Jean Haus - With the Band

He’s frozen for several too-long heart-thumping moments until he pulls me onto his lap, tugging my legs around his waist, and wraps his arms around me. He holds me tight as his mouth claims me. The press of his lips, the strong embrace of his arms, and the touch of his fingers on my back all express a mixture of joy and relief.

My own heart sings.

Soul mates. I’ve come to believe in them again.

As our lips separate, he stares down at me, his pretty blue eyes lit with happiness. He runs a thumb across my cheek, whispering, “ ‘Lovesong.’ The Cure.”

Wrapping my hand around the one caressing my face, I whisper back, “ ‘Never Tear Us Apart.’ INXS.”

I’m quite sure that schizophrenia comes in various forms and degrees. I wrote the disease as I know it, and sincerely hope I did not offend by doing so.

My maternal grandmother has schizophrenia.

I have many wonderful memories of my grandmother. From the time I was very young to this day, she has showered me with compliments—most of which I probably don’t deserve. She has tried to make every occasion special, from Christmas dinner to a simple barbecue. She has always gone the extra mile. I’ve never seen anything to match her Easter egg hunts. I could go on and on, but she simply is a great grandmother.

I have some peculiar memories too. My grandmother telling me the FBI was taping her. Or that aliens had landed in her backyard. Or the time we went to Sea World, and she wanted me to change my shirt. “Purple is the color bad people wear.” I took this all in stride. My mother had told me about my grandmother’s diagnosis.

My mother has had a hard time dealing with my grandmother’s disease. Not only because it was and is her mother saying and thinking these bizarre things but also because my grandmother’s paranoia sometimes became all-consuming. My grandfather didn’t always make sure she stayed on her medication. He tended to believe her—maybe out of desperate hope—every time she said she was better. Off her meds, she would alienate fellow workers, neighbors, and friends with her threats and accusations. Unfortunately, my grandfather tried to hide her disease from others, thinking she’d be embarrassed if others knew. I don’t believe having a disease should be embarrassing. The people closest to my grandparents might have been more forgiving—my grandmother could be cruel in her paranoia—had they known the truth about her diagnosis.

Drama was inevitably part of my grandmother’s life. Sometimes her worst episodes ended in strapped-down trips to the psych ward after erratic behavior that included things like turning most of the furniture in her home upside down or becoming violent with my grandfather, whom she usually adored. Her life was a roller-coaster ride and included some heartbreaking times, but with the support of her husband and children, she made it through each fall off the deep end.

Even though my grandmother has had a challenging life, she has also had a full life, including a loving husband, four children, and now, almost a dozen grandchildren. She worked as secretary, then later in life ran her own antique shop. She’s been to Europe twice. She lived in Florida for several years before returning to Michigan because of my grandfather’s failing health.

She’s now in a nursing home. Her medication is regulated, and she hasn’t gone off the deep end in quite some time, but there is an occasional nurse or patient who she accuses of prying into her business or taking something of hers.

Shrug. I accepted long ago that here will always be some drama with my grandmother.

She drives my mother crazy sometimes, and I truly understand my mother’s frustration, but I love my grandmother, aliens, accusations, and all.

I’d like to thank everyone who helped pull this book together. Thanks to Lisa, again, for always reading my early drafts and offering unbiased suggestions. Thanks to Kate Chynoweth for her awesome story editing and spot-on suggestions. I always like to thank every reader who gave this story a chance. I’m honored that you would spend your time with my imagination. You all rock! As usual, a huge thanks to my husband and son for all their amazing support. None of this would have happened without it or them. And thanks to my grandma for just being herself. Her life is an inspiration.

Jean Haus is the author of the Luminescent Juliet series, which revolves around a sexy, talented indie band from a small college town. She lives with her husband and son in Michigan, where she spends almost as much time teaching, cooking, and golfing as she does thinking about the tough but vulnerable rockers featured in her books. Visit Jean online at http://www.jeanhaus.com.