Tomorrow is my birthday. Instead of being younger, I will be now a young 58. Oh my gosh! When I see this in print, it scares me. I have lived over half of my life. I actually saw a commercial yesterday that talked about a year that I wouldn’t be here to celebrate. What have I done with my life? Shall I go by priority, stupidity, happy times? I think that I will start with things people may say after my passing. She has three wonderful children. They have grown up to be respectable adults. They treat their spouses fair, and they adore their kids. I have been married twice. One ended because of my being messed up with the meetings of my natural mother. It led to doors being opened for my husband, and he slipped away from me. The second marriage was rebound? Scared of being on my own? Yes, this is it. Number two, scared of being on my own. There was many controlling issues in that marriage. It took me many years with the help of my children, and God to break that tie. So we can put a little stupidity in that mix and some out of mind in the other part. I had a business that I owned. An antique store. I refurnished furniture for clients. I loved that.It meant a lot to me. After the divorce I had no building to continue my work, but the antiques are still in my blood today. That was something people will talk about after I am gone. I am a child of God. This was a very important accomplishment in my life. No one will question this after I am gone, as they already know the answer of where I will go next. I take care of my brother. To me this is a huge accomplishment. So many ask me when I will give it up. All I can say, is the good Lord will let me know
Now for tomorrow, my birthday, I want you, the reader, to tell me what you think I could do to celebrate this birthday. We are going to dream big, but keep it real. What can a 58-year-old, single woman do that will be remembered by others after I am gone? Make sure to leave your comments. I am going to be reading each one of these.
The spring weather has been a blessing for me. It has drawn one of my children to my house. The conversations are nice. There is no defense being put up on anyone. The campfire is roaring. Flames flickering, wood snapping. The smell of wood burning is like chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven. It is so nice to just relax. To not have a doctor appointment, nor hear the phone ring. Cars in the neighborhood are resting. Children are quiet and asleep. It is so peaceful. My brother came out and sat in his chair, and chatted a mile a minute. There was plenty of laughter to spread around this night. This morning starts a new. I get up and my eye is sore from my infection. I wash it out, and add the medicine. Now I can walk around with a fuzzy blur in one eye for about an hour. This is tolerable though, knowing the outcome is no more infection. Brother gets up, and walks out slowly and very quiet. Fixes his waffles with both knees bent so far, they are touching the cabinet doors. He eats, not paying attention to the daily news on the talk box. No bad comments about the news like I have grown accustomed to. Silence. Soon after breakfast, the caregiver rings the bell, and has arrived to give him his shower care. He takes one look at her and starts crying. I have no idea where this is coming from. We talk to him, and he is explaining about what has been happening while she was gone. He tells all his worries, which I didn’t know we had. What I learned from his chatter, was that last night, he had come in from outdoors, to get a snack and a drink of juice. While he was pouring the juice, his tremors took a notion to jerk at a bad time, and the juice went flying. He had tried to clean it up, and he said it made him feel so bad, that he had this accident, that he just sat and cried. He hated the tremors. He felt like he had done something wrong for the tremors to be here in the beginning. He questioned us on why he had to have them. This left me speechless for a moment, trying to get my brain rearranged, thinking in his shoes instead of mine. I gave him the reason being, he did nothing wrong, that he wasn’t guilty of anything. The spilled drink meant nothing to me, that it was too easy to just clean up. None of this worked, as I knew, myself, that if it was me, I would know this was all bull crap excuses. I would realize I was getting worse, and I would know that I couldn’t be the person I used to be. There is no good excuse. I should just shut my mouth. I was making him feel small inside, by humoring him like a child. When he was taking his shower, he fell into the wall. This made the tears flow at a water fall rate. I now knew that he was in the
mind-set that he is a failure in his own body He can no longer walk, or stand tall, or do anything without help. After the caregiver left, I went in and changed his sheets. I started a load of his laundry. When I walked out here, he was wiping tears from his eyes once again. I asked him what is wrong? He told me, thanks for changing my sheets. I used to be able to do that.