Give Me The Strength Of Two


Is it time to think of alternatives?  I don’t know how much more I can take of not being able to physically help Al anymore.

Here is what happened just now.  I hadn’t had Al out of the house today, although he decided to go out by himself. He said he was going to ride his scooter, and I saw him leave, but in five minutes he was back. I then saw him sit on the outdoor couch, and it took him great effort to lift his legs upon the couch, but I held my cool. I didn’t rush out to help him like I usually do, I wanted him to do it himself, if at all possible.

Al also decided, without telling me, that he was going to shave with his electric razor. Now I don’t think this is a bad thing, EXCEPT, he shaves in one spot over and over, until the skin becomes raised, raw, and red. It takes a lot of medicating from me to get the skin back to normal. I just wish he would let me do it, but I  understand his wanting to complete a task for himself, but today, he went one step further. He decided to eject the short trimmer piece on the razor, and proceed to clip his mustache. When he came out to show me, I didn’t know whether to flip out, smile and say nothing, or let my eyeballs pop out! I chose door number two. I said GREAT JOB AT TRYING BUD!. He lets me know that he didn’t get it exactly right because he messed up. I had no choice but to agree on this, so now when I look at Al, I try very hard not to cock my head to the side, in order to see a straight mustache.

Tonight, for supper we went to Wal-Mart, because each of us needed a set of sheets for our beds, so we got two pairs, that we could each interchange on the beds, in colors that we both liked. I also know there is a Subway inside the store, and to save Al’s strength, we did the all-in-one thing, one store, one shopping.

After we ate, which I should say we did first, then shopped, and we got the sheets, we lazily went over to the grocery aisle. Now most of you know what the super center Wal-Mart look like. It is like looking over to the other side of grand canyon. It never ends, and we were at the back of the store, by the eggs and milk area.

All of a sudden Al is crying, and he is saying my back, my back! I look back at him and  he is leaning like the leaning tower, so far over, I can not see the steering column of the scooter any longer. I do a quick assessment, and decide his back is hurting from being bent over too far. I ask him to please try to sit up, and he listens and sits up, but only for a couple of seconds and back down he goes.

I mentally take note of what I absolutely have to have from the grocery part, so I do not  have to take Al back out for a while, and with my prompting over and over for him to sit up straight, he and I make it through the necessary aisles, while Al is crying and this time everyone is watching that is near by, because Al is out of control totally.

There is no going back and no going forth, we are stuck right there a third of the way from the registers.  He has lost all interests of listening and understanding, so I get behind Al and I hold his body upright, while he manuevers the scooter towards the registers.

Don’t ask me why, but I am getting darn sick and tired of rude people!! People will not move out-of-the-way, if they are talking, kids running all over the store, me almost running one of them down tonight! I don’t expect special rules to be taken towards us, but if you see a grown man crying, and an older woman hanging on to the back of his shirt, trying to hold him up in a scooter, don’t you think they would get the hell out-of-the-way???

We make it to the registers, and I place all of our goodies on the counter, and we pay and we finally make it through the doors of the all for one and one for all store. Awww, peace and quiet. no, wait, hang on a minute, not another disaster, what?

At the car, as I am placing all the groceries and non-edibles in the trunk, Al takes it upon himself to get off of the scooter and make his way to the passenger side of the car. Now, if I was watching this scene from another car, I would call the police, complaining of a drunk man walking the parking lot. Al is bouncing off the car, back into the car, and then trips and falls. He is in his frozen mode!

I throw my keys and my purse into the trunk, no wait stupid, don’t put your keys in the trunk, so I grab them and go to Al, and check him over. No, God watched over him, no scrapes, or blood. I get him into the car and get him buckled up and his tears turn into storms. I could do nothing more, or I didn’t have the energy to stand their and watch the rain inside the car, and I had nothing to say. I walked back to the trunk, and finished loading the gold, oh, sorry, I mean the pricey bags into the trunk, and we left and came home. He went to his bedroom and pulled out of his closet, the lift, the fat gadget, that you sit on top of the toilet, so you can sit easier? Yes, you know what I mean, the high-rise seat! Between Al’s enlarged prostate issues he has had for a couple of years, and the Parkinson’s not letting him go number one, he ends up bent in a half curtsey position, waiting for the process to start. I guess he got tired of his knees bending, so he is using the lift I bought him with no arguments anymore.

He just came out, as I am finishing this story up, and said to me, why is this Parkinson’s wanting to kill me.

My time is up on here, and now I need to go sit on his bed and listen to more of why he and I can’t fix it.

Listen and Write It, Writing Exercise, July 5th, 2012

Unwritten by Natasha Bedingfield

Ermilia has given me another opportunity to write for her an exercise, called Listen And Write. Thank you Emilia!

Oh my God, help me! This is what was heard as people gathered in the small, dark living room. The mama was in hard labor, in danger of losing her child and herself. She was taking the risk, the chance, to bare this child. God had gifted them this child, and she was bound to have it.

The child was born into a poor home where all adults were considered slaves, and the youth were considered new experiences for the land owners. There was no money hidden in the cookie jar, and books were scarce, only being taught and read when one could be found and stolen through the darkest nights. Shoes were bought once a year, and if they were injured in any way, the foot walked naked. Clothing was made from old cloths that were given from the mistress of the main home. How ever much material was thrown their way, this became the deciding factor in who got the new dress or slacks.

With the hard labor that was endured, the child grew up to be slow minded. The simple things of life, that are taken for granted, such as walking and talking, were hard to learn. Being spoon fed was a task that took many weeks to master, and yet the child picked it up in his own time.

There was something bright in the child’s eyes, when ever you looked into his little face. Alertness comes to  mind, as you watched  him take in everything that moved. He didn’t seem to miss anything, but he made very little sounds.

As the child grew older, some called him worthless, retarded, too slow for any use. Gerald, the child’s name, understood what they were saying. He knew they were making fun of him. He didn’t want to be labeled. He wanted to be what he considered normal.

At night when everyone slept, he would sneak down into the cellar, with his lit candle, and he would spend as much free time as he could get by with, reading the few books that were there. His mind took longer to digest the words, but with repeated practice, what he read, sunk in and was comprehended.

One day, he was outside playing under the shaded apple tree, and a young boy came to sit by him. Gerald found out that he was the owners son, and after some time, the two became good friends. As the two bonded, they learned many facts about each other, and they each were united in the spirit of reading. Nathan, the owners child, started sneaking books down to Gerald’s house and leaving them outside the window, close to where he slept. After all were fast asleep, Gerald would wake up with excitement in his veins, and sneak out his window, and grab the books and run quietly down to the cellar and read.

There were many different books now. Books on history, spelling, and some math. For months to come and going into years, Nathan had ended up becoming Gerald’s teacher, and together they blossomed into young men.

Nathan would talk about his college that he would be attending next year, and Gerald would feel pangs of jealousies because he also wanted to go. He had learned much about himself through out the years, and he knew he loved math. He loved everything about it. All the figures he could work with, short cuts to come up with the same answers that Nathan had. This was his love of his life, but he knew that he was labeled and he knew there were no funds for him to be able to attend a fine college.

Without asking his mother’s permission, Nathan mailed out a request for an application to the same college he was going to be attending. When it arrived, he filled it out with Gerald’s information, and on a separate piece of paper he wrote a testimony of Gerald’s life and his yearning to learn.

After several weeks went by, a white envelope addressed to Nathan arrived. Ripping it open the letter stated, that the college knew of Nathan’s attending their school, and they were familiar with his parents. They were touched that he would write on behalf of his friend, and were going to extend a welcome to Gerald and let him enter the first year of college with Nathan.

Nathan could hardly get through his chores, and when lunch finally arrived, he gobbled down every bite and excused himself for his free time. He raced down to Gerald’s home, and not hiding the envelope by the window, but flinging the front door wide opened, he motioned for Gerald to follow him. The excitement in his eyes,  prompted Gerald to rise quickly from his seat and both young men ran to their favorite spot, the apple tree. As they both sat down, Nathan held out Gerald’s hands and placed the gift in them. He screamed to him, open it! open it!

Gerald opened it gently. He was not used to receiving mail for himself, so this was a special treat. As he took out the paper, and began to read it, he looked up into Nathan’s eyes, and Nathan nodded up and down. Gerald grabbed his friend around the neck so hard, they both tumbled to the ground, falling over each other hugging and laughing. They sat up and if you were standing near, you could hear all of the plans and dreams being made at that moment.

Years later, Gerald and Nathan graduated together from the same college. Nathan with honors, and Gerald with a diploma, for teaching math.


This Explains

There are two wonderful people, in my eyes, that are worth, tuning everything and everyone out, in order to hear every word, and those two people are, Joyce Meyers, and Dr. Charles Stanley.

I have emails sent to me from each of these people, and they are also on my Facebook.

You all know that I question why God lets the sick that have long illness remain on this earth and doesn’t take them home. It doesn’t seem fair to me, that they should be left behind to suffer, sometimes more than others.

Today, as I was reading my emails, I came across Dr. Stanley’s motivational, and it spoke directly to me. Now I am not going to kid myself and say that I understand every single word, especially, since Al, is unable to do so many things for himself. He can not get out and witness to neighbors, or travel across the oceans to help others, but he is a believer of God. What God’s purpose is for him, in his condition, I do not know, but after reading this, I know that I can be a little more patient, and accept God  has a purpose for Al’s suffering. There is a reason he has not taken him home.

I have allowed my mind to get too involved with every word that Al speaks of death. I get worried, and become more alert to his actions, in general, causing me more stress and grief. It is hard to not get involved, being his sister, and also being his caregiver, but I need to back off. Friends on here, have helped me come to realize, I can not worry, it helps none. I can not try to change his thoughts, they are not mine to change, but I can listen, and still have a life of my own in these four walls.

I will continue to write often about Al, because I need someone to share my concerns with, and yes, I will still worry, but it helps to get things off my chest, and be able to live through out my day. I need to hear your comments, and I need to feel your support, and if I don’t write about Al, I won’t get either, but I am glad that I came across this motivational, because on top of your help, this also has helped me.

God has a purpose for your life. If that weren’t true, He’d have taken you home to heaven at the moment of salvation. Do you ever wonder why He left you here?

The Lord intends to influence others through you. Our purpose is to be a vessel through which Christ overflows to others–touching those who hurt and desperately need a Savior. Once we are saved, Scripture teaches, our involvement is threefold.

First, we love others. Jesus clearly stated that this was one of the two greatest commandments (Matt. 22:38-39).

Second, we share the good news of salvation (Acts 1:8). Some travel across the world to spread the gospel, while others teach neighbors across the street. The Holy Spirit will direct us to the right people if we are willing to obey.

Third, we serve in a variety of ways, like helping those in need, sharing our resources, and lifting others in prayer. Jesus is our perfect example of all three. His entire life was marked by caring for people–both those who loved Him and those who did not. In fact, the Bible teaches that He humbled Himself and became like us, willing to give up His life for our redemption. There is no greater love; there is no greater act of service

The Holy Spirit depicted as a dove, surrounded...

The Holy Spirit depicted as a dove, surrounded by angels, by Giaquinto, 1750s. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)