No Matter the Age; We Can Still Live Life

Regrets are what she lived with daily. Too many hours spent on what could have been. Sandra didn’t spend too much time on her future. She only knew for a fact, that future brought her to her end of life.

She had a complete page filled up from last evening and as she sat rocking in her chair; she went over her list.

  1. I wish I would have not made quick decisions
  2.  If only I would have fought harder for what I had
  3. I wish I would have listened to my  parents advice instead of others
  4. I wish I would have never met him
  5. I wish I would have said something different when raising my kids
  6. I wish I would never have started smoking
  7. I wish I would have completed college
  8. I wish I would have kept my mouth shut


On and an she read her list, all the time falling deeper and deeper into her depression. Part of her wishes she was at her end. Other days, she stood strong mentally, and hoped for a different turn-out for her remaining days.


She was stuck in a rut and couldn’t seem to move either way. She was alone now. She had nothing to look forward to and this is because she struggled to make the effort.

Depression is not a fun thing to live with. It isn’t a game. It is more like being caught in a glue trap. Others offer advice; some just plain don’t understand how depression works.

I believe a lot of people suffer through some sort of depression in their lives. We are a quick to judge country today. We move swiftly through life, not taking time to ask ourselves,; is this right for me?


The doctors couches are filled with patients trying to go back and start their thinking over. We are now taught to look more at ourselves than at others. We have to learn to start thinking of us sometimes. It can be a good thing.


I know for me; I was taught to obey my parents. Even if I had a different opinion, it was theirs I listened to. I believe for me I just went into my adult life thinking of others before myself. I don’t see that as a bad thing; I just needed to incorporate my own feelings into the topics also.


I still love doing for others. It makes me feel good inside. There are millions of people who wish someone just noticed they existed. There are tons of things we can do for each other, in the smallest of ways and with little time invested, for our busy schedules in life.


There are not that many decisions to make at this stage in my life, or maybe I should say it in another way, the decisions I make now aren’t as important as ones I made earlier in life.

Is this true? It depends on how it will affect me.  Will I be happy with my decision. Will I have made myself feel better about myself. Will I be hurting myself by deciding on this. Will I be better spirited.


These are questions we need to ask when ideas come upon us. There is a big part of me that has asked myself, “What do I have to lose at this point? This can only better my situation for today.”


For those of us who suffer from depression, whether clinical or light or caused from an illness; let’s think of us, just a little. I know it’s hard, but hey, we are the ones living with ourselves until our last breath. Let’s live a little, let’s smile, let’s laugh, let’s give up the worries. Let’s reach out of our comfort zone.



Crawl Into Bed

I don’t know why my brain insist I wake early in the mornings. Being retired means sleeping in. Perhaps my brain thinks I am still a young kid. I know that my mind and my body do carry on different conversations.

I rise before the daylight shines. I force myself to go back to sleep, only to awake an hour later. I hear the birds singing, which I do love to listen to. I sit up in bed and look around. I ask myself, what am I going to do today? There is many hours that lay between crawling under my bed covers again.

Part of me feels a peace. No stress slamming me is a nice thing. I think it is more about being tossed out of my comfort zone. That seems to be an issue with me ever since Al passed away.

I got used to being in demand. Al would honk the bike horn sitting on top of his bed side table, and I would go into his room and do what I could to help him. I remember him requesting me to start the movie The Christmas Story, over and over again. Still today, I can’t watch that movie, but some day I will.

I remember him asking me to help his pain. There were baths to give, bed sheets to change, meals to fix, feeding him, cleaning him, talking to him, watching TV shows together. He took a lot of work, but you know what? I didn’t mind at all. I knew he needed me.

Perhaps I have this illness that I am not aware of, which has a name, but has not been assigned to me yet. I bet it is called, Stuck in the Middle. Somewhere between seeing a future and seeing the past.

I talked to my daughter briefly last night. I got the feeling that she and many others believe I should be on cloud nine, as I am now in my own place. I am able to make my own decisions, go when I want, return when I choose, but something is missing.

I still feel weird inside. The truth is, I think I am done. I took care of so many patients and I took care of my dad and brother. This was my purpose here on earth. Now, I can’t work because of this Parkinson’s thing. Feeling off balance on my feet is a big issue in my life.

It has forced me to become part of the system. It forces me to remain in one spot. It keeps me from becoming better in the finances department. I feel like I don’t do anything but get through each day. I wait to crawl in bed.

I miss the past, I don’t see a future. I want it over. If I can’t have a better income, if I have to wonder where my next week of groceries are coming from, I am not interested. I know that sounds hmm, cold? uninterested? I guess it does, but these are facts I live with daily.

I have lost my purpose. Yes, that’s what it is. I want what I can’t have. I want my kids and grandchildren close to me. I want to be needed again. I think about volunteering at a hospital, but right now, those patients seem like strangers to me.

I do enjoy my camera still. I do love my painting, but to be very honest, the motivation is gone. I hate having to force myself to want to do these. I wish I would change. I can come out of church and be so happy that I am alive. I see light where there was darkness.

I am still loving helping the MSA patients, but I wish I could help in person, rather than through a black screen and keyboard. I still love writing poetry. I can see that I still enjoy some things in life, and this is a good thing.

But what is wrong with the rest of me? Why in the world would someone, anyone want to be stuck in neutral? I don’t know, I don’t get it nor understand it. I will get through the day. I will putter around my apartment, and then I will crawl back into bed.

Hello, This is The Operator, May I Help You?


I saw this photo on my streaming Facebook page. It brought back good memories of my own working days. My father got me my first job. He knew the owners of a fantastic Chinese restaurant and he told them I needed a job. I was immediately hired. Remember those days when knowing someone could land you a job?

My  next job was a telephone operator. I had to take six weeks of classes before I could actually be let loose on the switch board. In the classes, from what I remember, I had plenty of paper work on learning how to connect with customers without actually seeing them in person.

I liked my job. Back then, I was young and was able to pull off the split shifts I worked so much. I was then transferred to third shift and didn’t like it as well; because it could be quite boring.

When I did get calls coming through, it was usually from hotels guests, visitors in town or drunks. I have to admit those were quite funny to listen to. One of the perks I gained from this job, was free local service from the phone company and as many lines and phones I wanted. To an eighteen year old girl, I thought this was the cat’s meow. I had a phone in each room, including the bathroom. Remember when we used to rent our phones through the company? Remember those party lines?




Reflection in the Mirror

Sal was given one chance to redo anything in the world, one chance only. She was given three days to make a choice or forfeit forever. She thought about it day and night. It kept her up at nights, making her more tired than normal.

She was turning 62 years old on the same day she had to give her answer. If she was eating, she was thinking. What did she want? She had never had this kind of chance in life. Did she want a make-over? Younger looking skin? A bank account full of money? A new car? A marriage proposal?

The day before she had to say her choice, she was sitting at the kitchen window drinking her coffee. She was watching kids playing on the play ground. Her window was open, allowing the new Spring air to rush in.

She could hear the laughter of a few of the girls. Some children were going down the slide. Others were on the teeter totter. Some were jumping rope, and some were just plain running through the grass as if they had no cares in the world.

Sal looked back on her life. It was memories that made her smile. She was or always had been her Papa’s girl. Many times she had sat on his lap and listened to him tell funny stories or pull quarters out of her ear.

Mama always had cookies and when Sal came through the front door, there would be mama holding a small plate with two cookies and a glass of milk was in the other hand. Oh those were the days.

It brought small tears as she thought back to what once was. Mama and Papa were both laid to rest many years ago. Sal had been an only child; so there were no siblings to chat with on the phone or go visit.

Sal had her own friends. She belonged to the church down the block and was still involved with the choir. She helped make quilts to send out as Christmas gifts. She volunteered with carry ins the church had.

She was content, but there was nothing better than her own memories of when she was young. She instantly knew what she was going to wish for. She went about the rest of her day and when sleep arrived; she was ready to rest her eyes, anxious for the next day to arrive.

The next morning, sun came shining through every window. She ate her breakfast and got dressed for the knock at the door. She had only sat down about five minutes after getting herself all ready, when the sound came.

She got up and opened the door. He stood there. He held out his hand, and she handed him the piece of paper, folded ever so neatly. With a nod from him, he turned and swiftly left.

Sal wondered how and when things would change. She busied herself with watering her plants. Some of them needed bigger pots; so she completed that task. The sun felt so good that she decided to sit on the porch swing for just a little bit longer before fixing her lunch.

When lunch was done and she had tidied up the kitchen, she yawned. She always laid down and napped after the mid meal. She took off her glasses and her shoes and made herself comfortable on her pillow. Covering herself up, she fell fast asleep.

She was awakened by her mama shaking her shoulder. “It’s time to get up Sal. I was hoping for your company in the kitchen. You want to  help me set the table”? Sal sat up on the edge of the bed. She put her glasses on and tied her shoes.

She held mama’s hand as the two of them walked to the kitchen. Mama hummed a tune while Sal set the table. The back door sounded, and Sal looked up. There was her papa coming in from his job.

He always looked dirty when he came home. It was a habit to head straight to the bathroom and get all cleaned up. She anxiously awaited for him to reappear; so she could sit on  his lap until supper was ready.

The three of them shared laughter, and talk about the day. They ate peach pie that mama baked with ice-cream on top. Afterwards, papa went outside to smoke his pipe and Sal helped mama clear the table.

The kitchen clean, and papa reading the paper, mama said to Sal. “It’s getting time for you to take your bath young lady, so hop-a-long”. Sal smiled and went grabbed her pajamas out of her room and went to the bathroom.

She turned on the faucets and poured in a little bit of bubble bath. She took off her clothes and grabbed a wash cloth and bath towel. She turned to turn the water off and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She paused for a quick second and then looked again. It wasn’t her, or was it? She was a little girl in an old woman’s mind. Her inner reflection was reliving all that she had once known.




95 Years Old

Gramps couldn’t handle being alone. His entire adult life had been filled  with people he loved. His parents were already in  heaven. Most people, in fact, had already left for a better place. He hated that he was still living. He was 95 today. A birthday that should be celebrated; but instead brought tears.

Eva,  his wife had died of cancer and had been buried five years ago. Since then, the friends and family he had back then had tried spending as much time with him as possible; taking away that void in  his life.

After several months had passed, some people even tried setting him up on blind dates. He thought that was the most despicable thing he had ever heard of. Why would some fool want him to forget all about his Eva.

He refused, their offers and under his breath, told them what he thought. Every  night, he laid down next to that empty spot on the bed. This was one place that just about killed him. This bed has shared many moments of passion, talking, and allowing of kids to sleep between the middle of them.

He would roll towards the empty spot and pull her pillow close to him. He inhaled as deep as he could trying to draw the scent of her hair. It was empty, everything was empty. His life, he felt was over.

There was no reason to live. There was no one to live for. He sat at his kitchen table drinking his last cup of coffee. He wheeled himself to the bathroom.  He stared at his hand mirror, and saw jumbo tears ready to fall.

Why, why did she have to go? He wasn’t ready to let her go. She never asked if she could go. 95 years old today, and no one knew. No one sent a card, no cake or ice-cream. He reached into the nightstand drawer.

He pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. On the paper he scribbled, I am ready Eva, I’m coming home. Laying it down on Eva’s pillow, he swallowed the pills he had laid out. He lay on  his bed, waiting to leave.