All I Want For Christmas

You know we are in charge a lot of the time in our daily routines. Anything from hopping out of bed and taking a shower or not. Getting dressed right a way or being comfy in our night clothes.

Drinking a cup of hot coffee or tea. Making the decision to eat breakfast now or later. So many decisions we make and a lot of the time we don’t even realize we are making those because they are habits or routine.

But in the last couple of days I feel like there is someone stronger than me. Something near me slightly pushing me out-of-the-way. Al has the full reign of the decisions lately and I just tag behind like a poor puppy that is hiding like he did something wrong.

I feel like thoughts are not of my own. That a greater power is among Al and me. All day Al has not acted himself.

I see things. I hear words come out of his mouth that I never thought he would say.

Today he looks different. His skin has sort of a transparent look to it. His fingers are a musky color and his nail beds are pretty gray.

He has spoken about knowing that our Mom is now waiting on him. He even told the care giver today that he needs to make a will now. Tonight he asked me to get the driver’s license out of his wallet of Mom. I had given it to him last year when he started on this roller coaster of daily pain.

He told me he wanted to hold it close to his heart. After we ate supper and I brushed his teeth, he picked up the license and he is holding it next to his heart. How can I not run from the room in tears? How can I not beg him to stop? How can I not scream at God to put a stop to this?

Those are the moments that all of my senses take leave and my emotions run high. Al cried and I cried with him. He began to talk about who was going to be here at Christmas. I told him and he said that he hoped I had a good time.

I told him he was going to have a good time too. I explained that I had wrapped some gifts for him today and he cried harder letting me know I was wasting my money on him as he would not be here to open them.

He told me that he wanted to buy me a Christmas gift. He said he wanted to buy me something that would always remind me of him. I couldn’t take it, I just couldn’t stand hearing those words.

I know in my heart that he has suffered enough. This MSA is a killer in more ways than one. If anyone has any extra change in their pockets please give it to MSA.org. I don’t want any, not even one living soul to have to go through the pain like Al has.

We are putting a blanket in between  his legs because they just won’t stay apart due to contractions. He is no longer sweating. Instead his skin is cold and his fingers like ice. The fans have now been turned off until he needs them once again. There is a sickening silence in his room when you walk in.

Everyone says God will take Al in his perfect timing, but come on, this is my brother I am sitting here listening to him talk like this. It is like he has accepted he is going to die soon and he is making his final arrangements. This is very, very hard for a sister to listen to.

All I want for Christmas is for Al to be at peace. Inside peace, outer peace, you name it. Free of pain, no more tears, no more screams of  pain, nothing. Quiet, peace. I don’t want to wait for the perfect timing. I am selfish. I want Al to be pain free now. I don’t want him to  have to suffer another restless night, and yet there is a part of  me that carries hope that this is a living nightmare, a dream and I will wake up and he and I will go hop in the car and find a flea market.

As I stated earlier, something is going on between the heavens and in this house. I know it. I can feel and sense it. I can do nothing to stop it. It is a power of giving up, a will to stop. A tired soul. A body tired of fighting.

As I sit here my heart is being squeezed like the life is being drained from it. I am not alarmed because I know it is from the hurt that is already starting the process of losing someone.

This is certainly one time I do not wish to be alone. I used to love quietness. I loved the peace of hearing nothing. Now, I want chatter. I want something to stir me up so much inside so  I can’t think. I can’t go crazy. I can’t cry. I don’t want  to face this any longer. I want it over.

I am a weak person when my brother speaks of leaving. I don’t want to cry right now so I am going to end this with All I Want For Christmas Is Peace For My Brother.

 

 

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My Photos of Al

My Photos of Al

I managed to take a few photos today. Although I am dead tired I have been busy with the day.…

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What We Will Eat at Christmas, Plum Pudding

What We Will Eat at Christmas, Plum Pudding

I was reading an advertisement in my email and it was talking about Plum Pudding. Now when I think…

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My Photos of Al

I managed to take a few photos today. Although I am dead tired I have been busy with the day. Listening to Christmas music, which I will put the link below so you can hear it also. Wrapping some Christmas gifts with the help of the care giver who is here today.

 

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I Can Type Through Closed Eyes

I Can Type Through Closed Eyes

How can someone, let’s say me, go from a woman who was thrilled only a night ago when Alsaid he…

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What We Will Eat at Christmas, Plum Pudding

I was reading an advertisement in my email and it was talking about Plum Pudding. Now when I think of plum pudding I think of the children’s story and Christmas. But I really didn’t know what it was.

I looked it up online and I don’t think I would care for it. It sounds like Dried Fruitcake. It can also set for up to a year and never spoil.

I found it interesting on where it started from and how it is made, so I thought I would share it with you.

Many households have their own recipe for Christmas pudding, some handed down through families for generations. Essentially the recipe brings together what traditionally were expensive or luxurious ingredients — notably the sweet spices that are so important in developing its distinctive rich aroma, and usually made with suet. It is very dark in appearance — effectively black — as a result of the dark sugars and black treacle in most recipes, and its long cooking time. The mixture can be moistened with the juice of citrus fruits, brandy and other alcohol (some recipes call for dark beers such as mild, stout or porter).

Christmas puddings are often dried out on hooks for weeks prior to serving in order to enhance the flavour. This pudding has been prepared with a traditional cloth rather than a basin.

Prior to the 19th century, the English Christmas pudding was boiled in a pudding cloth, and often represented as round.^[1] The new Victorian era fashion involved putting the batter into a basin and then steaming it, followed by unwrapping the pudding, placing it on a platter, and decorating the top with a sprig of holly.^[1]

Initial cooking usually involves steaming for many hours. To serve, the pudding is reheated by steaming once more, and dressed with warm brandy which is set alight.^[3] It can be eaten with hard sauce, brandy butter, rum butter, cream, lemon cream, custard, or sweetened béchamel, and is sometimes sprinkled with caster sugar.

So there you have it friends. A traditional treat for Christmas season. Now it is up to you whether you want to try to make it or even eat it.

I Can Type Through Closed Eyes

How can someone, let’s say me, go from a woman who was thrilled only a night ago when Al said he loved his sister  to the wicked witch of the west this morning.

This is the fourth night in a row I am not getting any quality of sleep. Quality, an interesting word, I think.

Quality of life, quality of living, quality of spending time together. Now suddenly this seven letter word can’t seem to release itself from my pointy tongue this morning.

I am not usually awake at 7am but here I am. Sitting here with a half-empty cup of coffee. A smoldering blue line of smoke rising from my ashtray. My  pink long-sleeved nightgown with Christmas gifts for its scene. I think this is to remind me that it is truly the Christmas season we are about to enter into.

As I look out through half-slit blinds I see the first ray of daylight peeking through. Another night has come and gone. Al has just gone to sleep and I am sitting here bitchy inside. I know I am tired but I don’t know how to fix it.

Yesterday Al went to the Day Program. I had an appointment I had to attend to and then I scurried to the grocery store; like a squirrel going after nuts to store for the winter. Except I was replenishing our kitchen cupboards and refrigerator.

Grocery shopping has become a chore more than a pleasure. Maybe a lot of you don’t see pushing a noisy, wire, gum stuck on the wheeled cart down the aisles a pleasure, but I always did. It was a chance to look out for people I know, a chat here and there, looking for the bargains.

But anymore it is do I have everything I need for Al. Will he be able to eat this meat or not? Do I have the apple juice, prune juice, the kind of snacks he eats. Which by the way the latest rage in our house is Little Debbie Star Crunch or Kellogg’s Pop Tarts. Do I have his yogurt. I hope I have enough macaroni and cheese since he can eat this pretty easy. Do I have  enough pancake batter? Oh that reminds me, do I have enough chocolate chips left at home for the week? We have to add the chips to the batter.

Ever since Al has become worse he extremely enjoys chocolate and sweets. Oh crap, I didn’t check the amount of chocolate ice-cream. I better pick up another box. Can you believe I take a list with me also?

This is how scatter brained I am it seems lately. In between the list I  need to be home running the washer, which will be Al’s bedding. I really should be sweeping and dusting his room since he is gone right now.

Have I changed my own sheets this week? Oh forget that, change the sheet on the couch, because this is where I have laid my  head this past week.  A much shorter walk to Al’s bed then my bedroom.

I feel like my life is out of control. It is spinning but never stopping. I look at that empty couch and dream of my head on that pillow but also realize that the helper will be here in less than an hour and I am still not dressed. I haven’t touched my hair or brushed my teeth.

I did manage to give Rhino fresh food and water. Saving the cleaning of the cat box for when my eyes are more awake. That fat cat is in on my comfy bed, sleeping on my extra pillow. Al has finally drifted off to sleep, and so here I sit, the wicked witch of the west.

Feeling sorry for myself, pouring my tired thoughts out to you. Obviously looking for a pity party. It is funny as I look back at what I wrote. A grown woman, full of love and compassion. Empathy is my middle name and yet I am definitely green-faced and cat claws are showing, just like the photo above.

And all this is from a silly thing called lack of sleep. Do you think I will turn into Dorothy’s worst nightmare and remain this way? Lord I hope not. When the caregiver comes and breakfast and medications are over, I am going to find my pillow and we are going to meet somewhere in the middle. I don’t care if it is daylight or not.