Thanksgiving

 In the month of November, I find this is a bittersweet month about 2 years ago this month my mom committed suicide.  I know what people mean when they say be nice to your mother because when she's gone you'll miss her. There isn't a day that I don't miss my mom, now that I'm a mother I miss her being here to share in the joy of her granddaughter's many first. As I think forward to the future, I think upon my past traditions with my mom and dad, and my adopted family. I also find myself missing my adopted grandmother, who I have found memories of hugging and kissing her with her saying, "A bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck. I love you Jennifer."
  My mom loved Thanksgiving, maybe because here birthday was near Thanksgiving maybe not. But the day after Christmas, my mom would decorate the tiny little 2 bedroom town house that I lived in with her and my dad. She'd play Christmas music and spend all day cleaning and decorating for Christmas, and then she'd make Zucchini Bread with me. It was definitely something I looked forward to, just as much as Starbuck's Pumpkin Spice Latte and Carmel Apple Cider. After Black Friday and the weekend, we go in search of Christmas gifts.
  Thanksgiving though was always a time I'd be thankful for my family, no matter how quirky, dysfunctional,
or dare I say STRANGE they were. For you see my family would always be Strange, based on the fact that I come from Strange Stock. For those of you who don't know the hidden joke, my mother's maiden name was Strange. So I have a Strange mother, a Strange Papa (Grandfather), two Strange Nanas (Grandmothers), and two Strange sisters. So you get the picture right? It was just a Strange family to be in with a lot of uniqueness about it. We loved each other, and when my mom was alive I was able to meet my Papa Strange as an adult. He's a quiet and stoic man, with a very gentle loving nature. He's the kind of man, that makes you question what secrets are you hiding Grandpa? What can you tell me about your life? And so on and so forth.
  Papa Strange was very upset when my mom committed suicide, I know this because of my dad and how close my dad and I have become since my mother's suicide. I know as you read this, you may feel sorry for me but don't because I look forward to the day that I will see my mother in Heaven (wherever Heaven is).  You may also notice that I don't refer to my mom as passing away, because I see no reason to sugar coat what my mother did or how she died. My mom committed suicide, and I am survivor of that and many other things. My mom's and my relationship was a little choppy and up and down to say the least. But I know without a doubt I loved my mother and she loved me and that she would of loved the opportunity to meet both of her granddaughters. In the theme of November, I am thankful that she was my mother, and this Sunday I am dedicating my daughter, whom I am so thankful to God for back to Him. My daughter is a gift I  and my husband thought we would never have. We were told there would be no children for us, if she is our only one then she will be our only child but she will always be loved and told about her grandmother and about the importance of being thankful for everything.

The Introduction To Me

  I was born on December 8th, 1980 in the evening. I consider myself lucky, because I was able to find out from my birth mom about some details of my birth. When she was in labor, the doctor was running late headed to the hospital and I was coming fast. By the time the doctor got in the delivery room, he barely had enough time to scrub up and right as he sat down out I came. Five minutes, later my twin sister was born. My joke has always been, that I asked for a BLT and some how it got lost in the Baby Cry language to English that I wound up with a Bratty Little Twin sister. My twin has been both a blessing and a curse at times, she is one of few people who knows how to push my buttons along with when.
  The interesting factoid about my birth is that 12 hours prior, John Lennon was shot and killed. Many people have come into my life and often that's the first thing they notice about my birthday and often comment on it. My mom, Christine Marie Riggs, was truly an amazing woman. I enjoyed and treasured the time I had with her as an adult. She was always a strong woman, and a graceful woman. She had a way of making me feel like the most special person in the whole world. But also when she was having manic episode, she could make you feel like you were a stranger. I often wonder, where she went during these episodes. She wasn't the same mom, who took me in when the adopted parents kicked me out of their San Diego home. Anything could set her off, and sometimes nothing at all. I'm hoping that in writing here, it'll be some what therapeutic for me and maybe in writing this all I will learn something or spark a memory that I've buried somewhere within me.