I am almost afraid to write this mornings journey down for all to see, as I am afraid. Afraid that friends that think I am a good person, will no longer think this. That you thought I was unselfish, and now you will think I am selfish. I know I am not supposed to worry what others think, but being a stay at home sister, taking care of a man whose tremors are too out of control, I have come to lean on my friendships with all of my readers and followers. You see strength in me, and this makes me feel good, but let me tell you, there are days like today, that my body feels like old, fragile paper, from a hundred years ago, kept in cellophane wrapping, and now has been taken out of its wrapper, and toyed with. Emotions are flying inside this house right now. From one end of the house there is sobbing that I hear, words of what we would call pity, but I don’t see them that way. I see them as he is calling the shots, the end is near. At this end of the house, I feel a broken heart. Something has ripped through it, piercing it head on. I feel anguish and despair. I feel defeat, as I didn’t carry out his wishes. I feel some guilt, because maybe I didn’t give it enough time. I feel a huge loss, for his misery has become mine, his sadness has inflamed my soul. The helplessness that I often feel, is no longer a stranger to me, when it comes to having hope that all will be well in time. The sun is shining, and there is a chill in the air, like early autumn. Hope is the word for today. Last night, my brother told me he wanted to go to church this morning. I tensed up inside. The weekly argument within myself, is a battle I don’t seem to win. I want to please him, but going to church is not a joy anymore. Each week I take him, it is early enough, that he is quite stiff in his walking. A blank look is spread across his face. No emotions come from anywhere unless you look below the neck and see the tremors very much alive. When we go to church, the first song he hears, starts the flooding of tears. He tells me after church, that the songs remind him of mom and dad. There is triple speed of tremors, constant wiping of tears, until his eyes look like an old dogs bloodshot eyes. There is loud mumblings coming from his mouth, telling all who are near, that he hates these tremors. They are taking over his life, and they are going to kill him. With this all in mind, I still tell him, we shall wait and see how things are in the morning, then we will decide whether to go or not. This morning, he doesn’t wait for me to say anything, he gets dressed in his Sunday clothes, eats his breakfast, and then sits and waits to go for an hour. I get my shower, have my cup of coffee, eat my bowl of Cheerios. The time has come. Without any discussions, I get his walker in the car, and I walk him to the car door and help him in. We leave, with no conversation between us, no smiles on either faces. All he realizes is that he always went to church on Sundays. This was his routine, and so nothing will change. Tense is how I feel. Trying to be hopeful, asking God to get us through this. We get to church. I get the walker out. I get him out, and we get to the front door. Smiling greeters welcome him and me. I say with my pasted smile, good morning. He says beautiful day, I nod in agreement. He then says good morning to my brother. My brother says nothing and still no smile. We go in and find a place to sit. We are alone in our seats and then a lady sits next to us. She takes the attendance book out of the pew and signs her name, and then asks my brother if he has signed it. Big mistake. I assume by this question, she hasn’t noticed the triple tremors. He tells her he can’t sign his name, his stupid tremors won’t let him. He turns and looks at me, and says too loudly, why is she asking me to sign my name. She knows I can’t sign my name. These stupid tremors are going to kill me! They are going to end my life!. The lady gawks, and moves over a seat. My brother says, see? she doesn’t like my tremors either! Tears start flooding once again. nose is running, words are spoken. I stand up, and I tell him , come on, we are going home. More and faster tears. I repeat myself, helping him to stand at the same time. I said again, let’s go. This just isn’t working out for you. We can go home and watch a church show on TV. I guide him out of the church. The smiling usher says on our way out, Oooo is someone not feeling well? I felt like he was patting a puppy on the head, saying nice puppy, nice puppy. I said no, someone is not feeling well. I put the walker back in the car. I place the teary eyed, tremor filled, man in his front seat. I close his door, go over to my side, open my door, sit down, shut the door. Start the engine, and leave. All the way home I hear, I want to die! These tremors are going to end my life! Stupid tremors! I park the car, and swear to myself that this is it!! No more church until things change. There are good programs on TV he can watch. He can listen to his MP3, that is preloaded with the New
Testament. a gift from a dear friend for him. It is over, I lost the battle to Parkinson’s. It is truly leading our lives in every way. My heart starts to bleed once again.