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Well today I got my four hours out. I didn’t really have that much to do. I think what amazed me is it felt odd to be out. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. I only needed a … Continue reading
I don’t know what started it this morning, the talk. Nothing was different. I walked into the same picture I always do, but for some reason I couldn’t let things go unsaid.
Let me back up a few years to the point where Dad and Al were still living together. I would say the words that described most of Al’s life from a teen on are; anger, fear, hatred. A pretty sad way for a teen to live when this is supposed to be some of the most fun years ever.
Dad never accepted that Al was different. Dad had his own issues and the only way he felt he knew how to deal with his insecurities was to take it out on Al. I have seen Dad yell, walk a way, shake his head, talk badly about us kids. I have seen Al red-faced, fists drawn, tears flowing, fear in his face. I have seen all I care to see.
There was a golden or rotten rule as I call it in our home. Mom and Dad were the boss. I could argue or try to but I could guarantee a slap in the mouth for sassing. My opinions really didn’t matter to them, they were in charge. As Dad said, he paid the bills, it was his house.
Now move forward to when Dad died and Al had his heart attack. Our sister is from another planet I will say because God would not like if I said what I really thought. Family turned their backs on us because of money. I ended up taking care of Al from the day he had heart surgery.
Now today, six years later, I have carried so much sadness because I am the one who sees the depressed face. I am the one who is not spoken too. I am the one who can’t fix what Dad did.
So day after day all these years I have walked into his bedroom with a smile on my face and a good morning to you when I get Al up. When the time was that Al could walk and M.S.A. was not even heard of, I made very sure Al got to experience life as he should have as a teen.
I did so many things for him. Now wait a minute, don’t think I want a pat on the back because I don’t. I did and do what I do for Al because he is my brother, I love him. I am not going to say there is a kindred bond between us. That was never allowed. Al and I spent our bonding days sitting on straight chairs with one toy and not allowed to speak. How could we bond, but I do love my brother.
I would and will do anything for him possible but sometimes, such as today, it just gets to me too much. The understanding side of me that tries so hard to over-look the lack of any feelings towards me just surfaced and boiled over like hot water on the stove.
At least once a month I give in and let my feelings be known to who ever will listen. I hear the same thing over and over. You are his sister, you are not his friend. He isn’t going to treat you like he does his friends. You won’t get the smiles or conversations.
OK, I get it but I don’t like it. It hurts, I am not going to lie. Although I do everything in my power to make him realize I love him it doesn’t work. I will go for weeks trying to push aside the hurt, then it comes out again.
Today, I was bathing Al and I just had this sick feeling. Inside I was bubbling over with thoughts of I do everything for you and all I get in return is tears, snotty nose, anger, no smiles.
Should I go on? No, because then it once again sounds like I am doing something for a reward. The only thing I ever have asked from Al is that he just lets me know in his own way that he loves me too.
I had him almost completely washed and I just put down the wash cloth and sank on his bed. I looked at him but he didn’t look at me, he never does. He has never looked at me when I speak to him. He will smile at me big if he knew I was taking him to an antique store or to Wal-Mart to get a new car.
It always reminds me of when I was young and I was a good girl. I would get rewarded for being quiet by getting a sucker. So this morning I just told him flat-out I wanted a smile. He ignored me. I asked him if he was having pain, he said no.I asked him if he got enough to eat, he said yes.
So I fell into my familiar trap. “Why are you so depressed-looking then. Why no smile? No pain, belly filled, cleaned up and clean clothes.” He responded with ” I don’t know.”
I edged further, my deep questions. ” Why don’t I get a smile, just one like your friends do? Why don’t you chat with me like you do everyone else?”
His response was tears and runny nose and then finally he said, ” Because you and I don’t get along, just like Dad.”
Well that was sort of a big deep void for me because I couldn’t fix what Dad had done. I was not allowed into family issues until after Dad died. I have explained to Al for six years that I am not Dad, that I loved him. I have told him numerous times I take care of him because I love him. I told him that no sister/brothers get along all the time. I told him that I get tired just like he does. That it makes me sad just like he does to see this illness doing what it does.
It didn’t matter. He sees me as Dad. He and Dad didn’t get along at all. His life was hell in his eyes, so the times that Al and I disagree, Al carries it for life. It is me, Dad and me, me all the same person.
He cried harder knowing he didn’t really understand why he feels the way he does. I think his mentality challenges doesn’t help separate the truth from the actions. So I am still back at square one. Nothing will change. I get a little hard inside, telling myself not to get so involved. Just take care of him, do the best I can and be done with it. I tell myself to quit going out of your way because you are never going to get it through his head that a sister and brother can argue but that doesn’t mean that I am Dad.
I know this is personal, I know you, my friends can’t fix it, but I swear on my grave, I am having pain in my hands today from Diabetic Neuropathy, my body aches from tugging to roll Al over and I just don’t need a headache on top from crying, so I wrote.
Oh happy day, it is Monday. Freedom, I get out of the house. Now don’t think I am a nut case, but being in the house for 48 hours with no fresh air, I feel like a baby chick bursting out of my shell.
Even Al woke up with a smile this morning. It sort of rubs me the wrong way because he doesn’t smile for me usually, and I am the one who works so hard to get one smile. I can understand on the other hand though. Hey, he gets a way from me for a while. Although he ask to be in his bed, he breaks apart from it too.
My Christmas tree took a dump on me. The lights have trickled out over the weekend until I have one little place lit, so off to Wal-Mart for new lights.
So as I say Oh happy day!
She sat on the bus bench. She wasn’t going anywhere. Grandma just liked watching the people come and go. Talking to the young crowd, handing out cookies she had baked the night before. It didn’t take long at all before this bus stop was a popular place to look forward to.
There is such a big generation gap between the young and old. Values are different, a faster paced world is what we live in today. So it is no wonder that the few minutes while waiting for their bus to arrive, it was a breath of fresh air to have someone to chat with who seemed to care.
I can see my own self in this picture I painted. I could be the grandma on the bench. Handing out cookies to the people. Getting old is not really that golden era we hear about. It may be if you still have your long-standing mate by your side, I guess.
But when fate comes and wipes half your slate a way, you suddenly realize it is quiet when you get up and it is hushed when you lay your head down at night. Silence is golden when you live a hectic life, or raising the busy family, but what happens when the kids grow up and move out?
Who is going to fill that void? I will probably be one of those bell ringers at Christmas time just so I can show others that there are still smiles in the world. Maybe I will be the Wal-Mart greeter lady.
I can sit on my stool and make sure to welcome you in to the store, but what I am actually trying to show you is that age is only a number. We are born with one heart, a set of feelings, and we each feel in the same way.
We want joy and happiness. We want to feel we belong some where in this world. It just makes life nicer. An added touch when you are running late for work. Or your spouse and you had a disagreement on the way out the door this morning.
Yes, I will always be trying to show the younger generation that life is still good. They need it more now than ever as families split and people become more engrossed in themselves.
What do you envision doing when you get in your prime of life? Retired sitting on the beach some where? Raising maybe your grandchildren? Will you be taking care of a family member? Or will you still be reaching out to others in any way you can, even if it means sitting at the bus bench handing out cookies, to people you know.
I didn’t really blog much about Al over the weekend. There wasn’t a lot to say. I took him out for lunch because he wanted to spend the gift that he received from a blogger. After lunch we went to Wal-Mart and he bought a new car. A 1960 Ford Galaxy Star liner sheriff car. Al’s is made to look like a police car but the same body as this photo.
When we came home he took a nap. He remained fairly quiet the rest of the weekend. He refused to come out to the table for meals, instead eating in his room.
Tonight the truth finally came out, and I can tell you I was not prepared for what he said. His words were, ” I have thought about it for a few days and I want to donate my body. I want the doctors to find out what made me this way so no one else has to suffer like me”.
We talked for over an hour. I came to the conclusion that he is very serious. He wants me to hurry and get the arrangements made so he can die.
I sat close to him and put my arms around him. He started crying and then I cried. We held each other until he fell asleep and then I sneaked out of his room to the safety of my computer.
Take the third line of the last song you heard, make it your post title, and write for a maximum of 15 minutes. GO!
Photographers, artists, poets: show us SPEED.
This is one time I have to admit I hear the radio. I hear it playing while I am driving down the road. I went to Wal-Mart and got a few groceries because I knew I wouldn’t get out of the house for a few days.
What did I hear? What was the last song I heard? The truth is I have no idea. I don’t take notice of where my mind is wandering, but obviously it does. I refuse to believe that at my age my memory is becoming unglued.
I bet that my mind goes fifty-five miles per minute instead of hour. I bet I think of all kinds of things. Tossing them around my brain. Letting them in and out like a two-way door.
I thought I did pretty good. I didn’t even have a list to take with me and yet got everything I needed.
So what song did I listen to last? Who knows, and really I don’t care, or I would have written down on paper or stored it in my memory box.
I do like the title of this prompt. Can’t drive 55. Wasn’t that the song by Sammy Hagar? Yes, it is. I found it. Here it is.
Now that brings me some real smiles. Good times, free nights and weekends. Running around with the windows down. Hair flying out the window. Curfew of midnight on weekends. Boyfriends, laughter, beaches, telephone calls. Oh those were the days. Oh yeah.
Here is a picture of the first car I bought for $100.00. It was my baby. It was even black just like the photo. I had an AM radio and with gas at 17 cents a gallon I could fly everywhere I wanted to go.
He was tired. Poor John had been planning, saving and working so hard at his job. He was a third shift stock man at the local Wal-Mart store.
He didn’t make much but it paid the bills and put a little extra jingle in his pockets.
He had two children who were grown. One off to college and the other working in a local auto shop. His daughter Katie had been smitten with a boy in their neighborhood. Ben had grown up down the street a ways on the side of the street where all the nicer houses set side by side like dominoes.
Kate had grown up in a nice enough home too, but there was no keeping up with the Jones’s homes on this side of the street. Putting food on the table and shoes on feet were the priorities on this side.
Katie and Ben went to the same schools, same colleges. John guessed it would happen sooner than later. He always hoped for later. Katie was the apple of his eye. Bouncing curls growing up. A mouth full of questions. John could always count on his sidekick being with him when ever he puttered in the garage.
Ever since Katie had come to him and announced she was getting married John made it his number one goal to give her the best darn wedding he could afford. Ben’s parents offered many times to take some of the pressure off of John’s shoulders but he always insisted with a NO, and it isn’t a pressure, it is a pleasure.
Katie’s Mom had died a few years back from cancer. Although Katie was practically all grown up John feared she would always need a Mom in her life. He did his best to fill in on both ends.
Katie would have him go along with her to try wedding dresses on. Although John could be working on mower engines he never said no and stood against the racks of dresses with a smile on every time she came out of her dressing room asking, “what do you think Daddy?”
“You look beautiful darling, just like your Mom always did.” Kate would smile and go back in and the question would be repeated dress after dress. Instead of hiring a professional photographer, John had a good friend that had an eye for the camera. His friend didn’t charge the couple. He let this be his gift to them.
Flowers were cut from the back yard. John loved all shades of pink flowers. It didn’t matter what kind they were as long as they were pink, his wife’s favorite colors. John picked up extra shifts and made sure that the food and drinks were going to be the best ever.
He hired a small company to do all the cooking. Nothing special, just a rib filling kind of food. Sliced ham, new potatoes fresh from the garden, a nice bowl of fresh salads, the complete meal. The wedding cake was simple but he thought it was beautiful. Two tiers, pink flowers all around the edges on each layer. He splurged and had a tiny working fountain placed between the two tiers. This was his gift to his baby girl, the food and the cake.
The wedding went off without a hitch. Ben’s parents gave the two a nice fat check and this went towards a honeymoon to Niagara Falls. The wedding was paid for. His baby girl looked beautiful and the two were married. Now they were having fun on their honeymoon just like he and his wife did when they were young.
Everything put a way, John sat on the curb of Wal-Mart on his break remembering back to what once was and thinking about the new grandbabies he would hold some day, just like he and his wife used to do when their own kids came along.
He smiled to himself. Life is good. He was blessed, He worked hard and it paid off. He had raised a nice family. He got up from his sitting position. Break time was over. Time to start saving for those toys the new babies would need someday.
http://dailypost.wordpress.com, Daily Prompt, DP
Write an anonymous letter to someone you’re jealous of.
Photographers, artists, poets: show us GREEN.
It was silly and stupid if I may be so bold with honesty.
To be jealous over someone or something another human has makes no sense.
If a marriage or relationship was torn, being jealous over the new man/woman in their life really isn’t worth it in the end. Let’s face it, who wants someone who cheats on us? What if they do it again? I am not suggesting that every relationship fails when one cheats, but it is a struggle with trust in order to heal.
To be jealous over a gorgeous person should make us instead work harder at our own self-esteem issues. Each of us is gorgeous. God made us. Would he make us any other than beautiful?
Of course we can go to the make-up counters and then look in the mirror and see a stranger. We can curl, cut, straighten and color our hair. We can exercise, workout, run, ride bikes, pay for gyms, but it won’t change your beautiful heart and soul. It will only enhance the beautiful person you already are.
I tend to get jealous of people who can wear any shoes they desire. They can go to Wal-Mart and pick out a popular pair. I can not do this. In fact, yesterday I spent some time at the pharmacy being fitted for a pair of Diabetic Shoes. They aren’t nearly as beautiful and stylish as Macy’s shoes, but my feet don’t suffer in them. They are free to breathe and be in less pain.
It is my fault that I have to wear these shoes. I have been a Diabetic for 32 years. Instead of being jealous of what others have, I should be thankful I can still walk. I can still stand, and on the down side I could have turned a way so many of those foods I should not have eaten. So shame on me. Maybe I would have had bad feet in the end, but maybe I could have delayed it with better care of my own body.
I wouldn’t say that I get jealous of other people’s homes, but I do wish I owned that log cabin or big old Victorian home. The way I get through these petty issues is tell myself, if God wanted me to have that home, I would have it. Or, look at the cleaning I would constantly be doing in the big old Victorian home. I would have to hire housekeeping staff.
We, in general all have a tiny side to us that believe others have it better or are luckier than us. But in the end, we are exactly who God wants us to be, we are in the perfect position and moment God wishes us to be so we can learn and rely on his never-ending love.
In all I have no real reason to be jealous of anyone. I have a roof over my head. My bills are paid. There is food on the table. My brother is here, and God loves me, just the way I am. How could life be any better.
http://dailypost.wordpress.com, DP, Daily Prompt
After spending time with a group of people, do you feel energized and ready for anything or do you want to hide in the corner with a good book?
Photographers, artists, poets: show us PERSONALITY.
I don’t know if it is because I am no longer in the social rings, but then again that is a silly statement. I have never been in the social rings. I guess I am thinking about when I used to pick up the keys, get in my car and run to Wal-Mart or maybe go see my girlfriend a couple of hours a way.
I had quite a few guy friends and they were less into my business and yet so much fun to hang with.
Now that I am older I can even look back to when I was a young mother. I still only had one or two friends and my family and my extended family were my friends.
Today I still have one or two close friends. I guess I have remained who I always have been. Yet there are subtle changes I see in me. I don’t like crowds of any kind. Whether it be a beautiful wedding, or a graduation, most likely the only way you will see that I was there is when you recognize the hand-writing and the signature on the gift inside the card.
It just makes me so nervous to be in too big of space with too many heads bobbing up and down walking and mingling.
It makes me think back in my life when I went through big-time panic attacks. My eyes would bug out. I thought I was going to lose touch with reality.
All I wanted to do is race somewhere, anywhere, just escape the crowd.
If I am forced out of guilt to attend a very special function, I latch on like a frog’s tongue to one person, two at the most. I would hang with them and watch the clock to see what time it was so I could make a respectable escape.
Once out of the situation I would grab my smokes and inhale deeply and breathe a sigh of relief that the nightmare was over for me.
I guess this means that I like being home most of the time better. A couple of good friends does me well, and I can dress casual, shorts and Tees. Yep friends, I am definitely not a party animal.
No books, no TV, no extra energy, just give me a bed because by now I need a nice, long nap.