You Are The Best

She didn’t know me at birth. She walked into my life when I was four. There was not just one but two of us, a total of four. She held down a full-time job. She was very intelligent. I went through her elementary and secondary school cards, and never saw anything lower than an A. She was a proud woman, her weakness holding in her feelings and not letting anyone know of her hurt. She held two jobs in her life since I came to know her. One was a telephone operator, and the other with an electric company. She worked at the electric company the longest, working there until she could retire. She worked her way up from a teller all the way to a super boss. She was in charge of different areas of her job. She took her work very seriously, not showing too many smiles, but all knew she cared about them, and she was proud of all of them. She gave a piece of herself to many. She helped to open a homeless shelter for mothers and their children who had been abused or evicted from their homes. This home still stands tall and strong yet today. She was a member of her church, having various positions through out her years. She purchased a camper and when small fairs came to surrounding towns, she and he would sell elephant ears and give all proceeds to the home for the homeless, asking for no help with all that it takes to run this camper. She took excellent care of the two of us. We were clean and dressed nice at all times. She made sure that we had  good educations and made sure that Al was given the best opportunities with his disabilities. She was there when I got married, and she was there when I was divorced. She was a wonderful grandmother. I remember at her funeral someone spoke up and told about how she would over hear a stranger who was struggling to pay their bill. She knew that they were not a repeat customer, looking for a hand out. When this person left, she would go pay their bill without letting them know it was her that did this. She loved God. I never knew a night to go by that she didn’t study in her bible. I have it today, and it shows all of her favorite passages and notes that she had written in it. After she left us, I found lots of notes around reminding her to pray for me or another family member or friend.  She worked very hard her whole life, taking in two children that were not hers. Building a life together with dad, staying fully committed, even when he said things that were hurtful. She prayed for him for many years, that he may find God, and five years before she left us, dad came to know the Lord. This to her, was her greatest reward in her marriage. I don’t know your personal life. We do not get that intimate with each other on here, but I believe that I had the best mother, any girl could ask for. She took me in, although I was not hers by blood, and treated me as if I was her own. We had our differences, but who doesn’t. The guilt I carried for years, I was fortunate enough, to be able to ask her for forgiveness before she left. It was so sudden. She woke one morning, and went to use the restroom and never came out. When dad realized she had been in there too long, he went to check and found her slumped on the stool. The hospital said she had an aneurism. She was taken to a larger city hospital where she lay for seven days, in a coma. On the sixth day, the doctors came to dad and me and asked if we would like to let her go, as if we decided to hang on, only ten percent of her would remain, the rest would be a vegetable. We loved her dearly, and we cried together, holding on to each other for support, while we decided to be unselfish and let her go. On the seventh day, we held her hand as she slipped away from us. It will never leave my heart. She remains with me forever, a woman who took two children in, and with disabilities, and the normal challenges of a ready-made family, she was better than any mother who gave birth to us. It is almost Mother’s Day, and although she has been gone for eleven years, I want to say, I love you Mom. You are forever in my heart. You were and are still the best.

Not Giving Up Yet

I took my brother to the doctor this afternoon. Before, going there, we stopped at his restaurant, and he had a chocolate shake and cottage cheese. What a combination, right? Well, with his mouth gums still having stitches, whatever he wants that he can eat, is alright with me. After eating, he had to use the restroom. The restroom is at the back of the store, behind the door. I would not be able to keep an eye on  him by letting him go alone, so I went along, and as I got to an area where I could watch him go on his way, I stayed back. After he was finished, and had walked back out to the public area where all were sitting, Al decides to pull a child-like trick on me. He says in a too loud of voice, why do you have to follow me everywhere I go? You watch me like a hawk. Do you think I am going to steal something? I said calmly, with my cheeks starting to burn, I watch over you, not to bug you or frustrate you, but because you fall too easily, and I don’t want you to fall and me not to know. Then he repeated his question again, causing looks for the two of us and started in with his tears. For the first time, I felt like somewhere in his child-like mind he was doing this on purpose. Trying to make his point, that he didn’t want me to watch over him, and hoping by humiliating me in front of others, he would get his own way. I was getting a tad bit angry at him for this unacceptable behavior. I told him we were leaving now and I sat and waited for him to get his jacket on. He tried, and then yelled at me, aren’t you going to help me? I told him I didn’t want to treat him like a baby and wasn’t WATCHING him, so I didn’t know he needed help. He just looked at me, and I knew he was mad at me, but I was angry with him also. We went to the doctor then, and found out his foot is alright.The pulse is there and all is good. Doctor said I could take him to a dermatologist, if it the toe nail continued to turn gray. He gave him a prescription for depression. It will take six to eight weeks to start working. I try to stress to the doctor that I need help NOW. That Al talks about wanting to die, and doesn’t eat so much any longer, and point out the fact that he has lost too much weight in the past three weeks. He tells me this is just the parts of Parkinson’s, and I should be getting used to it. Hmm, reminds me of yesterday’s comment that upset me so much, get over it, get used to it! I have called Hospice to see about getting their help, but they tell me Parkinson’s is not an end of life situation. While standing in line for the prescription to be filled, one of the pharmacists that knows us well, started talking to me about Al, and I told her what had gone on at the doctor. She told me the doctor can talk to the Hospice and it can make a difference. I need help, and I am admitting it. I do not want Al to sit here and die from depression. Eight weeks are a long time for me to sit back and watch his swearing, slowing of eating, the anger, arguing, and tears, and non comprehension. I am not going to stop Al from his feelings, and if he truly wants to die, I will not stand in his way, but there has to be a more dignified way of handling this then hoping for some miracle drug to work after eight weeks, only to actually hide the real feelings. I am going to call Hospice again tomorrow. I am not going to give up this easily. One of these places is going to help him and I get through this.

The Doctor, by Sir Luke Fildes (1891)

The Doctor, by Sir Luke Fildes (1891) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Don’t Be Blinded

There is much to be thankful for

In this world we live in

But pain can blind us

And we can give in.


Not seeing what stands before our eyes

Blinded lies are looking down

Walking away from this that shines

With smiles that have been turned into frowns.


We need to get down on bended knee

Hands together, head bowing low

Thanking God for all he gives

Loving Jesus and letting all know.

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Prayer (Photo credit: Chris Yarzab)