Hot Mama

Getting up in the morning is a pain in the butt. Reach over and nearly  tip forward tripping over myself to pick up the darn old house robe that fell off the bed through the night. Standing up trying to put house robe on but have an itch I have to scratch first. Why is it the first thing in the morning a body has to  pass gas and scratch?

Looking at myself in the full length mirror is enough to make me want to lean over the ship as I fill light-headed from seeing the uneven wrinkles. As quickly as I can I put my covering on and leaning one hand on the bed and the other on the dresser I do the circus balancing act getting those darn old stretched out slippers on.

I waddle into the bathroom and my eyes bug out of my head as I flip the light on and see how my eye lids have drooped half way over the color of my eyes. I raise my house coat and sit down. I have to make sure I do this each and every morning as I learned the hard lesson once before.

I had gotten up from the pot and thought someone had pasted ice-cubes to my naked butt. I jumped without my feet leaving the ground and reached my arm behind me to see what in the world had a hold of me. You would not believe it! It was the end of my house coat. It had taken a dip in the water as I was doing my thing. I sharpened up real quick after this.

I got one of my better wash rags that only had three holes in it and I wet it with the coldest water I could. After my fingers turned bright red I knew the temperature was ready. I slapped it onto my face where it freeze-dried all my wrinkles and made my eye lids fly up like an old-fashioned window blind.

I left it there while I counted to sixty. One, two, five, ten, fifteen, 60. I toss it in the stool water by accident. I seriously meant to hit the target of the tub, but dang it, I missed. I reached down in there and pulled it out by my two fingers and whooshed it like a basket ball shot straight in the trash can. There wasn’t any way I was ever gonna use that rag on my face. Never going to wash my face with pee water.

I wet my tooth-brush and then dipped it in some alcohol. You know it’s the quickest way to get the body moving in the mornings. I tried pushing that darn blue stuff out of the tube, but I guess I haven’t got my groove on yet. I had to set it down on the bathroom sink and use my fingers on one hand while  holding the brush with my other. Oops, I think I surprised myself at the strength I still have at my age. Toothpaste came squirting out and went all over the mirror.

If you ask me I think I could sell this for quite a few dollars as it would be known as modern art. I took my finger and wiped some off the mirror and then rubbed it on to the bristles. Now down to business. Brush brush brush. Up and down in and out. Wow, I better be careful with what I am saying. Sounds kind of perverted to me.

Done with the brush I rinse it off and stick it back in the tiny hole it goes in and fill my glass half way with water. Rinse gargle, oh yuck, I just swallowed a bunch of water and I wasn’t ready. Gag, choke, eyes watering. Beating myself on the chest I get my choking under control.

I pull out my hair brush. Now you have to be real careful how you use this special brush. It belonged to my grandma and it is missing a few bristles. One time I was brushing my hair and sort of wiggling back and forth to the radio and didn’t realize that I was forming Edward Scissorhand marks on my forehead. Don’t ever say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. I am here to tell you that you can. Don’t push too hard, and don’t get too close to the hair-line.

Now I am all done in the bathroom. I tie my belt around my house coat a little tighter. You have to do this because there are a bunch of perverts creeping around our neighborhood all the time. They are just dying to get a chance to take a quick peek at us cougar women.

The sun is shining, and I can see the  boy mowing the neighbor’s yard. Everyone uses this kid for mowing. We  pay him a couple of bucks and he grins as he leaves with his money. I swear one time I saw him flip me off when he turned around to leave. Do you think I should maybe up his pay to three dollars?

I flip the television on and turn the sound up to the number eight out of ten. I turn it on to the local news so I can get a good look at that sexy weather man. I make my way out to the kitchen and start my percolator..

A few scratches to the head and a few more to the other spots and then I look out my window and sigh. I have made it another morning. I tinkled and wiped. I brushed my hair and my teeth. The coffee is perking. Now on to the breakfast meal.

 

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Old Age

Because I can vision the light at the end of the tunnel, I had to post this from a funny that was sent to me. Thank you Shona!!

During a visit to my doctor, I asked him, “How do you determine whether or not an older person should be put in a Care Home?”

“Well,”  he said, “we fill up a bathtub, then we offer a teaspoon, a teacup and a bucket to the person to empty the  bathtub.”

“Oh, I understand,” I  said. “A normal person would use the bucket because it is bigger than the spoon or the teacup.”

“No” he said. “A normal person would pull the plug. Do you want a bed near the window?”

My Hope Remains

Honda F1 Model (Photo credit: NTLam)

I just saw this commercial on the boob tube, and being an adult, was able to read between the lines, and I wondered to myself, if maybe wanting a nice christian man to come in my life is going to be a bigger challenge than I thought.

The commercial is a handsome, young man, working as an employee in a grocery store. He is the ideal dream, young ladies think about. Dark hair, dark eyes, gorgeous grin, nice skin, and just the right amount of muscles.

He is  holding a nice, plum, ripe melon or spaghetti squash, I can’t remember, and as he is smelling it and holding it, he is smiling at the young lady admiring him near by. It was easy to read between the lines.

It doesn’t matter what product in the world was being promoted, because,  first it is human nature, to look at the ornaments, placed to help sell the item. The man sees the melon, looks into her eyes, and as he touches it, she in turn, smiles back at him.

Why is sex used to promote everything? Beautiful bodies, pretty smiles, nice clothes. Is this what interests us in life, the outer shells? Is it the way the clothing fits, or the brand name tag on the clothing, is it the amount of skin that shows? I actually heard a person tell me the other day, that they needed clothes so bad, and I mentioned the goodwill store, which I love to go to, and they in turn said, no I mean I want clothes. Wow, this through me for a loop, guess I don’t have to have brand new or big dollar name brand clothing on my own skin.

If you take away the glamor and the lighting and the music, you end up seeing a face, with all the make-up gone, go one step further, and remove the clothes. What do you have left?

Us, you and me, only difference is in shape and sizes. We were made from God, each of us. We are all placed here for the same reasons, to spread God’s word, to lead others to Christ, to find a companion, marry, and to have children to repeat the process of God’s wonderful works.

If the popular thing, the in thing today, is to look past this, and see only the outer shells with all of its decorations, and to lust for love, how much harder will it be than for me, just one fish in the ocean, to find a man who has strong faith, who will see me as one of God’s children. Will he want a commitment, to stay through the thick and the thin, the good times and bad.

I have hope, and I realize I am not that old yet. I have not set myself in my rocker to whittle my empty days away, waiting for death to come knock on my door, but I have realized that heads have been turned, to see a different bump in the road, and I may have to turn my hope into capital words, and wait a bit longer.

Please Don’t Feel Different

Bed (Photo credit: antifuse)

She sat on the edge of her bed, looking at herself in the mirror on the dresser. Her face looked pale, and there were tears running down her face. She felt too weak yet to lie down on her bed, so she just sat there, with the breeze coming in her bedroom window, and tried deep breathing to calm herself down.

She had a secret. She had carried this for some time now. She could never find the right time to tell anyone, for fear her life would change, and the lives of others who she touched would be changed forever.

Grace lived on a hill in a small town, about twenty miles from the nearest big city of Michigan. Her husband had passed away from cancer ten years ago, but yet she could remember it as if it was yesterday. Her children were grown and had all moved to bigger areas to raise their families. Grace now lived in her big home all alone, except for her two parakeets and her old dog, named Brute.

Brute had become the man of the house since Johnny had died. He followed Grace everywhere she went, and lie at the bottom of the bed as she slept, keeping ears and eyes open for sounds.

Grace had never worked outside of her home. She had done odd jobs at times, taking in ironing for neighbors, and offering her services in spring and fall cleaning. She spent holidays baking cookies and candies, then she would walk  from neighbor to neighbor, so she could hand deliver each gift with a hand written card. You could also find Grace tending to anyone who she heard was ill. Tidying up their house, taking a pot of soup to them. Often you could hear her reading her favorite scriptures from the Bible to her sick friends. Everyone loved Grace.

Now it was her turn to need help, but she refused to let anyone know she was ill. She wanted to have her life continue as it was, and to die in her own home. Grace didn’t want pity and she didn’t want to see sorrow on others faces when they came to visit.

She wanted to continue to bake and when company came, or sometimes when she was surprised by a visit from family, she wanted to greet the grandchildren with cookies and milk.

Grace had not been feeling well for several  months, and noticed every time that she ate, no matter how little or too much, her stomach swelled. When it became more difficult to breathe from her swollen belly, she made herself an appointment with her family doctor. After a thorough check up and many questions asked, there were special testings ordered to eliminate or confirm different thoughts the doctor had.

A week had gone by, and she received the call. The nurse ask her if she could come in to the office in two days in the morning at 9:00am. She replied with a yes, and hung up the phone.

She tried to stay busy. She spent time on her swing out in her yard, watching the birds. Once in a while a car would drive by and honk, and they would each wave at each other. She baked a little, and did a load of white laundry.

In two days she entered the doctor’s office to hear the words colon cancer. Grace started to cry, and the doctor came over to her and put his arm around her and said together they would fight this, but inside her heart, Grace knew her time was short-lived. She had waited too long to seek a doctor’s help. She looked up at the doctor and asked him  how much time she had, and he shook his head back and forth, and neither said a word.

She went from the doctor’s office back to her home. She wasn’t hungry, and found herself very tired, so went and laid down on her bed. She slept well into the night and when her eyes had opened, it was day break.

Over breakfast, she went into her memories, and replayed Johnny’s illness. The medications that were prescribed, the cancer treatments. She remembered how ill he had become from the side effects of all he had been given. She remembered a week before he passed, that Johnny had barely whispered to her, that if he could do it all over again, he would have died normally, with God’s help and no medications.

She remembered the neighbors stopping by frequently, dropping off cakes and casseroles, staying long enough to chat with her, telling her about someone else who had suffered the same thing, and how much they had pained, and how this person or that had taken it upon themselves to become leader, and the bickering and arguing that went on.

All of these memories brought tears to her eyes, as all she had ever wanted was to spend time alone with her Johnny, telling him that she loved him, telling him that she would be alright after he left. She had wanted to give him permission to go ahead and go home to their Lord, that she would be coming along soon, but she never got to do this. There was always someone there, and even when Johnny closed his eyes for the last time, there were many around his bed side.

The doctor had prescribed different medications to ease her pain, to stop the vomiting, and to help her sleep, but she never filled the prescriptions. She was ready to go home to be with her Johnny.

Family came for a visit near the end of her days. They had noticed that she looked thinner and had questioned her about this, even suggesting that she see her doctor. Grace had told them to please worry about something else that was of importance, that she was just watching her diet, and that she had added a few too many pounds. They accepted this, and the grandchildren, and her own children, had a wonderful visit.

Neighbors came and went, stopping for a short spell, a small time of talk, and moved on about their day.

For weeks went by, and she became more somber, as she knew that her time was close. She sat down and wrote her children and grandchildren each letters, telling them how she loved them so, and how they had been such a blessing to her life. She managed to do one last day of baking. She made her famous sugar cookies. After they were all cooled, she put them in small baskets, and the next day, took them to each of her neighbors and sat them on their door step, each with a note, of how much they meant to her, and how safe she had always felt since Johnny had died, knowing they were near by.

That evening, she found herself sick to her stomach, and saw blood in the stool. She went to her bed, and looked at herself in the mirror, and saw her pale face, and tears running down her cheeks. She was too weak to lie down, but she was so sleepy. She sat there for a few moments, feeling the breeze coming through her bedroom window, and then she lie down on her bed, and went home to see Johnny.

 

His Job Is Complete

Matane cemetery (Photo credit: Bête à Bon-Dieu)

Today being Father’s Day my brother asked me to take him to the cemetery. I didn’t want to go, but I knew he deserved to go. Just the mention of Father’s Day places a large lump in my throat, and I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off without breaking up at the cemetery.

I took him out to eat, since he hadn’t been anywhere the entire weekend. Not that I didn’t try, but he just doesn’t feel good. After we ate we went to a local department store and I bought Al straws to drink from. He is having trouble raising his arms far enough to get a glass or pop can high enough to drink from. He has been dribbling most of his drink down his chin from the level being off-balance. I got him some more pain pills and some good-smelling shampoo and body wash. I picked up some flowers for him and for me so we could each place them at the grave. Now we were on our way.

We reached mom and dad’s area, and Al just started bawling right there on the spot. He was crying so hard, he could not even get out of the car. I got out and went to the other side and helped him out. I handed him his flowers, and he went ahead of me. I stayed in the background, giving him his privacy, and when he was finished, I made my way to pay my respects. I wished my daddy a wonderful Father’s Day, and told them both that I loved them and missed them.

Next Al wanted to see grandpa’s site, so we went over to the  next road and I waited while he paid his respect to all family members there. Then we walked back over to mom and dad and Al says to me. I am going to be right next to mom. I said huh?

He doesn’t say anything and turns towards the car. He gets back in and then I go over and get in my side. Before turning the car on, Al looks at me and says, God told me last night that I was going home sooner than he had thought. I asked what do you mean, what did he tell you? He says to me, God asked me if there was anything else I wanted to do before he took me home, and I said I wanted to forgive my dad. As usual, when I can not deal with something, I sit frozen and quiet.

Al tells me that he needed to see mom and dad today. He says that he asked dad to forgive him for anything he did, and then he said dad told me he did and also asked Al for his forgiveness. He then made the skin crawl on me and said to me, mom raised her arm and pointed to the side of her and said this is where you will be, right here with me. I asked, what does that mean? He tells me that he has a spot right there beside mom and that she patted it for him to come.

I don’t know if Al ever knew that he has a spot right beside mom waiting for him, or whether this really happened, but for my own well being, I choose to believe what he is saying. I never question what others say about God, because God shows himself to others in many ways. Al then speaks for the last time, and says God came to  him again at the spot, and says your time is very soon.

We both sat there. I cried because I was already grieving for my brother, and also because I miss my parents so badly. Al cried, because he had done what he needed to do, and now told me he was ready to go. Not home, to heaven.

I started the car, and we drove home in silence, each of us consumed in our own thoughts.

Raise Your Glass!

I saw this photo on my Facebook and it reminded me of myself, and what I have been trying to tell my children of lately.

I am not what I used to be, but I keep trying. I can’t move the furniture like I used to. I can’t run anymore, unless I want to break an ankle.

My son will come down and lift something with one hand, and hint that I am a weakling. What he doesn’t realize is that before I asked him for help, I had already spent much time on trying to pick the darn thing up myself. It is like a slap in the face by my age number, that I have to realize I am not 21 anymore.

It was the funniest thing last fall. I was at Wal-Mart and I saw something that reminded me of my youth. A hoola hoop. When I was young I used to play with one for hours. I could walk with it moving, dance with it not falling. I felt like a kid, so I spent the five dollars and bought me one. The next day I took it outside, and I spent quite a bit of time, trying to get it to move, to flow without falling beneath my knees. My hips are bigger now then when I was young,so the stupid thing should stay in place. After trying and trying, I had to come to the conclusion it wasn’t the size of my hips, it was that the hips had gone stiff. They would not move gracefully, therefore, allowing the hoop to drop to the ground over and over. I got more exercise bending down and picking it up then the actual moves for the hoop.

Will I be able to let go of things I do now as I age? My mind says I can go for ever, but when I see the photo above, I may have to be told, Mom, give me the keys.

We need to keep our eyes on the Lord above, that he will fill our minds and souls with new experiences. He will need to teach me patience, as I am forced to admit that I can no longer be safe while driving, that I may hurt someone by not being able to brake quick enough.

Growing older is supposed to be wonderful, entering the golden years.  I say phooey to this. I don’t want to grow old. I don’t want to others to drive me where I need to go. I want to keep my youth, but I may have to be content with my wonderful memories instead.

I say raise your glass to spunk, vitality, laughter, love and life! Hip hip hooray!!

You Can Help

I took this photo a couple of days ago. I was over by the hospital here in my city, and before I could see it, I heard it. It gave me moments enough to get the camera ready.

Unless, it is something that I am aware of happening, such as a county fair where they are offering rides from this beautiful creature, I don’t care much to see them.

Someone’s life may be depending on this bird. A baby that needs extra help, maybe an accident victim, that this hospital realized in time that it needed more help, and sent it off to the next biggest city.

This reminds me of one time when I was younger. I had only one child at the time, and I had taken  her and myself in the car to run an errand. On the way to town, I saw a speeding EMS, racing the opposite direction of the way I was going. Its lights were on and you could  hear the screaming sirens, alerting all of us drivers to get off of the road. Someone needed help ASAP! My daughter didn’t understand much at that age, so I wondered in my own mind, as to what had happened, and if I knew who was in it.

She and I proceeded with my plan. I don’t remember anymore what it was, but most likely, in that time frame of my life, I was probably going to the sewing center. There was a point in time, when I was determined to sew. I knew the basics, and with help from family members, I was able to sew little dresses for my daughter and little matching bonnets. I never cared for sewing, after it took six weeks to make one pincushion in junior high. If I had an inkling of favor towards sewing, that took my desire away, but for my daughter, I would try it once again. It did last one summer!

When we arrived home from our errands, I started preparing supper for hubby, daughter and myself. I laid Rachael, daughter’s name, down for her nap, so I could concentrate on making the perfect supper, but let me tell you, it was never perfect in my eyes. lol. After hubby got home from his job we ate, and as I was cleaning up the kitchen we received a knock at the front door. My husband opened it and came to get me telling me it was the pastor, and that he wanted to speak to me. I thought nothing of it really, because I attended church and this may have to do something with this, and the other reason I didn’t think much of it, is because when we are in our early years, twenties, which to me this is a very young age now, we don’t think of death or bad things.

I went in to speak to him and he asked me to sit down. He told me that my love of my life, the man I looked up to, the one who taught me about life, had passed away from a heart attack. He had been driving down the high way and the attack happened, causing him to  cross over the center line. He was hit straight on by a semi-truck.

I don’t remember too much, but I do remember collapsing into the couch, and the smiles that I had carried through out that day, were nowhere to be found. My heart was crushed. This was my first real memory of losing someone I loved dearly. The EMS that I had seen earlier, was the same one who was racing my grandpa to the hospital.

Today, over thirty years later, I still remember him with fond memories. Each time I see a speeding EMS or a helicopter in the air, I say a prayer for the person needing help and I say an extra prayer for the family and friends that know this loved one.

God only knows our perfect timing. He knows our beginning and our ending. It may not be a  fatality, but I want to do my part in asking God to help who ever is in need of help. God hears each of our prayers, no matter how small or how big. You never know if you have helped save a person’s life, while driving down the road, but by praying you are asking the only one who can create miracles.

From Morning Until Noon

My name is Will or Policeman as (arresting) model (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I felt a sense of genuine loneliness when I awoke this morning. I

dramatic dream (Photo credit: unNickrMe)

had a dream, and it was only the last part, as I was coming around that I remembered. I had met a nice policeman, who was also single. He liked Al very much. He came to the house and we spent quality time together, along with him fixing things I needed fixed here. The way he and Al got along was more than to my wildest dreams, and then I woke up.

I actually laid there in bed, not wanting to face the day. My heart ripped open for the realization of my dream not being real.

I know my responsibilities though, and forced myself to move forward. I started Al’s breakfast, making fried potatoes, eggs and toast for him. He was out of frozen breakfast items, so I needed to be a fill in cook for this meal.

His caregiver came by and his shower was given. He came out of the bathroom crying. Last night we had another session of going over his fear of dying. No Satan, no God, just fear of death. I took Ed’s advice,a blogger friend on WordPress, and I opened Al’s Bible and found different verses of what heaven would be like. I read to him and marked three for him to look at later by himself, as he needed comfort. I read how all of his pains will be gone. I told him how we would be able to have all of his tremors leave. Heaven was a wonderful place, that there was nothing to fear. After an hour-long discussion, he seemed settled down and the tears and questions stopped, only to start again this morning.

I really miss the other caregiver we had for so long. She was very compassionate and took the time with Al to sit and hold his hand or comfort him with her words. She always left behind a smile on Al’s face when she walked out the door. This new caregiver is here to do a job, a shower. There is not much interaction other than business related.

Soon, I got the tears to stop and we went to the grocery store. It was that time again. It went very well. Al rode the scooter, and watched people pass by. I was able to concentrate quite a bit better, even though the final grocery bill didn’t show it. We were in the store about an hour and then we checked out.

On our way out the door, I asked Al, where did we park the car? Usually, I make a mental note to myself, so I do not feel foolish wandering about the parking lot, but today, I did forget this valuable notation. Al thought we had parked in this one row so we headed down it, but no car. I tried the next row, no car. I was getting a little worried, because Al’s knees were starting to buckle, and I knew he could not stand much longer. I cursed myself for not having him ride the scooter all the way to the car, but it was too late now. I kept him in place and I went looking through the rows. Where was that stupid car?

An employee on her way in to go to work, stopped and must have seen the worry on my face. She asked if she could help me. I laughed out loud, and told her I was looking for our car. She glanced at Al and immediately went back to her car and drove it up to Al and helped him climb in her front seat. Oh wow, what a nice lady! She sat with him while I searched for the car, finding it two more aisles over. She drove him to it, and while I unloaded the groceries, she helped him get into the front seat and buckled him in. She tried to make me feel better by telling me she has also done this before, forgot where she had parked. I thanked her and told her how much I appreciated her help. Sometime before this day is over, I will ask God to bless her for the help she brought to me. Al didn’t fall, and I found our car.

Al is still not feeling well, but he did eat his lunch I have just prepared, but I have noticed that he is lying down now. His legs hurt. He is tired of the tremors. His body is exhausted. Going to the grocery store is hard on him. Actually, every movement he makes is exhausting for him. He is losing sleep because of the tremors, and is starting to doze off more through the days. I hope the rest of the day is better for him. I want to see one smile before he goes to bed tonight.

Smile-upload (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Front left of car (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Jared’s Grocery Store Theory (Photo credit: redjar)

Casket (Photo credit: ambergris)

 

Picture It And Write It, Prompt #28

This home stands abandoned now. Left with  rooms filled with whispers of laughter and love from its prior guests. I walked in the front door and sat down in one of the wooden rockers. It squeaked against the old wooden floors. I could remember coming here when I was a child. Hearing the stories of how children had been born and raised here. There were summer reunions held here. All family members made a special trip to this house and they had a feast of many great foods. The children would swim, and fish, and  would venture into nature and look for bugs and insects. I could remember finding a rare bug, and taking  it to show grandpa. He said it was the most beautiful bug he had ever seen. He took one of his old boxes and went to his wife’s sewing box and pulled out a straight pin, and he pinned the bug for me. I kept this in my special place in my bedroom among  the other memories I had collected through the years. There had been weddings here, and funeral dinners held here. It was a home-built with love by my  great grandma and grandpa. I stopped rocking and sat very still. I could hear giggles coming from the kitchen, where children had helped bake home-made cookies.  I scooted my rocker around so it was facing the big living room. The furniture was still in its place, but covered with sheets. I could picture grandpa standing over grandma with a twig of mistletoe at Christmas, and I remember  giggling as I stole  a peek of  them kissing. Lots of memories here. A home filled with love, now standing empty. I placed the rocker back in its original place and placed the sheet over it, to protect the memories and never let them escape. I walked out of the house and shut the door softly, singing to myself.

This story was written by me for a post of Picture It And Write It

http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2012/05/27/__picture-it-write-28/

He Is Too Young

Respite Care Day Camp (Photo credit: The Neenan Company)

Do you have any idea what it is like hearing the words, you aren’t old enough? Alright, I admit, we are seniors, my brother and I, but yet we aren’t. We can get discounts at restaurants, but if you try to get help from an organization, then you are definitely NOT a senior. I decided this morning, that I was going to spend my free time finding me someone in this city to help give me the break I so need. I am thinking at the least, two hours a week. This isn’t asking too much, do you think? When you count the hours in a week, this isn’t even worth mentioning. I started off by calling the Parkinson’s Foundation, first thing. They had no help, they don’t offer any type of respite care. They actually do, but Al doesn’t fit the criteria, because he isn’t old enough. For heaven’s sake! What other rules are out there that we have to abide by? They told me when he was sixty-five, they could set him up with some help. The advised me to call Real Services, and ask for the aging department. I hung up and dialed the number I was given. When I got to the right department, I was informed, this had nothing to do with his age. Wonderful! They would love to be of help to us. Great! The program they once had for volunteers was over. Darn it! They told me that they have reached out and no one will volunteer anymore. Everyone wants paid, and there is no funding any longer due to the changes from the President. Programs are being cut left and right for the people who actually need them. Now I don’t know if I fall in to the category of actually needing them. Need? That is a powerful word. Will I die if I don’t get some relief? Most likely not. Could this affect my health by being run down constantly? Probably. If anything should happen to me, then my medicare would gladly help me out in a hospitalization situation, but who will care for Al while I would be in the hospital? Well, I need not go further in to this discussion, because I know in my heart that God will keep me safe for Al’s sake. I am just frustrated right now, so I am venting. This is what WordPress is for, right? To vent, to get emotional support? Real services told me to contact a church. There is a church that we have attended, and Al has attended many more years than I have, so I decided to give them a call. I spoke to Kathy, who is so very nice, and knows Al well enough. She took down some information, and is going to try her best to help, but said there was no promises. I can appreciate this. I am just happy that she is making an effort to help us. I wish mom and dad were still here.