Picture And Write It, Prompt #25

She was on her way home. The trip had been exhausting. She had met with all family members, some of them she didn’t know or remember. She had just laid her father to rest, in his home town. She had been flying back and forth to visit with him, and to deal with doctors and medications. She was his POA. He had been suffering with Leukemia for a little over a year. Each time she went to visit, she noticed slight changes in his body. The slow movement, the quietness, that once, used to be full of laughter. She was helpless in every way, other than letting him know that she loved him, and making sure he was comforted and cared for. She would take little treats to him, each time. She hoped that these small trinkets would heal her from her guilt, that she carried within, from not living closer to him. She had moved over five years ago, to take a better paying job. He had been very upset about it, as they both knew she was his favorite daughter. Her last visit had been spent with not leaving his side. Hanging on to every word he whispered to her. Giving him sips of water, and feeding him whatever he would agree to eat. He had lost so much weight, as his hunger diminished. He looked ten years older than he was. She laid on his bed, next to him, and held his hand, as God came down to take him home. Tears welled up in her eyes, as she sat in her seat on the plane and went over the last two weeks. She would love her father until she could no longer feel love. She didn’t realize her tears were falling, but her seat neighbor did. The lady who was sitting beside her noticed her tears and heard her soft cries. She reached out and laid her hand over her hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. She patted her own shoulder and motioned for her to rest her head against her shoulder. Here the daughter weeped and began her healing journey.



In The Shadows


Darkness (Photo credit: Roberto F.)

She sat there on the edge of her bed. Watching the late night news, not realizing that someone else was watching the news also. She slipped off her nightie and reached over on to the night stand to get her lotion, that she put on her body each night before climbing into bed. He watched her also. Creeping a little bit closer, softly, quietly, not wanting her to know he was so near. She started with her arms and moved down to her legs, lifting one up at a time, massaging the lotion in. He was close enough that he could smell the odor and his mouth began to water. He moved a little closer to get into position. She finished with her lotion and got up, startling him, and forcing him to move back a few feet. He had been here before, a couple of times, just checking out the place, finding all the good hiding spots. Right now he was centered in one of his darkest, shadowed areas. Near enough to make a move, but not perfect enough for her not to see him. He had left on prior trips, that he had visited, because he was not hungry enough nor did he have the energy to do anything about it. He had a busy day. Gathering food, locating a new home location. He had just moved into the neighborhood. He had come this way, down this quiet street, several times, noticing that many of his friends had been steadily moving into the area. There didn’t seem to be too many children living around here, and the adults that lived here were older and didn’t move too quickly. He was quite sure, that he would be quite comfortable here and could have a long, healthy life. She sat on the edge of her bed again, and turned off the television. She laid down and covered herself up with her blankets, fluffing and rearranging her pillow so that it was the  perfect fit for her head. She clapped her hands together, and the ceiling  and dresser lights went off. Darkness was all around. The breezes blowing the curtains at her bedroom window, casting shadows on the walls. He moved over to the window, and laid very close to the window sill, taking in the night-time smells. He then went to the opposite side of her bed, and softly, ever so gently, climbed up the side of her bedspread. He was looking at her. Her eyes were closed, and the smell of her body, was making him excited as she began to settle down for the night, moving less and less. He moved a little closer. He could almost feel the breath coming from her nostrils as she laid  breathing. He moved up a little closer, reaching out and gently caressing her hair. Slowly scanning her head, and then moving on to her pillow. He laid there for a while, he knew he had time. Watching her ever so closely, waiting to make his move, she suddenly threw her arm over him as she turned her body over to the other side. It startled him and he made a hissing sound as he was forced to put himself into a new position. Once again he moved at the edges of her hair, feeling the prickles of each hair  touching his skin. He was getting a little agitated with her movements. He wanted her to lay  still. Not moving, making it easier to complete the task he had come here to do. He waited patiently, watching for movements to be stilled. He was patient once again, knowing that this would all pay off and the prize would be his in the end. After some time had passed, breathing was very shallow, he knew the timing was now. He was moving around her, positioning himself, about two inches from her neck. He got himself pumped up and was ready to make his move, when the lights suddenly became alive with light. He quickly moved away, moving above her head and quickly getting off the bed. He crawled on his belly, staying close to the bedspread, so as not to be seen. He moved to the corner and sticking his head out just enough to see what has happening. A man was standing there.He heard a sound coming from her body, some mumbling, that only the man seemed to understand. The man sat on the edge of the bed, and started to undress. This was not going to be a good night after all. He had to escape without being seen. His timing had been off, as he never expected another person to show up. He was going to have to get out of here NOW, and come back another night. He backed up, so as not to be seen, and the snake wiggled his way under the bed, and out of the bedroom door, and made it to the same opening he had come in through. He would save this for a new night.

Jet Puff Marshmallow

Have you ever bought one of those bags of jet puffed marshmallows and roasted it over a camp fire? You see how it grows and grows until you are forced to take it of the stick and eat the finished product, all soft and gooey, stuffing your inner mouth with sweet flavor? This was me in the beginning. A jet puff marshmallow. One of many in the bag, looking all the same. No telling one from another. I have always hated one thing about myself all my life. Confidence. The lack of confidence. I am not sure why I never obtained it. It never really grew on me. I hate to place blame when the blame should bounce back on my own weakness, but I really do believe it was the lack of hearing compliments about me, and the constant need trying everything I could, to earn one. I had wonderful parents, but that just wasn’t part of who they were, giving the pat on the back, and saying good job, daughter! It may even stemmed back further, before I even knew and understood what being accepted was really all about. It may go back to the time when I was four years old and remembering hiding behind the living room chair, listening to my real mother and step mother argue about me. One saying to the other, you will never see her again, and the other saying I will be back when she is sixteen, and we shall let her decide who she wants to live with. Our brains are working properly at that young age. They just don’t jump-start once we start going to school. Maybe I got a part of that argument in my head and it stuck all of my life. When you hear things that are negative it has a great impact on your life. Sometimes I think I remember those more than anything else. I can remember my mom making a fly by night comment on one of my elementary school year photos, about me being the one stuck out in the photo, that she was going to HAVE to put me in the Weight Watchers program. One Easter Sunday morning, I was sitting up in the big people’s church and mom told me I was constantly chattering and flipping my hat off and on. I had totally embarrassed her and she could not concentrate on the message. The most critical comment that has always stuck with me was when my mom told me she could never love me as her own. I knew then, that I was unworthy of love from anyone. If my real mom had left me behind, and my step mom had made this comment, I must surely be a bad seed. So, the marshmallow remained in the bag, never being opened to puff up. Even though it is hard to admit to myself, let alone to you readers, I have lived my life even my adult life as trying to prove myself. In my first marriage, everything had to be perfect. My children had to be clean at all times. If they played outside and got dirty, they got a bath and clean clothes. If my husband wanted to do something on the spur of the moment, I had to make sure the house was in tidy order. He and I used to argue about this quite a bit. Which was more important, he would say, me or the house. It didn’t seem that way to me, I just wanted it all. The perfect mom, and the perfect wife, a wonderful combination. My second marriage was me trying to be the perfect nurse-maid. I took care of my insecure husband. I made all decisions about anything that has to do with a marriage. I think I enjoyed this power of knowing I was making everything right for another person. I was healing him, right? Wrong. It destroyed me. It wore me down, and in the end, it made me feel more unworthy than in the beginning. The marshmallow still remained in the bag, untouched. All my life I wanted to puff up like the marshmallow, and never got there. I am fifty-eight years old, and have lived over half of my life. I know the reward is to know God, and sit by him in heaven, but I still wanted to succeed in my life. I wanted to feel needed and worthy. I wanted someone at my funeral to say she is going to be really missed. Do you remember that time she made such an impact by doing so and so? I started writing. I wrote about my life and the journey I travel, taking care of my brother. I have tried writing a funny one, and even ventured into the fictional writing, using one of today’s big problems in the world. I have been able to write, placing myself in another person’s shoes. My first story I wrote for the world to view, I received a comment. One of my first followers was Bird. I still tease her today about being my first! More and more comments came in, and I clung to them, and took them to heart. People were liking what they read. They were leaving positive comments. It didn’t matter to me if it was a quick note or a long letter, they were responding to something I was doing. The marshmallow began to move, wanting someone to take it out of the bag. I have had some really good advice given to me among the comments also. One recently was to open my eyes, that my brother, who is mildly mentally challenged, and I stress the word mildly, may also be able to use his mind to manipulate me into giving him what he wanted. I had bent over backwards trying to please him. After all, he is the sick one right? He, in his own mind could still use situations to his own advantage. He cries a lot, due to Parkinson’s, but he also cries to get his own way. Although, he is 57, his mind is 10. Thanks to a comment of advice, that I took, I was able to learn that he can be just like any of us, acting out when we want our own way. It took two days of constant battle from within myself not to give in on his crying binge, wanting me to apologize for something I had not done wrong, but I did win. He finally gave up, and I have now seen more smiles. I did something right. I didn’t let me heart do the work, I let my mind do the work. It felt good. I had succeeded in something. I had a goal, and I completed it and won. As the comments started coming more and more, I realized that I was already a success. Not maybe in the


Marshmallow (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

writing area, but a success in my own right as a human being. People opened my eyes and reminded me that God loves me and that I am alright just the way I am. I don’t have to keep trying to prove myself. I am not completely healed. I still count on the comments, but I am relaxing some. I may never be a published author, and I will never be president of anything, but I can be the marshmallow roasting on the stick. Being prepared to be accepted and enjoyed by other human beings.

One Fall Evening ,( This Could Cause Emotional Pain for those Who Were Abused.)

26b Innes House - HCM-73 (E)

26b Innes House – HCM-73 (E) (Photo credit: Kansas Sebastian)

She ran behind the house. Rapid breathing, she could hear her heart pounding and her pulse was skyrocketing. Tears were forming in her eyes.She had been sitting out on her porch swing, when three teenagers came emerging from the house next door. She had heard a gun shot, and when she heard this she ran. Her mind was racing. What had those guys been doing inside old Mrs. Wiley’s house, and what was the gun shot she had heard. She didn’t dare try to go inside her own house. They would see her. It was just dusk, and trees were casting shadows off her house. She could feel the cool breezes hitting her face. It was fall and leaves were falling. Any other time, she would have enjoyed watching this but now she stood frozen in her tracks, trying very hard not to breathe. Listening for the sounds of foot steps, wondering if they were going to  come  towards her. She heard a knock on her front door. Thankfully, her husband was at his bowling league tonight, and her two kids had been invited for sleep overs, so no one was inside. She again heard the door knock, but this time it was louder. Then the familiar squeak of the door being opened let her know that they were entering her sacred home. She wanted to get closer to see what they were doing. She wanted to scream at them to get out of her house, but she didn’t dare move.  The neighbor lady had seen me through her kitchen window, and came out her front door to see if I was alright. She was standing on her front porch, and calling to me. I could not and dare not speak. The neighbor called louder, and the men inside heard her voice. I heard glass breaking and another gun shot fired. The neighbor fell to the ground. Oh my God! They had shot her. I needed to call for help, get an ambulance! Should I go over to her and see if she is alright? She is lying there so motionless. No, I can’t risk it. I didn’t want my family to come home and find me lying dead. I knelt to the ground, crawling around the corner, trying to get as close to the neighbor as I could. I could hear the men talking from within the house, and I backed up a little. I softly called the neighbor’s name, but I got no response. I was at the back of the house and I could hear noises coming from within my bedroom. What were they looking for? What did they want? I felt as if I was being raped, right here for the whole world to watch. I was helpless, letting them do with me what they wanted. They were going through my dresser drawers. I could hear drawers being dropped on the floor. My mind could see them tearing all of my clothing out, and rummaging through my personal items, I kept hidden for my eyes only. It was as if they had torn my own clothes off and were inspecting all of my secret places. It was all laid out for the naked eye to see. I could tell by the sounds of the footsteps that they had moved now into our bathroom. All was very quiet then. Minutes turned into hours, lying there wondering their next move, wondering what they were looking for. How long was this going to continue. Since they were at the bathroom corner, I could quickly crawl over to the  neighbor and checked  on her. I crawled very quickly, not caring that twigs were scratching my skin. I bent over her and listened for her breathing. I called her name. I heard a grunt come out of her, and was thanking my God, that she was still alive. I told her to hang in there, that I would sneak into her house and call 911. Before even thinking about where the men were in the house, I raced into her house. Picking up the phone, I dropped it and it cracked. Darn it! Stupid, so stupid. I shook it over and over, trying to get a dial tone. Nothing. I prayed a quick prayer for God to bring this phone to life. I kept turning it over and over and shaking it. Finally a wire connected and I got a dial tone. Thank you God! I called 911 and quickly told them my name and address and what was happening. Before, they could say anything else, I laid the phone down and went back to the neighbor, letting her know I had called for help and assuring her that she was going to be just fine, just hang in there. I looked up to see if anyone was in my sight and raced back over to where I had been hiding. I forced my breathing to slow down, and I could feel my heart still beating very quickly. I spread myself out on the ground, lying on my stomach. I prayed right then and there for God to keep the neighbor and myself safe. I wasn’t ready to die yet. I had so much to live for. I wanted to see my children graduate from high school. I wanted to see them get married and see my grandkids. I wanted to tell my husband I loved him just one more time. Please Lord, don’t take me yet.  I was wondering about the first gun shot I heard and hoping that no one was hurt on the other side of my house. This street held senior citizens. It was the quietest street in the addition. I knew each of my neighbors, and we all kept an eye out for each other. Suddenly the quietness left and I heard the men standing on my porch talking and laughing. They were laughing about different things they had discovered within the house. I heard one of them say, ready? ready to hit the next house? I panicked. Which way were they going to go, around the front or the back of my house? I tried getting up and crawling in one direction, trying to get a peek at these men, wanting to know their next move. I made a mistake. I went the wrong direction. They saw me! They were coming towards me. I bent my head and began praying again. Please, please God, don’t let them hurt me. Go back inside and take anything, just don’t hurt me. The men could not hear my prayer as the came closer to me. They were finally upon me, staring down at me. They were snickering and mumbling how they had come across a fine piece. Better than all the items that they had taken in the house. The one bent over and touched my hair, and ran his hand down the side of my face. The others knelt also. They were all around me, leaving me no way to escape. I heard one of them asking another, what do you think! Is she worth it? I heard from within myself begging them to not hurt me, to leave me alone. You got what you wanted inside now go. I won’t say anything to anyone that you were here, just go. I could hear myself choking on my own sobs and tears but they were getting a great enjoyment out of my fear. One reached his hand down and undid my snap and zipper on my pants. I could hear the breathing becoming more rapid. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see what I could vision in my head. The other two were pulling down my pants, and before I knew it, I was naked and they were touching me. Running their hands over my legs and finding spots that were not to be found. The men were deciding which one was going to go first. Please Lord, just let them get this over with. Let them do what they want, but let me live. I could feel their hot breath on my breasts, and their slobbering lips and tongue. I was dying inside. Lord, where are you? I have prayed and you must answer me! Don’t let this happen to me! I promise, what ever it is you want from me, I will do it, I will even give up my smoking, if you will just let me live. My eyes were squeezed tight, trying to vanish all thoughts of what I could feel them doing to me. One of the men stood up and I could hear him unzipping his pants. He knelt over me and was getting ready to enter me. The other two were saying don’t take it all, save some for us. Just as he was getting so close to lying completely over me, I heard a gun shot. My body jumped from the sound, and I felt a chill run over me, as the man stood up to zip up his pants. I heard a voice telling them to stop, this is the police. Stay where you are and put your arms in the air. Two of them started to run, and I heard two separate gun shots be fired. The one trying to lie over me dropped to his knees. I saw him put his hands over his head. The officer cuffed him, and called for back-up. He came over to me and took his police jacket off and covered my nakedness. Soon there was sirens and cars all around the house. I was put into the hands of a female officer and the questions started coming. The one man was placed in the back of the car, and the EMS checked out the other two men, and they were going to be alright. They were both placed in the back of the EMS and taken to the hospital. I was sitting on the ground, and was explaining the gun shot I had heard first from one neighbor, and then told them about the other neighbor lying on the ground on the other side of the house. All I could do is sit there. Police were inside my house, checking for evidence of what had happened here. This seemed like hours, and I was still sitting here naked under the officers jacket. I could feel my body becoming cold. Fear leaving my soul, the heat escaping with it. A chill set in. The female officer came back to me and helped me get into my clothes. Soon another officer came up and said he was sorry to say but the one neighbor had died, and the other neighbor lady was being given her last rites. I started sobbing. I had promised her, that she would be alright, and I couldn’t keep that promise. The female officer rest her arms around me and said everything that could be done was. That it was their time to go,but not mine. They had lived a good life and they were with God now. I stood up with the help of the officers, and felt my legs wobble. They were barely holding me up. The inspection was done for now, so they helped me back into my house. The police inspector came to me and we walked through our bedroom. The medicine cabinet door was open, and all the medicine bottles were gone. I looked at the open dresser drawers, and saw the bag that I kept hidden laying open. They had taken the money I had hidden for our anniversary. I was saving to buy my husband a new bowling ball and bag. The officers told me as we went through the house, that these men were probably looking for drug money, that most break ins are petty theft and this is pretty common in this city. I heard him but to me it wasn’t common and it was not petty.

These Four Walls

Managing emotions - Identifying feelings

Managing emotions – Identifying feelings (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Have you ever got so upset, and let someone else’s words hit you when you could have left it slide off your back? Do you ever think that the people who will support you the most emotionally are your family? I am guilty of this right now. I had no intentions of writing a second blog today, you all put up with enough of me in one blog a day. I had such a nice morning. I got up quite a bit earlier than Al. I had time to sit here and drink two cups of coffee and write a blog before he ever rose from slumber. It was like being in a second heaven. Now I have my nerves dancing in my middle, and I have made two trips to the bathroom already from nerves. I have a slight pain in my neck from stress, and I have smoked more than I usually do. Al got up, and was quiet. Sometimes this irritates the crap out of me. Don’t ask me why, I have never analyzed a lot of my feelings. Maybe some day when I have enough time for myself, I can do this. He didn’t respond with a hello, or anything. Maybe I am a figment of my own imagination. So he goes about his routine of fixing his breakfast, and doing his morning things. I had an errand to run so he knew that we would be leaving soon. Before we left, family  texted me to see if I was home. I thought maybe they were going to come down and redo my bathroom floor. It has been emptied out now for a few days waiting to be done. Family did show up soon after. I don’t know what they wanted as they stormed out of my house before I could find out. It is a common thing here in our house. Al ignores me all the time. I am the devil in his eyes. I want to believe that he loves me, but he doesn’t really. In his eyes, I am his mean father, the one who was mad at him constantly, depleted his confidence in himself, ignored him. This is who Al sees in my every day. You can not imagine how it rips me a part and twist my emotions realizing that I could place him at any time in a facility, that I know he is my brother, my flesh and blood, that he and I had never bonded when we should have as children. He was the special needs boy and I was going to be alright. I put myself out for him every moment of the day, placing his needs above mine. Don’t get me wrong at all, I love caring for my brother, but I could have chosen the easy path, and had a better life for myself. I have had to put up with a lot. Lies, stealing, hitting me, threatening me, many trips to hospitals, psyche units, doctors upon doctors, caregivers. Just seeing what I have written makes me tired. I am able to do all of this because of my love for him and God’s help. The ignoring me, pretending I don’t exist, sometimes making me feel like I am inhuman is the worst. If we have any company, family or friend or stranger, Al is right out here. Ready to be in the conversations, say a good joke, make sexual remarks, make adult remarks, tell anything and everything that goes on inside these four walls. The conversations we had yesterday about the way you talk and treat ladies, was brought out in the open as soon as family got here. I looked straight in his eyes, and said not now. He argued. I raised my voice a tiny bit, and said firmly, I don’t want to talk about this now because it is private and others are here. He continued to argue, starting his crying routine. It made me mad that he was pulling this crap again, in front of others. Maybe I am selfish, but I would like to have family here and be able to pick and choose conversations, to be able to decide what atmosphere would surround us. I don’t like someone barging in and demanding to take over. I finally pointed my finger at him and said, go to your room. You are arguing and I asked you to save the talk, and you are not hearing me. My family got up and stormed out, but didn’t leave without telling me what a mean person I am, and that I have no gentleness in caring for my brother. I wanted to scream. I wanted to pick up rocks and start throwing them. I wanted to run after them and push them down on the ground. I think that all of my frustrations that build up each day, and the fact that I have always believed that I give and give of myself, all came to a screaming halt. I wanted to defend those remarks, to say I am a good girl. This goes way back in time, when my sister was born. I always heard how mom HAD to come into a ready  made  family. I always heard how she only had one daughter. I did so much in my life to prove to my parents that I was worthy of loving. This is making me choke up as I write this. This is probably the most painful thing I carry in my heart. I have lived my life trying to please others. Begging to be heard, to hear the words I love you. One time when I was 18, I moved out of the house. I know my parents were upset about it, but I thought I knew it all, but when my mom told me she could never love me as much as she did her own daughter, I carried that pain with me for the rest of my life. I realized than, in that moment, that I could do all the work around the house, make suppers, and it would never be enough. This is the lesson I learned, this is the only thing that stuck with me, I was never going to be good enough. So when my family let me know this morning that I am not good enough or kind enough to care for my brother, that maybe I should consider getting a REAL job, the memories and the  pains came racing back to me. This has caused the domino effect. Twisted stomach, temporary depression, feelings of never being wanted, trips to the bathroom. I sit here now in a low state of mind, knowing God will pull me up once again, but until I get there, I am in emotional pain. All from one’s point of view, who has never cared for my brother, or who has never stayed with him, and the saddest part, is no one, unless you do what I do day after day, really knows what goes on behind these four walls.

I Am But A Flower

This is in my yard yesterday, and it was beginning to open. By the end of daylight, it was in full bloom. My grandmother loved Peony bushes. Every time I see these bushes it brings wonderful memories of her loving them. I can still see her in my mind bending over to smell their perfume. This also reminds me of my own life. I came into this life innocent, as a bud on this bush. I was fed and watered daily, being taught from right and wrong. Provided much sunshine as I played outside, and nurturing from reading when the weather was over cast with rain. Showers sprinkled down on my life as I learned about numbers, and getting along with others. I was taught to listen when someone is talking, and to voice my thoughts when I was asked a question. I was taught the Bible, and that with talking to God, and reading his word, I could grow strong, as strong as the stem that is holding this delicate new life in the photo. Being able to share a part of myself with others, allowing them to know who I am and what I represent in this life allows me to be able to live in society, as do these flowers that are all of the same kind, but unique in each one, sharing their space with each other and complimenting them together to show their beauty and grace. Our time is short on earth, as is the beauty of these beautiful flowers. These flowers show their beauty with a full force, proud of who they are and standing tall for all to see. I want to be compared also to these beauties. I want people to notice that I am a child of God. I want them to see that I stand tall, with pride, and no one will question my direction I walk in my life. Soon these flowers will start the process of wilting and the delicate petals will fall to the ground, and the plant will die and go into hiding until the next season. Myself, will also wilt from age, and my years will show, and I will also start the process of dying. I will be like these flowers, preparing myself for another season, to walk with my God, making my ways up the stairway to heaven.

You Are The Best

She didn’t know me at birth. She walked into my life when I was four. There was not just one but two of us, a total of four. She held down a full-time job. She was very intelligent. I went through her elementary and secondary school cards, and never saw anything lower than an A. She was a proud woman, her weakness holding in her feelings and not letting anyone know of her hurt. She held two jobs in her life since I came to know her. One was a telephone operator, and the other with an electric company. She worked at the electric company the longest, working there until she could retire. She worked her way up from a teller all the way to a super boss. She was in charge of different areas of her job. She took her work very seriously, not showing too many smiles, but all knew she cared about them, and she was proud of all of them. She gave a piece of herself to many. She helped to open a homeless shelter for mothers and their children who had been abused or evicted from their homes. This home still stands tall and strong yet today. She was a member of her church, having various positions through out her years. She purchased a camper and when small fairs came to surrounding towns, she and he would sell elephant ears and give all proceeds to the home for the homeless, asking for no help with all that it takes to run this camper. She took excellent care of the two of us. We were clean and dressed nice at all times. She made sure that we had  good educations and made sure that Al was given the best opportunities with his disabilities. She was there when I got married, and she was there when I was divorced. She was a wonderful grandmother. I remember at her funeral someone spoke up and told about how she would over hear a stranger who was struggling to pay their bill. She knew that they were not a repeat customer, looking for a hand out. When this person left, she would go pay their bill without letting them know it was her that did this. She loved God. I never knew a night to go by that she didn’t study in her bible. I have it today, and it shows all of her favorite passages and notes that she had written in it. After she left us, I found lots of notes around reminding her to pray for me or another family member or friend.  She worked very hard her whole life, taking in two children that were not hers. Building a life together with dad, staying fully committed, even when he said things that were hurtful. She prayed for him for many years, that he may find God, and five years before she left us, dad came to know the Lord. This to her, was her greatest reward in her marriage. I don’t know your personal life. We do not get that intimate with each other on here, but I believe that I had the best mother, any girl could ask for. She took me in, although I was not hers by blood, and treated me as if I was her own. We had our differences, but who doesn’t. The guilt I carried for years, I was fortunate enough, to be able to ask her for forgiveness before she left. It was so sudden. She woke one morning, and went to use the restroom and never came out. When dad realized she had been in there too long, he went to check and found her slumped on the stool. The hospital said she had an aneurism. She was taken to a larger city hospital where she lay for seven days, in a coma. On the sixth day, the doctors came to dad and me and asked if we would like to let her go, as if we decided to hang on, only ten percent of her would remain, the rest would be a vegetable. We loved her dearly, and we cried together, holding on to each other for support, while we decided to be unselfish and let her go. On the seventh day, we held her hand as she slipped away from us. It will never leave my heart. She remains with me forever, a woman who took two children in, and with disabilities, and the normal challenges of a ready-made family, she was better than any mother who gave birth to us. It is almost Mother’s Day, and although she has been gone for eleven years, I want to say, I love you Mom. You are forever in my heart. You were and are still the best.

Not Giving Up Yet

I took my brother to the doctor this afternoon. Before, going there, we stopped at his restaurant, and he had a chocolate shake and cottage cheese. What a combination, right? Well, with his mouth gums still having stitches, whatever he wants that he can eat, is alright with me. After eating, he had to use the restroom. The restroom is at the back of the store, behind the door. I would not be able to keep an eye on  him by letting him go alone, so I went along, and as I got to an area where I could watch him go on his way, I stayed back. After he was finished, and had walked back out to the public area where all were sitting, Al decides to pull a child-like trick on me. He says in a too loud of voice, why do you have to follow me everywhere I go? You watch me like a hawk. Do you think I am going to steal something? I said calmly, with my cheeks starting to burn, I watch over you, not to bug you or frustrate you, but because you fall too easily, and I don’t want you to fall and me not to know. Then he repeated his question again, causing looks for the two of us and started in with his tears. For the first time, I felt like somewhere in his child-like mind he was doing this on purpose. Trying to make his point, that he didn’t want me to watch over him, and hoping by humiliating me in front of others, he would get his own way. I was getting a tad bit angry at him for this unacceptable behavior. I told him we were leaving now and I sat and waited for him to get his jacket on. He tried, and then yelled at me, aren’t you going to help me? I told him I didn’t want to treat him like a baby and wasn’t WATCHING him, so I didn’t know he needed help. He just looked at me, and I knew he was mad at me, but I was angry with him also. We went to the doctor then, and found out his foot is alright.The pulse is there and all is good. Doctor said I could take him to a dermatologist, if it the toe nail continued to turn gray. He gave him a prescription for depression. It will take six to eight weeks to start working. I try to stress to the doctor that I need help NOW. That Al talks about wanting to die, and doesn’t eat so much any longer, and point out the fact that he has lost too much weight in the past three weeks. He tells me this is just the parts of Parkinson’s, and I should be getting used to it. Hmm, reminds me of yesterday’s comment that upset me so much, get over it, get used to it! I have called Hospice to see about getting their help, but they tell me Parkinson’s is not an end of life situation. While standing in line for the prescription to be filled, one of the pharmacists that knows us well, started talking to me about Al, and I told her what had gone on at the doctor. She told me the doctor can talk to the Hospice and it can make a difference. I need help, and I am admitting it. I do not want Al to sit here and die from depression. Eight weeks are a long time for me to sit back and watch his swearing, slowing of eating, the anger, arguing, and tears, and non comprehension. I am not going to stop Al from his feelings, and if he truly wants to die, I will not stand in his way, but there has to be a more dignified way of handling this then hoping for some miracle drug to work after eight weeks, only to actually hide the real feelings. I am going to call Hospice again tomorrow. I am not going to give up this easily. One of these places is going to help him and I get through this.

The Doctor, by Sir Luke Fildes (1891)

The Doctor, by Sir Luke Fildes (1891) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


I have no idea why I am even writing this and I doubt it will be very long. I was very fortunate tonight as my son and his family came down and helped me with beginning preparations for Al’s birthday party. Getting some of the things out-of-the-way now, will ease the stress for Saturday. We ordered pizza for supper and all sat outside and ate. There was something different though. I can not put my finger on it. The conversation was very nice, watching the little ones run and play was a joy. Al came out only to eat and returned to his room. The anger towards me has finally left, but he does nothing anymore but read his bible. How do I explain this? It is scaring me. He is reading it so much I fear something is about to happen and the only one who knows about it is Al. All have left now, and Al is in his room for ten more minutes until he pokes out here to eat his snack and take his medications for the night. I have my some of my relaxing music on from my WordPress blog, music calms the soul. It is nice listening to. I all of a sudden feel very tired after today. My heart is aching terribly, and I don’t even understand why. My legs feel heavy, and my fingers are shaking. Tears are falling as I am sitting here writing this. It is not normal for me to cry. I have not cried since my father died four and a half years ago. I have no idea why I am crying my dear friends, but they will not stop. I can no longer see good enough to type. I am stopping at this point, praying for a better day.

Tears of a Clown

Tears of a Clown (Photo credit: daybeezho)

Waiting For The Winds To Calm

Do you remember when you were a child and you had a toy, a spinner top toy? You would push down on the red handle and it would spin and spin. You would try to keep up with the pictures as they raced round and round. Your eyes would feel funny, and you would eventually roll back on to your back, with feet going up in the air, rubbing your eyes and laughing so hard? That top would entertain you for ever it seemed. When you become an adult, you don’t play with tops or toys anymore, but today, I am the top. I am spinning and spinning around and around. Dizziness fills my head, my eyes are heavy. Tiredness creeps all around me. One moment, I am pleading with God to help me stop this thing. This thing I do not recognize, and the next I am pulling with all of my strength to keep going on. It feels so heavy, and I just want to sleep for hours on end. I can go through the motions of a day-to-day schedule and not even realize I have finished my work. Today, is a great example of a fear that has come upon me. One of my favorite things to do or used to do, was going to public auctions. I loved the people there. A lot of them recognized me, as I had an antique business of my own at one time. Lots of chatter and bidding on things I could resale. My brother had been hinting for the past three days, that there was an auction today. There was going to be coca cola items in it. He really wanted to go. I thought about getting him to the car, the walker to the car, getting there, unloading him, and the walker, and instantly, I was tired. I just felt this huge matter floating inside of me. Not wanting to disappoint him, but not wanting to go. Me? Give up an auction! This was unreal. We went. He didn’t want my help walking him to a seat. He didn’t want anyone to notice his cane, so I let him go on his own, hoping and praying he would not fall. He swayed from side to side, but he made it to the seat. Three hours of sitting there. Not wanting to leave him alone, I didn’t do what I usually do, which is to walk around and check out everything, see if there were cracks or breaks, and decide what I would bid on it. I sat. The pieces being bid off one by one. I didn’t try to bid on anything. As I am sitting there letting it all slide by me, I knew this wasn’t me, but I couldn’t change it. It was like a force weighing me down. It made me angry that I was acting this way, but I felt too tired to fight it. His  coca cola items went too high, so we came home empty-handed. I sat down here at the computer and started to read some of my emails. My eyes are heavy, like I have had no sleep. A couple of bloggers offered me links for places I might acquire help. I immediately clicked on them, but for some reason, the town I live in has nothing to offer. This made me more tired. I went through a few more emails, but quit, choosing instead to get this out of my head by writing. I don’t feel stressed. My body is too tired to feel. I have called every program I can find. I have asked every person I could. The problem for me, is my brother is not on Medicaid. He is not eligible as of yet. So every single thing I do for him is out-of-pocket.  There are agencies, but very expensive. There is one adult day care here, but it is five hundred a week. I thought about one or two days, but they have only one client, which is female, and older than my brother by years. I think he would be miserable, lonely and bored, so I am not going to do this to him. I think of hiring a private person for day time hours, and then I back off, because I can’t afford to pay someone for regular hours each week. It would be nice for a couple of hours a week to get groceries, or  a hair cut, etc, but

Lowell Spinners

Lowell Spinners (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

when I place an ad, they don’t want a few hours a week, and this I understand. Yesterday, I prayed to God. I gave him all of my problems, concerns, worries, and hopes. I am sure that Satan is so totally angry with me now, that I talked to God more powerfully than I ever have. I am sure that Satan is helping me to have that dragged down, life is at a stand still feeling that I have today. I am grabbing a hold of the big birthday party I am giving my brother in early May. It is like a hope of doing something positive, and fun for him. I didn’t write this to get your pity. I wrote this so I could read it back and see how weak I am letting myself become. My last thoughts on this may somehow connect to how I feel right now. The trees with new leaves are blowing terribly outside from high winds. Swaying back and forth, branches going in all directions. The leaves, delicate and new, are clinging to life so they don’t fall to the ground. Both the baby leaves, any my tired soul are both waiting for the winds to calm.