Blood That Follows

In my family Al and I had very few blood relatives. I know that to some this isn’t very important. To me it was, because I liked knowing that I belonged somewhere.

Al and I had our dad and my dad’s one sister and my dad’s mother.

I had stored a bowl that was left to me by my grandma and I received it this weekend. I also have photos of my family. I thought I would share with you. It also gives you a little bit more insight as to why my brother means so very much to me. He and I are real brother and sister.

This belonged to my grandma’s side of the family. I will treasure it always.

This is Al and me after we started our new life with our dad and stepmom.

This is Al on his graduation day.

This is my dad’s dad.

This is my grandma and my real grandpa.

This is a generation picture. My dad is the baby in the photo.

This is my stepmom and my dad about five years before they passed a way.

These are my kids when they were young.

 

http://www.youcaring.com/medical-fundraiser/too-much-pain-and-too-little-money/55964

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My Brother’s LIfe Journey, Chapter 1

Al is my brother. I am one year and two weeks older than he is. Telling this story will hopefully help others who are struggling in their own lives to see that I am here and you are never alone.

It was May 3rd 1955 when a little baby boy was born. He did not come into the world welcomed as many children do. He came born into the world as an innocent babe by parents who had major issues of their own.

He was born with brain damage. He was the second of two children and this lead to lack of care needed to help a baby grow. As I remember back in my memories I don’t remember him that young. But the truth comes out over time and I will tell you what I was told.

When Al was old enough to sit in a high chair he was placed there and ignored. No adult supervision. Al was able to maneuver himself up and over the high chair and fell different times causing more damage to the head.

Both Al and I were abused. In those days it was not called abuse. It was a family secret that was only spoken in strange moments. Al was abused more than me. I think I was not necessarily wanted more than he. I believe it is because one baby is easier than two.

Our parents were not in control of their own lives. With their young ages there was lack of training and maybe a feeling of entrapment over being strapped with two babies and a job that could not take care of all the needs within a family.

Parents of the parents stepped in and made opinions known. Guilt became an obsession and the need to escape became utmost in the minds of our parents. Our Mother didn’t work because she was too young. She was 15 when she had me and 16 when she had Al.

Dad worked at a bowling alley and hid behind the bottle when not at work. I have heard horror stories of how loud fights and beer bottles flew over our heads as we seemed to be always in the middle of all arguments.

One day our Mom took off with us kids. She didn’t tell a soul she was leaving. When Dad found out she was gone his Mother was grateful but insisted he get us kids back. I don’t know who Mom left with. I assume a friend took her. At her age she wouldn’t have had many adult friends to turn to. Back in those days being pregnant and unmarried was taboo so I am sure the conversations were limited.

I know that while we were prisoners of my Mom’s travels she had no money. She did what ever was necessary to survive. I don’t know how she fed and clothed us kids but I do know that she sold me to different people to earn money when I was about two years old. I shudder to think what may have happened to Al also. There are parts of me that don’t want to know. It is possible that Al can remember but it is so deeply hidden in his mind we may never know.

The Welfare department did eventually find us and return us to our Dad who was by now living back with his parents. Al and I were welcomed by the fact that we were the “kids”. I am not ever going to swear that we were united because of a great love.

I can remember sitting at my Grandmother’s table and Al sitting in my Dad’s high chair. He would be crying. He seemed to cry a lot to me. Even as a young child I can remember many tears and yelling episodes.

Grandma would tell him, “Be quiet. I can’t stand that noise. I wish you would just shut up”. I know that somewhere inside this house the word caring was lingering throughout. I know that my Grandparents took Al to the biggest children’s hospital in our state to find out what was wrong with him.

I can remember them telling other family members that he couldn’t sit up properly for his age. That he should be walking now but wasn’t. The hospital confirmed that he was mentally challenged. He also suffered from Rickets and he was malnourished.

I don’t think I was near as bad as he was medically. I do remember Grandma stuffing vitamins and eye droppers  filled with  Iron to each of us kids. I am sure that we were both fed much better than we were before.

Al slept downstairs where my Grandparents slept. Our Dad still worked at the bowling alley and came home very late. I remember that I slept in a baby bed for probably too many years. I also remember that my Dad slept in the big bed next to my crib.

Eventually Dad met our new Stepmother. After being married they moved to the town that Al and I now reside in. Visits came from our real Mom and I can still see me hiding behind the living room chair taking peeks at my real Mom and hearing them arguing about how she was going to come back to get me when I reached the age of 16. There was never a mention of coming back to get Al too. I can remember feeling confused and not understanding why she would only ask for me when I had a brother.

Dad then got a job at the State Highway Department and I think our new Mom worked at one of the local grocery stores. I remember she took us to a baby sitter. I knew fear even at the age of four. This babysitter was mean. I could see her smack Al for crying and I had to sit on a chair.

Yet there was a familiarity to this also. Al and I were not allowed to be kids when we lived at our Grandparents either. We had to sit on chairs and be very quiet. Neither of us knew what sunshine was or running and playing outdoors felt like.

 

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Daily Prompt; My Favorite/ The Daily Post

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/01/06/daily-prompt-favorite-person/#like-12783

What’s the most time you’ve ever spent apart from your favorite person? Tell us about it.

I have had many people enter in to my life

I have even had two that asked me to be a wife

Some have left marks on my heart that have stayed

Others have wandered through but went about their way

Some have taught me to love and to share

Others have hurt me, pain I had to wear

There are two people when I think back long ago

That have walked with me through life and this they know

But the favorite one that always is and always had

Is no other than my favorite person, my dad.

Terry Shepherd

01/06/2013

 

I am the blonde standing right next to dad. This was about four months before he left from this earth to go home to heaven.

Daily Prompt; Use it or Lose it/ The Daily Post

http://dailypost.wordpress.com

Write about anything you’d like, but make sure the post includes this sentence:

“I thought we’d never come back from that one.”

Have the pontoon out on the lake

Granny is sitting in her bikini to bake

Grandpa has his fishing reel in hand

Hopes to hit the big grand slam

Dad’s at the wheel and out of control

Two ski jets fly by and he yells go blow

The kiddies are yelling and screaming in fun

Granny puts in her ear plugs and looks towards the sun

Mama has her hands in the cooler I see

The son is  now  yelling I gotta go pee

There is nowhere to go except over the boat

My stomach is churning I hope I don’t choke

I hold on to him as he leans very far

Get this over now son why didn’t you go near the car

A wave comes by before I can get my grip

I drop the kid and I bit my lip

He got so scared he peed his pants

I cling to my seat beginning to chant

Get me off of this boat or I’m going to swear

I wanted to stay home and not go anywhere

Dad had never heard my voice this loud

I swear you could hear it over the beach crowd

He flung the boat in a quick reverse

I think I heard grandpa starting to curse

Away we took off over the waves we did slide

Everyone became quiet, they just wanted to hide

I saw the shores of our home come in view

I motioned to the others to now take my cue

Get me home in the shade and out of this sun

I thought we’d never come back from that one

Terry Shepherd

12/31/2012

 

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Unbroken Circle

I have been baking for the past three days. I took many breaks because of my bad back. I

Christmas gifts. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

made lots of goodies. I even managed to sweep the main part of the house, dust and sweep.

I have listened to the Christmas country station in the background the past four days. I never did tire of it. It was like I wanted to squeeze my heart around the words, because I know the day after tomorrow it will be gone for yet another year.

Joy to the world. We live in a world that we can live in joy if we choose to. Isn’t it wonderful to be able to have that freedom? Silent night, this is what it is tonight, as I slow down my activities and let the rest wait until tomorrow.

For as long as I can remember, my family and I  have always gone to my parents home on Christmas Eve. Tonight, I sit here alone. Don’t worry, tomorrow will be full of hustle and bustle, but tonight I am pondering over my past life.

We would drive slowly  out to mom and dad’s house. It would always be cold and icy. It never feared as they lived way out in the country and the roads were nasty in the winter. We would rush in the front door. Never needed to knock or be let in. It was home.

Mom would be in her pretty red lacy apron. She would be stressed out by the look on her face, but always managed to say hi with a big smile. Dad would be sitting in the living room in his recliner watching some wood shop program. My brother Al would be in his bedroom, sitting quietly with the television on but turned down low. Al was always on guard for arguments or his dad raising his voice. This made Al very nervous, so he was always quiet as a mouse.

I don’t remember back to when my half-sister still lived at home but I do remember many times when she would enter late. Supper on hold, mom in tears, dad yelling at sister for upsetting mom. This would start the movie scenes that were not always pretty. Sister and dad always argued. Dad wanted J. to grow up and do things for herself and mom babied her. Today, you can tell that mom got her way. J. can’t be independent, or doesn’t want to.

Anyways, there was mom and dad, plus Al. When we arrived ,  we brought our three cutie pies. J. brought her three kids also. So it was a nice size for the dinner table. Mom would make date cookies every year. She also made fudge, iced sugar cookies. She always made a chocolate pie whether it was Christmas or a birthday. This was my dad‘s favorite.

She would have the same menu year after year. She made home-made lasagna with garlic bread. We came to love and depend on it. After dinner was eaten and cleared, all the kiddies would run to the living room where the lit tree was sparkling. They would get just as close to the presents without getting told to scoot back. Dad would yell out to Mom and me,”Are you done with those dishes yet”? It makes me smile just thinking back on those days.

We would make our way to the living room and mom always played Santa Clause. The kiddies always got mainly clothes, and a toy or two. I don’t remember what Al and J got, but my then hubby and I would get a gift together and some smaller individual ones. The last gift I remember was a gas grill. After all the wrapping papers were tossed all over the floor, dad would go to his room and come out with this huge smile. In a brown lunch bag would be a giant chocolate Hershey bar and a two liter of diet coke. He would go purchase  each of us three kids this each year. He just loved doing this for us. Actually, this was the best present ever each year. To see dad smile handing his treasures to us.

One funny thing I have to tell you is Mom forgot stuff. She bought gifts all through the year, and she would hide them in the closet and then find one of  them after Christmas was over. The next year she would drag it out, and yet leave another gift hidden in the closet from this years shopping. We could always count on it.

The year mom passed away, there was no Christmas not even with  dad.  Christmas spirits and joy just died in the house, he missed mom so much. He just wasn’t interested. He would come to my house and give me a card with money in it. I would see tears in his eyes and then he would disappear in to the darkness returning to his home. As I was saying the year mom died, dad not only brought me a card he brought me an unopened box of pots and pans. He said mom had bought it earlier and it was to be a Christmas gift. I still have them after 12 years have passed. I can not let them go. They are used and a few scratches, but they are worth more to me than any dollar.

Now tonight I glance at my own grown children. Spending time not at my parents home, but in their own homes with their children. They are building memories so they can go back in time some day when I am up in heaven with mom and dad. Life is an unbroken circle. You live, love and laugh and build memories. Hopefully you lived a good enough life that you can do what I am doing now. Spending Christmas Eve alone, not with my parents, but in my mind and heart they are very close.

Merry Christmas mom and dad. I love you and can’t wait to see you again. As for Al? I can’t wait until tomorrow. He is coming HOME to spend Christmas with me. I get a whole day with him! Tomorrow will be my mother in me. Hustling and bustling without the apron. I will have a dish towel on my shoulder instead. I will be stressed somewhat, because I am not used to these family gatherings.   I have to admit, the noise will get to me. New memories will be built tomorrow and at the end of the day after everyone is gone, and Al is back in his new home, I will lay on my bed and smile up at mom and dad, and ask, “Did I do a good job? Did I do it just like you mom? I love you both”.

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Daily Prompt: Fight or Flight/ The Daily Post

This one is sort of hard for me, because first I had to look back at the last time I had the

fight or flight mood happen. As I was going back in memory lane, it came to me. It was about a year and a half ago.

I hesitated to write about this, because it was a sensitive topic, and the person involved still can trigger emotions in me yet today.

The topic is something that I rarely speak about out loud, as if it will curse me. You know what I mean. You start saying something negative about your car, and boom, it happens, what you talked about running so good, or having no problems, all of a sudden, it happens!

I have a wonderful brother, who by now you all know, but Al and I  also have a step-sister. A woman ten years younger than myself. I can remember a time when we were pretty close. It was the baby sister looking up to the big sister, wanting to be just like her, but things changed. Life changed, our father passed away. All three of us kids had the same father.

When dad passed a way, it was the worst time in my life, the worst tragedy that I have ever lived. It was worse than my divorce, or being more poor than I am now. There was a will, and that is when all hell broke loose.

Our father knew us well, he knew each of us and how we handled monies, and therefore, he made arrangements for each to have certain things at different times in our lives.

Dad was smart, I must say, he knew Al would always need extra help. Help with living arrangements, medical, and survival. Dad never knew that I took care of Al of course, but I guess that is hindsight, the real point here is that dad made sure Al would be alright if anything happened to him, dad.

Our sister wanted more than what she received, and so as a lot of people do, they attack  the weakest, which in this case was Al,  with his mentality. One day I went to the mail box, and there was that certain white, big envelope. The kind that sort of makes your stomach rumble as it doesn’t look like an ad or a bill.

I took it inside and opened it and learned that our sister was taking me to court to switch Al from my care to hers. I instantly got hot inside. I was too scared to cry, and I did not go immediately to God with my problem.

I sweated for the better part of these  two weeks before the court date. Al and I cried a lot, for fear of being separated from each other. I think I bit my nails down to the quick, and I lost some weight also.

One day a few days before the court date, a friend reminded me to go to the Lord with this. He was the miracle worker, he was the one that saw things for what they truly were, and he knew what was right from wrong.

I got on my knees and prayed. I can still remember it so well. Al got on his knees also, and we held hands, he cried and I prayed, and when we were finished, I felt so much calmer. I had come to a realm of new realization. I had nothing to fear. I knew that I was doing the best I could with Al’s care.

The day came, and my stomach started to churn. I sat in the front of the court room on my designated seat. Before, the judge walked in, I silently prayed again, for God to use my mouth to form the correct words. Please Lord, do not let me make a fool of myself from my nerves. Help me to look calm and confident.

The judge entered and the questions started coming at me. One, two, three, four, five, and finally it was over. I made my last statement, and my voice never quivered. As soon as I was finished, the judge looked back at my brother, who was sitting in the background, and he asked him to stand up. Al stood up and the judge asked him if he had anything he wanted to say.

My brother started crying very hard, and somewhere in between the cries and the silence of the room, the judge and I,  and all others involved heard my brother say,

Please don’t take me a way from my sister. I love living with her. I love her. We go places and she takes me out to eat and takes me to the Goodwill stores to buy coca-cola. I don’t want to live with the other sister.

I think when I looked or stared into the judges eyes as Al spoke, I could swear a saw one shiny tear fall from his eye. The judge coughed and cleared his throat, and looked back at me and said,

This case is a waste of my valuable time. There is nothing here to judge, as I can see Al is very well taken care of and is happy where he is living. Case is dismissed.

I said, I don’t know how many thank-you’s  to the judge, as he leaned from his pulpit and reached down and shook my hand. He said for me to continue the good job. I walked quickly over to Al, and he was still crying. With his mentality problems, he didn’t comprehend what was happening, so I just said,

Hey bud, you ready to go get something to eat and go home?

He looked at me and asked,

You mean home with you? and I said yes!

I got the biggest smile I have ever seen in my life taking care of him. He got it! He understood, we had won, and she had lost. He grabbed his hat and waved at the people in the courtroom, telling them goodbye, and we took off to go celebrate.

What a wonderful God we have walking beside us. Some of you can sit and say, I may have won without asking for God’s help, but really, why would I want to take such a big risk of losing and counting on my own nervous self? No way, I wanted God on my side as judge and jury.

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Mind Over Body

How can a person who has what they need in life be so emotional? I woke up this morning

early to the bell jingling from Al, letting me know he is awake. I have never done this before, but I told him it is so early, couldn’t he just go back to sleep for a tad longer? He said nothing but the room got quiet and he did not get up for another forty-five minutes, so I lay back down in my bed and snuggled up under the warm blankets.

I lay there, but immediately my mind started doing the same crap it does so many times when my body is not physically busy. It spins, it won’t settle, it starts going back in time and moving quickly, like watching a tornado come your way, to the front and center.

I hate it, I hate it so bad. I never go back in time too early. I never revisit my childhood. It always goes back to the time when dad was ill. I relive the wonderful times that I was privileged to take care of him while he was sick. My mind goes over the mean woman, that went from nice to meaner than the wicked witch of the west from the Wizard Of Oz, when she found out he had bone cancer. I relive every word, every action she did  and I watched my father fall between the cracks with her, while I tried so hard to remind him that he could leave her clutches and go back home, that I would care for him.

I then move up to five years ago when I started caring for my brother. The guilt that I carry because in the beginning, it was not the special love I had for my dad that would keep no one from doing what I was doing for dad, but now I was caring for my brother, because he needed me.

There was never a great bond between my brother and me growing up, and I can not feel guilt over this, as we were taught not to bond, to just sit and behave. Now four years later, I will do anything to keep my brother happy and safe, even tell dentists off!

How can I sit here only being up two hours and want to cry my eyes out? How can I feel this way when I have my bills paid, and Al is confused but in good spirits, and there is food on the table, and I have so many good friend. How can I be so darn selfish?

It is a pity party, isn’t it? Sometimes I believe it is, and other times, I am not so sure. It seems to be something that just pops up out of nowhere. Maybe it is the holidays coming, maybe it is the stress of wondering how I am going to buy groceries for the Thanksgiving meal, or get the items needed for our new make and bake Christmas.

I worry too darn much, but can’t seem to quit doing it, and I get so disgusted with myself, I want to just go hide under my blankets and go back to sleep. I have no right nor reason to feel this way, but here I am, ready to sob but can not force the tears to come.

I am doing a load of laundry, and I have gotten Al through his breakfast and medications. I even have my favorite television running in the background, The Golden Girls, and I have changed Al’s wet bed and have emptied and cleaned the commode, but inside, I want to sleep.

I have so much to be thankful for, so where is my smile. I so wish I would knock this crap off. I am mourning, I am mourning for the loss of my parents, the loss of a once close sister, the loss of all that was once so common and familiar.

I can not change it, I can not bring back what once was, and I know as I sit here, life will never be the same. I just want to stop, pick up my heart, lift the corners of my lips into a smile, and get excited about the day, but so far it is not happening.

So if I know what I have, why am I allowing this to happen. Hopefully, it will change before noon arrives.

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Hillsong, Mighty To Save

Hillsong, Mighty To Save.

Looking Up With Love

She was sitting on the swing, that was surrounded by many weeping willow trees. Her feet

slowly moving back and forth, giving the movement a mere whisper for anyone to notice. Her head bent downward, and tears falling from her eyes, as the funeral home was here picking up her father who had passed away only moments before.

Grief gripped at her heart and tore it wide open, letting feelings of sadness and dismay pour out. Her father had been her idol her entire life, and now he was gone. Only early this morning, she had held his hands and used her soothing words to comfort him. She knew the pain that he was suffering, but she also realized her own pain that was rising up over the boiling pot, had to be much worse than anything he could be feeling.

He could not do this to her. He had rescued her when she was but a little child. When she looked up into his eyes, and he smiled at her, this assured her that he was all she needed in her life.

With him, there was security, and love, a child and a father’s love. There was nothing more important to this child, than being with her daddy. He was Superman, capable of fixing everything that breaks little girls heart, and now he was gone.

As she sat swinging, she looked out over the trees, and asked God why he had taken him from her. She had grown up to believe that God was a good God, and he could fix pain better than even her own daddy.

Who would be her hero now. Who would she turn to in times of grief, or run to with good news, only to know she would see the smile that made her feel so secure and needed. She heard many birds up in the trees singing, and she felt angry, as she didn’t want them to be celebrating his pain being over. She wanted the world to quiet and feel her own loss.

The hearse came and the hearse left, leaving behind the screaming, for only herself to hear. She got up out of the swing, and casually walked to the water’s edge, and watched the reflection of herself in the rippling waters, asking the shadow who she was. For what she saw was a tall woman, who carried herself with a grace all of her own. She saw her own eyes looking back at her, but could not find the tears, the same tears that were dripping from her own eyes.

As the water softly moved she imagined herself lying on top of it, floating out to bigger waters, being lifted by God, to go to where her daddy had gone. She searched and waited for a sign that told her it was alright to step into the dark shadows and drift away, but no sign came.

She let herself fall gracefully to the ground, her fingers entangling with the soft blades of grass. She buried her head close to her body and she wept a daughter’s grief. She poured all of her sadness and pain into the black earth, until there was left behind nothing but dry dirt.

It was over, be strong, be courageous. You are the eldest child, there is much to be done. She pulled herself to an upright position, and using her arm as her blanket, she wiped the tears from her eyes. She looked out over God’s beauty, having found no answers, and stood up and walked back towards the house. She found herself alone, as she walked the old too familiar path of the grounds.

No one was in the house and she slowly picked up the phone and started making the calls to inform others of the sad news. Life does move on, but it takes time to heal. For some, kick back is smoothly running, and for others the grief still remains ever-present.

Filling the void, left in the heart, is a chore, and sometimes hidden behind faces, waiting for a day to fully grieve the loss, only to be found still carrying this heaviness many years later. Well wishers and foods came and went, and once again, she found herself, thinking of her daddy wondering what she should do next. How would he be handling something like this if it had happened to him.

Then she snaps into reality and realizes he didn’t know how to deal with pain either. Many times she had visited him to find him sitting on the swing, gently using his  feet to move the swing, staring off into space, and looking closer, you could see the feelings that had risen in a man’s heart, with after flow of tears falling. This  was what he had felt, and this is how he reacted when he lost his own wife in earlier years.

The trickling effect of life being born and ending, had made its way down the path of a family generation, and now it had stopped here, marking its territory on the only children left, the last of the generation.

Life moves on, smiles come and go, chatter still continues, but the void left behind in my own heart still burns with pain. I love you daddy and I miss the comfort of you being near me. I hope you are doing fine up there in heaven. Give mom a kiss for me, and in no time at all, we will all be a family together.

I Had To Let It Sink In First

I am not really positive on how much about Parkinson’s I want to know. Maybe for me to cope and handle daily issues as they come is better for me.

Today, when I went to the doctor with Al, the doctor was supposed to talk to me about the swallow test. He did check Al with his fingers, probing around the muscles of his throat, and said to me that this was another part of Parkinson’s. He could feel some flex in the throat muscles and he wanted to ask me a question, and then looked at Al.

I am sorry, that I am adding this after the fact that I blogged about it earlier, the doctor visit, but I could not write about this at the time, as it was too sensitive for me at the moment.

I asked Al if he had to use the restroom, and of course he said yes. After Al left the room, the doctor tells me that he has noticed some weakness in the throat area, but am I willing to have a tube feeder placed in Al yet.

I know what tube feeders are. They are used to help feed the body. They also make it nearly impossible to have any kind of normal life. It didn’t take me two seconds to answer the question, no. He explained to me that if the test came back positive, it would change both of our lives, because knowing the tube feeder was in the near future, from the test, and then he closed off the sentence with no ending.

For me it is a whole other chapter, a can of worms to be opened. I am not ready to deal with this yet. There are other alternatives. I don’t want to see Al’s life become useless, alive, lying in a bed, or sitting in a wheelchair, going nowhere. I can’t do it!

Now I understand that the test was not performed, and that even if it was, there was no result as of now for the test.

We talked about a product called thicket, and the doctor thought this was a good alternative for now, so Al and I stopped and picked some up on our way home. I will use it in his beverages, and it will thicken up as much as I allow it to, making it easier for him to swallow. Even as the illness progresses, you can make the drinks so thick, they can be eaten with a spoon.

For me, this is the way to go. It puts the test on hold, and allows it to slip from my mind hopefully within the next couple of days. Time is what I am borrowing, and I will borrow all that I can.

You may be asking, why don’t you just place him. I can’t, not yet. As I said earlier today I cared for others also. Do you know what it is like to give your own father a complete bath? Or to spoon feed him because he is too weak to raise his hand to his mouth? To wipe a way the tears because he is telling you at this moment he is scared he is dying? To sit one day a week for eight hours, and the two of you glance out through the windows, watching cars pass by, and then glance at each other, both realizing this blood transfusion  is what is keeping him alive? To wipe your fathers bottom after he potties because he can no longer do it?

For the first time I am getting it out of me. Talking about it. The terrible pains I went through for love. I divorced easier than watching my father die.  I sat for hours on the porch swing with him, in the summer, him all bundled up in a blanket, and me in a tank top, shorts and barefoot, and I made the swing go because he was too weak to make his feet work. Many times I used a feather bed from a double bed and padded a recliner, set my father in it, and placed pillows under his arms, and legs, and behind his neck, because he couldn’t take the pain of anything touching him. For the last three months, I could no longer hug or kiss my father, as he couldn’t bear the feeling of something touching him.

I took him to every doctor appointment. I talked to insurance companies on a regular basis, fighting for my dad’s rights, while the companies thought nothing of him and only thinking of money they wanted to hang on to. I checked his sugars several times a day, and gave him insulin shots three times a day, as the Prednisone, made his sugars go into the 800-900 ranges. I watched him continually lose weight, and I read the Bible to him. We prayed together, and we cried together. No one came, but maybe twice during this whole time he was ill. I think they were afraid to see him like this.

Now, I am reliving my father all over again, through my brother. I don’t have the responsibilities yet of what I had to do for my dad, but I do know, that while we were eating our supper tonight at Pizza Hut, he pottied all over himself, and this is a sign to me that things will get worse.

I took care of my dad until he died in my arms. I don’t know if I will be able to care for Al this long or not. When my love is strong and the compassion I have for life and people are even stronger, I feel I  can do anything. I will watch over Al and do for him as I did for our father, and when our time is up, I will let him go.