Figuring It Out
Maybe, I know for me I have one vision that I dream about and one that just pops into my head when ever it feels like. One of them I know it is very possible that I saw this area in my year in Germany. The other vision I am not sure if I lived it or I wished it.
The one I think about often only comes to me in my dreams. A red-circle, brick walking path. I always see the same dream each time. A cement round bench with a big shade tree in the middle.
I always vision Germans walking and riding their bikes. Sunny days with my first-born in her over-sized carriage sitting on the bench smiling and enjoying my view. I don’t actually remember this place in my waking hours. I don’t ever remember being a way from my husband long enough to have that much time to myself.
I can remember taking her for many walks, strolling the store fronts, a time of peace and happy times. Oh don’t get me wrong, I loved my husband very much. He was in the military and in the warm months I took her on many walks; but being by myself and not doing for others was always a joy I cherished.
The other vision I have but, usually in my waking hours is the little white house with the picket fence. It looks pretty much like this photo I borrowed from the internet.
I can’t imagine I ever got to live in something this nice and adorable with the kind of life I had as a very young child. I have a sneaky feeling that the child in me wishes that I had lived that simple life.
My parents were young when I was born. Being young doesn’t make a good mix for remaining married and this was my case. Parental kidnapping and divorce, fights and too much of the bottle makes me believe that house never existed.
I don’t sit and ponder on this, but just like today I was sitting here eating my breakfast. Prior to that I was feeding Al and changing his bedding, bathing him and brushing my teeth. I can remember thinking I wish I could eat my breakfast too.
When I made my breakfast and was sitting here at the computer with Hallmark Christmas movies on, and eating my eggs and toast, the little white house appeared in my mind once again.
I decided I needed to figure out what it was that brought that image back again and again. Now that I look back at my words I have some fuzzy ideas. It must have something to do with that vision of Germany. A mixture of a happy childhood, comfort of a home with happy faces all around. It makes sense.
But accepting what happened as a child and letting the visions drop seems to be another issue. I realize also that when I face these visions I find myself with tears of sadness. I guess for what once never was, and hoping it did exist.
I didn’t ask to be born or taken from my home. The only time I got to decide and make choices for me alone was when I moved out from the family home. When we are young we see so many scenes in different views.
When we get older we get to go back. With age and habitual living we sometimes have regrets. For me I have regrets of a life I had no choices to make. I do see the positive though in my past life.
I worked much harder at letting my children see that I loved them. Telling them how I feel about them is high on my priority list. Spending time on the phone or in person is so important to me.
So I think in the end, a little tidbit of more information is these thoughts, visions and dreams come when I am feeling the most alone.
Alright, now that I have figured a little more of me out, what do I do with this new information? I don’t know yet.
The Return To Home Today
As if I don’t have enough to think about I woke up this morning wondering what was going on in my …
As if I don’t have enough to think about I woke up this morning wondering what was going on in my under mind. You know, the deepest part of us that knows all. We are clever and crafty creatures that walk this earth. We can tell ourselves anything and if we say it long enough, we believe.
A good example is my looks. I know so many of you have said I look nice but I have convinced myself with plenty of practice that I do not look nice. It is sort of like being a cook. You get the bowl,(brain) together. You mix negative thoughts, a few pity parties and the lack of acceptance, and shazam, you have I am not pretty.
It is the same game for everything else. We can tell ourselves just about anything, but when we lay down at night and we go into deep sleep, the true mind is alive and well.
This is what I dealt with last night. I didn’t even go to sleep until 2am. I was tired, I hadn’t had a nap that day, but sleep came slowly. Oh, the mind was racing.
I was stressing over one particular problem I am having with another person. I was trying to decide how to make things right, get my point across and yet do it gently without hurting the other person.
Sometimes it just can’t be done. There are other people who don’t think about we as much as he/she. When you are facing that kind of person, sometimes bold truth has to be used or maybe a white lie.
So anyways, I was going over that like winding up a ball of yarn. I went to sleep with that on my mind and then two hours later when I should have been in deep dream world I woke up. Restless and wired, ready to get up, but not enough sleep.
I laid there for two hours fighting this. I refused to turn on the TV because I was afraid I would watch it. I forced myself to lay in the dark. I was going to win this one. I was going to sleep.
The last time I looked at the clock it was 5am. I woke up at 8:30am. I had things to do and my friend was coming between 9 and 10, so I got up. Looking at my face in the mirror I saw the red eye lids. I splashed cold water on my face. This helped a little. I brushed my teeth and got me a hot cup of coffee.
A tug and pull sort of war going on in my head. While I slept half-way my mind knew the real issue. Now that I am awake so do I. I had five days to revamp, getting ready for the next challenge taking care of Al.
My hands had healed from being in so much water and cleaners. I got more sleep than usual. I was able to sleep in an extra hour each morning. I stayed awake about the same time frame each night, but I wasn’t listening to the baby monitor.
Now it is going to return to the old schedule. I am happy and yet anxious for Al to come home. Hearing the nurse say they were feeding Al now slaps me silly with the acknowledgement that Al is getting worse, even when he isn’t here.
There is no pretending for the most part. Al is not doing any of this for extra attention. He is definitely ill and he very well knows each little thing he is having to give up in life.
I can tell people that for the biggest part I am doing fine, but am I really? Sometimes, not all the time, I do get tired. I do worry that I am not understanding what he is really trying to tell me.
There are times I do want to go to bed earlier than him. Maybe I could but I would sleep better if I knew he was asleep before me. Of course it would be easier to turn him on his side if I could just have some help.
So many little things and yet when it is all done and said with, I do it. I take care of Al because I want to, out of love, he is my brother. I am not rich, not even close, in fact I stress a lot about how bills are going to be paid, but so far God has made a way each and every month because our bills are paid on time.
But in the end when the mind meets day and night, I have to be as brutally honest and admit I am nervous. I am still tired, I am anxious. I know I carry a load bigger than myself, but until God sends someone our way to help here with Al, he knows that I will carry on.
Now that I have said it out loud, and I can see it on black and white, we, two are in agreement. I am calmer, I am still sleepy, but I am ready for him to come home.
This is a blow steam off short blog. No story, just release.
For the last several month and even now my brother picks. For some reason the past couple of days his picking has increased from medium to high-speed. Every single time I look at him, his hands are picking each others fingers, or nails, or he has his hands rubbing his forehead, and rubbing it until he makes his skin red. I have also seen him rubbing his arms, just searching for a tiny bump or something to pick.
It is driving me nuts! I have made numerous suggestions to him to get his mind occupied with doing something other than pick. I have offered to walk beside him while he rides his scooter, just offered to have him go ride his scooter alone. I have bought him so many replicas of old-time cars. He has enough that he can look at them, study them, but he won’t take them out of their boxes. He just lines them on his shelf, and there they sit. He has so many pieces of Coca-Cola, I can not even count them, but they sit. His collection of price guide books mainly sit on his bed beside him, once in a while I see him pick one up.
I have also noticed that he isn’t really digesting any of his Bible anymore. Instead, he flips through the pages.
I hesitate anymore to take him to the shopping stores, as he cries constantly, because he has lost the idea on how to make those scooters work, or which way to turn the wheel if he wants to turn down an aisle, so even though we are there, my mind is wishing I was back at home.
I know the reasons, but can’t fix them. The Parkinson’s has ripped his meaning of life apart. He has no desires for anything in this world any longer. He loves to talk about things he used to do, but I can not allow him to do these anymore, because most of them require out-of-town driving. I have given in and bent over backwards for him, but I hate driving. I always have. Out of town driving is worse for me, as it can cause my old-time panic attacks to return. There are some things I just won’t give in to, in order to protect my own health.
I can not change his views on life, because he doesn’t want them changed. He likes sitting in his recliner, in his room, with little or no lights on and just the TV light on for him. He is getting to the place where he wants to be alone most of the time, and my mind is telling me this is not good for him, that it can cause him more emotional pains and drama.
Today, I am ready to give in. I am ready to take my mind and let it go. I am tired of trying to please him, tired of trying to be more creative than yesterday, tired of spending unneeded monies to bring those smiles.
The weird thing for me to understand is the talk. When people are here, he talks a mile a minute, about cars and places he used to go. I have tried taking him to revisit his past with the car shows, but once we get there, the tears start, as he is not able to thoroughly enjoy his time out, so we come back home. I end up frustrated, sometimes angry, and just want him to leave me alone, and let me take a nap.
This sounds like the old wicked witch from the movie, The Wizard Of Oz, speaking, but I needed to release, so I can continue the day by fixing his lunch. I know he is in his room now, counting down the minutes until he can come out to eat.
Although I always tell him he doesn’t need to stay in his room, he doesn’t want to be out here.
Is it me, his dad, his illness? I don’t know, and right now I just don’t care.
Darn, this sounds bad, but I am really a loving sister with an itch to bitch.