A Wonderful Surprise Visit

I had the nicest surprise today. I was just thrilled. I was in the midst of getting Al changed and dressed. I was going to take Al out to eat at a local buffet restaurant. I heard the front door open. I thought it was my son and lo and behold, it was my daughter. She lives in a near by state. I hadn’t seen her since March of this year.

I didn’t know whether to cry or scream for joy. It is a good thing I was dealing with Al because I could have been taken as a school girl acting out in some silly game. My daughter was the exact same person she was when she was a child.

She was very considerate, thinking of me first, as her mom. This is a wonderful feeling to have a child think highly enough of me and to be so warm and loving. She stepped up to the plate with Al. She helped change him and get him dressed.

When we left she even pushed him out the front door and helped get him in the car. Everything I did for Al she was right there. My hands and back and feet will always thank her for this kind act.

We had a wonderful time together. There is a small chance I may get to see her tomorrow also, but it will be short-lived if I do, for they have a six-hour drive to return home. My heart aches and yearns to spend more time with her.

When things change in my own life I will be heading down to her house to regroup and get my thoughts together. She will make me laugh again and it will be like old times, or at least I am hoping.

This was the best Saturday I have had for months. Weekends are usually very quiet. I don’t leave the house because Al is home and the phone is pretty quiet, so today was wonderful. Thank-you my awesome daughter for being none other than who you are. Love you so much. Big hugs!balloons

A Hidden Road, Being A Caregiver

indiana sayingDo we really know our hearts? Do you or I have an inkling of who we are and how detailed we are made? We are magnificent creatures.

Each of us, having been designed with some hidden talent, just waiting to show the world. I was one of those for years that didn’t know I had a talent. I was brought up to never praise myself in front of others; to do this would be considered bragging.

I was not aware that some talents do not involve actors on TV or singers or playing the piano. It took Word Press for me to finally get it through my head that my hidden talent was caring.

Sounds pretty dull doesn’t it? It doesn’t get bring me stardom, so I will never be rich from it. No one notices outside of those who know who I am. But caring for others replaces the “Me” thought and places it on he or she.

I used to think over twenty years ago that being a caregiver was a piece of cake. I wasn’t in a factory. I wasn’t outdoors in the freezing weather climbing poles. I was inside a warm house, sharing meals and conversation with strangers.

Strangers is such a short-lived phrase. It doesn’t take long at all when you sit and listen to the patient talk that you are drawn into their earlier life. You learn to feel their dreams, and cry with their regrets of growing old and dying.

Yet not everyone can be a caregiver. It is one of those jobs that you best not take it if you are doing it only for the money. Care givers work from the heart for the most part. The physical load I carry is much less than the broken heart watching someone you love or respect or maybe both get worse and die.

Once I discovered the hidden path that makes up me, Terry, I was more content. I was never ashamed again to speak up and admit I am a caregiver, not “just” a caregiver. It is a proud position and I thank God that he chose me to do this type of work for him. When he made me, he put all the right ingredients and he knew I would not fail him.

I have taken care of strangers and I have taken care of family. Of course family is the most difficult by far. More love and emotions, strings attached from years gone by are naturally attached.

Now I deal with Multiple System Atrophy. There are days I cry. There are times I wish it was over. There are moments where I am beat and just want to sleep, but I always go back to the patient, who for me now is my brother, and I look at how brave, a real warrior, he is.

For I have only sat on the side lines and looked through the window and tried my best to understand how he feels. How can I possibly do that? I don’t have this terrible disease. He is the great and mighty fighter. He has fought greater wars than I have my entire life.

Each day when I hear his breathing as he struggles to get in that wheelchair  one more time I feel his will to live. Each day as I see him with fork or spoon in mid-air, and realize that inside he is telling his hand to continue to move towards the mouth, I weep.

The brain is not affected with M.S.A. Al remembers very well that he didn’t used to wet his pants. He remembers driving and working. He remembers having time to himself doing the things he enjoys.

Every second he is awake he is never alone. How humiliating it must be to have your own sister bathing you, changing you, feeding you, but he never says a word. I will ask him if he is enjoying his bath and he will say yes but then begin to cry.

M.S.A. sucks and any of us that are affiliated with it know this. But for my brother, he is a warrior, and for me, I have discovered that hidden road, that secret that was kept silent for so long; until I started to blog

purple candlesAl on SundayM.S.A. logomsa logobook4caregiver

Daily Prompt; Home Sweet Home

http://dailypost.wordpress.com, DP, Daily Post

When you’re away from home, what person, thing, or place do you miss the most?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us HOME.

When I visit a motel, it can have the nicest, biggest bedbed; but it lacks the comfy look of a room.comfy bed

The room can be furnished with everything I need and be so neat and tidy.clean room

But I would feel more at home with a little less neatness and a little more lived in atmosphere.messy-room1

So although I am enjoying being a way from home, seeing new and old familiar faces, I dream at nights about being back home in my own bed.