Two weeks before Cross Roads, my anxiety was hitting hard. I’d not attended a convention since 2020 and Cliff Simon’s untimely death. So, when Todd did his usual coffee chat, I got into the questions and basically pleaded for reassurance.
“We’ll look after each other,” he said.
It’s an easy thing to say, but following through? It’s not that I didn’t believe he meant it, but… it was a convention. It’s busy. There are other people, all wanting his attention. So, in all honesty, I didn’t think it would happen. Or that I would need it to so damn badly.
A Weird Week
The five days leading up to Cross Roads were, to be bluntly honest, crazy. It started on Tuesday morning and a phone call from my sister. Dad had had a fall and was in A&E. I hurried over to my parents’, though there wasn’t much to do other than wait. Dad broke his hip and had to have a full replacement. At 80.
Wednesday and Thursday were spent driving over and either looking after Mum or driving her and my sister to the hospital. Dad was bad at first, but had improved enough by Thursday afternoon for the doctors to talk about physiotherapy.
Oh, that reminds me – Dad was taken to Trafford General, aka the hospital my ex-husband spent five months in. The flashbacks on my first visit were horrendous. I was actually shaking, and feeling dizzy and sick. Yay, trauma!
Friday was supposed to be for getting ready. I picked up my daughter and planned on doing snack shopping, but then the forementioned ex rang, begging for a favour. Thinking it would only take an hour, I agreed. It took four. FOUR. I dropped him off, did the shopping I needed, went to Hobbycraft for a yarn needle, and then went home.
Conniptions at the Convention
Cross Roads was at the same hotel where I’d originally met Cliff for the first time. It held a lot of memories, and I was a little afraid that I’d walk in and just lose all composure. I did have a wobble around lunchtime, but otherwise the ghosts didn’t haunt as much as I’d feared.
I arrived at 9 am. Parking was horrendous. Signage inside was worse. I’d no idea where anything was. Where I registered. And then I saw the board with the photo op times. Todd was first. The ops were running for twenty minutes. It was now 9:15.
Headless chicken time. I hurried as much as one can with arthritic hips and a bad knee. There was no one on the desk for checking in the photo op tickets. I managed to find a steward, flail manically, and finally get escorted in just as Todd was leaving. God, the way my stomach dropped.
One quick explanation by the steward and he about turned. I rushed after, conscious that he was supposed to be somewhere else and I was holding him up. I was flushed from stress. I’d had no chance to breathe, or go to the loo, and my hair was a mess.
And my brain just stopped.
In the moment, I didn’t even realise that I was shutting down, but Todd has ADHD, as does his son, and clearly recognised the signs of disassociation.
“You’ve come as the universe,” he said, with such glee and delight, I couldn’t help but laugh. I think that’s what stopped the spiral before it got worse. Then he basically directed me through the photo op, talking gently enough to keep the panic at bay but firmly enough to kick my muscle memory into gear.
The resulting photo isn’t great. The lighting is off. I look a mess. I felt absolutely nothing, despite standing right next to Todd Stashwick. With his arm around me and his voice (garbage truck, my arse) in my ear. Yet, I love it despite those things because to me it represents just how kind Todd was at that moment. How he reined in an anxiety attack and saved the day, at least as far as I was concerned.
The rest of the day was much better. I’ve little doubt that was because Todd reset me. I managed to give him the dragon I’d crocheted for him, though I didn’t see the photos until later. He named it “Brummie”, assumably because we’d met in Birmingham. He doesn’t half make me laugh.
