When Are We Not Responsible?

Diseased Door

Diseased Door

I was told of a story recently and even after a few days of digesting it I am still bothered. Have you or I ever had life go entirely as we want and it to? Have either of us ever had things pop up that are hard to handle or even more can’t fix? I know I have.

As kids we are born innocent in this world. We are nurtured  as well as our parents know how. We become adults and have children of our own. The cycle of life repeats itself until you are filled with great-grandparents down to great-grandchildren.

What if a bump comes in the road and we don’t see it? We fall in and can’t get back out without help. Do we as family and friends turn our backs on that person? Or do we try to help them climb back out?

I am not talking about Al today. I am talking about an adult who had a great life. Makes mistakes as we all do but then is hit with an unexpected medical problem. Not all medical problems are cut and dry like the flu or maybe tonsillitis.

Some illnesses that stop by to take over are heart attacks and strokes or maybe even cancer. These types of illnesses can do more damage than the naked eye can see. It can change moods, brain waves, vision, hearing, muscle tone, weakness, and pain within the body.

So many changes that the ill person can  no longer control. What do we do now? How long do we stay around and help? Don’t we have a life of our own to live? Didn’t we go visit and pay our respects long enough?

These are questions that have been asked by some as people realize that family members are going to be stuck with these side-effects for months or maybe years to come.

When is my duty over? When can I go on with my own life? Just because an illness or stroke has taken over should we now leave them behind to suffer through until death comes knocking at their door?

I hope that my own answer is always no, never give up. Keep showing your love and keep being an inspiration to the one suffering. I heard of a human being that has suffered in this way. The illness is never going to be better. The strength is never going to be gained back.

Sometimes when we are sitting on the other side of the fence able to walk and run and play we can’t put ourselves in the shoes of the wheelchair patient. It is hard to imagine us ever being stuck in place.

But it happens, and this is sad. There are no guarantees in life for sure. This man’s family has been there but maybe could have squeezed in more time. Patience has run out, and the younger generations are tired and restless and ready to move on.

I completely understand this but what about the fact that they are relation? Does this not matter that only years earlier this patient was there for you in his good times? Is it alright to wipe him from your mind so that you can have a better time in life?

Are we entitled to move on and say the hell with him or her. I did my best. I spent time. I tried. Now this person is in danger of being left on his own, while others chase opportunities.

Oh I am not sure why I even bothered writing this. I can’t seem to get out the exact thoughts I want to be seen. All I know is that it is hurting me inside to realize that big changes are coming possibly, and the one that is going to be hurt is the patient. While the road seems greener on the other side of the fence, I still believe that blood is thicker than water. I would not rest well at nights until I knew that this human being was resting too, somewhere safe, somewhere out of danger.

Alone, Outside

English: One of many garbage bags at a sports ...

English: One of many garbage bags at a sports event. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Before, I say anything, I just want to let you know that I am in a good mood. Although, having to go outside and pick up crap was not fun.

After getting up this morning,and realizing no one was going to be stopping by, I took my time drinking my coffee and enjoying my blogging friends. I even showed off one of my granddaughters earlier this morning.

The sun was hinting to me that it was warming up as the central air kicked on. I fought it very hard, but inside my heart, I knew I needed to get outside to clean the yard before I turned into a roasted marshmallow!

You realize this is the same thing we do with God also. We know what we need to do. It is right there in our mind and our heart, but we fight it and fight it. We either turn our backs on God and turn into a disappointment, or we listen to him and do what is right, and move in his work and word.

So, I get myself dressed in a one piece romper, terry cloth. I know I do not have the figure to wear it, but who is going to see me?, a passer-by, the squirrels, or maybe an old lady peeking out of her window? haha. I walk outside and I feel the heat. I have my flip-flops on. I know I should be wearing my shoes and socks, because I have diabetic Neuropathy, but gosh darn, it is hot, and my feet were begging me to be free. I felt the sun beat down on my delicate little fat toes, and I quickly moved to the shaded areas to start my job.

I believe this is the fourth clean-up job for me,although the other three were done together with other helping hands, so it is just me out here alone. I do what I tell others never to do. I work for a while, and then look at what is ahead of me yet. I do know that doing this makes me more tired than I was a moment ago. Never preach what you will not practice.

As I moved inch by inch, I was picking up nails, staples, little pieces of tar papers, and single pieces of shingles, and some of them were double shingles. I filled up three bags and a garbage can of trash. What made me a little irritated, wasn’t the fact I was cleaning up from the roof left overs, but I was picking up the guys junk also. Water bottles, bottle labels, cigarettes and food wrappers. Are you serious? I have to touch those dirty butts that someone else sucked on and had in their mouth? Cooties for sure! LOL. I know they deserved to smoke, and drink, and even eat, but something about touching those ciggy butts made me ill, and I smoke, so it must be a germ thing.

I had two small piles on the cement where the car sat, and I tried a couple of times to sweep them into the bag with my broom and a dust pan, but I could not keep the flimsy plastic trash bags open, and they are even Hefty ones, strong, powerful, made to do any job! Not!

I go inside where Al is sitting all nice and comfy in his recliner, in the cool air, and ask him if he can help me outside. He didn’t want to go, not so much because of the Parkinson’s, but he didn’t want to help, but he came out. I don’t know what was going on. Maybe it was the mental challenge, or the heat or the Parkinson’s or the idea he didn’t want to help, but it was a useless idea. He could not or would not hold the bag open for me, and when I tried putting the dust pan inside of the bag, it would only catch half and the other half went back to the ground. Now it is 91 degrees out here in the shade. I can’t do this. Diabetics, at least me, do not do well with our sugar management when we are over heated. I sent him back inside, and went to the natural scooper, my hands, and got all of the big stuff, then used the broom and dust pan for the final touches.

I put all the tools away, swept off the porch, ran the broom around the edges where there were millions of tiny pieces of sparkles and little beads from the old shingles. The edges of the house were coated so that the color of the house looked like black mold. After doing the sweep thing, all color came back. I picked up all extension cords, boom boxes, and walked all around the house with my little black bags. If a child would be a passenger in a car going by, he would wonder if I was Santa. My skin was turning red from the sun but I had a black goodie bag, instead of a red one!

After three hours, and a mild sun-burn so far, and a nice cool shower, and clean clothes, I have finished the project. Now I am going to post this and take a nap on my couch with the air running and a light weight blanket covering me with my own soft pillow. See you all later on, after Al wakes up from his nap!

Pretty Open Thoughts Tonight

I have never spoke so open as I am going to on this blog. All hell has broken loose here at home. The cake that I made? A big waste of time.

Al refuses to change his thinking with things he can no longer do. I have told him so many times, that I can not even remember, that when he gets something out of the refrigerator to drink, he now has to use both hands. He refuses. He doesn’t want to admit he has Parkinson’s. He also refuses my help to get the drinks for him.

Well, tonight at supper, which I am now not eating, and he is snotting and tearing in his plate, spilled the pitcher of lemonade. Why? Because he only used one hand. The hand is so weak, and the tremors are so bad, he can hardly do it with two, but at least he can accomplish pouring his own drink.

I let Al do this, because it is the last thing that he can still handle with meal preparation. I do not want to have to take it away from him until I am forced to.

He got in his tear mode instantly. There is no talking to him. He isn’t listening to me. All I am hearing is he is a failure, he is dumb, he can’t do anything right. He asked me to get a gun and shoot him, shoot him dead.

My head exploded, my neck is hurting along with my shoulders. I had to leave the kitchen and sit at my computer chair where I can see him. He is telling me he wants the words stupid, retarded, and dumbass on his tombstone.

I have tried to talk to him, to deter his thinking to somewhere else. He started hitting himself when I continued to try to talk, so I walked away, before I, myself have a stroke.

I am sorry, I have lost my trane of thought. He could not eat the chicken thigh that I had prepared in the crock pot for him. I had to take the chicken and his potato and put it in the blender and puree it.

He is still crying. The things he says disturb me. I have no idea on what anyone could possible want to teach me by forcing me to listen to someone who is talking so negatively about his life and death. There is nothing to be learned from this.

I am learning that I am wasting my time to some point. Making him a pretty cake should now be tossed in the trash in my eyes. The hopes that I had of what it could do for him, are gone. I can not keep trying, I feel. Not because I don’t want to, but it does not work.

I am not saying that I don’t understand his frustrations with Parkinson’s, because I do, but I can not deal with his bad talk about wanting to die. I want to scream at him. If you want to die, then die! I am tired of trying to save your life. I am tired of trying to make smiles happen for you.

What do you think I sound like? A mad woman who has flipped out? Someone who does no longer care. I care, this is the problem, I care.

I look up at the ceiling of our home, as he is now telling me that I want him gone, I want him dead. I want to live here by myself, and while he is going on , I am pleading, no begging God to stop this. Lord, I don’t want to be tested anymore. Lord, I love you, what else do you want from me? I don’t know if I am strong enough to even do what you could possibly still want. I take care of Al. I go out of my way to keep him as peaceful as I can Lord, but he is not co-operating, because he doesn’t want to live.

I can not even cry, but it is alright. Al is crying enough for the two of us. I wish I had someone to come here and watch him for a while. I need to be by myself.

I only wrote this to help myself. I am selfish right now. If I don’t tell someone, I am going to crack up.

He has stopped eating, and he doesn’t even want my cake. I quit. He left his supper set.

He wants to die, and I want him to live.