Michelle L. Rusk's Blog

Last month, when I was a featured speaker for a zoom group for people who have lost a sibling to suicide, I was asked if I had been suicidal after my sister’s death. I very much understood the importance of this question– I have heard many times before how people question their own lives because a love one has taken their own. I used to say that the word “suicide” becomes part of your vocabulary in a close and personal way after you lose someone to suicide. And we do know that people who lose a loved one to suicide are at a greater risk of suicide (probably for the same reason I stated in the previous sentence).

Despite all that I’ve been through in the thirty-some years since my younger sister Denise died by suicide, I can honestly say that it had the opposite effect on me– it has made my embrace of life much stronger. And I can see now that it might have also made my embrace of color much stronger, too.

My mom always was a color person so I was raised to understand the importance of color. I remember walking through a now-defunct department store here in Albuquerque and her saying, “The color is dead in here.”

Maybe my embrace of color came from that- the way she noted the lack of color was dead. I know that Denise not being here (and I was 21 when she died- on the cusp of adulthood here and working toward my goals and dreams) has made me feel a stronger need to accomplish my goals and dreams.

The ride hasn’t been easy, no life is, especially when we want to continue to grow and make the most of the time we have here. Color and prints are part of how I do that. I find so much hope and inspiration in them. And they connect me back to the childhood I shared with Denise.

Cyndi Lauper taught me one of the most important lessons for my creative life.

I read once where she said that she would write songs while she was ironing. This struck me because I was learning early on that if I wanted to be a writer, I would have to insert it into the other aspects of my life, that I might not have long periods of time where I could write (as I would love to have), but shorter blocks.

I learned to plan my writing in my head (usually while swimming and maybe running although I find I have to keep my head focused on my running to keep up my pace) ahead of when I actually had time for it. This meant I didn’t sit down at the laptop and go, “What will I write today?” which would probably be an extra twenty minutes. Instead, I could jump right in, usually based on a sticky note waiting for me.

It’s been much the same with Chelle Summer. I rarely get a long day like I did this past Saturday. As Greg was with his girls soccer team up in the Four Corners of the state, there were no plans we’d made, no estate sales to distract me, and the weather was rainy and cool, not a good swim day. It felt luxurious to have all those hours.

But that’s not the usual. Today is my second day this week I have an empty calendar although tomorrow that changes for the rest of the week– and I also have packing for the Palm Springs Vintage Market this weekend ahead of me. There’s also always paperwork, things (like bills) that are messed up and need to be fixed. If only the dogs would offer to vacuum, however, that’s another story.

I have learned that to make my goals and dreams happen, I had to fill the little spaces in my life with my creativity, the same creativity that also brings me the most happiness. After all, part of making those goals and dreams come true also means figuring out the way to maximize the effort I put into them'.

Now I must go– the sewing machine is calling.

For the many years (I’m not counting!) that I’ve been speaking at suicide-related events or planning them, one of the hardest parts always has been getting people to show up. I have done events where there has been no one. It’s so hard to me because I have always wanted to help people and how can I if they aren’t there to be present at an event or to hear me speak?

In the five years that we’ve done the Our Lady of Sorrows prayer service for those whose lives have been touched by suicide at my church, it’s been a challenge to get people there. Or, get more people there. I know that people are in pain and we just want to offer some bit of peace and hope.

Last night I was contemplating this as we getting ready to begin at the church. And that’s when God thought he’d send me a message.

It’s not just about the people who are in the church right now.

Those weren’t his exact words, but that was his overall message.

There are many people out there for whom showing up at an event like that might have been too painful. New Mexico is a state where the historical culture continues to foster the stigma in some way (particularly for Native American and Hispanic communities). While it might look like everyone is inclusive today, those feelings of years ago continue to exist for some people.

For others, it’s just the pain of losing a loved one. Some people don’t want to be there if they will cry or show any emotion. I always found comfort being with a group of people who had some understanding of my journey, but I understand not everyone feels that way.

And yet there are people who are trying to balance their lives– family, kids, jobs, taking care of parents– and can’t get away to take the time for themselves. They might also be afraid that getting away means they will break down and the schedule they must keep will fall apart.

While we were there to pray for those of us who were physically at the event (and our deceased loved ones), I know that there were many more people, both living and deceased, included in those prayers. What we do isn’t always about what we can see right in front of us. Sometimes we need a reminder that prayer is for those we can’t see, too.

Most of the journeys we take aren’t short. They aren’t something we can do in one day, especially the more meaningful ones, the ones that we can’t complete in a short time.

For me, my journeys– which are what I would usually think of as attempting to achieve some sort of goal– often take a longer time, definitely much longer than I would like them to.

And yet there are other things I do in my daily life that are journeys in a sense– like going out to run in the morning or going for a swim in the afternoon. Journeys within journeys.

When I go out for a run, I know that I can make it easy and just sort of lallygag along without much effort. But, unless I’m exhausted from something else, I would much prefer to make that mileage count, to physically and mentally feel like I’ve pushed myself.

The other morning I really didn’t want to push myself. I wanted to be lazy. I tried to remind myself that if I slowed down, I wouldn’t be happy when I finished. While that wouldn’t set my tone for the day, I did want to feel some sense of accomplishment as I started on the other tasks my day would entail.

If that reminder doesn’t work, I find myself having to break the run into smaller segments, shorter distances. Make it from here to the street sign or the light pole.

Life journeys can be the same. While we are excited to embark on a big journey, at some point we might feel a bit worn down and wondering if it’s worth it. It’s hard to keep focused when something looks to be so far away.

That’s when we should break it down into shorter segments- like I sometimes do for my run. We don’t need to be overwhelmed. Take a deep breath and think of something shorter, something that will rejuvenate you with a sense of accomplishment as you look up and remember the big picture in front of you. But with excited eyes again.

September is National Suicide Prevention Month, this week is National Suicide Prevention Week, and Wednesday is World Suicide Prevention Day. Please always remember that if you’re worried about yourself or someone you care about, you can call the Suicide and Crisis National Lifeline at 988.

While I don’t do many workshops now about suicide and/or grief, I still believe it’s my job in some way to contribute to the world in an inspiring and hopeful way.

On Sunday, I was reading the Albuquerque Journal newspaper and the Pearls and Swine cartoon made the point that we are constantly told to go forward, to go forward, and yet often we aren’t told…how. This is one of my irritations with therapy. Sure, it’s great to spill what’s in your head, to purge it, but that can only take you so far.

You need homework and you also need to know how to push yourself forward, how to keep moving toward the light. The cartoon made me think about my own messages and wondering if I provide enough ideas about how to go forward.

I do believe there is hope and light ahead of us, but it’s like my dog Goose who loves to be in the pool. However, Goose’s idea of being in the pool is to stand on the top step, maybe the second step if he wants to cool off his belly on a hot day. And yet Goose doesn’t want to take that step forward to swim (unless he’s pushed from behind at which time he will happily swim to the deep end of the pool and return to the steps in the shallow end). We want to go forward and yet we’re afraid to take the step forward. Do we need to be pushed? Or do we need the right motivation? Does it scare us that if we go forward, maybe we can’t turn around and go back if we’re afraid? So many questions, so many fears.

We know the light is there- we’ve seen it. Maybe just take small steps. No one said you had to run forward in a sprint. I believe you can do it and my hope is to create better blogs on the how that I believe is missing in so many messages.

But for now, take a small step. You can stop, you can rest. Remember, the light is there and you definitely want to not just see it, but be part of it.

I don’t jump out of bed at 4:00 am. It’s more like I roll out of bed.

But once I start running and I look up at the night sky and the stars, then the first outline of the Sandia Mountains as the sun starts to reside behind them, I’m reminded how much I love being up in those early hours.

I used to say that the early morning felt so hopeful because it was like someone had washed off the chalkboard of the day before and we have a chance to start new. When I finish my run and do a variety of things around the house (watering outside, cleaning up dog poop, checking on the pool, emptying the dishwasher, feeding the dogs), I think about how much it’s my favorite time of the day.

The morning light begins to change my perspective of any worry I might have woken up with or that’s residual from the day before. Seeing the coming light gives me hope that new things could happen today, that there’s new opportunity ahead, that I have all the time in the world.

Everyone laughs that I’m asleep before 9:00 pm most nights. I laugh that I struggle to get out of bed that early.

But the most hope I feel is during those early morning hours and I believe we should grab all the hope we can, especially that which keeps us inspired and gives us the energy to face challenges (and opportunities!) ahead.

On my desk, I have a small stack of newspaper clippings that I’ve kept for some sort of inspirational purpose. One article, from The New York Times in 2022 is about Ben Crowe, a mind-set coach who works with tennis players.

I have several items noted in the article, including that one of his core principles is that “We don’t know ourselves enough, and the bits we do know we don’t love enough.”

How true.

While I always have been a reflective sort of person, for some reason, recent years have me reflecting more. I don’t know if it’s age or the pandemic or the after effect of so many losses in my life, that I want to make sure I take advantage of everything I can in this life that we have. A life that feels as if it’s spinning faster all the time.

It’s amazing how disconnected people are from themselves. But it’s also a challenge to get to know ourselves. It means reaching keeping inside, a place many people don’t feel comfortable going. It might be that as we tried to reach deep inside earlier in our lives, other people squashed us. We learned early that if we wanted to be who thought we should be, we’d have to dodge the darts of people who were jealous and/or didn’t want to see us succeed. That meant we made a choice– either to keep fighting or to shut down.

Yet, if we do know ourselves, this also might have happened- people shot us down there, too, so we learned that maybe we shouldn’t love those aspects of ourselves that we had come to really like.

And so we found ourselves in a circle, one that didn’t leave us happy, but left us believing we needed to be okay with where we were.

Life is short and we all have choices. I know the digging inside oneself is difficult, and often lonely, but I also know the journey is well worth taking. I wouldn’t be where I am or have done everything i have if I’d chosen to shut down. Embrace and love who you are what you contribute to this world.

I saw Fr. Gene, the Norbertine priest with whom I do my spiritual direction. here at their Abbey in Albuquerque, on Friday. We were discussing world events and how they impact the reactions of many people. Particularly, how many people are living in fear.

I am well aware of what’s happening around the world and around me. I don’t discuss it here (I reserve those discussions for the people I walk my dogs with and the dinner table with Greg and others) partly because I can’t let it distract me from the goals and dreams I have. My inspiration is strong and I don’t want to wake up in twenty years, sorry I didn’t do the things I had the opportunity to do.

I also believe one of my roles in this world/life is to contribute on a positive level. There is much I can’t change, but what I can do is throw positive energy into the world by sharing what I create and my inspiration.

That said, it’s not that life is perfect. There is a constant struggle and worry about various things. Some days are very quiet where I am in my bubble creating. There are days I have to go out in the world and not let my irritation with people not paying attention as they drive (or leave their shopping carts in the middle of the aisle! Or look that someone else is coming another way with a shopping cart!) get to me. Sometimes I believe it might be easier to stay in bed and ignore the world. And yet, that’s not the life I truly want to lead.

I am constantly inspired and that’s what I want to share.

Fr. Gene called this the endurance of faith. Maybe because I’ve had so many losses and challenges, I don’t blame God for what’s happening in the world (I listened to many people do this after losing a loved one to suicide). I know that somewhere down the line many things will get better although that doesn’t mean the road to get there will be smooth.

In many ways, it’s sort of like this photo of me hiking up to the M at the University of Montana in Missoula earlier this summer– there were some rocks I had to maneuver past and then there was a smooth spot. Life can be rocky. And then it’s smooth. We are grateful for those smooth moments, but we must remember to use the rocky moments, the challenges, to teach us how to be stronger and keep our heads held high with hope and light.

I bought a Lilly Pulitzer sweater recently (sweaters, sunglasses, and shoes remain out of my realm!) and on the tag there was this:

“It all started with one incredible woman who had the courage to find her joy and create her own sunshine.”

Growing up, it was always all about fitting in. Looking back, the messages feel confusing– we were to try and fit in. Yet we were also told that we should find out who we are. But if we didn’t fit in, often we felt bad that we didn’t, like there was something wrong with us.

For me, now it feels like the difference between style and fashion. Fashion and trendy last for a short time, style is who we are for the long haul.

I did the work and because of it I never truly felt like I fit in anywhere in my life. I kept trying. I had lots of friends, but few that were really close to me. I changed hairstyles in high school almost as often as my outfits.

After I started writing fiction again, when my work in suicide prevention and loss was winding down about fifteen years ago, I found myself drawn back to the high school me– to the clothes, the colors, the music. And to my childhood– also the clothes, the colors, the Barbies- with my younger sister Denise.

What I thought I had left behind, was still part of me and I wasn’t quite finished with it. I twisted it around-– taking pieces of it and merging it with who I am today. I finally realized a great many aspects of life weren’t going to be what I wanted them to be, nor would I fit into many places. Instead, if I truly wanted something, I was going to have to create it myself.

So I did and I continue to do so.

The original title was “Pattern Stories.”

I envisioned each chapter was a pattern and the dress that that particular pattern became, a dress that was made for a special occasion. But as the story unfolded in front of me as I wrote it, it changed into something else. It became Ida’s story.

But it wasn’t really just about Ida.

Yes, it was Ida’s story as she and her pilot turned space researcher husband Elliott married and moved to Albuquerque in 1960, taking Ida away from her family and Ohio, yet dreaming of the life she would build with Elliott.

Life, however, has a funny way of not always turning out as we thought it would. While Ida fully expects that she and Elliott will have a family, children circling them, slowly her story begins to change when that doesn’t look promising. Elliott encourages her to find meaning in something to do other than clean their apartment.

That’s when she begins to sew. But not just sew for herself, but for the women around her and in the wider city of a booming post-war Albuquerque.

I found Ida’s way through these patterns. She learned how to help other women find happiness in their dresses (and a swimsuit), giving them the confidence in their own lives. And learned that the story she was supposed to tell about her own life would be something different. Not bad, just different.

The pattern companies didn’t always place copyright dates on the patterns, particularly in the 1960s, so some of my research was making sure the dresses matched the time I was writing. The book takes place between 1960 to 1966 and it was important to me that readers feel like they, too, were in that time. I spent a lot of time reading the Albuquerque Journal newspaper from during that period and Greg and I drove around town, matching addresses and locations. Estate sales also helped me see the insides of houses, some of them so long ago the location of them faded, but the house still fresh in my mind – like the house Ida and Elliott eventually built. And, yes, it has a pool.

I often talk about how clothes tell stories. But patterns do, too, because they are often where the story began.

You can find Ida here on the Chelle Summer web site or on Amazon.