moves I’ll never know. It’s easy to see how how he’d become disheartened.

It’s depressing, I know. The fact that an “amusement” park sounds like everything except amusing is depressing. But I’m just so used to the consequence of me saying “yes” to the normal activities that normal people find fun- and that is, a crash–that it has become my conditioned response to say no. I can’t drink anymore. I can’t be on my feet for long like I used to. I can’t stay up late or get up early. Sometimes a trip to the grocery store puts me over the edge and I pay for it. When you’re barely keeping your head above water, the slightest activites can drown you. So I’ve become conditioned to say no to a lot of things, simply because I know what will happen when I say yes, and often it’s more than I can handle. Sometimes I say screw it, I go and do what I want, knowing somewhere deep down that I’ll pay for it later. Every now and then, it’s worth the price I pay. But it’s rare. More times than not, I’m kicking myself for saying yes.

But as tired as I get in saying “No,” I see that it’s just as waring on Gabe in hearing “No.”  I’m so used to thinking “He’ll never understand what its like to be sick all the time” that I never considered that I’ll never understand what it’s like being healthy and dating a sickley. Especially one that shoots down your ideas of fun and takes up ample couch space. The truth is, if you’re going to be with someone who has this illness, you have to be independent and comfortable with leaving your loved one behind and doing the fun things without them. I know it seems incredibly depressing, but what is harder for a sick person, is trying to keep up with a healthy person. It just doesn’t work.

What’s also hard is the desire not to disappoint people. I hate the feeling of letting someone down, canceling on plans, or suggesting activities that only a 90 year old would be enthused about (How about we play scrabble again for the 90th time?) The problem is, no one else will say no for me. No one will suggest we stop and rest every thirty minutes. No one will make sure I’ve taken all my pills. No one will play lifeguard and see that I’m waring down and suggest we cut off the fun and go home. Only I will do these things. Which sort of turns me into the negative nancy of fun and activities for others. It’s exceptionally difficult to suggest to young, energetic, tireless twenty somethings that we wind down the day and lay on the couch and talk about life and existential questions. Doesn’t that sound GREAT?!?! To most people, no, it doesn’t. And that’s where the trouble lies.

This illness has strained many of my relationships- intimate, friendly, and familial. I remember once my brother and I had a shouting match outside an NYC restaurant because Nick wanted to go on a walk to digest his meal, but I was feeling especially fatigued and didn’t want to go. “It’s just a brisk walk! It’s good for you!” And he honestly thought it was, but I knew it wasn’t. I was at my physical limit that day, and a 5 block walk was out of the question. He stormed off on his walk in frustration and I taxied it home with discouragement. But I hadn’t really educated him on just how sensitive this illness was. I was sort of still trying to live like a normal person back then, so when the sickness would come out and demand  I obey it, it left everyone in a state of confusion. We’ve come a long way since then. Now I hear him defending me to others, even suggesting we cab it home when I consider walking. We’ve both learned a thing or two.

One question I ask is: Where do you draw the line? If I keep saying no to everything, won’t I eventually turn into a hermit trapped in a dark house with zero friends and zero fun? Because that sounds especially awesome. Wait no, that sounds terrible. The lesson for me has been finding the middle. Finding the area of compromise which keeps me alive with the pulse of life but doesn’t land me crashed in bed for 3 days. There is a middle ground, and part of my education in the last few months has been finding it. I’m still learning, too. In truth, it’s painful saying no all the time, when what you want to say is yes. But again, I have to be the master of my own domain! My domain happens to tire out after about 30 minutes of doing almost anything..standing too long, sitting too long, walking for too long…it’s ridiuclous, but it’s reality. And it doesn’t mean you have to turn off the fun. You just have to get creative. It’s also sort of a “Pick Your Poison” kind of situation. Do you want to say no and momentarily suffer sadness? Or say yes, and physically suffer for at least the next day?

Gabe and I are never going to be on the same level physically. This is someone who chased down rabbits on foot and wrestled an alligator on our first date (hence his nickname Gator) and worked 12 hour shifts of manual labor on an oil rig. (I’ll get to these stories, soon.) I..um…showered yesterday. So, there’s a little space between us when it comes to physical capablilites. But, we’re learning. I’m learning how to say no but stay positive. He’s learning to do the things he wants without me, and somewhere, in the grey of life, the circle of compromise, in the middle..we meet. All we can do is try.

To all the loved ones of sick ones out there, I know us sickley’s are a pain in the ass. But we do appreciate even the effort to understand. I see now, I need to try and understand, too.

Health, Happiness, and Compromise.

Speaking of Death, Let’s Talk Birth.

Published on by Mary Gelpi13 Comments

Before I begin about birth, I have to share quickly a dream I had the other night, after I wrote the post about death. As I laid down to sleep, I sent a little prayer to the universe. A prayer to help me not be afraid of death or the unknown. Since I happen to know a lot of people on “the other side” I asked them to show me, give me a little hint of what dying was like, in hopes it would calm my fear about it. I fantasized about having a dream in which my dad took me through the stages of death and we ended up at the end, at the gates, where all I felt was love and happiness and I most defnitely did not feel pain or sorrow, and I would wake up reassured. Maybe he’d show me what it looked like. Maybe he’d even tell me how I’d go. And in my morbid little mind, that would be a fun dream. After dying so many ways in my dreams for years, I’ve become somewhat desensitized on the matter. Well that and experiencing death at such proximity at the age of 12. What I’m getting to, however, is that I did not have a dream like this. In fact, I hardly remembered any of my dreams from the night before, which for me is unusual. But there was one dream–if you can even call it that. It was more like a very short “scene” I was in. I was crouched down under some flat rocks. I don’t remember being alone but I don’t remember who accompanied me. Above us, over the flat rocks, was a stampede of rhinoceroses, running full force and I could hear the pitter patter of their feet and watched as little tiny rocks spilled into the hole in which I was huddled in. That’s it. I remember knowing in the dream that this was my answer from the other side, and sort of chuckling about it. I’ve never heard anyone relate death or the afterlife to a rhinoceros stampede, but the subconscious works in symbols, not plots. So I’ll have to get my mom to help analyze this one. It was still fun to at least feel like someone or something had heard that prayer I sent. Ask and you shall receive.

But enough about death for now. Today wasn’t filled with thoughts about death and the end and the sometimes mentally paralyzing mystery of life. Today, I thought about life and beginnings. Last night, I had a dream that my brother Nick sent me a text message which read “It’s miraculous. It’s real.” Somehow in the dream I knew that he meant his wife was going into labor. When my eyes opened this morning around 9:30 to yet another killer migraine, I picked up my phone to see a text message from Nick. “Estee’s water broke.” I smiled with relief. Finally, she was going to be here, and I was going to be an aunt for the second time. No more talking about the baby in future tense, no more guessing who’d she look like and whether she’d have Estees genes and be on time or Nick’s genes and be late for everything. She was going to be here in physical form now. She was going to be her own governing self.

As much as death mystifies me, the process of conception, pregnancy, and labor mystify me just the same, if not more. I remember learning in anatomy class many of the things that have to go right in order to conceive and carry a child. Once hearing them, the idea of it all sounds impossible. And yet, we do it. It is natural somehow. Nick’s text message in my dream is just how I feel about all of it; that it’s miraculous.

Welcome to the World.

At 6:41 this evening, I received the first photo of her. 8.2 pounds. “Say hello to Olive Marie Gelpi,” it said. I stared and became a little lost in the photo. She has these big cheeks and beautiful hair and looks excessively calm. Something about a new life inspires even old souls; looking at the photo I felt this strong sensation that humans are the most capable creatures on the planet. Here Olive is only a few hours old, and already her path is being built. The energy is changing. I’m not even her parent, but here I am gazing at this photo and thinking of all the things she can do. I want to tell her that too–that she can do anything, Like some cliche high school year book signature. Dear Olive, Reach for your dreams! You can do anything! But these were the feelings popping up in me. Mostly I just feel happy she made it. 10 fingers and 10 toes as they say. Baby and mom doing well as they also say. The most beautiful part of today, is that a child was brought into the world first to two parents who want her and love her, unconditionally. Just for showing up, they love her. This is a good start. And then to two sets of grandparents who love her and will inevitably spoil the crap out of her and show her that she matters. And then to three aunts and two uncles who will tease her to toughen her and help raise her in every way we know how. If it takes a village to raise a child, I’d say she has a pretty good start. Today I’m not thinking about sickness and death. Today I’m thinking of human possibility and what we’re capable of. And it suddenly feels like a lot.

Happy Birthday Miss Olive Marie. I can’t wait to see who you are and what you will do.

Health, Happiness, Possibility.

Brothers and Sisters.

Published on by Mary Gelpi153 Comments

I am the youngest of four siblings. Doug and Nick are barely a year apart, followed by Amelie, then me. Sometimes I watch the four of us around the dinner table and wonder how we were each born from the same two parents. And then in rarer times, quieter times, I see the subtle thread that ties us; the binding, intangible something in our hearts that seeks greatness and loves easy. On many nights, like tonight, I wonder who I’d be without my siblings. And if I’m feeling extra philosophical, I wonder what the world would be like without them. I find them that important! There’s a strong energy about the four of us. We do OK on our own, but there’s this tangible vibrancy when we’re together. And this unintended dynamic of reverse reciprocals has formed among us. Where one is slow the other is fast. Where one is hard the other is soft. Where one yells the other soothes. Where one forgets the other remembers.

What has occurred to me recently is that each one of us carries a different piece of our dad around. And this is why I think there is such powerful and positive energy when the four of us are together; we’re putting together four pieces to revive a beautiful whole. Since each of our relationships with our dad was different, and we were all different ages when he died, we all carry something different. My brother Doug carries his Peace and Patience. Nick carries his thoughtfulness and social graces. Amelie carries his joyful “Burst of Sunshine” characteristic. And I carry his attentiveness to the voiceless. We ALL carry his sense of humor, his fearlessness in being weird, his desire to play meaningless pranks, and his simple talent of just being fun. At least, we all try.

Dad reading to the kids, Christmas '84 (click to enlarge)

Having the three of them in my life has been a true gift. And maybe while I’m prancing around in LaLa Land I should clear up that we are NOT The Brady Bunch over here. We  have plenty of dysfunctional to pass around. We yell at each other, make fun of each other, grow insanely impatient with one another, and sometimes we even wrestle. It isn’t uncommon for my brother to call me a turd sandwich or my sister to call Nick an asshole at least once every few days. When it happens, usually I’m acting like a turd sandwich and Nick is in fact acting like an asshole. Sometimes he calls Amelie a pain in the ass, which she can be. And we all yell at Doug for being the slowest human being on the planet. BUT. But, but, but. Behind any name-calling, shouting, mental or physical abuse, there is a deep and unbreakable love. It’s always been there. Even in my loneliest of times, there has been a quiet assurance in the back of my mind that I am not actually alone. I know in the that before I’m out under a bridge somewhere, I have three doors to knock on first, and each I know would open.

Whether in the form of a helping hand, money, food, shelter, an ear, a reality check, a pat on the back, or a cheering-up, we’ve all lent to one another different things at different times. And it’s a real treasure that we’re able to do that. You’ll have to excuse my notalgic sulking, I’m a little down in the dumps now that the house is quiet and there isn’t a cacophony of sibling rivalry bouncing off our walls. I always get sad after we make the last trip to the airport to bid the last family member adieu. Today we said good-bye to Nick, and all is finally quiet here. I’ve always loved the chaos of having them home. Ever since I was in 7th grade and Doug was first to go off to college, I always became exceedingly anxious around late November, because it meant everyone was coming home again. We’d finally all be together. Now I’m 27, and still the anxious kid around November, and sulky in early January, after everybody leaves. Anyway, I need to stop boo-hooing. Just thought I’d let Doug, Nick, and Amelie know, I love you. A lot. Even though you’re all turd sandwiches. Can’t wait till next year.

Health, Happiness, And A Quiet House Again.