Crazy Beauty

Clara Collapses

Clara Collapses

Lying on my back, listless, powerless, I ponder why for fifty years, everyone always dotes on little ole me, "Clara, your hair is so long. Clara, you're so beautiful." Frustrated with these shallow, useless thoughts, my head presses into the shag bedroom carpet for a long time, my once perfect hair now shooting away from me like deranged fireworks, and one long brown curl across my nose. After carefully, releasing my tiny frame down here to the floor, beating the blackout, I realize now how inconveniently far away the phone is from me. Not that it matters since I can't seem to move, can't even wiggle my nose. I try.

I am Clara. Nothing in this life has beaten me yet. I am a bold, fun, belly-dancing Greek girl, but all my life I've had this nagging feeling that I might one day lose it. Control never seems to be in my own hands. Today I can feel that pretty heavily. Sometimes I yodel and play my guitar to "sing my blues away." But today, I can't even do that.

What is it about children of suicidal parents? Why are the kids filled with so much inner turmoil? I have put a lot of effort into working harder than any of my friends at work, with my children, in my marriage. But it just doesn't seem to matter. Here I lie.

My husband, Charlie, and I live in a middle-class neighborhood called Big Bend Woods in St. Louis, Missouri. St. Louis, in 1979, is a lot like a famous movie actress from time gone by. She's seen a lot of history, been through a lot of growth and change, yet she knows who she is and is resilient in keeping to her roots. It wasn't Wheeling, West Virginia, my hometown, but homes sell for around $75,000, and kids can walk to school. Our three boys, Johnny, Larry, and Dennis, are all grown up now. Their friends still came to the house to say, "hello," and reminisce about past parties we had. I sure miss my boys and those parties. We filled every room shoulder to shoulder with friends. The coats were stacked almost to the ceiling in my bedroom.

I could imagine every inch of this room all dressed up in pink, though right now, my eyes were failing me. That was a little scary, but maybe today was the day I would finally go to heaven. What a relief that would be. I decorated this room with a lot of care and shopping trips to Macy's. I love shopping. Pink curtains adorn the windows, a pink ruffled comforter covers the bed, and fuzzy pink floor mats decorate my master bathroom. It was mine. Charlie had his own room.

Charlie's room was dark and masculine. ¬¬¬¬¬¬I found him light-eliminating window coverings, a solid colored unremarkable comforter that he seems happy to have, and I pray that he is careful when he smokes in bed at night.

Why was I pondering home furnishings? I was lying immobile on the floor. I've now been stuck here for about fifteen minutes. I try to wiggle my left leg and foot. Why was it so hard? I have had strange, irritating symptoms lately like my ears ringing, face itching, and head hurting terribly. Free time was not a blessing available to me for doctor's visits. Far too much to do with work now that I was finally getting somewhere with my career - if you call being a secretary a career.

After I woke up at 7:45 AM, I had carefully pried myself from underneath my pink covers. I pulled the sheets up to my neck, then the fuzzy blanket, then the comforter until I had fluffed out each wrinkle over me. I hugged the blankets. Then, I maneuvered my feet down to the floor creating a perfectly made bed even before I was out of it. I always feel like I should get a gold star for this performance, and it made me smile. Next, I spent about fifteen minutes moving from room to room straightening things up, opening window curtains and such. While I ate my morning donut with coffee, I thought of all the fun I've had decorating this house and then sharing it with my friends and family. Oh, the entertaining Greek name day parties we had. Then, I checked my calendar for this week's activities. It was set to be a very busy week with an office move.