Farewell by the Mary-Go-Round

The first official sentence of this blog might give you pause. No worries--this will not be maudlin in any capacity. Keep reading and start laughing.

Yesterday, yet another of our clients passed away. A "cardiac event," per the coroner. I'm inclined to agree. I suppose when it's your time to go, this is the way to go--peacefully in your sleep. 

CeeJay was quite the woman, always gave staff a run for the money. She was a pistol! Personally, I found her antics to be quite humorous. Others probably did not, most likely because they are not fans of those who are pistols. I like when clients are fiesty. I don't want them to "roll over" and just do what they're told. I want them to have quality of life. I want them to stand up for themselves. I want clients to challenge the staff. After all, it's their life. So, I really appreciated CeeJay's naughtiness. She was a lively one. 

While thinking about CeeJay yesterday, I recalled a most memorable trip to Great America in 2006, which featured CeeJays's group and a ride gone wrong. I blogged about it back then and it still makes me laugh when I think about it. I've updated it to include more about CeeJay's role during the outing. In honor of her passing, I speak of the Mary-Go-Round. 

(Disclaimer: as always, I like to point out that I mean no disrespect to those I serve, those with severe mental illlness. So, don't get your undies in a bundle, please.)

Great America, 2006. A trip to Great America with a busload of adults who just happen to have mental illness. I assigned myself to a group of those who didn't want to go on any of the major attractions. Fine by me. I preferred to be on the ground than be hurled through the air.

Six clients. Only six adults. You're probably thinking that doesn't sound too stressful. You're probably thinking what a cake job I have, how awesome it is to go to an amusement park 75 miles away during work hours. You're probably thinking that it is super fun. 

You. Are. Wrong. I'd rather poke my eyes out than go to Great America, even if is only with six adults--all persons I know very well. Six adults of whom I see every day. Six adults.

It's hot. Really hot. Blinding sun summer hot. Humid. We are all dripping with sweat. It's disgusting out, with not a lot of shade to be had. I try to keep our group inside or in the shade--which is mighty impossible at this particular park. We spend lots of time watching variety shows and attending movie-type attractions. We are hot and sticky and red and miserable. 

As a nervous nelly, I'm always counting my group. It's a habit, I suppose. Other staff don't give a poo and send their assigned clients off on their own. I'm a counter. So, I'm counting my little group before we move to the next attraction (probably a food vendor) and all five are present—we're good to go, good to go shopping or eating. . 

Wait a minute—all FIVE are present? I had SIX when we came into the park. Mary, CeeJay's friend, is missing. With a heavy sigh, I tell everyone we are going to the merry-go-round, as I am sure that this is where Mary has gone. CeeJay is none too pleased with this development but she gives a big huff and drags herself along with our little band of amusement-park-impaired folks. CeeJay is all full of disdain for Mary at this point.

Our group of five stand staring at the ride, watching the horses go up and down, lights spinning in a circle, round and round and round…but, I don’t see Mary. It’s kind of hard to see as we are basically looking into the sun, so I figure we might have missed her. I instruct CeeJay to go stand by the exit to watch for Mary, as she’ll have to get off when the ride is over and we can meet her there. Another huff from CeeJay but she complies, lumbering toward the ride's exit.

The ride stops, the people get off….no Mary. The ride starts, we stare at the horses, the ride stops, no Mary. I look and see that CeeJay in still in place, so I know we didn't have a merry-go-round escapee. After the fourth ride completes and everyone exits, I decide to ask the attendants if they have seen Mary, describing her in the nicest, most politically-correct-manner possible. The two young men laugh and point to the second level of the ride. “She’s up there,” they say, as they allow me on the ride. “We can’t help patrons—we can’t touch them.” I stopped to stare at them—what on earth are they talking about? “She’s stuck, says she can’t get off the horse,” the younger guy adds. “We can’t touch her—policy rules.” I’m incredulous. How does someone get stuck on a merry-go-ground horse?

I tell everyone to stay with CeeJay. This brings a smile to her face. She is all about being in charge. I don't really have time to contemplate all the ways this might go wrong. I go with it and hop onto the ride.

Sure enough, I walk around the circle and there's Mary, on a white horse in the inner ring of the ride. No wonder we couldn’t see her from the ground. 

“I’m STUCK!” she screams. 

Mary is crying and sweating and her nose running all over her face. “I can’t get off the horse,” she adds, as if I can’t tell what she’s doing. She stands up on the horse, death grip on the gold pole. She sits immediately back down and begins screaming again. Parents are directing their children from the area. I go over to her and ask her to calm down and listen to me. 

“I CAN'T GET OFF I CAN'T GET OFF I CAN'T GET OFF!" 

I tell her if she can get on the horse, she can get off the horse. (I'm so pragmatic. And, a moron.) I ask how she managed to get up there, anyway, but she has no answer. Mary is only focused on getting off the ride. I scratch my head, as she is indeed rather stuck. I am not strong enough to lift her off the horse by myself and the attendants can’t help me. I tell her to stand up and I step toward the horse. She's now hanging onto me at the neck, obviously terrified. I feel the room spin, then realize it’s just that the ride has started again. Now Mary is going up and down and has truly worked herself into a froth. I ask her to sit down and just wait for the ride to end. I just asked her to stand up and now I'm telling her to sit down. What the hell is she supposed to do? 

CeeJay is now on the ride. So much for staying with the other four. She wants to help. She offers to pick up Mary from one side as I pick her up by the other. So, now the three of us are going in circles, literally and figuratively.

What seems like three years later, the ride ends (dang, that ride is long) and I begin to work frantically. CeeJay is trying to help but now I've got two people to worry about, not one. Sigh. I tell Mary to stand up; she does, then she sits right back down. I tell her to stand up and stay standing. I put my arms around her waist. I tell her to lift her leg; she says she can’t. We do this for THREE MORE RIDES. 

Finally, by the grace of god or some other being, her leg makes it over the saddle and her weight falls on to me. Thankfully, she doesn't kick me or CeeJay in the face--although, by this point, I would welcome a foot to the nose. I groan and my knees buckle but she hangs on to my neck and squeezes tightly and we work our way off the horse, off the ride. We meet her waiting peers--thankfully, all five people are in a group. I turn to thank CeeJay...

...but, CeeJay is not standing next to me. 

YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FRIGGIN' KIDDING ME! I still don't have six people.

I am in no mood to talk to anyone and instead just point toward the parking lot. I point the five-still-not-six group toward the bus. I don't care if it's too early or too hot or too whatever. I'm getting on that bus and I'm not getting off.

Thankfully, CeeJay was sitting on the other side of the merry-go-wrong, right by the fountain. I decide she's no fool. She found the one place that made sense after sweltering all day. I don't say anything to her, either. I point to the bus. 

It's a VERY quite walk to our ride home. No one is dumb enough to start bickering, whining, yelling, crying or complaining until the bus ride gets underway. 

Great America. Poke.My. Eyes. Out. You. Can. Kiss. My. Sweaty. Ass. All I can think is: Never again. They can't make me do this again. Can they? Please tell me they can't make me. I slide down in my hot, stick, plastic school-bus seat and pray for the best. I'm hot and grimy and crabby. 

But, then I see the smiles on the sweaty faces and realize that it is selfish of me to think this way. Trips like these mean the world to these people. Who am I to be selfish? I have to smile. I laugh and shake my head. I am destined to come back to that miserable place and I will go without too much grumbling. Oh, I'll grumble but it'll be worth the smiles.

Now it's Summer, 2017. Here we are, the day CeeJay passed away. I hope she is at peace. I hope she no longer suffers from the symptoms of mental illness that plagued her entire life. I hope to go she gets to be in charge, to be feisty, to be whatever she wants to be. I choose to believe she is free, happy and relieved. 

Thank you, CeeJay for the laughs, the naughtiness and the lessons. Thank you for being a fighter. Thank you for the gift you were to me. 

A gift, fondly recognized on days like these. Loss is balanced with the gifts received. 

I really do have a kick-ass job. Kick some ass, CeeJay!
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