My Heart Is Torn In Half


There are no tears to cry, no place to run and hide. I must stay and face the music.


Broken Heart


Everyone keeps telling me that God will give me no more than I can handle, and I think I can handle no more. To have to admit to myself that my time here is up, is the worst thing I have ever done next to filing my divorce papers, or maybe staring at my father in his casket, trying to burn his image in my mind, so that I will never ever forget his look.


My heart is torn because Al is doing his best, but I can not do it anymore. The stress of the headaches and wanting to pull my hair out one by one shaft, has almost put me over the edge of sanity.


I have heard others say place him, and others say don’t place him, and I have always been the fighter type personality, swearing I can do all things when it comes to making sure others are in the best condition they can be in, but tonight, I have a headache so big, it is scaring me. Tonight, when I am typing, the letters are being tossed backwards and forwards, not staying in order as they should, and I blame this on my stability of being able to think.


The caregiver called me earlier this evening to inform me that she would rather spend her time with her kids tomorrow, and so she didn’t want to come. She asked if this was alright with her, and I smarted off. I couldn’t help it, but it came out and for a few moments, I was ashamed of myself. She is a caregiver that gives showers only, no emotions involved, no talk is tossed between the two, shower and go, and always a wink to Al, saying make the best out of today. I say screw her! He does try to make the best out of each day, and then he starts crying because he knows he fails at this attempt all the time.


Al didn’t understand even what I said, when I told him she wasn’t coming. He asked me what I meant, and I said quite frankly, she isn’t coming! He started crying. I told him to go in the bathroom and start the water and get his clean clothes out, and I would give him his shower tonight instead of in the morning.


As he undressed himself, I noticed he had too long of finger nails, and I remembered how that must not be part of shower duties for the caregiver, so I trimmed his nails. I also trimmed the hairs off of his ears, and also trimmed his mustache. That was a job in itself, because of his tears, his mustache was full of liquid gook! I had to keep wiping his nose so I could trim. I noticed a strong odor coming from him and wondered how long it had been since he had a shower, knowing it truly was yesterday.


When we were finished trimming, I helped him to stand and to sit on the shower chair. This is a three-fold step process. Stand and back up until your knees can feel the shower chair, sit down, turn around and lift one leg at a time until completely on. He didn’t get it right the first time, so we had to do it over again, and when he scooted over, I noticed the color brown all over the shower chair.


I had mixed emotions about this, but just told him that I would have to clean his bathroom when done and he was safely sitting in his recliner. I had already noticed when I did laundry that morning, that there were too many yellows and browns in his under clothing, telling me he was beginning to struggle more and more with bathroom facilities.


Last evening he was so upset, because not only is he becoming obsessed with having his number two’s happening, he has begun the digging process, and now he is upset because he hasn’t gone pee for an  hour. What? I don’t even pee every hour, but then I realized he is just carrying over his obsession from number two to number one and two. Oh my gosh, how am I going to deal with this.


So when I saw this on the shower chair, everything clicked inside of me and I knew it was over.


I have to admit, I don’t know too much about dementia. I know more about the Alzheimer’s disease. I just know that he didn’t and sometimes does not understand simple sentences with very few words, and he is struggling in the bathroom now. He cries at every thing I say.


Tonight after supper I went into his room and turned the fan on in his window. It was so much cooler outdoors than it is in here, and when each of us turn our window fans on  and leave our doors open , in no time, the home is completely cooled by nature.


He went nuts, and without using his cane practically ran to his room, to close his bedroom door. I explained that he had to leave it open, that I was not turning the air on just because he wanted to keep Cali, the kitty out of his room. He was so stressed out,  that this caused another outburst of tears and arguing. This was brought on because the first day we had our new kitty, she had lived outdoors and didn’t recognize her kitty box until the next day, then all was safe. I had told Al to close his bedroom door for that one day, and I would close my bedroom door also, until she was box trained, thank goodness there was only one accident, and she had the training all down in twenty-four hours.


Al would make remarks after that day, saying look, she is using her cat box, and we would both laugh and I would say yep, she sure is!  But, when I told him to leave his door opened, he used Cali as a reason not to, and so once again I explained how it was safe now, that we both knew she was box trained, but he argued and cried.


With all of this and the knowing he is so sad and wants to die, and all the gravy dumped on top of the disease, I can not do anymore. It is going to cost me my health, maybe even a stroke or worse. I have to make the calls. I have to find a place for him where he will be happy, but my heart is torn in half, and this will be so hard. I am going to need all the positive support I can get, as there is no support here around me. Please help me get through this, I beg of you. It is like another death in a way to me. I know I will be able to go see him, this is not the point. It is another loss of a family member, like losing my own mom and dad, and finally the walls will speak no more, the ceilings will shed no more tears, and all around will be silence, until I build my life, opening the page to a new chapter.


Continuing Story Part 9

When the teacher arrived home, she was greeted by Dahlia still lying in her bed feeling

English: Old Dahlia

English: Old Dahlia (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

sorry for herself. She tried to talk some sense into her, but the pity party was so deep that teacher could not get through the tightly, closed-door.

Teacher had led a life that had caused many tribulations, forcing her to face her problems or drown, and she saw in Dahlia, what she herself had been once upon a time. She made up her mind, that if Dahlia would not help herself, then she would help her for her.

She left Dahlia to herself and went into the living room, where she found her phone book and her address book. She went through them and wrote down names and phone numbers that may be able to help her. She began her journey of healing for Dahlia. She made call after call, scribbling out names who could be of no help, and making marks beside the ones who possibly could help in one way or another. She set up appointments with the ones who drew hope and for the next week she was being drawn into the circles of possibilities  for  Dahlia’s problems.

One by one through out the week, she visited her appointment. She spoke of her problems with her student, gave a little background, and jotted down notes from the words and advice given to her.

It was a tiring week, but by the end, she had names and phone numbers and addresses of the best. She knew that Dahlia was in trouble, but she also realized that without a swift kick of tough love, this girl could end up being a waste on this good earth.

Dahlia stayed mainly in her room, and when her stomach could take no more, she would wander to the kitchen and grab a bite to eat and take it back to her room. Each morning and night, the teacher would try to draw her out of her sadness and loss of self-worth, but Dahlia refused to be helped.

Teacher left her alone and went about her tasks of finding the best help she could afford and offer. She had three names, and called each of these and set appointments up and met with them all in three days.

One of them, told of a wonderful psychiatric hospital that could possible help with quite a bit of therapy offered. The teacher laughed this off, remembering what help had been offered to her own self and how she had fought it and went more into herself. The next person told of a school, that was very strict, what you and I would call a boot camp school today. The problem with this was that the school was almost an hour away, and she wasn’t sure how she would be able to visit Dahlia if she were to be placed there.

There were good things about it though. Careful eyes kept on each student. No nudging to do what was right, but a punishment if not doing what was ordered. Three meals a day. Teacher asked if an appointment could be set up for this school, and that if she could, she would bring Dahlia along, but there were no promises that she could get the girl to budge.

The call was made and the date set for arrival for a visit. The teacher left with a big thank-you being said, and a smile on her face, because she was certain she had found the solution to this.

When she arrived home, she went and checked on Dahlia, whom she found sitting on her bed, uncovered, and actually dressed, and was gazing toward the warmth of the window. She told the student that she had some information that she wanted to introduce to her and that she expected her in the living room or kitchen where they would go over it. Dahlia glanced her way as she heard the words, but said nothing.

The teacher left her sitting there, knowing she better make one last phone call for today, cancelling the last appointment. After the phone call was made she went to her record player and placed a record on it that helped bring softness to the room and a flowing calmness.   She went on to prepare dinner for the two of them, believing that things were going to be changing, and their future was looking brighter. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn cut from the cob, bread and butter with jelly and hot tea, was the menu for tonight.

The smells drifted through Dahlia’s nose and soon the saliva started forming in her mouth, as she had not eaten much for so many days, she realized she actually was famished. She climbed out of bed and went across the hall to the bathroom using her hands to guide her through each step. She splashed her face with water, and slowly ran a comb through her tangled hair. When she thought she looked the best she could for now, she went to the kitchen, felt her chair and sat down as if the teacher was her maid or slave.

The teacher said nothing to this, as she was just relieved Dahlia was out of her room. There was not much conversation taken place during this meal. Teacher noticed Dahlia eating and doing not much chewing, and she smiled to herself, as her student devoured each bite.

After dinner was over the dirty settings were placed on the counter top waiting to be washed, but this could be done later. Now, it was time to let Dahlia know of the plans for her future, and her new school. She added hot water to their tea cups and sitting back down across from Dahlia, cleared her throat and sat  up a little straighter, ready to start her battle of winning this war.

The teacher began by letting Dahlia know that what had happened the past week or so was not her fault, that neither of them had planned on this or had done anything to help cause this. She let her student know that she loved her and that she knew she had a diamond sitting here across from her, and she would continue to be of help to get her through her schooling.

Dahlia felt with her fingers until they wrapped around the warm tea-cup and opened her mouth to protest, but the teacher would not give her a chance to speak.

How We Look At Others

English: Donald Zackary "Zack" Grein...

I received this email this morning, with this inside. It touched me so much I had to share. It brought out the part of who I truly am. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.


At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its

Dedicated staff, he offered a question:

‘When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does is done with perfection.

Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do.

Where is the natural order of things in my son?’

The audience was stilled by the query.

The father continued. ‘I believe that when a child like Shay, who was mentally and physically disabled comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.’

Then he told the following story:

Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, ‘Do you think they’ll let me play?’ I knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but as a father I also understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, ‘We’re losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning.. I guess he can be on our team and we’ll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.’

Shay struggled over to the team’s bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart. The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted.

In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay’s team scored a few runs but was still behind by three.

In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands.

In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay’s team scored again.

Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game?

Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn’t even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.

However, as Shay stepped up to the

Plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay’s life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.

The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed.

The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay.

As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher.

The game would now be over.

The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman.

Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.

Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman’s head, out of reach of all team mates.

Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, ‘Shay, run to first!

Run to first!’

Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base.

He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.

Everyone yelled, ‘Run to second, run to second!’

Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base.

By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball. The smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team.

He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher’s intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman’s head.

Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.

All were screaming, ‘Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay’

Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, ‘Run to third!

Shay, run to third!’

As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, ‘Shay, run home! Run home!’

Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team

‘That day’, said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, ‘the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world’.

Shay didn’t make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

This Is For Tilly

I found a suggestion in my comments from Tilly to write a poem about Cali, our kitten, so I

A six-week old kitten.

will give it a try.


Silence can be so heavy

With only a television box

Hearing my brother’s tears

And darning his old socks.

Aging process moving along

Can create a cloud of gloom

I need some company here for me

In this dismal little room.

I was asked a question today

From a friend who lives near by

If I wanted to adopt this kitty

And take the sadness from her eye.

I jumped right in with an answer

And said oh yes I will

For I prayed to God this question

For my lonely heart to fill.

Cali, the kitty, is her new name

She craves the love I  give

She looks at me with adoring eyes

And has given me reasons to live.

Her dances of play with her toy mice

Has brought me laughter more than once

She kisses my nose to show me love

My prayer was now answered from the one above.