Father

There was once a man. A man who was a hero to a small girl. Later he became the monster in her bed. But in the beginning he was her hero. Later, when she became a woman grown, a woman who had battled her demon and won, she thought she had forgiven him. Not forgotten, but forgiven.

For many years they lived a truce of sorts. She was able to love him as she thought a daughter should. He loved her as a father should.

The man aged. His body began to fail him. He fought cancer and won. Life continued on. The man aged well for many many years. Then his senses began to fail him. First his hearing, then the ultimate blow to him. He lost his sight. When that happened he lost his will. It seemed as if he had given up on life, given in.
He mourned these losses, especially his sight. He became lost in anger. He began to disappear.

Then one day he fell into the very pit of hell.
He suffered a massive body destroying stroke.
As the woman grieved for the hero he once was, one day she had a fleeting thought and ask herself, "Is this his punishment for the evil he had brought into her life and the lives of others?" Oh the guilt that wracked her with this thought. She told herself no, and no again. He had never openly voiced his sins of the past, but had openly ask his God for forgiveness. So, no, and no again, she told herself, God does not punish in this way. She forgave herself for the thought, and once again forgave him.

As time passed he did not heal, only became less able, more frail,  and the woman grieved for him, for what might have been. She grieved because he could no longer function as he wished, as all those who loved him wished. He had lost the ability speak, the ability to  swallow, the ability to control all bodily function. There were still times when he could express himself. A sound, a nod, an eye blink, a squeeze of the hand, a smile. All of these he shared with those who loved him. Except for the girl who had lost her hero. He did not respond to her touch, to the sound of her voice. She felt as if she had disappeared. She was filled with pain.

Then, one day, not long ago, his body betrayed him even more. It began to shut down. He was placed on a ventilator and the family was told they  must search their hearts for answers. Did their hero wish to live this  way? Completely reliant on others to fulfill his every need? Reliant upon a machine to pump the gift of life into him?

His loved ones fought, they wailed, they grieved. Finally the woman who had lost her hero decided to ask him,  "Do you want to live this way? Do want this machine to govern your life for you?"  For the first time in so many months he responded to her.  His eyes met hers. He answered her. "No, no and no again."
As grief held her body rigid, the woman began to feel a sense of peace. Her hero of old had had his say. He had been able to express his wishes. It would be his wishes that would be fulfilled.

But, suddenly there was a turnaround for him. He slowly gained strength. The family began to hope. Their broken but much loved hero would return to them. But as so often happens hope was soon snatched away.
He became very very ill, was rushed to hospital. Life saving measures were taken.  His loved ones were questioned once again. Answers were given. The last to be ask was the woman who as a young girl had lost her hero. Eyes wide open she looked at those she loved so fiercely. They were all so hopeful, so filled with fear. She did not have the courage to answer as she knew she should. She answered from ages past, she answered as a little girl who idolized her hero. She answered, "Do what must be done to keep him living."
He lives this night. Dependent upon a machine to fill his body with life.

This night when she left his bedside, when she left her family who were so filled with hope. She left feeling as if she had broken a promise to her hero of old.

She grieves.

Farming

I'm becoming a farmer, not your usual kind of farmer though.

I've kinda been a farmer all along. But, I didn't do any of the work. I rented the ground out to another real farmer.


I found a USDA farm program that is going to pay me grow wildflowers! I love flowers! Someone is going to pay me to grow them!  Amazing!

I was so excited when I placed my bid...imagining my backyard filled to the brim with lovely lovely blooms, butterflies, bees, maybe even quail! 

My imagination was running amok.I didn't think about the work involved in creating all of that beauty. I mean, yeah, I researched  it, I knew it would be a lot of work. Special rules to follow. I knew there will be no beauty the first summer,  I've grown small patches of wildflowers before, I know it takes a few seasons to get the flowers established, the first summer it will look like a field of weeds. But I also know, that as year two comes around the beauty will arrive. 

But...then...I won my bid. Oh My Gosh! Oh My Gosh! 

The ground  is bordered by forest, there will be thousands of tree seedlings I will have to remove each spring, acres and acres of seedlings removed singly, by hand! The flowers have to be mowed each fall. I have 5.33 acres of  tillable acres. Doesn't sound like much does it? But when I stand in my backyard and look over those 5+ acres while thinking of having to mow those 5.33 acres each fall, then my breath stops for moment and my heart falls into my stomach.

There needs to be buffer zone between the wildflower habitat and the forest. Which means I have to clear a strip of land all around the field that is at least 20 feet wide, a strip of land that is currently filled with young trees and shrubs.

 In three years I will have to disk one third of the field, and continue to do so for two more years. All the while searching out and pulling 5.33 acres of tree seedlings.

I am an immediate person, I often begin a new project thinking I must have all the tools necessary immediately.  So, I started pricing the machinery that is required. Gulp! That's when I really began to worry. Thinking, oh my, oh, oh my!  I will need a tractor, a flail mower (still not completely sure what that is), and a cultivator, tiller or a mechanical something that will disk portions of the soil for me.  I freaked, completely freaked when I started pricing the machinery. So costly. Definitely will not be buying new. I've already determined that when I get to the tractor buying stage, my  tractor will most likely have been built in the 40's or 50's, anything newer is many thousands of dollars!

Once this all became reality, not just a pretty dream, I really began to worry. Asking myself, "How am I going to do this! I  am a mechanical numskull!  I can occasionally fix my small lawn tractor when it breaks down, but most of the time I rely on a very good friend to fix it with me. Yet, I'm going to buy a really old, very used tractor and other miscellaneous machinery??? Who, me? "

In the blink of an eye, I had myself in a frenzy of self-doubt. So full of doubt I had to get a grip. I had to say,"Hold on girl! Who says you can't hire someone to do the first spraying, cultivating and planting this spring. Who says you can't rent the equipment the first year? You?  Then you need to step back and think logically."

I have somewhat gotten a grip on my wild frenzy of self-doubt. I still have the tendency to think I must do all of this by myself. I still lean toward the need to buy all of the machinery now. But, I also know, I can do this. I will do this! I will make mistakes. I may even screw it up royally!

But...

I kinda like these dreams. I imagine how the field will look in 2 or 3 years, and I smile. I dream of looking out my back door and seeing, breathing in, acres and acres of flowers. Big smile.

More dreams... I think of flowers, and think...bees. Bees? I dream of  learning how to be a beekeeper, and selling honey. Okay, I'm still not thinking completely logically. Let's tone down that dream a bit. Hmm, how about allowing a beekeeper to place hives along the perimeter and me having a share of the honey? Yum! Wait, wait, lets not put the thought completely away. I could raise bees. Sure I could. At least, I know I'm not allergic to bee stings, that's a good place to start? Right?

After three years of being on my own...eh...not married, I'm still not used to making decisions without consulting someone else. Its all me now, nobody else can tell me they've decided for me. The biggest change in adjusting my thinking, in learning I don't have to fight anyone for for what I want, is realizing that I have to trust myself. This takes patience. I have become slow to make decisions. I mull them, stew them, mull them some more, mire myself in what ifs and self doubts. Eventually I get there. So slowly. The decisions are not  always the best ones, but, they're my decisions, my choices. It's all on me.. I can live with that.

Each day that passes I come closer to fulfilling my dreams. I'm taking baby steps instead of the giant leaps I once thought I would take. I am learning to let time take me where it will. I'm still impatient with my patience, (though some would call it procrastination). When I slow my thoughts down, when I allow my worries to float away on a cloud. I know my someday will come. My little dreams will become reality.

Something that will never change. I will always question. So, once every so often I have to take several deep breaths, let them out slowly,calm my thoughts, and then I can continue along my path...only next year it will be a path filled with wildflowers. Big, big smile!

Bully

I hope with all my heart this documentary will be watched, will touch souls, and most importantly,

...MAKE A POSITIVE DIFFERENCE...

Beauty

Elderly Animals: Photographs by Isa Leshko from Mark & Angela Walley on Vimeo.

Today's Economy

A man walked into a pharmacy and was observed wandering in a rather confused way up and down the aisles.

The sales girl asked him if needed help.

The man responded by saying he was looking for a box of tampons for his wife.

The clerk directed down the correct aisle.

A few minutes later,he deposited a huge bag of cottonballs and a ball of string on the counter.

The Clerk, confused, said, "Sir, I thought you were looking for some tampons for your wife?

The man replied, "You see,it's like this. Yesterday, I ask my wife to pick me up a carton of cigarettes, and she came back with a tin of tobacco and some rollingpapers. Saying, "It's sooo-ooo--oo-ooo much cheaper."

So, I figure if I have to roll my own, so does she

self-protection

"You cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness."
~Jonathon Safran Foer~

Who I Am

Creating, becoming, always taking in what those in my life give to me.

*******

These gifts from others, they are great, if only we accept them.

Each encounter we experience helps create who we are.

If we let it happen.

*******

I.

I am learning to accept these gifts.

Slowly.

*******

So much pain we bring into our lives.

Do your remember time as a child?

Each day was a forever day.

As adults we wonder not where the days have gone but where the years have gone.

They are here with us if we arise and come out from under our interminable searching.

If we make the decision each day is a blessing.

*******

Have you ever ask yourself who you most admire?

Now go further.

Then ask yourself why do you admire them?

The answer brings us so close to who we really are.

When we see what we admire, we see what we are searching for.

If we are open to that search.

We create, we become.

*******

For what seems like forever I have searched for the perfect me.

There is no perfect me.

There is only the me I create.

The me I am becoming.

The me I will forever become.

On My Knees

Until a few days ago, I don't think I've ever really considered the question, "What would bring me to my knees?"

In my own ambigous way, I am a spiritual person.

I've prayed to, thanked, ranted at, questioned, and ignored my ambiguously thought of God(s) many times in my 50 plus years on this earth.

But no person or event, nothing, has ever literally brought me to my knees.

Not until last Sunday afternoon.

A phone call from my mother, to tell me my youngest niece had been taken to emergency room because she had cut her wrist attempting suicide. I felt for the briefest of moments as if my entire self had shut down. We talked for a few more minutes, I then called my brother, father of my 14 year old niece, I spoke with him almost calmly only slightly teary, I spoke briefly with my niece, she replied she loved me too when I told her I loved her.

We hung up.

I was seated in a rocking chair, slowly, ever so slowly rocking back and forth, barely breathing.

The words, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no echoing in my mind. Wanting to go there, to see her, hold her, cry with her. But, she had said no when I asked if I could come, my brother had said they wouldn't let me see her anyway. I'm here I told her, I'm here I told him.

I've had other family members injured terribly, other family members near death. As is part of life, I've lost friends and family. I at times did not believe I would escape the divorce process emotionally whole or healthy. I've experienced wonderous things in my life that brought offerings of gratitude from my heart, from my lips to my God.

But...

Not one time did I fall to my knees and beg my God over and over to help.

Not until Sunday.

After those few moments of begging I withdrew to somewhere deep within. There is a part of my heart that is holding its breath unable to come up for air. Not just yet.

Her mother committed suicide 13 years ago, this makes her daughter ever so much more fragile.

Sparklings

"To cement a new friendship, especially between foreigners or persons of a different social world, a spark with which both were secretly charged must fly from person to person, and cut across the accidents of place and time."

The Ape in Me, 1959 ~Cornelia Otis Skinner~

"The accidents of place and time". They say timing is everything. It is, can be.

I've felt this "spark" several times in my life.
Sometimes so sharply it would take my breath away.
I would then wonder if it were one of those rare soul to soul connections.
Many times I believe they were.
Many of these friendships end when the touching of our souls have accomplished what needed to be accomplished.
They end.
They just do.
In the beginning of the ending I am always very sad.
Feeling lost and lonely, continually probing at the hole where their soul touch once was.
In the middle of the ending I always wonder what I could do to bring things back to the way they were.
When the finality of the ending completely sinks in I can't hold on any longer.
What spark is left I let die down to softly glowing embers of memory.
I attempt to say goodbye.
It doesn't mean I don't miss them.
Oh! I do.
It doesn't mean something very important was not taught and learned.
It doesn't mean I didn't grow and with the memories of that soul touch not continue to grow.
It doesn't mean I will forget them.
It's sad really.
These endings.
I've had so many endings in my life.
I once wrote that I had forgotten how to say hello.
That I only knew how to say goodbye.
I find it harder and harder to say goodbye.
I would rather drift away.
I've gotten very good at drifting.
Not very fair though to me or them.

I want to stop drifting.
I can't seem to allow myself to open up to the learning of that.
I don't know how.
Yet.

I remember the first time I read Robert Munsch's Love You Forever to my then young son. I cried, I think it took 3 or 4 bedtime readings before I didn't cry sometime during the reading of it.

Until I had my first child, I had no true understanding of how deeply one human being can love another. I believe this to be different for each individual, for me, it took having children to learn this.

Love You Forever
A mother held her new baby and very slowly rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while she held him, she sang:

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be.

The baby grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. He grew until he was two years old, and he ran all around the house. He pulled all the books off the shelves. He pulled all the food out of the refrigerator and he took his mother's watch and flushed it down the toilet. Sometimes his mother would say, "this kid is driving me CRAZY!"
But at night time, when that two-year-old was quiet, she opened the door to his room, crawled across the floor, looked up over the side of his bed; and if he was really asleep she picked him up and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. While she rocked him she sang:

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be.

The little boy grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. He grew until he was nine years old. And he never wanted to come in for dinner, he never wanted to take a bath, and when grandma visited he always said bad words. Sometimes his mother wanted to sell him to the zoo!
But at night time, when he was asleep, the mother quietly opened the door to his room, crawled across the floor and looked up over the side of the bed. If he was really asleep, she picked up that nine-year-old boy and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while she rocked him she sang:

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be.

The boy grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. He grew until he was a teenager. He had strange friends and he wore strange clothes and he listened to strange music. Sometimes the mother felt like she was in a zoo!
But at night time, when that teenager was asleep, the mother opened the door to his room, crawled across the floor and looked up over the side of the bed. If he was really asleep she picked up that great big boy and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. While she rocked him she sang:

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be.

That teenager grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. He grew until he was a grown-up man. He left home and got a house across town. But sometimes on dark nights the mother got into her car and drove across town. If all the lights in her son's house were out, she opened his bedroom window, crawled across the floor, and looked up over the side of his bed. If that great big man was really asleep she picked him up and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while she rocked him she sang:

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be.

Well, that mother, she got older. She got older and older and older. One day she called up her son and said, "You'd better come see me because I'm very old and sick." So her son came to see her. When he came in the door she tried to sing the song. She sang:

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always...
But she couldn't finish because she was too old and sick. The son went to his mother. He picked her up and rocked her back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And he sang this song:

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
my Mommy you'll be.

When the son came home that night, he stood for a long time at the top of the stairs. Then he went into the room where his very new baby daughter was sleeping. He picked her up in his arms and very slowly rocked her back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while he rocked her he sang:

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be.

I never cried during the reading of Margaret Wise Brown's Goodnight Moon, although after the 300th reading of it there were nights I often felt like crying, but it had also become such a part of our bedtime ritual, I never really tired of it. The details in the illustrations are so wonderful. I began reading Goodnight Moon to my wee young one when he was barely 6 months old, and within just a few short months he was able to track the location of the mouse on each succeeding page.

Sigh... In many ways, I miss those days. Been thinking about them a lot of late. Methinks...this is me, trying to prepare for an empty nest this summer.

Goodnight Moon

In the great green room
there was a telephone
And a red balloon
And a picture of--

The cow jumping over the moon

and there were three little bears, sitting on chairs

and two little kittens and a pair of mittens

and a little toy house and a young mouse

and a comb and a brush and bowl full of mush

and a quiet old lady who was whispering "hush"

Goodnight room

goodnight moon

goodnight cow jumping over the moon

goodnight light and the red balloon

goodnight bears goodnight chairs

goodnight kittens goodnight mittens

goodnight clocks and goodnight socks

goodnight little house and goodnight mouse

goodnight comb and goodnight brush

goodnight nobody goodnight mush

and goodnight to the old lady whispering "hush"

goodnight stars, goodnight air

goodnight noises everywhere.

Memories

About three years ago, I posted two of my favorite poems by Ted Kooser from his book Valentines, the story behind the book is really special if you want to check it out.

This Valentine's Day, my favorite Story People Poem by Brian Andres
seems to touch my heart the most, bringing memories.


I read once that the Egyptians have fifty words for sand& the Eskimos had five hundred words for snow. I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep& there are no words for that.

Storypeople

Free Thought

I think I am depressed.
Why I don't know.
I have accomplished much in recent months.
The long list of tasks I had wanted to accomplish has most items marked off.
So, why, why, do I feel so sad?
I seem to be unwilling to contemplate this malaise I feel.
Is it my job? Eh, mebbe...more often of late the answer is yes.
My love life...not so much, but, I must ask myself, why am I so fearful of committing?
My amazing ability to procrastinate...yep that too.

I don't journal anymore, I find it difficult, I miss writing, yet, rarely do I take the time. The thoughts are there. The will is not.
Partly it is because I spend so very little time online, except for research for work. But even then, I feel so very unfocused, so many things I want to know, so many different subjects to explore, and so very little time to do so.

I did something very out of character for me a few nights ago.
I was in a local pub, listening to the band play. For some reason, I did not want to be there.
I told my companion I was ready to leave. In fact I believe I mentioned this fact several times.
My companion was not ready to leave.
I was, and did.
I felt good doing that. No remorse. No guilt. Unusual for me.

I am 51 years old, aren't I supposed to know what I want by now?
I don't.
Some days, on some very rare days, I think I do. But mostly. Nah, I don't.

I found a school the other day, one that seemed workable. I could get my MSW, move on to the career I really want. But, the cost...ah...the cost...prohibitive. I fear debt. This debt would be over 45,000.00. I just can't justify that expense to myself.

Another dream, another debt to take on, one I fear.
My house, or lack thereof.
I know what I want to do.
I do. I really do.
But, again, my fear of debt.
I know I can do it for around 80,000.00, but jeez, 80,000.00 at my age. I can do it. I will do it. I will. But, oh golly, it's really hard to know that one major illness could happen to me, and I would lose it all. This beautiful land I live on. My home. My stability, my security. I am a fearful woman. I hate that about myself. But, methinks, I hate the fear more.

So, will I do it? Will I take the steps to make the dreams a reality?

Fuck if I know.

Sights from My Summer Vacation

Sulfur Well, Kentucky.
A place in history.
Many years ago, folks from hundreds of miles away visited this place to partake of the healing waters. I tasted the water. All I can say is...yuck!
At one time it was prosperous, two hotels were located there. Many mudbaths were taken, and oodles of water was drunk. In addition there was music, lots of music abounded at this wondrous place.

Today, not much there, except the well, and local bands playing, one weekend a year. The weekend of the third Sunday in August this location is peopled with many once again. Most are related to each other, they live far apart most of the year. But, Sulfur Well pulls them back.
This year was my second visit to this place. In just this second visit there were many familiar faces. I find it most interesting that this place that hearkens one to a time that is past, pulls so many back each year.

The Tiger Swallowtail Butterfly.
A beauty is it not?
In my life I had not paid much attention to this exotic wonder of our world, until this summer, when a young boy of eight years spent hours and hours admiring these small gifts of the universe.

I was supposed to spend my vacation time in this cabin. Unfortunately it was a victim of the harshness of mother nature. There was a flood this spring in Sulfur Well, the cabin floated away.

Ski. A softdrink, available in very few places. I brought some home with me.

Kentucky is famous as a land of caves.
I was introduced to a cave that has a history all its own.
A cave on the land of a distance relative, a cave used as a place to stay cool in the summer.
A place to "let down your hair" and just sit back and listen to the live tunes of the Kentucky Headhunters practicing. Amazing.

Crepe Myrtle, I am entranced with the beauty of this shrub, as are the butterfly s. I want one growing in my own gardens. Alas, it appears Indiana is too cold for such beauty.

she thought she was broken,

but she looked up into the blue&white sky

& decided

she's justa little cracked

A Life Reviewed

For many years, I've wondered how my parent's generation, and the one before them were/are going to deal emotionally with living so long. This is a new thing, so many living well past the age of 80. These two generations have lived such emotionally stoic lives there's a lot of emotional baggage weighing heavily on their backs.

Some professionals in the geriatric field believe many of the unpleasant,"behaviors" we are experiencing from our long-lived old-old elders is directily correlated to whether they have resolved issues from their past. There have been studies done, innumerable studies, on offering empathy,and listening to their stories. Findings lead most to believe it is very beneficial to listen empathetically to the depressed, the disaffected, the disoriented, the demented. By offering an unbiased loving ear (and touch) to these maloriented, unhappy old people, by having their life story listened too, and accepted without judgement or recrimination, they may finally learn to deal with, validate, or, at least understand, their feelings in a way they never have before.

The listener's role during the process is to help guide the old-old toward resolution, and self-acceptance via reviewing/remembering the story of their life. This is accomplished by listening, giving empathy, encouragement, and on occasion, suggesting a new way of looking at a memory or incident from the past.


What I find most fascinating?

Studies have shown how important the listener is. It seems, this process is not very successful if there is no person to person, face to face, eye to eye contact. This isn't something that can be accomplished by writing in a journal, or talking over the phone. For resolution to take place, the physical presence of the listener, their responses, their understanding, and empathy has to be felt by the teller, and, the talking it all out, telling their story is what promotes healing, resolution, and peace.

I am intrigued by these theories. . .

I'm trying to find my place in all of this. I have one, I know I do, I just need to find the beginning point.

I've had several recent meeting with an old-old life-integrated gentleman client of mine. One of whom I've written before.

One recent Friday, he reiterated things he had said to me during one of our first face to face meetings. Although this time he seemed to mainly focus on my left eye, instead of my left hand, as he did at our first meeting. He kept telling me, he could "see things" in my left eye.

I couldn't help thinking about how different my left eye is to my right, and how my left eye will sometimes feel as if it's twitching when I'm very stressed (no outward sign of it--just that internal nervy-jumpy thing), then thinking, "What is it with the left side of the body?"

Anyway, he once again, in an ambiguous sorta way, hit the nail square on the head regarding my own emotional health. He told me I was changing the course of my career and it would be a healing change...

And, just like at the end of our first meeting, he once again, in a soft and loving voice said to me,

"Everything is going to be alright, you're going to be alright."

Hmmmm.

I seem to be moving forward without knowing I'm do so.

*******

My story isn't over, but when it is over, I want it to end with me knowing I did the best I could. I think we all want that. Some people need a little help getting there.

*******

Life, is what it is. We make it so...

Boneyard

It's raining, it's late, I should be sleepiing. I can't.

Chelsea has surgery on Monday, I'm Ok with that, sort of.

The snow has finally all melted, and my yard can officially be named the Bone Yard. The neighbors dog has spent the winter dragging road kill into my yard. Fluffy bits of fur and large and small bones, litter my yard.

My spetic system is messed up, another expense I wasn't expecting. I put money into savings, and it comes right back out again.

Alex lost his job last weekend. Another child needing gas money to get to school.

My parents are now housesharing with my sister. A good thing.
My father is now almost blind, cannot hear, and is taking a medication to help him stop smoking which has him sleeping 18 hours a day. He won't stop taking it. His escape?

My niece, mother of 4, but not a mother. The phone calls come at random moments.
Sunny? What can we do? Can we have her commited to a pychiatric unit?"
No, she is an adult, we can't , nor, do we have the right to decide where she goes. It's going to take her hitting bottom.Bu t, we are a family of enablers, just ain't gonna happen. I sometimes wonder what it will take. A child terribly injured or dead.? My niece terribly injured or dead? It's so sad to know that each one of us had the thought at least once, "The children would be safer, everyone would be better off, if she were dead." How terrible we feel when that thought slithers its way into our brains. What will it take, before her father will finally say, and mean, enough is enough?




Life, we can't plan for it, things happen, We keep on dealing.

Still Breathing

Memories assail me, of the me I used to be, or, thought I used to be. My eyes refuse to bleed the necessary tears. I ask, I seek, I have no answers. Every woman finds herself in my place at some point. Do these women I do not know find their answers? I seek, it seems I am always seeking, but, maybe, seeking is not the answer. A line from a movie...."Life changes with each breath we take." Maybe...living each breath is the answer. Why can't I do that?
When I think of love, and the essences of my loves residing within...at my core I can only think..."I love you, you are my light, my sunrise, my sunset, my moonrise, my children. There is no other answer to my question of love, none that brings the same meaning to my life. I will continue to seekwithin, I can't seem to help it. Perhaps...I seek in the wrong place. This moment. This one. Here now. This moment is my answer. Yet, I continue to refuse it, to see it feel it, dance it. Breathe it. Breathe it.

This is my life,

this

is

my

life.

* * * * * * *

I wrote the above a few weeks ago. A week later, I did an assessment on a new client, a man in his late 80's caring for his serenely lovely wife of the same age. She has dementia.

He was more interested in talking about me than of himself. Within moments of our meeting, he began. He didn't ask me questions, instead, he told me, about me.

" I know you, better than you think I do."

I'm sure my eyes widened in surprise at this statement.

"You really love your job, you're good at it too."
"Yes, I do."
"You're doing what God wants you to do."
"Mhmmm."
"You are a very social person, or can be. Very versatile, you can fit into any social situation when you try."
"Mhmmm."
"You've changed a lot in the past two years though. You made a really big decision. It was the right one. It's going to be alright."
"Mhmm (while thinking...Whoa!)"
"It really is...going to be alright. You are going to be Okay."
"We really need to be talking about you, and your needs as a caregiver."
"Look at the palms of your hands. You're right handed, I know, even so, your palms are really different. The left one, that's your life before, the right one...that's your life now."
"You're a very spiritual person, way down deep. You're hiding it."
" We really do need to be talking about you and your wife right now, that's why I'm here today."
"One more thing? Then we can move on."
"OK."
"You will be your happiest when you have a man in your life that has a soul to soul connection with you. There are many different kinds of love. There's love, there's lust and there is in love."

He really got me at this...not to say he hadn't already snagged my attention with the "You've changed a lot in the past two years line, but that line about love really, really grabbed my attention. Because, during my hour long drive to his home, I had been thinking along those very same lines. The love, lust, in-love bit. Wondering where I'm at now in my current relationship, how it all fits together, how two people could be so very different emotionally, politically, and still feel so right."

"Funny you should mention that, I was thinking along those same lines on my way here."
"Just know, it's important for you to have that soul to soul connection."
"I believe it is for everyone, but...now we really do need to talk about you."

I finished my assessment, listened to many Big Fish stories, got to know him and his wife and took my leave.

As I was ready to walk out the door he said to me, "It really is going to be alright. You are going to be OK."

I couldn't help it, my heart seemed to melt, my eyes filled with tears. "I hope you're right."

The Wooden Bowl

I received this story in a recent email. The saddest thing about this tale? Through my work, I've met so many of the frail elderly who are living just such a life. Their caregivers are too self-involved, too overwhelmed, too angry, too...something... to realize what they are doing to their "loved ones".

A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law, and four-year-old grandson. The old man's hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered

The family ate together at the table. But the elderly grandfather's shaky hands and failing sight made eating difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor. When he grasped the glass, milk spilled on the tablecloth.

The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess.
'We must do something about father,' said the son. 'I've had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor.'

So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner. There, Grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner. Since Grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl.

When the family glanced in Grandfather's direction, sometimes he had a tear in his eye as he sat alone. Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food.

The four-year-old watched it all in silence.

One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor.
He asked the child sweetly, 'What are you making?' Just as sweetly, the boy responded,
'Oh, I am making a little bowl for you and Mama to eat your food in when I grow up. ' The four-year-old smiled and went back to work.

The words so struck the parents so that they were speechless. Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken, both knew what must be done.

That evening the husband took Grandfather's hand and gently led him back to the family table. For the remainder of his days he ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled.

I've learned that, no matter what happens, how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow.

I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles four things:
a rainy day, the elderly, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights.

I've learned that making a 'living' is not the same thing as making a 'life...'

I've learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance.

I've learned that you shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt on both hands.You need to be able to throw something back sometimes.

I've learned that if you pursue happiness, it will elude you
But, if you focus on your family, your friends, the needs of others,
your work and doing the very best you can, happiness will find you

I've learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision.

I've learned that even when I have pains, I don't have to be one.

I've learned that every day, you should reach out and touch someone.

People love that human touch -- holding hands, a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back.

I've learned that I still have a lot to learn.

~Author unknown~

I'm tryin' to follow...

THE PATH WITH A HEART

Anything is one of a million paths. Therefore you must always keep in mind that a path is only a path; if you feel you should not follow it, you must not stay with it under any conditions. To have such clarity you must lead a disciplined life. Only then will you know that any path is only a path, and there is not affront, to oneself or others, in dropping it if that is what your heart tells you to do. But your decision to keep on the path or to leave it must be free of fear or ambition.

I warn you. Look at every path closely and deliberately. Try it as many time as you think necessary. Then ask yourself, and yourself alone, one question. This question is one that only a very old man asks. My benefactor told me about it once when I was young, and my blood was too vigorous for me to understand it. Now I do understand it.

I will tell you what it is: Does this path have a heart?

All paths are the same, they lead nowhere. They are paths going through the bush, or into the bush. In my own life I could say I have traversed long, long paths, but I am not anywhere. My benefactor’s question has meaning now. “Does this path have a heart?” If it does, the path is good; if it doesn’t, it is of no use.

Both paths lead nowhere; but one has a heart, the other doesn’t. One makes for a joyful journey; as long as you follow it, you are one with it. The other will make you curse your life. One makes you strong; the other weakens you.

The trouble is nobody asks the question; and when a man finally realizes that he has taken a path without a heart, the path is ready to kill him. At that point very few men can stop to deliberate and leave the path.

A path without a heart is never enjoyable. You have to work hard even to take it. On the other hand, a path with heart is easy; it does not make you work at liking it.

Carlos Castaneda, The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge