Today is my oldest son's birthday. He left eleven years ago, and today he is forty years old. 

    I miss him, his smile, his sense of humour, his spontaneity. He was a wonderful human being; kind, loving, empathic. He, like I, have ADHD that is off the charts. When we were growing up together, and yes, I have always phrased it that way because we did grow up together. I was a young mom; had three under three by the time I was twenty-four. 

    In our family my youngest has Autism, and I suspect my husband does as well. My daughter and her son have ADHD. And then there were Adam and myself. When the kids were teens it was extremely tense in the house. My husband and son had difficulty understanding Adam, his lack of being able to read other people and realize the joke was leaving a mark.

    My husband became a changed man. When three children, one of whom he found challenging, were going through puberty it became an overwhelming situation. I tried to run interference between my husband and son, translating each other's coded script to each of them. Sometimes it worked, most of the time it didn't. 

    I became an emotional wreck worrying about all of us and if we were going to survive the chaos, anger, resentment and fatigue. I never in a million years thought this would be our family. Both my spouse and myself grew up in families that did not care about our well-being or having positive parental figures that unconditionally loved us, that supported us, or even talked to us. Gen X: The invisible Generation. 

    Growing up for us was so different. We went out at sunup and returned at night. No one cared where we were or worried about our safety. We grew up as feral beings learning how to survive the world. We got into fights we had to resolve ourselves. We arrived home to an empty house. We fed ourselves, if there was food as in my husband's case. No one helped us with homework, or life in general. There was no such thing as feelings. We did not have any. Our only job was to be quiet or be gone. We had living rooms we were not allowed to be in, we had no say in any decision, including ones that impacted us. We were told and expected to accept it without emotion. I remember in my house the only feeling I was allowed was happiness; no anger, no sadness, no grief, no sorrow. I had to have that smile plastered on my face every single day regardless of what was happening under our roof. 

    When my husband and I were first married we both were emphatic our children's lives would be different. We would listen to them. We would talk about their emotions and teach them how to regulate them. We would love them unconditionally and let them know regardless of their mistakes, that did not become their identity. We had dinners together as a family and talked about our day. Sundays were a special day. We celebrated and ate, talked and laughed. We were open and honest with our children when they had questions about anything. They knew we would keep them safe in any situation. And we showed them with real-world issues. 

    It all changed in their teens. The two oldest made bad, life changing decisions. Adam started hanging around peers that did not have the same values as we did. His best friend was an alcoholic at fourteen, and lived with an absentee, alcoholic parent. Overnight, those were his guides, not us. We lost him bit-by-bit until he stopped coming home. Then he was living with drug dealers. He never turned to drugs for which I am grateful, but alcohol became his demon. 

    He still came home once in a while. He got married to a wonderful, but troubled girl, who experienced a horrific childhood. Her demons became too great for Adam to deal with and they divorced. In the meantime, he started coming home for Sunday dinners again. He found solid employment, and he seemed together. A few years later he married again. She was different from his first wife. She controlled every aspect of his being, including if he could see his family. At the same time, I was recovering from two ruptured brain aneurysm's and she did not have tolerance for my needs. I always knew she was jealous of the relationship Adam and I shared. In the beginning of their relationship there were issues with him visiting his sister. I walked on eggshells around her because I knew if it were a choice, I would lose, even though he loved me so much, it hurt. Adam had always been a follower. I think that's what led to his downfall at thirteen. 

    My health became my priority. It had to be. Brain surgery is a big deal. It left a lot of damage, not only to me physically, but to my relationship with Adam and his wife. We were still speaking and texting until that day when he called and screamed at me that he did not care. He had never raised his voice to me, and I was devastated. That was the last communication we had. He changed his phone number. I do not know where he lives, if he is still married, if he has children. If he is happy...if he thinks of me.

    Adam, today you are forty. This is a milestone birthday because forty is when you start thinking differently. You become more introspective and take an inventory of your life; what you have created, who you've become, and what you want your legacy to become. Life is a series of choices and each one has a different path, a different outcome, and a different story. Our story was cut off too short. I have so many regrets, and things I wish I had done differntly. But I know the outcome would still be the same. You are in my heart. You are an Adam-shaped piece missing in my soul. I will always love you as much as I always have. Things will never be the same, and yet I still have hope. Because that is life. 

I'm A Matchbook Girl

The past fifteen years have been a long journey. It is a lifetime and a minute. Time moves in a wave when some moments last hours, and other moments speed past me like stock cars on a race track. 

Life and everyday stress, dealing with the fallout of two ruptured brain aneurysms, estrangement of my son, death of my son-in-law, a stress cardiomyopathy, also know as Broken Heart Syndrome, and dealing with the repercussions of a car accident 14 months ago have beaten me down. In the culmination of all these incidents, I've discovered, I am a worn out book of matches.

Having your brain blow up is something I never want to deal with again. It took five years for a semblance of normality to reenter my life. And it left permanent damage. I have always been an optimist and tend to find the positive in most situations. I have to, or my brain would compress into a tiny ball of depression and darkness, put me in a hole so deep, I could never climb out. Just before the brain surgery, the nurse was explaining what the procedure was like, and how the neurosurgeon had to be specific. I'm thinking, huh, I wonder if he downed a red bull or twenty because he was on a thirty-six hour shift, got into a fight with his wife that morning, and lost his wallet. Just how steady were his hands?

When the nurse said they were talking a camera and inserting it into my leg, travelling through my arteries until it hit my brain, I burst out laughing. In my mind's eye I was picturing the surgeon stabbing my leg until he found the right artery. The nurse's jaw dropped. At this point I had come in for a routine appointment for 12:30, and did not leave the hospital for five days. I was exhausted, my husband was a train wreck on the inside. I recognized the signs, but he was calm and asking the right questions. He gave me that look. You know the one. All people with ADHD recognize the LOOK—the glare over the glasses and frowning. I get that look a lot from a lot of different people. Meh. #addisagift. 

I went in for an hour surgery, and came out five hours later. No one had updated my husband in the meantime, and I am sure he was thinking I died and they were trying to resurrect my desiccated corpse on the table. People all atwitter in the OR, machines making sounds, doctors blaring out orders, someone sitting on my chest doing compressions while looking like a succubus. 

I cannot recall why the surgery went over time. I do know they had three surgical teams, two on standby in case I went to visit the spirit in the sky—at least I hope that is the correct direction. If I find out, I will let you know. The best was the aphasia, which I still have to this day. I had a lot of fun with it, because I am the weird kid who writes horror. It was something I took great pleasure in because I never knew what would fall out of my mouth, so it's new to me too.

One day, a new security policy alert went out and I remember talking to my Sgt, explaining the new procedure for security with computers. Everyone had been assigned a profile tied to a specific computer, and he asked me what do we do when a person leaves the unit. I said we would disembowel them, thinking of the word disengaging, for the computer. The look on his face was priceless. But then, he knew I was a horror writer. And I was the weird kid with a dark sense of humour.

A decade later, after the loss of my son and son-in-law, and now having had three incidents of PTSD which occurred in less than a week, my energy levels depleted faster than my bank account when the kids became teens. This is how it works for me. The alarm bellows in my ear. I have not slept well. I wake up and down two cups of coffee so I have the energy to get to work. I've burned out three matches already, and I started with a book of fifteen rather than the full book of twenty-five. 

I enter my office and walk to my desk. People are asking questions or needing something. I haven't even had a chance to put my briefcase down or taken off my coat. A daily occurrence. I start to show up two hours earlier. And then, so did my employees. I thought I caught a win. But no. They defeated me again. Another two matches burn out. I open my e-mail and another match burns out. Twelve matches left. I scan the emails, triage them into order of importance, deal with the urgent ones and shut it down. I won't look at it again at the end of the day. Fridays, I decide, I am not looking at them at all, because, someone will email with a crisis 3:00 PM on a Friday of a long weekend, because they 'forgot'. 

In the hallway someone says they need equipment by tomorrow, even though the policy is clear and states we need two weeks notice because the tech team may be on the road. I smile and it is on the list. I look at the staggering pile of work on my desk. Goodbye, three matches. Nine matches left.

My boss tells me he needs a financial report by this afternoon, and proceeds to stand over me, eating his lunch while I try to focus on the report. I am now down to five matches, and it isn't even lunch yet. 

The afternoon is filled with meetings which should have been emails, employee struggles, checking the status of projects, and going into my overwhelming emails which pile up faster than a snowbank in a snowstorm. Two lonely matches left.

I get in my car and drive to pick up errands or drop something off. Down another two matches. Now, I am at zero. But there are still kids, supper, laundry, you know, the regular life obligations.

I have to eat dinner: down minus 1 match. On super stressed days, I am too tired to chew. I need to change the sheets and I need a shower. That brings me to minus four matches. I am exhausted, and ticked off I only have fifteen matches while others had a full book. I lose matches dealing with people. I am an introvert with ADHD.

Extroverts start with twenty-five matches and gain more when they are surrounded by people. By the end of a good day, they will have fifty matches, while the introverts are so exhausted, they just want to sleep.

The next day, I start with eleven matches and the extroverts start with fifty matches. Let me tell you, working in a cube farm, while interesting and saves costs, impacts people, productivity and accuracy for the negative. Hey, but we can fit y'all in the egg carton. Phones, people chatting, people needing answers of things they could have found themselves had they looked, and the endless traffic is exasperating. By the weekend, I am a worn out like a sack of wet mice. I want to stay up and watch a movie, have a glass of wine, red please, and relax with my husband. 

Everything changed with the car accident. My perfect, sweet baby, a 2019 Camaro, was demolished beyond repair. The airbags exploded into my face and legs. Time stood still and there was no sound at all. Nothing. The black particles of chemicals hung in the air and I felt I was in a gothic version of a snow globe. Seconds, minutes, hours, days went by. Time did not mean anything to me. Nothing hurt. But then, I was in severe shock, had a bad concussion and whiplash, which I would discover three weeks later. 

I opened the car door and looked at the destruction. Pieces of my vehicle were hanging on by a thread and the leaking transmission fluid looked like a blood-bath on the street, after the Sons of Anarchy visited The Mayans MC. 

An ambulance and police arrived, and I told them I was fine because nothing hurt. That was the shock numbing everything until four days later. The paramedics asked if I wanted to go to a hospital. I said no. In hindsight, they should have taken me, without asking. I don't know why they ask. I was in traumatic distress, I did not have the executive function to make decisions. My car littered two lanes. The front end was obliterated. The inside of my car was demolished and the engine pushed against the cockpit into my legs. Parts of my engine was on the road.

I was an emotional wreck. I could not get enough air and I was sobbing and unconsolable. I called my husband and he took me home. I went to bed. 

The pain was intense. The pain scale peaked at nine. I could not sit, lie down, stand or walk without my body screaming at me. I could not speak because of the intensity, and I had to remember to breathe. I held my breath for months. I have nerve damage in my ankles, shins, hips, lower back, spine, neck and shoulders that still linger fourteen months later. I need a cane to walk if it is a very short distance, less than 50 feet, and I need a walker to go any further. I have severe vertigo, and fall a few times a month. Severe headaches, and the pain is constant. I know, this is not sounding good at all. BUT there was an enormous positive that outweighed all the negative. Because I could not work, I immersed myself into writing. This did not occur right away. It wasn't until January 2026, I could concentrate enough to get the work done, shot bursts at a time. I have a three hour window. Anything that needs to get done, is in those three hours, then mentally and physically exhausted I need to sleep.

I now write every single day. I am working on my first novel and have another four lined up. The first draft should be done by September, 2026. And revised by end of October. 

My house is silent. This is such a blessing. So is the writing. Every day is a gift despite the pain, the insomnia, the nightmares and nerve and spinal damage. No more telephones, notifications, alarms, or slamming doors. No more chit chat in front of the water cooler. No more sports talk. No more constant interruptions in a job which held huge responsibilities and accountabilities, and with a team of nine people I was responsible for mentoring, coaching and training, and having to accomplish that surrounded by people.

People are exhausting. Crows are not. So, be a crow. Drop in, say high, go find a shiny thing to bring back. Then you will have my attention. 

©MLRoos2026

Nothing Fits: Cooper Nemeth

Cooper Nemeth's body was discovered in the past month.  He was 17, a good kid, an athlete and was recently diagnosed with ADHD, depression and anxiety. His parents were afraid of him turning to drugs because of the diagnosis.

Raising an ADD child is challenging. With mine, he had one idea in his head and then there was the truth. He chose to believe what was in his head. He dwelled on the negative rather than the positive and never thought he was good enough. He listened to his peers instead of his parents and often I would lie awake at night wondering if this is the night the police would be at my door asking me to identify a body.

I know the exact moment he changed. At 10, he was like a big fluffy puppy dog, all limbs, happy and full of laughter. His sense of humour was contagious and his personality was infectious. Adults adored him, and so did most of the kids. There were always the one or two that didn't, but he handled that okay.

He excelled at any sport he touched. I remember his years of playing baseball and he would be out in left field watching a bird, scratching his head, with a ball coming directly for him and he would reach his arm up and snag that beast in mid flight.

He ran track in school, while smoking a pack a day, and ran in combat boots. Won every single time.
Around 12 or 13 things slide downhill fast. He ran into a group of bad influences, he refused to listen to anything we said and stayed away days at a time. He had a steady job, went to school, but still marched to his own dysfunctional drummer. Speaking to him was like speaking to someone who did not understand English.

I kept trying to get him to see the positive of ADD; it is a gift. People will ADD see the world differently and can accomplish so much more than someone without ADD. You just need to channel that energy in a positive way.

Unfortunately, the kids my son knew, used it to their advantage; staying away from home, drinking, and getting into fights. No matter what we said or did, nothing changed. We tried psychiatric counselling, medication, going off medication, talking, begging, pleading. Nothing worked.

As a parent, I have never been so lost or confused as during this time. And angry. Dammit. I was very angry. My husband I both had horrific childhoods. Between the two of us we suffered severe poverty to the point where there was no food, beatings, severe sexual abuse, torture and emotional dissonance. We both made the promise to each other early on in our relationship that when we had children, we would treat them like people, not objects. We would love them unconditionally, think about their feelings make sure they knew they were loved, ensure their well being with clothing and food. And value and respect them. We did that, and it still blew up in our face.

Having kids is a crapshoot. Any good teacher or psychologist will tell you that. You can do all the right things and it can still turn out less than stellar. Or, conversely, you can starve, beat or abuse your kids emotionally, telling them things like I wish I used a condom with you, and have them turn into the most incredible caring and empathic people out there.

I read about Cooper and my heart broke. My heart broke for Cooper and the choices he made; my heart shattered for his parents, who I am sure were doing everything they thought they could to help Cooper, but it still wasn't enough.

Some ADD kids are tough, strong willed, strong minded, focused and make good decisions. Then there are the ones like Cooper who tend to be followers and controlled by the wrong kinds of people.

I have no clue what the answer is. I thought I did before I had children, cause it seemed so simple to me: love them, respect them, feed them, nurture their minds and they will stay in your wolf pack forever.

Nope. Apparently doing all the right things will still bring you heartache and grief.

I am so sorry for your loss, Brent and Gaylene. You are in my thoughts and prayers. I hope you see the strength, wisdom and joy you gave Cooper and I hope you find your way back from Hell.

Abandoned

Another new year has begun for me. Halloween always strikes me as New Year's Eve, November 1 as a day of remembering your ancestors and November 2 as the start of a New Year. Makes much more sense to me than December 31.

This year has been difficult, mentally, physically and emotionally. I do not want a repeat.

I lost my child. No, not to death, not to miscarriage, not to drugs. He is still alive and very healthy and probably very happy, but he is gone. He was married to a wonderful girl about five years ago. Her family had issues (who's doesn't), but unfortunately her issues took over my son's life, soul and spirt.

My son is kind, compassionate, caring, and also ADD to the nth degree, which can make him selfish, self-centred and not able to think about the further consequences of action. Sometimes I think he is more 15 than 30.  I can say these things because I am the same way. Growing up, my middle child and I were identical. We loved the same music, we laughed at the same jokes, we told the same stories and we were happy. Except for when we were down. Then that took over our lives.

At work, however, he is conscientious, resourceful, bright, funny, inventive and gifted. Actually, I think he is extremely gifted. He could be an outstanding artist if he chose to work at it, or an outstanding tattooist. He has many talents.

But like some people with ADD, he is also extremely stubborn, strong willed and listens more to friends than family. He's been like that since he was 13. His friends had more of an influence and power over him than my husband or I ever did.

As a teen, we tried to keep him centered, but as with most people with a mental illness, he chose to self medicate and act out. Got into trouble, acted out more, got into more trouble. It was a horrible time for us as a family as we had a special needs child, and another teenager. At one point I lost my job and was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia and a mild form of MS. Life was crazy. 

He did get his life together. He is very successful in his career, is responsible and, I believe, happy. Unfortunately, he chose to blame all his bad decisions as an adult on me. When I got the phone call, I was in shock. My son and I had a great relationship growing up, so this was so out of left field for me. I still do not know how or why he chose to say the things he did, but it's been a year and I feel like my child has died. I grieved for months.

I cried myself to sleep for more nights than I care to remember. and I questioned everything I did as a parent, a mother, a wife. When I found out he moved back to the province and then practically across the street from us, it crushed me. Completely. I still have no contact with him, do not know his phone number or his address. And I still think about him every single day.

My husband and I had horrible childhoods; torture, rape, abuse, starvation, psychopathic parents, and we both swore if we ever had children we would not do to them what was done to us. We would listen, we would ask questions, we would talk and discuss, and love. And we foolishly thought this would make a difference. A teacher once told us, having kids is a crapshoot. You never know what you are going to get. And he was correct.

My husband and I still talk to our parents. And then, when I thought we did all the right things, we are abandoned.

All I can do is try to move on. And not let this tear me apart.


ABANDONED: Bif Naked

Well you packed me away in the trunk of your car.
You drove me so fast and so far.
I tried to fight but its so hard.
The only momento is this scar.

Where were you when i needed you?
Somethings missing, and I can't breathe.
Where were you? Where were you?
Somethings missing.
You abandoned me.

Oh when you look deep into my mind.
That is so tired and weak from this life.
On the verge of fear all the time.
I feel like you left me here to die.

Shaking in my boots, you shook me down.
You really took me down.
Shaking my foundation, not to be found.
Never to be found.

Where were you? Where were you?
You abandoned me.
You abandoned me.
You abandoned me.

Float.Calm, Writing, Lucid Dreaming, Stress Reduction

I had a powerful experience yesterday. I floated...in space...freefall...for 90 blissful minutes.

Picture this: a serene room painted with walls of mauve and blues; aromatherapy misting in the background with clean, fresh scents, a private shower on white tiled floors, orchids, a wooden table with clean, pressed towels and a pod. The pod is roughly 12 feet long and 8 feet wide on the outside, rectangular with softly rounded corners and a molded ergonomic handle. You pull it open and the inside this blissful womb is six inches of water and 850 pounds of therapeutic Epsom salts. The water and salt is a perfect 93 degrees. You climb in the pod, shut the door...and you are transported, through space and time, dimension and planes into a completely relaxed, stress free journey. For the next 90 minutes, all you can hear is your heartbeat and your breath. You can see nothing but a wall of black and you are perfectly comfortable.

This is HUGE. I am claustrophobic, have ADD+, or as I call it, ADD High Octane, and I am a writer. Between being a writer and ADD, my mind never shuts up. We have conversations, arguments, debates. Sometimes we throw parties, invite the neighbourhood, the townsfolk, and the next three cities over. And we all talk at once. We talk about the weather, murder, shopping, poisons, kidnapping, The Big Bang Theory, the next best movie, the next best book, dinner, decomposition, body farms...you get the idea. Did I mention I write horror.? Yeah, I guess that is obvious. Usually, the conversations all happen at the same time AND just as we lie our head on the pillow.

I climbed into this pod and my mind shut down. Completely. There was no chatter. I breathed in and out, listened to my heart beat and my breath, and floated. There was nothing else. I have never experienced anything like this in my life. My body was completely relaxed, my mind was awake and focused and I was without pain. I drifted in and out of consciousness for a while and suddenly I had an amazing idea for the book I was working on: a complete new prologue explaining the history of creation and time. But with vampires...not Stephen Hawkins material. Don't get too excited. Horror. Remember the horror part. It was genius. I took notes afterwards and the idea gelled and formed into a realistic plot form. It even made sense the very next day!

Writers have been there. Trust me. We get brilliant ideas at 3am and we excitedly write down our thoughts in a journal and when we wake up the next morning and look at the scribblings, we wonder if a mad, half drunk lunatic escaped and took notes for us. We convince ourselves it was not us that wrote "Cats that turn into leopards at midnight and steal cars", but someone else. Because, at 3am, that was genius. In the cold morning light, however, it is crap.

But this is different. Floating and shutting out the world frees our minds to do what they do best; solve problems, create, journey, whatever your art form may be.

As a writer, as an anxiety-ridden, over worked, over stressed brain splatter recovery human, this was heaven. I will definitely do it again. And again. And again.

The effects lasted into today. I feel rested. I feel more in control of my work. And I accomplished twice as much as I usually would in the hectic work environment then I usually would have on a Monday.

Break free from your life for 90 minutes. You will thank me later. Float.Calm.


http://www.floatcalm.com