WeScrap

Life Isn't a Fairytale by Shauna

Editor's Note: NSA member Shauna shares her challenging story about surviving with cancer and how she scrapbooks to make sure her children and extended family know all about her with whatever might come.

Cancer sucks. There's no doubt about it. There isn't any way to say it nicely. Or even easily. The words don't roll off my tongue voluntarily. I have to force them out. Each time I say it, I can hardly believe it. It's hard to accept. I have cancer. It's true. Thinking or feeling otherwise doesn't change it. It's still there. No matter how hard I try and forget. I have cancer. Those three words have changed everything.

 

It's my new normal. If you can call it that. I can't change it. I can't control it. I can't make it all better. I can't pretend it didn't happen. I can't make it go away. I can't explain it away. I can't justify it. It just is. I just have to accept it and deal with it and live on the best i can. For my family and my children. I have to make the most of it, learn from it, become a better person because of it and fight like heck so I can be there for my two children as they grow up and experience what life has to offer. I don't want to miss a single moment. I want to be there when they get their first girlfriend/boyfriend. When they graduate from high school. When they go off to college. When they get their first job. When they get married and have kids. I want to see them win Olympic gold medals. And I want to be a grandmother. I want to live to be 90 and die of natural causes. Not cancer. Cancer sucks.

 

I also want them to grow up with a mother who loves and knows them like only a mother can. I can tell by just a look if they are coming down with something. If they are sad, happy, etc. I know them like I know my own heart. They are my heart. Everyone needs their mom, even when they are 40 years old like myself. I want them to feel my love and draw strength from it. To know I will always be there for them. In good times and bad. I want to nurture them, love them, care for them, protect them and inspire them to be great human beings. And I want to be there to see how they turn out. It's what I look forward to most. But it's possible i might not be there to see it. Because...I have stage 4 cancer. And cancer sucks.

 

There is no cure. Only hope that they will find one someday soon. Hope that the 3 days of chemothearpy every other week for 6-12 months to indefinately will manage the cancer. Hope that it doesn't grow back. Hope that I will win this fight and be in remission. Hope that I will live to see my children blossom into teenagers and adults.

 

So it's so important that I scrapbook for them today. I want to leave a piece of myself for them. So if and when I'm gone, they can look and read through their scrapbooks and know how much I love them, whether I'm here on this earth or not. I want them to know how I feel, what I think, what I'm like, what I love, and how very proud I am of them. I never want them to forget me and my love.

 

Cancer sucks, but life doesn't. Cancer actually has affected my life positively, if you can believe that. Had I not been diagnosed with cancer on June 10th, 2006, I would not have known the strength and love of my community -  from my family, friends, neighbors, children's school, my husband's and my work (Hot Off the Press), soccer teams, gymnastics/dance teams, supporters of the high school basketball team my husband coaches, the online scrapbook community (I have this amazing scrapbook full of strength and love from my online group "The Cropping Cactus"), to total strangers that read about me in the local paper or HOTP Inside Scoop, etc. I can honestly say I have a whole army behind my family and I, supporting us. Bringing us dinners, cleaning our house, calling, sending emails, cards, letters, organizing playdates, carpooling my kids and I (I can't drive during chemo weeks) to our various activities, sending gifts, giving pedicures and massages, scheduling movie night s, donating plants for the "healing garden" in our backyard, etc. I honestly find it very hard to feel sorry for myself when my family and I are being spoiled rotten to the core. Through and through. It's been nothing short of amazing. We appreciate it so much and are so very thankful and grateful and lucky. It's like I got cancer and won the lottery all in one day.

 

Through this experience I've learned a great deal. I've definately learned how to become a better friend and member of the community from the examples that are being shown to us. I've learned to not sweat the small stuff. It's not important. "Nothing is more important than this day" (My friend Paris Dukes gave me a bracelet that says that on it). I've learned to be thankful and happy for each day. To make and take time for the important things. To give more hugs and kisses. To tell everyone I love them on a daily basis. To talk on the phone more. To go on playdates with my friends. To slow down and enjoy the ride. To be more tolerable and patient. I've also learned how strong I am and can be. It hasn't been an easy summer. That's for sure. Our world was turned upside down in a day. Without warning. But I survived the summer and I'm doing well and tolerating the chemo and everyone tells me how great I look. I believe it has to do with all of the positive thoughts, wishes, praye rs, etc. that have come my way via the community. It gives me hope. I tuck them all into a little pocket of my heart and draw strength from them. I must have done something right in this lifetime to deserve the love and support I'm receiving. I am so thankful for it.

 

One thing I do have difficulty with is accepting help. I'm learning how to do that too. People want to help. They want to do something, to feel like they are making a difference. They care and want to show it. It's hard for me, an independent woman who is used to giving, to receive. But I'm working on it and it's making me a better person and in turn it's making my children better people too. Everyone around me is affected positively. It's quite extraordinary.

 

The cancer diagnosis has impacted my scrapbooking a well. Afterall, scrapbooking has been my job for the last 7 1/2 years. I'm on short term disability now and haven't worked since the week I was diagnosed. Everything happened so fast. I miss it so much. I have this need to create. I am full of ideas and need to get them out. I miss working with the new product and doing magazine work. I miss my co-workers.  I miss creating. I miss having assignments and deadlines. I miss the product development meetings. I miss it so much it hurts.

 

I've been journaling a lot since this all happened. It's so important to get the words down. Especially with 'chemo brain'. I've gotten so forgetful. I haven't been able to scrapbook yet due to a number of reasons. One being that my mom moved down from Seattle and into my studio while I was in the hospital for 13 days. When I came home from the hospital, my scrapbook stuff was now in my living room, in piles and boxes and cabinets. I had no idea where anything is. I'm a very organized person and feel the need to organize my stuff before I play. So I've been working a little bit on that each day, organizing my stuff into my living/dining room space along with my husband's office. It's taking a lot of creativity to make all of that work! In the process though, I'm touching all of my "stuff" and getting ideas and getting excited to play. I can't wait. I've been doing a lot of shopping too!!! Another reason I haven't scrapbooked yet is that the chemo knocks me out for the whole week and then I spend the next week trying to catch up before I have to do chemo again the following week! I basically have 2 weeks out of the month that I feel well enough and have the energy to accomplish things. I need to move scrapbooking up on my priority list!

 

I expect that my style might change some due to those circumstances. I'm a very detailed, involved, product oriented scrapbooker. I'm guessing that with less time and energy I will become more of a simple scrapbooker, spending less time on pages and adding more journaling. Because like I mentioned before, the words are what I want to leave behind for my children. I want them to hear my voice along with the photos (I also am letting others take the photos so I'm actually in some photos now). One thing chemo and the menopause (forced at age 40 due to a total hysterectemy) has done is give me insomnia! So I keep a booklight by my bed and journal down all my thoughts and ideas and page titles and quotes etc. as they strike me in the middle of the night!

 

I'm also keeping a journal for each child where I write to them nightly/daily and they have the opportunity to respond to me in the journal. This is difficult for them to go through at their age (11 & 7) and having them have a safe place to record their thoughts, feelings or ask questions of me, is very important. We've tried so hard not to disrupt their lives, but how can it not?

 

So as you can see, I'm not "living happily everafter" like the fairytale I had planned in my head, but I am "living" and I'm "happy". It's hard. Don't get me wrong. Cancer sucks. But like in the fairytales, you've gotta kiss a lot of frogs before you get to your happy ending. Cancer is just one of my "frogs". My life is now a "fractured fairytale".

Missing my Dad

Editor's Note:  NSA member Jenny shared her feelings about being estranged from her father and how she chose to document it in her scrapbook. Unfortunately, her situation is not unique, but not often discussed.

I started scrapbooking three months before my grandmother suffered a debilitating stroke. The events that followed in the last two years of her life left me permanently estranged from my father. Our relationship was already strained; photos of him had only made it onto a handful of my early pages before our lives made this drastic change.

For a long time I didn’t want to scrapbook photos of him because just looking at them would bring on waves of resentment and grief. One moment I’d be gazing longingly at a childhood photo, and the next moment I’d be incredibly angry at myself for harboring any remotely positive feelings at all. As the years went by, I accepted the fact that my father was no longer in my life. I never stopped wishing that things could be different - that he could be more than he was and that the past could be changed. Despite every effort to the contrary, I finally had to admit that no matter how bitter I was, I still missed having a dad. Scrapbooking helped me reconcile these conflicting feelings by putting them all on one page.

The first page I scrapbooked of my father was called, “Missing My Dad.” I tucked the journaling into folders that explained the animosity I felt toward him, both from my childhood and my adulthood. This journaling was deeply personal, but written in a very matter-of-fact way. If this page was to outlast me, I didn’t want to come across to future generations as harsh and judgmental. I then added visible journaling about why it’s sad for any child not to have a dad in their lives. While I had chosen to remove my dad from my life, I wanted to show that I value and appreciate fathers in general.

For this page, I used a photo from my childhood of a tender moment between us that brought back bittersweet memories for me. I’d comforted myself for a long time by telling myself how much he was missing out on in my life. I wanted this layout to evoke my true feeling which is that I am also missing out. The other important element of my page was the broken-heart accent. No one can break a child’s heart in the same deep, unmendable ways a parent can. I wanted my broken heart to be what drew observers in and set the tone for my page.

Part of being in a negative parent/child relationship is carrying the burden throughout your life. This burden had grown too heavy for me. Getting my feelings down on paper helped to validate me and lighten the load. By sharing this page with others I know I will never again have to carry this weight alone.

Today, I no longer feel like I am wearing a badge that says, “I am estranged from my father.” I’ve been looking at family photos at least more peacefully. Now I can scrap photos that include my dad without becoming newly enraged.  It’s important to me that my scrapbooks be honest, but not every page needs to be nitty gritty. It would be a lie to trim or PhotoShop him out of every picture and never mention him again, and a pitiful kind of revenge. With some photos of him I’ll just journal the name, date, and place. I hope eventually to be able to do some pages that elude to problems, but actually include some happy memories of him, though sometimes they’re hard for me to remember.

I don’t yet how I’m going to handle the lack of a grandfather in my daughter’s scrapbook, or even in her life. I am lucky she has a wonderful father, so I can enjoy that relationship and have plenty of uses for all those cute World’s Greatest Dad stickers. I hope someday my, “Missing My Dad,” page will give her insight into our family’s history, into me, and help her realize how lucky she is. 

The Sisterhood of Scrapbooking by Tasra

Editor's Note: NSA Member and author Tasra Dawson shares her thoughts on the 'sisterhood of scrapbooking' - how scrapbooking goes beyond the cutting, pasting, and writing.

Girl Time. (n) A bonding ritual essential to females and indescribable to males, characterized by unmitigated chatter, sudden bursts of laughter, endless supplies of tissues, and chocolate.

—Girl Time, Laura Jensen Walker

 

Scrapbooking is how I’ve made some of my closest friends. In fact, my friend Chrissy is an independent consultant and was the first person to invite me to a crop at her home. Nervous and scared, I took my small bag of supplies and decided to be brave and attend. I felt nervous, shy, and embarrassed by my limited supplies, but I went anyway. I had no way of knowing that she would become one of my closest friends and supporters. We often stayed up well past midnight scrappin’ our photos and talking about our lives, marriages, kids, and dreams. Our friendship was the foundation for our families to meet and become close friends. We happened to have kids the same age and in the same grade, which worked out nicely because they could keep each other entertained while we talked. That was nearly five years ago.

When I moved two hours north of my hometown earlier this year, I remembered the lessons from my friendship with Chrissy. Scrapbooking became the key to making friends in my new home. I found a few local scrapbook stores and again packed up my supplies and headed off into the unknown. I didn’t know anyone, hadn’t even visited the stores, but knew that I would find friendly faces and women with a common bond: our love for scrapbooking. I still attend a bi-weekly crop at one of the local stores and look forward to it every time. It’s a 3-for-1: girl time, me time and craft time. We bond over hot mochas, See’s dark chocolate, and an ever expanding scrap table. It doesn’t get much better than that.

A close second for me is visiting and participating in online scrapbook forums and message boards. Every time I skim through posts in online scrapbook forums, I’m humbled by the sincere and heartfelt relationships that I witness and experience. Women from all walks of life and in varying social classes, life stages and even different races are unified and brought together by our love for scrapbooking. Who knew that something as simple as an album, some photos and a little bit of embellishment, could create something as powerful as the sisterhood of scrappers.

Ironically, I find that sometimes I spend more time “chatting” and posting in forums than I do actually creating pages and completing layouts. I’ve met many scrappers who experience the same phenomenon. The exciting thing for me is that I have been able to build friendships with women whom I might never meet in person: a friend in Norway who tells me about my Norwegian roots, a designer in Paris who allows me to live vicariously through her, a mother in the Midwest who keeps me constantly laughing. These friendships have saved marriages, inspired change, and even helped get layouts and stories published. I am a better person because of the friends I have made.

One thing that saddens me is when I hear about women missing out on these opportunities because of fear. Sometimes it’s insecurity about our ability or talent as a scrapper, sometimes it’s shyness when meeting new people or being in new situations. Even comparison and competition can get in the way of great friendships. In my humble opinion, I think that whatever it takes to move past these fears, just do it. It is well worth the effort.

There is something so intimate and personal about the friendships that form through scrapbooking. People invite me to look through their life stories as they share the work they have done in their scrapbooks. They inspire me to capture my family’s life and look at it with a new perspective.

One of my personal goals is to make time for friendships, girlfriends, and sisters. I sincerely believe that girlfriends are necessities, not luxuries, and it is through my girlfriends that I grow and learn. It’s easy to get bogged down with the busyness of life and forget what’s really important—people. Scrapbooking brings that back into focus for me. Once I joined the sisterhood of scrappers, my life has never been the same.

The Story of Master Bob

Editor's Note:  So often in the scrapbooking world, scrappers are inclined to show the 'hearts and flowers' part of life even when the back story isn't really that way. NSA member Sandi shares with us a very personal story about her father and how scrapbooking about him helped her and her mother in their own coping process.

    

            

 

My father was a nut job ' plain and simple. He was irrationally angry, occasionally violent, and frequently scary. He had a tendency toward obsessive behavior and wild mood swings. He also liked ladies' clothing, such as jeans from Fashion Bug Plus, and ladies' shoes, preferably sneakers. The Reebok Princess, an 80's fashion icon, was a favorite of his, and he owned pairs in every color of the rainbow.

I wish I could say I was exaggerating about the previous paragraph, but I'm not. I lived the nightmare of having a parent who was verbally abusive, unstable, and just plain screwed up. You won't find much in the way of lovey-dovey father-daughter moments in my scrapbooks. You won't find much of my dad at all, and it's not just because he passed away from cancer in 1995, a few months before I turned 23, met the man who would become my husband, and really got started on my career. How do you document the unpleasant' Why would you want to'

I didn't.

For many years after I began scrapbooking, I didn't deal with photos of my dad beyond the factual details of the event. I didn't lie, either. There was no point in placing a 'Daddy's Girl' embellishment on my page because I really wasn't. I don't really miss him, and neither does my mom. Our lives are better.

Of course, none of these factors make the truth go away. The truth is that he, aka 'Master Bob,' shaped my life, as all parents do. My children deserve to know their grandfather, once they are old enough to understand some things. My father's story is a piece of our family history that should not be swept away. My children need to know what my life (and his) was like, how that shaped me, and how to treat people so as to avoid the mistakes of the past. They need to see that you can get past the crummy parts of life. There are lessons to be learned from the album my mother and I ended up making about my father's life with us.

Once my mom and I embarked on this scrapbook project, we started brainstorming topics that we wanted to document. Some of the things we included were my father's bizarre fashion obsessions, his authoritarian way of treating people, and his refusal to acknowledge that it was his offensive personality that cost him any number of career opportunities. After finishing the first portion of the book, I posted the pages online and waited to see how people reacted. 

People got it.  Sure, there must have been some folks who looked at it and were embarrassed for me, or scandalized that I would post such a thing, but all of the feedback that I got online was positive. They understood that I tackled a subject that some would consider 'unscrapable' in a candid, often humorous, and totally honest manner. They remarked that it must have been 'therapeutic' for my mom and I to complete this project. I think it was ' especially for my mom. For me, I'm past embarrassment, disgust, and sadness. I own that portion of my history, and I do so proudly because I came out of it a good person despite circumstances that would have sent many down another path.
Scrapbooking isn't just about the precious photos of children, weddings, and birthday parties. It's about documenting our lives and the little things that shape us. If there's a big elephant in living room, you can't ignore it without losing the essence of the experience. It's okay to tell it like it was. In fact, it feels good. The journaling my mom and I wrote for the album flowed like few things I have ever written before.

I do not worry about my children (or anyone else who may someday see this particular album) judging me by what happened with my dad. I wouldn't have said this about my story ten years ago, but now it's different. I'm a parent. I want my posterity to know the good and the bad. I want them to know my story. I'm going to give them something that no one else can: history.

I can't go back and ask my dad why he was the way he was, but I can send my part of the story forward.

Scrapping the Unconventional

Editor's Note: Contributed by NSA member Cheri, she describes coming to grips with changes we all go through in life...getting older.

Got Ink?

I created my first “scrapbook” when I was about 10. It was filled with stupid notes from my friends, movie stubs, popped balloons from a party and the paper blow-out portion of a party favor. There wasn’t a single picture in it! But I think back to that silly scrapbook, long since gone from moving, and it takes me back to age 10 and that wonderful slumber party. I have lost touch with all the other girls that were there, but I still smile and giggle when I think back to that silly Saturday night.

And isn’t that the point of scrapbooking, anyway? The memories?
I love to scrap just about anything. I've scrapped everything from my children's hospital bracelets to a piece of linoleum from my grandpa's basement. I think it helps keep those great memories vivid in your mind and provides wonderful stories with visuals. It's a great way to reflect on a moment in time and provides reminders of why you wanted to preserve it to begin with.

Which is exactly why I wanted to document the event of my very first (and likely only) tattoo. I really never imagined myself having a tattoo. Ever. When I told my husband I was contemplating a tattoo many months ago he laughed. He just figured I would never go through with it. I’m a big wimp when it comes to needles so he figured it was just a lot of talk. I didn’t have anything specific in mind. I was just tossing the idea around. And secretly, I thought maybe I was too “old”.

But at 41 I was having my own version of a mid-life crisis. I found myself making plans to fly off to “tropical Michigan” to meet internet friends in person. By myself. Then I hinted at the tattoo again with my husband. After almost 4 years of stressful personal struggles, I had a vision of what I wanted inked on my body. I still wasn’t entirely sure that I could go through with it so I made my friends promise me they would not let me back out. After I got through a small panic attack on the way there, we entered the tattoo shop and I knew this was it. It was a one-time event and I did not want to leave without pictures documenting each step of the process. It hurt as much as I imagined it would.

Click to enlarge photo

My mini mid-life crisis is over. For now. I have this single event scrapped and already in my album. I’ve looked at the layout everyday since I finished it and it makes me smile every time. It was something a little out of character for me. Something unconventional. An event I’m still trying to figure out how to tell my mother about.

Maybe I’ll just hand her my scrapbook.

After the Love is Gone

Editor's note: This entry was written by NSA Member Lesle - this was in response to an online discussion as to what to do about scrapbook albums which contain a significant other who is no longer a part of your life. We've all been there!

My husband and I have been having problems for the last year and a half. Last winter, I kinda felt like there might be hope, so I rushed to do my wedding album. I wanted something to look at and, I don't know, I thought it might inspire us to try harder.

Well, things didn't work out, and we've been separated about 5 months now. I'm glad I did the album last winter, because I really don't think I could have done it at the stage I'm at now.

He is an important part of my life, helped mold me into the person I am, my first husband, father of my children, so I could never "make him disappear". But I feel like the pages aren't truthful now, I feel like they are a sham.

So my solution is to doodle on the sheet protectors. My thoughts and feelings about how things went, how things went wrong, and most definitely adding a few devil horns and pointy goatees. It will be more enjoyable for me to look at, yet I won't be ruining the pages that I put so much effort into.

I guess what I'm saying is, life isn't perfect and we can't change the past, but it is important to remember it so we better understand where we came from and what we have become.

Do you have any suggestions which you would suggest to others in this situation?

How I Learned to Deal with Grief

Editor's note: NSA Member Judy contacted the us with a scrapbooking question and told us all about how she got started in digital scrapbooking - she was not a scrapbooker in any form beforehand. Her story moved us so much that we asked if she would be willing to write about it. What follows is Judy's story about getting into scrapbooking in her own words.

How I Learned to Deal with Grief

Sunday morning October 23, 2005 I was awakened by the phone at 5 am. I saw on the caller ID that it was the nursing home where my husband had been a resident for the past 5 years.  I just thought that he had fallen out of bed again. Boy did I get the most awful feeling that a person could get when the nurse told me that Charles had just passed away. I almost went out of my mind, in shock alone with no one here except for my dog. It was my worst nightmare. The only phone number I could remember  at that time was my parents' number in Newfoundland, Canada. I called my Mom and Dad, not making any sense to them, all I could say was, "he's gone."

My husband had been ill for the past 18 years -  suffering from heart disease, diabetes and dementia and a history of strokes. Eight years ago he has triple bypass and pulled through it, only to have a major stoke 3 months after. I quit my job to stay home to take care of him. For 2 years his health failed so much. Then in August of 2000 he had a major stoke. I was no longer able to care for him at home, he needed 24 hour care. I was just so exhausted from everything, so the doctor said he need to be placed in a nursing facility. I cried at the thought of having to do this. It was an awful thing to do. I felt like I was abandoning my duty as a wife. I would go there every day to be with my husband, making sure he was getting the best of care. So from the time he was there it was my daily obligation to be there.

As the years went on his health failed more each day. There were times he was in comas from the diabetes. They were the times that we thought he would go with the Lord. But he always came out of it. The doctors had told me to make funeral arrangements, because it was a matter of time. I did as they advised. I made the preparations with the funeral home. You cannot imagine the feeling you have when you have to do those things. And again I am glad that I took care of that before he passed away because I would have been in no condition to do it at his time of death.

His memorial service and military service was held on October 28, 2005 with all our friends and family that could make the trip to New York. It was very emotional, especially the military service. I was so proud to see that he had a beautiful farewell from our friends here in NY. On October 30th I took my husband's ashes to be buried in Newfoundland. That was his request that he be buried there with my family. As with the service in NY, the service in Newfoundland was very emotional for me. I knew that I would have to come back to New York to live. I would not be able to go to visit his grave as I would want to because of the distance. I came home to New York on November 12 after what would have been his 65th birthday.

When I got home, there were so many things that needed taking care of. Then what was I to do with myself? I kept thinking he was still at the nursing home, and realized that he wasn't. Friends had us for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I had no interest in anything. I just wanted to stay in bed. For 2 months that was what I did. I would get up to get a cup of tea, take care of the cat and dog then go back to bed. There was no reason for living anymore. It felt like my reason for living was over.  My best friend, husband and father of my son was gone.

In January of 2006 I got on the Internet looking at websites for things to buy for his grave, when I found a memorial site. I knew nothing about creating web pages, but I was determined to learn, so I put my heart into it to making a memorial page for my husband. I had to learn how to upload music, scan pictures, crop them and resize them. I found a way to keep busy and learn something new. It was a challenge for me, because I was determined to do this, if it was the last thing I did. I got it to a point that I was happy with it, yet something was missing. I was not happy with the picture layout. It was plain, and I didn't know how to fix it. I knew what I wanted but could not find the help I needed.

I wanted to learn scrapbooking. I knew how and what I wanted, but where do I get it? I went to software stores and bought  $250.00 worth of scrapbooking software.  Excited, couldn't wait to start my new project! More disappointment, it was not the right software, so back to the drawing board. It gets better, I finally found a digital software program that gave me everything I needed. Then it was time to do some test runs. I did it! I finally made a scrapbook page! So excited, now to get it onto his website. How do I get this to fit? I didn't know how to change it to a jpeg file. Back to the trial and error thing again. I did manage to figure it out and am happy to say that its working out great for me. I am happy with the progress in such little time. The fruits of my labor and love can be found at charles-wildhagen.memory-of.com

I just want to let people know that with the help of computers, scrapbooking and a lot of head knocking that anything is possible. I am able to deal with my loss. It doesn't take the emptiness away, but it's letting me do something that my husband would have been proud of...keeping his memory alive in a website with pictures done through scrapbooking. If not for the scrapbooking and the website for my husband, I truly don't know where I would be today. It truly is a new way in healing and grieving.

Have you dealt with a personal loss and used scrapbooking to help you through the tough times? Please let us know if you would like to share your own story.

5 Years Ago

Editor's Note: On the anniversary of the terrorist attacks in New York City, Washington DC, and the fallen plane in PA, we received this contribution from NSA member Pam. She created this project on Sept. 10, 2006. We appreciate the perspective she shares:

(you may click to see the full image)

How OKC Bombing and 9-11 have affected my life

 

You are with me still - honest feelings of how OKC Bombing and 9-11 have affected my life

(If you read the journaling, you may think I am a wimp, I am just being very honest and sincere.)

JOURNALING:
Five years ago tomorrow, I took the bus to work. I had not noticed anything or anyone. My mind was wandering, wishing I was back at home with my 5 month old Sandi. I went back to work, from maternity leave, only a few weeks before. Every day was a battle to bring myself to go to work. I just wanted to be home watching every new thing my baby girl was doing.

I got off the bus and stopped at Starbucks to get my coffee.

As I was walking in, one of the women said, 'Isn’t it just a perfect day, the sun is out, the temperature is perfect, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky.'

I glanced up and realized she was talking to me, 'Yes, you are right, it is a perfect day!', I said suddenly feeling more happy.

I went on to work. Shortly after arriving, my cell phone rang. It was Mom.

'A plane just flew into the World Trade Center', she said.

'Oh my God!' I exclaimed. 'Did the pilot have a heart attack?' I questioned.

'They don’t know,' she replied.

I ran down the hall of FBIHQ to go to my boss’s office, he had a television. I saw the reports of the plane and went back to my desk, thinking of all the people in the plane and in the building and how terrified they all must have been.

A few seconds later, my cell phone rang again. It was Mom. 'A second plane hit the other World Trade Center building.'

Now there was no doubt, it was a terrorist attack. Mom very calmly said, 'There are a few planes in the air that have not been accounted for.'

We got off the phone with our I love you’s.

Let me step back in time. When I worked the Oklahoma City Bombing, I got there seven days after McVeigh took his revenge on the government for the tragedy at Waco. I got there when the rescue effort was still underway. I got there when there were still hundreds of family members waiting by the fence that blocked of the site to keep the civilians away from the building. They stood vigil at that fence day in and day out, hoping and praying that their loved ones were one of the victims, who by some miracle were rescued alive. I was there when those same people would return to place memorial items at the fence after their loved ones were found dead. They had come to the site as a hallowed ground to mourn. My heart broke for them. It was the hardest thing I have ever witnessed in my life.

Around two years prior to 9/11/2001, FBIHQ shut down the tour route. Information had been received that Usama bin Laden was going to bomb FBIHQ. The threat was serious enough that they shut down the FBI Tour to the public.

The cell phone rang again, it was Mom. She was calmer than before. 'Honey, there is a fire reported at the Pentagon.' I immediately thought of how the press works, whenever there is a crisis, their immediate reaction to any thing is that it is related.

'Probably just a fire Mom,' I said calmly.

'I don’t know, there are still planes unaccounted for,' she said in her soothing voice. We got off the phone again, with our I love you’s.

A few minutes later, one of the women in the office blurted out that a plane had hit the Pentagon. She was panicking as she said, 'Pam, I am scared.' We were on one of the top floors of the Hoover building, should a plane hit, we would likely be right in the middle of it.

'Get out of the building,' I said strongly, firmly, but calmly.

'But, they have not released us yet,' she said dismayed.

'It doesn’t matter, get out of the building,' I repeated as I was locking up and gathering up the things I needed to go home. She too was packing up her stuff.

I called Mom, 'Mom, I know and I am getting out of here. I’ll call you when I get out.'

I quickly went down the hall and departed the building. I had my white Norton McNaughton wool blazer on and the button got caught in the turnstile as I was leaving. I yanked it free of the turnstile, I didn’t care if the blazer was ruined. I just wanted to get away from the building. I was determined not to have my family be one of the 'families at the fence'.

One of the secretaries from our floor was behind me, she said, 'You almost ripped your jacket.'

'It’s ok,' I replied. My heart was nearly beating out of my chest. I was terrified. Where do I go? Do I get on the subway? What if they are planning an attack on the subway too?

I called Mom to let her know I was out of FBIHQ. The minute I heard her voice I started to cry. 'This is too close, Mom. It is too close.'

'I know baby, I know,' she lovingly said.

'I don’t know where I am going, but I am getting out of here. I don’t want you guys to be the family at the fence.'

She needed no further explanation, she knew how deeply I was affected by the events I witnessed in Oklahoma.

I quickly called Javier and told him I was leaving and had no idea where I was going. He told me that there were bombs going off all over DC. He said there was a report of a truck bomb at the State Department and a report of a plane flying into the USA Today building in Rosslyn.

'I am going to have to risk getting on the Metro,' I told him. 'Can you pick me up somewhere?'

'Yes, meet me at the Dunn Lorring station,' he said.

I looked up and realized I was standing under a large cement overhang of the entrance of a condemned department store. I thought back to the slab of concrete that hung from the Murrah Building in Oklahoma. Mother was the name of the slab because all the employees that went to the site said that if the multi ton slab fell, it would be a ‘Mother’. Suddenly, I heard planes flying very close to the ground. I was reasoned it was probably to protect the city, but stepped out from under the slab of concrete anyway.

I got on the Metro, it was packed with no room left for anyone. We didn’t even have to hold on to anything because you literally could not move. My cell phone went out of service, all the phones in DC did. The subway didn’t go all the way to Dunn Lorring, it turned around a few stops prior. I found a phone booth and finally got a call to Javier. He pulled up at the Metro. The minute I saw him, I cried. I just want to see Sandi, just get me to Sandi. I said. He told me both towers of the World Trade Center had fallen. I could not believe it. I could not even begin to fathom the terror they must have gone through.

We drove home and my boss called and asked me to report to the SIOC (crisis center). I said I would, but I had to see my daughter first. 'Ok, report there first thing in the morning,' he replied sensitive that I had just come back to work from maternity leave.

'I will,' I replied.

The next two months were spent 14-18 hours at day at SIOC. I missed so much of Sandi’s little advances during that time. The only night I insisted I get to home on time was Halloween. I could not miss her first Halloween.

Well, like I said, it is five years ago tomorrow. It is hard facing this war we are in. Jihad they call it. There are radical Muslims that feel we have invaded their countries and they want us out, so they are waging a war on the United States. It is so hard to see all the threats, most of them so vague you could not begin to pin them down every day. I am scared for the two of you. I know we are doing our best, I just hope it is good enough. They are a clever adversary and have no issue with making innocent children their victims. In fact, the higher the death toll and the more spectacular event, the more it serves their purpose. I am scared about working so close the a major target. But, in my heart, I have to fight. I have to fight beyond the fear to wage the war against them. It is my duty as a Mom, it is my duty as an FBI employee, it is my duty as a citizen of the United States. We have to stop their efforts to terrorize us. I fight beyond the fear as a way of not letting them win.

I am scared about tomorrow. I work very close to the Pentagon, it is a target. I have a plan for how to get home in the event something happens. My route is planned out. We have a family plan of how to go about getting the girls and where to go, should something tragic happen. I will go to work, I will be scared, but I will be defiant, they will not win!

A Piece of Me by Kellie

Here's a contribution from NSA member Kellie who shares how she found scrapbooking. You can also learn more about Kellie from her blog:

Well here I am. Ever since I was a child I was very observant, sensitive, trying to get a grip on what life brought to me. I was a shy little girl, didn’t think too much of myself. I felt it was better for me to be seen and not heard. I held back a lot.

High school wasn’t much better either. I felt odd, left out, that I didn’t have much to offer to anyone. I didn’t talk much, I just sat and drank in everything around me. Wondering what was wrong with me, how could I get more friends. I was a late bloomer, just like my father was at that age. I was immature still, going thru the motions. I did write short stories, mostly about romance, long stories, I did was I was younger too. I was so good at it, I could write for really long stories, and go way into details, etc.

I made a conscious decision after I graduated that when I decided to go to college I was going to come out of the box I had been held in for so many years. No one knew me at the college, this was my chance to break down the wall so to speak. To be “who” I really was. To not feel as if I had to impress anyone.

Out I came…I actually surprised myself a lot. I was social, my creativity was developing even more. I was experiencing things I had never before. Wow it was amazing! I was on cloud nine! I had friends, I was on my own, I was making my own decisions. I had my own beliefs. It was amazing!

I came home and things went downhill a little. I was still a new person so to speak. I always had trouble with rejections etc, I took things too much to heart. I wore it on my sleeve so to speak. I remember an incident that hurt me terribly that I finally said, enough, I’m done…and there I even changed more.

I learned over the years that it was okay to express how I felt, it wasn’t easy let me tell you… I was nervous when I felt I had hurt someone’s feelings. I persevered, and continued on my road. It hasn’t been easy my any means. Getting married, moving overseas, being on medications I detest, etc. I have wanted to throw the towel in so many times, but it’s not in me. I had lied to myself about “no it’s not like that”, but I have had to face life straight on…it hurts like hell sometimes. But it’s the best I can do for myself.

When I started to scrapbook I was so nervous. I would sit there working on a layout that seemed like days, working on something. Everything had to be perfect, or I wouldn’t have anything to do with it.

I went to S. Korea and taught English, which opened a whole new adventure. My eyes were opened, I witnessed so much. I met people who changed my life, they made me look at myself more closely. To try to figure out what I really wanted. To look closely at what I really felt about things. To not let me just give up at things. It wasn’t that easy.

I met a number of women on scrapbooking message boards who encouraged me to push the envelope further - the names are countless! I was nervous…but I took the plunge. I started to incorporate my poetry into my layouts. To say okay this is me, no facades. I remember working on my first real raw layout entitled, “Paralyzing Fear”. That took so much out of me emotionally. But I did it. I wrote exactly what I felt…I was out there. I couldn’t hide…I came too far now to go back.

I have kept at it, I love learning new techniques. I keep writing poetry and sharing with my layouts. It’s not as easy as it sounds mind you, but it has taken me farther down this path in life. I always believed my venture in life was to help others, this is not about me, but in the process I have learned so much about myself. And also have learned that yes Kellie does deserve to be treated in a certain way. That I am important. It still is sinking in. The stinkin’ thinking that I had is still there, the "emotional rollercoaster", of life, but I will pursue….

The more I push myself, the more I change. Life is a process, yes it has its good times, and I love to document those in my art, but I also love to capture what’s really on my mind. I admit I get stressed working on my layouts, I do. But in the end I am being honest, and I know I am connecting with others. It’s awesome getting feedback from others that are going thru the same things as myself. I am like wow, so glad I shared. It’s okay…

I wouldn’t be who I am without the people who are in my life. They push me to be Kellie, I lost her for awhile, but she is coming back. I am discovering who she is. I am doing challenges, not just my own on "Beyond Appearances", but others to realize exactly who this girl is.

I think it’s going to be a life process, everyday figuring out what I am about. It’s a journey, and I am ready for it. I can accomplish anything that I put my mind to…and with God’s help.

Who Was He Anyway?

Men who scrapbook are the most under-represented scrapbookers in the industry. Ironically, it's the men who scrap who can contribute perspectives which most scrapbookers haven't ever thought about.  Contributed by NSA member Frank, this is our first article for our feature 'Men Who Scrap':

 

Ever wonder if sometime in the future your family members will ask that question? And you won’t be around to provide an answer? Well, that’s where my life took a sharp turn a few years ago.

You see, I began to realize, as I sat in the doctor’s office yet again, that as I was getting older, my health wasn’t where it should be for someone my age. I was forced to deal with the inevitable truth that someday, it’ll be my turn. And there was no telling how soon my turn would come up.

So I sat there and asked myself the question, “When I’m gone, will anyone remember me? Will they know what I was all about?” I came to the grave realization that the answer was a resounding “No”. Of course this lead me to explore the “why” and “why not” aspect of those questions. The answer was simple. I hadn’t allowed anyone to get to know me.

Having grown up in a very dysfunctional family, I moved away from home at the age of 17, and never looked back. You see, my family had high expectations of me, and I found that at the age of 17, I was ill-prepared to cope with that situation. So, I began to make a life of my own. It’s been a life rich with experiences, both good and bad. But it’s been my life, nonetheless.

So I decided to do something to change the answer to the question that I had originally asked myself. I decided to start scrapping a few years ago. Much to my chagrin, I had a huge learning curve, as I was years behind everyone else.

As I began to delve into the hobby, I realized that there weren’t products available to me, which actually represented who I am. You see, I’m ½ Italian, ½ latino, and a gay male. Of course when you look at my ethnic backgrounds, you can well imagine that I’m the “black sheep” of the family. No longer were there huge expectations on my shoulders weighing me down. Those were replaced by years of guilt and silence from my family members. But eventually, time took a toll, and my family has slowly started to make amends.

It was during this time, that I took it upon myself to collect all the photos of my family, and put them all on CDs for them and their children. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to scrap them, because I couldn’t find scrapbook embellishments, papers, etc. which were representative of us. So I had to settle with simple photo CDs.

After finishing that project, I began to scrapbook my own pictures. My OWN life, and that of my wonderful partner of nearly 6 years. However, once again, I was unable to find product which represented ME. Who I am.  So I began to search high and low for products, to no avail.  I became more and more frustrated.

Of course, my partner tried to reassure me that all would be well. He reminded me that not only is it difficult to find product to represent US, but that it was just as difficult finding product that represented men in general.

He also reminded me that I’ve made great strides in our local area, overcoming the glares and catty comments that I would receive upon entering a local shop. I recall being told that I “didn’t belong”, that scrapping was “for women only”. I also remember the frightening experience of attending my first class. The instructors didn’t know what to make of me. Of course that didn’t bother me as much as the thought of being “run out of the store” by the other attendees. I remember not being able to concentrate on my first class, as I was too concerned with having to grab my stuff and make a run for the door. Sometimes, I still feel that way, when I’m not in my comfort zone.

Now, I look back at those days now, and get a chuckle out of them. So, as I continue to struggle to find my “place”, and “representative product”, I realize that within the local scrapbook community, they DO know who I am. They know what I’m about. They get it. I just wish that the larger scrapbook community would “get it” too.

Now if I can only get my family to “get it”. In the hope that one day, my nephews and nieces can say “Hey, do you remember Uncle Frank? Let’s go look at his scrapbooks again, he had some funny stories to tell.”

That, is what it’s all about…the stories. MY life stories.

Are you a man who scraps? We'd love to hear from you!