Let The Bucket List Trip Begin

Week 35

Today I will be brief. I am loading the car to head to my mom's. Our adventure begins tomorrow. We have specific destinations but no real itinerary. We have specific wishes with lots of wiggle room in between. We have a true desire to spend this time together. I will try to keep a diary while I am gone. Maybe, I will share it here. Who knows? But for now, I'm outta here!

The Grand Adventure

Week 34


In a little over a week, I will embark on a grand adventure with my mom. Her goal since being diagnosed with cancer (she was given 6 weeks to live) has been to get healthy enough to go on a long road trip. 13 months, a full course of heavy duty radiation, a couple of rounds of chemo, pneumonia twice, several bad falls, and a full knee replacement later, we are soon to be on our way.

I pray this will be a restful trip for her, a chance for her to feel real peace deep inside her soul, a chance for her to heal her spirit, without the weight of day-to-day stresses and illness pulling her down. I want her to be surrounded with love and light and laughter. I want her to be with people who genuinely want to be with her. I want to make memories with her that will last a lifetime.

We will find resolution in some instances… with some people… in some places from the past… I hope. We will eat junk food and health food. We will shop for silly souvenirs and postcards. We will listen to music we both like. We will attempt to cross things off each of our bucket lists.

We will celebrate her birthday on the road. It will be a real celebration for her and only her! We will celebrate and rejoice in the fact that we are together and we are both LIVING!

I hope that in the course of things, as we drive along… we will talk… we will share… we will laugh… we will cry… we will respect… and we will love. For two weeks I will be on the road with my mother and I couldn’t be happier at the prospect.

This is My Honest Place

Week 33



Have you ever known that disaster was eminent? Have you ever known that life as you know it is about to end?
I have.
I do.
It is.

I am already wishing it was all over. But, I apparently have to ride this ride for a while.
I don’t have to need a ticket. I don’t have to want it. I don’t have to like it.
I just have to live with it… for now.

I think of all the changes that will occur in the foreseeable future and I shudder. I have spent my entire life taking care of others. I have spent my entire life wishing someone would want to take care of me.

Wow! Seriously, I can’t believe I just said that. But, I am going to let it stand as pure honesty. This is my honest place. This is the only place I have left in my life that it’s safe to melt down. I am definitely in melt-down mode. Not that I will allow that to happen, because I won't. I kind of just wish I had the luxury of being able to do it.

In the upcoming weeks, there will be many changes in our lives. Our boarder/roommate/adopted son/friend is moving to California for the next 6-7 months. Our oldest daughter, her husband, and 1 ½ year old daughter will be moving in temporarily until they can secure jobs and a place to live. Our son has no clue if he is moving home or not.

In the midst of it all, I am trying to help my mom plan the “bucket list” trip she so desperately wants, and needs to take. If I am lucky, I will be crossing off a couple of things on my own “bucket list” along the way.


Dear Lord,
I need your help now more than ever. Please help me find the strength I need to face the dawn of tomorrow… and the sunset, too.
Please help me to ALWAYS love unconditionally, even if I have to draw from the darkest corners of my being.
Help me to be the best me I can be because…
I am,
Justme

Holey Memories

Week 32

I have piercings.In fact, I have a lot of piercings. I have 51 that I am positive about. But to be honest, there may be more in my left ear than I am seeing. It's kind of hard to tell unless I take them all out, a chore that is daunting at best. I have 1 in my nose, 1 in my eyebrow, 4 in my belly button, 5 in my right ear and at least 40 in my left ear. Several years ago, I started losing earrings and couldn’t afford to replace them. I gradually took many more out. I finally found the type of earrings I was looking for at a reasonable price. I bought as many of them as I could find, which involved going to three stores in two states to find them. My goal is to fill every hole before my 50th birthday which is coming all too soon!

Something most people don’t know is that my piercings are my way of commemorating significant milestones and memories in my life and those of loved ones. There are births and deaths, special birthdays and graduations from high schools and colleges, weddings and even a divorce or two. I have baptisms and confirmations, personal achievements and a couple I did just for fun.

Two weeks ago, I got a new piercing. My niece, age 15, wanted to get her first cartilage piercing. I wanted to get my tragus done so I agreed to take her. I am so glad I did. One of the most memorable afternoons of my life was a direct result of that promise. My mother and my sister agreed to go with us. By the time we left the house, my mom had decided to get both of her ears pierced with a second hole. I was delighted that 3 generations of women in my family were getting pierced together. Much to my surprise, my sister even joined in on the fun and got a new hole in the top of her ear. It was the first time in such a long time that my mother, my sister and I had even remotely gotten along. It was nice.

As I diligently clean and turn my newest earring several times a day, I pause for a brief moment as my ear burns like fire (this particular piercing is going to be a very slow healer). But I digress. I realize I am thankful for my wonderful, crazy memories. And, as crazy as they can be, I am thankful for my family. If truth be told, without them, I wouldn’t be me.

Road Trip

Week 31

Last night, we met with many of his old friends for a birthday celebration (his friend John’s birthday) in New Orleans. I rarely feel comfortable at such events but I knew how important it was to Richard that I be there. I went and it was more fun than I thought it would be. That’s the problem with social anxiety, things rarely turn out as bad as your mind tried to make them beforehand.

The only bad thing about it at all was an old girlfriend of his that kept going out of her way to remind me that they had once been together. In retrospect, it’s totally laughable. I truly couldn’t care less about things that happened so many years ago. Or even so much about what the future may hold. I just plain found her to be annoying and not very bright. But I will say she was sort of nice.

That being said, I met several very nice people. I got to see some I’ve met before and really like. So, all-in-all, I would say it was a lovely evening.
Now, we are travelling our way slowly home. Doing something we rarely do, we are both playing nice and on our best behaviors. We will spend the night here in Gulf Shores, Al. This week is short and sweet, kind of like me. Lol. It is time for me to flyyyyyy…

After A Lifetime

Week 30

After having not seen my father in almost 10 years, I saw him and my stepmonster day before yesterday. My sister, niece, nephew and I met them at their hotel to go swimming. In the course of a very stilted and very limited conversation, they played a weird tag-team game of question and answer. He expressed how much he liked my barefoot sandals and asked where I got them, as he stared down at my feet. He asked a lot about my mom’s health. She asked if I get to visit my mom often. He asked what kind of job I have. She asked what town I live in. He asked if I was planning to stay in the area. She asked why when I replied, "yes". I explained that we wanted to stay there until Jordyn graduates and I mentioned that he is staying with Melissa currently because of his job. He nodded his head and asked how many children Melissa has now. She asked if Richard and I are still married. He ran out of conversation. She apparently did, too. Seriously, that’s all I got after 10 years. That's it.

We moved toward the pool and they hastened to put a distance between us. I didn’t expect it to be anything other than what it was. He has no clue about anything in my life. He doesn’t want to know me. What breaks my heart in all of this, and always has, is the loss. He doesn't know me and he doesn't know my children (he has missed out on most of their lives) and he doesn't know my beautiful grandbabies. I’m not even sure he has a clue how many of them there are. I sincerely doubt he cares.

He has denied me for almost as long as I can remember. I’ve always wondered why. It’s a question that will never be answered. As I watched him from a distance, I was struck yet again, with how much I favor him and his side of the family. The resemblance is more pronounced as I age, I think. On the outside, it would seem I have inherited much from him, on the inside, not so much… if anything at all. There seems to be no resemblance between him and my blond-haired, blue-eyed sister. They on the other hand are VERY close, they always have been and apparently always will be. They are well suited for one another. She is crazy and he is an asshole.

My stepmonster spent almost the entire time sitting on the side of the pool playing Yatzhee with my sister. For some reason, my sister has always sucked up to her. As long as I can remember, they have paired up the few times we have all been together. I was just a wee bit amused at the pointed way the stepmonster ignored me for the most part. I'm afraid by association, my niece was ignored most of the time as well. The one time my father swam near us and appeared to want to communicate, he seemed at such a loss for words, I almost felt sorry for him... almost.

I’m certain the stepmonster was relieved when, after what seemed like forever of listening to the kids saying that they were hungry, I offered to go get everybody food. My niece and I dried off and nearly raced for the exit. The stepmonster's relief was nearly palpable when I delivered it and announced I couldn’t stay because I needed to get back to Mama’s so I could feed her, too. I told them my niece would be going with me. My niece had already begged me to not leave her and had eaten in the car on the way back.

The brief hugs we exchanged as they stood there holding the food I’d bought seemed to emphasize the distance between us. My father’s arms around me were the arms of a stranger. Stiff, reserved, and decidedly uncomfortable, it was an obligatory gesture that resonated with the saddest emptiness I have ever felt.

The stepmonster’s hug was devoid of all emotion. I’m not surprised because it’s been that way for the nearly 40 years I have known her. Funny, when I think of her I generally think of a void. I’ve never seen her as a particularly intelligent person. Nor do I see her as a person capable of true emotion. I can’t explain it I just feel it and always have.

To celebrate and commemorate the sense of freedom I felt at the moment I turned away from them, I decided to get a tattoo. Peter Pan, Wendy, John & Michael are now shadows flying across my arm. Those who know me will get the significance. Those who don’t won’t. Seeing him again has taught me several things. We are nothing to each other. We never really were. We never will be. After a lifetime of pain and anger, I am finally free.

Meet The Dragon

Week 29


I was subjected to a situation this past week that really made me stop and think about a lot of things. It can only be described as the road trip from hell. I was subjected to four long hours of torturous, venom-spewing, mind-boggling hatred mixed with occasional bouts of sweetness.

Unless you have dealt with the manic, I doubt you could possibly understand. The metaphorical punches just kept coming and coming. I was verbally slapped until I felt battered and bruised, raw and bloodied. I felt myself withdrawing from the onslaught. I wanted to draw away from the darkness that was being created. I struggled to focus on the light.

I have often equated this mental illness to a dragon. When it is sleeping, you can see only the riches around it. When it is awake, it burns, melts, and devours everything it can. God help the being that wakes the sleeping dragon…

Having not seen this particular dragon awake for a long time, I didn’t expect it now. For almost 31 years, I have dealt with it. I am nonetheless shocked every time it rears its ugly head. I have been the recipient of its wrath more times than I can count. It has broken bones and broken hearts. It has shattered lives and shattered dreams. It always leaves a wake of destruction and bloodshed until it moves on. You learn to tread warily, while constantly praying for peace.

The pain of knowing that someone you love has no control over their thoughts or actions is almost tangible. To be on the receiving end of this unique kind of anger and hatred is incomprehensible. To be the person the dragon holds responsible is a weight unlike any other. To live with the knowledge that you are blamed solely because you gave birth to the child that holds the dragon within, is the source of endless tears. To watch your child battle this for a lifetime is a lifetime filled with nightmares.

How difficult it is to accept and live with the dragon. I love the child with all my heart. I love the child and hate the dragon. Entirely separate entities, they are never one in the same, yet they are forever united. Seldom does a day go by that I don’t wish it could be slain. But to slay the dragon would be to kill the child and that is not an option.

Today, my heart ached to hear she was coming over. I held my breath as she walked in the door. Her smile told me the dragon is once again sleeping. All is temporarily right in her world. I could almost hear the echoes of his snores from within her as she hugged me. With a sigh, I looked deep into her eyes. There I saw, with relief, exactly what I was looking for. I saw only my child once again.

I Gotta Laugh

Week 28


Yesterday went nothing like I expected it to. I learned a long time ago that Peggy, the lady I take care of, and I get along best when we are not exposed to prolonged time together. This rule actually applies to all of her caregivers. It also works best when she isn’t suffering from anxieties, because, she unfortunately, brings her anxieties onto herself. This was destined to be an anxiety riddled weekend before it ever started and I was determined to get through it the best I could.

Peggy loves planning parties. Big ones or little ones, it doesn’t matter, she adores them all. She gets a small idea in her mind and it runs to epic proportions at times. Or as is the case with last night, it went from a dinner party of 3 on Thursday to a party of 8 by Friday night. To make it easier on me, she had the meal catered. All I had to do is pick it up… at 1:00 pm I went to pick up stuff from her friend Mae that needed to be exchanged (Mae is critically ill so we occasionally do things for her and her husband), had to go to 2 different grocery stores, a department store (for the exchanges), Walmart , delivered the exchanged items to Mae, then back home to unload everything and pick up the dogs, drop the dogs off at the groomer’s by 4:00 (which was accomplished but Luna (big boxer mix) decided to twist herself around me as Happy (Cavalier Spaniel) twisted the opposite direction resulting in me landing on my butt hog-tied in the main aisle at PetSmart), and be at the caterer’s by 4:15.

At the caterer’s, it took a bit longer than expected because of a minor mistake. From there I dropped off the a complete dinner for two at Mae & David’s, made it home in time to get the table set and everything organized.

It’s our job to see to it that everything gets done exactly the way she wants it. The biggest problem is, the closer it gets to party time, the worse her anxieties get. I prefer to try to get her through the evening without anxiety meds whenever possible. Last night was a good night… a med free evening. Peggy was ready and waiting an hour before the guests arrived. Everything was on schedule and I managed to slip into my brand new clothes less than 2 minutes before the doorbell rang with the first guests.

There were 2 couples Marlene & Peter, Gloria & Tracy. I served everyone drinks and went back to the kitchen. A couple of seconds later, Peter came in wanting ice for Marlene’s red wine. I filled a separate glass with ice cubes and handed it to him. He reached in and grabbed several pieces which he plunked into the wine causing a rain shower of bright purple spots to appear all over my new dress. He apologized and leaned forward as if to wipe at them and dribbled more down the bottom of it in little rivulets. With a sigh, I ushered him out of the room, assuring him it was ok.

Dinner went off without a hitch. As the last guest slipped out the door, I was a blur of motion. The dogs were supposed to be picked up at 8 and it was almost that. Peggy decided she wanted to ride with me and I urged her to hurry. We made it to pick up the dogs right at 8:30. Loading them in the back we headed to Richard’s hotel. Because I am on a liquid diet, Peggy insisted on getting a complete meal for Richard and dropping it off to him. From there we stopped by my house so I could grab the pillow I’d forgotten to take with me on Friday. I never sleep worth a flip without it!

By bedtime, we were both exhausted. I put her to bed and started the dishwasher, I started a load of clothes and went to get out of my stained dress. I looked at the damage and thought to myself, “There has to be a way to salvage it.” Suddenly, I had a thought. I went and poured a glass of red wine before carrying it to my room. I laid the dress out on the bed and flicked wine droplets off my fingers onto the dress. By the time I was done, it looked like part of the tie-dye design and I have the added bonus of having a one-of-a-kind original. If you can’t laugh at life, it will make you cry. Me? I gotta laugh.

My Anchor

Week 27



I feel as if I’ve been set adrift,
my anchor no longer there.
I am floating along, doing the things that I must do.
But everything feels surreal right now.
I stagger beneath the weight of an overwhelming sense of loss.
It almost feels like something or someone died.

Suddenly, I realize that as long as someone is alive,
there is the possibility of changing the current circumstances.
A ray of hope begins to shine.
I remind myself that I am alive.
I have found my anchor again.
I have found me.

Flying Colors

Week 26


As doctor after doctor told Mama she shouldn’t have her knee replaced right now, I watched a determination light her eyes. They explained that she was at the highest of risks if she underwent anesthesia. They doubted she would survive the surgery. Regardless of their words, I saw the desperation to reclaim any shred of quality to her life. I thought of the unbelievable pain she had been in for months and the heavy drugs she had been on because of it. I knew she felt she had no other choice. I know I had no other choice. I supported her in her decision to go ahead with the surgery.

I was amazed that it took this to finally get her to draw up a Will but she finally did. I am so proud of her for getting her affairs in order.

Almost one year ago, they told her she had cancer and she only had 3-6 weeks to live… she proved them wrong. They told her she probably wouldn’t make it through this surgery… she proved them wrong. Shouldn't, couldn't and wouldn't just are NOT a part of our vocabularies. She came through it with flying colors. She showed everyone just what she is made of. I have always said I come from the stock of steel magnolias and Mama proved it yet again. I’m not surprised, just very, very thankful. This is not where it ends. We have things to do, places to go, and things to see. If Mama wants the moon, I will try to lasso it for her. She is not just my mother, she is my friend.

Vindication

Week 25


I wish I didn’t have to deal with the jealousies, insecurities, greed, spitefulness, anger, viciousness, and lying of loved ones in my life. They make it very difficult to find peace sometimes. They wound in a way only family can ever wound you. They attack me where I am most vulnerable. They can do it because they know my weakest spots after having spent a lifetime as my family. While I love them, I’ve discovered I have no option but to seek shelter from their storm of hatred.

There is nothing about my life that should cause envy or jealousy. I am not and never have been pretty. I do not and have never had much money and I have worked damn hard for what I have earned. Making ends meet has become something of an art form for me. I am not young. In fact, I get steadily older every minute. I take care of the dying while I try to help them to live. I am always tired, and often short-tempered.

I am hurt but I’m not beaten. I am down but I’m not out. I will not hang my head for even a moment, because I am the only one who has nothing to be ashamed of. I am sad for the losses, because they aren’t worth the price that’s been paid. I wonder if they will ever notice?

I know the truth. God knows the truth. My friends, the real ones, know the truth. My family, the real ones, know the truth. And if they would only take a moment to cast their negatives aside, they, too, would know the truth. I am certain they already do. They won't find the validation they are looking for because it doesn't exist where they are looking. I don't need anyone's validation but I do want vindication. I deserve it.

There will come a day when this will all be over and I will breathe a sigh of relief. I will put it all behind me and finally be free to move on as far from the dark as I can get. After all, hasn’t it been said before, “The truth shall set you free”!

What Father's Day Means to Me

Week 24

Father’s Day is today. I have a father. We all do. Some are alive and some are not. Mine is alive, he just sucks. It’s a fact of life. I’m not proud of it, but, I’m not ashamed of it either. Some are good parents and some are not. It took adulthood for me to understand that some parents are just a biological contributor and nothing more.

You see, my father was a coward who moved his family halfway across the country, then he just left and never came back. I understand that adults have their own problems. But, to abandon your own children and leave them in the wake of your wrecked relationship like flotsam and jetsam floating on the sea is still far beyond my comprehension. How can you say you love someone, then turn and walk away… forever?

I can’t imagine leaving my children behind. Not for a second do I think I could have lived without them. That just makes me a different kind of person from my father. My family has always come first in my life. They enrich my life. I don’t feel sorry for myself and I don’t want anyone else to feel sorry for me. Stories like mine are a dime a dozen.

I had some amazing role models in the dad department growing up. My best friend’s dad was one of the greatest. He was always very involved with not only his children, but their friends as well. He was a loving, kind, compassionate father. He was the kind of man who loaned himself out to a little girl who had just lost her father, and wrapped her in his own rare kind of accepting love. He was my first Pop... Pop Finley.

I grew up with a grandfather that did everything in his power to step up to the plate as a role model when my father dumped us (my mother, my sister and myself) practically on his and my grandmother’s doorstep. Not for a second have I ever doubted how much he loved me. He was a wonderful man and an exceptional Grand-DAD.

When I got married, I gained a new dad, my father-in-law, otherwise known as Pop (my second Pop). He accepted me from the beginning and for the first time, I felt like I had a real father. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that I would someday be the person who would end up taking care of him and my mother-in-law in their twilight years, but I did. The last three years of his life, I was blessed to share a kind of love that defies description as I became the parent and Alzheimer’s made him the child.

When it comes to dads, I have been extraordinarily blessed. Though they have all passed on, I am thankful for the time they were in my life. As for my sperm-donor, he missed out on more than he could ever know. He missed out on knowing me.

Maladies of Middle Age

Week 23
(YAY! Halfway through the year!)

Age catches up to all of us. It does it at different times, it may do it in slightly different ways, but it never fails to catch up. You wake up one morning and parts of your body are suddenly too sore to easily move. You’re hearing creaks and pops from joints you didn’t even realize you had.

You pick up a book and are startled to discover it has to be pulled nearer or pushed farther away to make the words legible. Reading glasses become the only solution. If you already have vision issues you will rapidly be introduced to the wonderful world of bifocals or progressive lenses.

One day you will realize you run out of steam a lot faster than you did before you stood at the peak of the middle years hump. Gradually, you are forced to admit that four hours sleep a night just isn’t enough to recharge your batteries any more. Unfortunately, for many, sleeplessness can also become a frequent visitor.


Generally, your waistline thickens and a few pounds can easily slip into a lot of pounds if you aren’t careful. The pounds that go on require twice as much effort to get rid of as they did a year ago. You discover that different foods and drink you’ve eaten your entire life suddenly cause a variety of new maladies. They can cause you to get heartburn, to burp, to fart, to get a bellyache, to pee more or pee less, etc., etc., etc.

For females you get to experience the joys of Menopause. Your hormones suddenly run amok causing hot flashes, night sweats, mood swings, increased stress, forgetfulness, menstrual cycles that come and go on a schedule all their own, etc.

Things on your body droop a bit more, wrinkle a bit more, and may not pop up as much as they used to. I won’t even dare to touch the subject of sex because the changes in this area, for both males and females, are as vast as the universe itself. Trust me, when they begin to happen you’ll know it. You may not like it, but you will definitely know it. On the bright side, as far as I can tell, there seems to be a solution out there for just about any problem you can encounter in this area.

Don’t even get me started on the oddity of the sneeze/leak factor. If it’s ever happened to you, you know what I mean! Since complaining about it all hasn’t seemed to get me anywhere, I think I will attempt to revel in it. I will embrace the absurdity of middle-aged maladies and just keep smiling. After all, if I'm lucky, I still have old age to look forward to.

Caregiver's Prayer

Week 22


Please give me patience throughout my whole day.
Please remind me to make time to pray.

Help me to be giving, caring, and kind.
Help me remember, I’m the one in right mind.

When I’m deep in the muck, up to my neck,
Help me always to show others respect.

When I’m tired, frustrated, or sad,
Remind me my plight isn’t so bad.

Please give me courage and wisdom to share
And give me the strength to always be there.

Meet My Grandfather

Week 21

Tomorrow is Memorial Day. For as long as I can remember, this holiday has reminded me of my grandfather. Granddaddy was a bomber pilot in WWII. He flew a B-17. Though he didn’t die in the war, it is a day I pause to pay my respects to him. He would have died in an instant to protect his country, his crew, and his loved ones back home. He was the epitome of a good military man.

He was a wonderful man made of the sternest stock. Of all the men I have ever looked up to in my life, he is the man I have most admired. He demanded more from me than I often thought I had to give. I realize now that he taught me the meanings of determination and perseverance by his examples.

Due to circumstances beyond his control he was forced to drop-out of high school. He continued up the ladder of his distinguished military career until he reached the rank of Lt. Colonel. When he retired, he continued working at the Air Force Base as a civilian. He wrote text books for pilot training. He went to night school and got his GED. His thirst for knowledge and a desire to finish something he had sworn to himself he would do, led him to enrolling at the local junior college.

Granddaddy was a kind and gentle man. But, Lord, help you if you truly made him mad. I made him mad twice in my life. One of them resulted in the whipping of a lifetime when he took a cast iron frying pan to my posterior. Neither of the times I angered him was exactly fair, as I was not guilty in either instance. He was a hard man, but he was fair. He taught me the meaning of humility and contrition as he awkwardly stroked my hair while apologizing for not finding out the facts before acting. He never apologized for the whipping though. I can assure you the lessons I learned from him have stuck with me all my days since.

It Seems

Week 20

Nothing is ever quite what it seems.

It all stays the same;
But is never the same.
Constantly changing
Frequently unchanged.

Nothing is ever at all what it seems.

Mother's Day 2013

Week 19


How to describe American commercialism in three easy lessons: Valentine’s Day covers February then a lull in the retail-after-Christmas-before-tax returns-slump. Next comes Mother’s Day in May and then Father’s Day for June.

I have always felt like we should tell those who mean the most to us that we love them all the time. That we shouldn’t wait for “holidays” to tell us to tell them how we feel. Valentine's Day is a crock of junk and I have never REALLY known a father so, you are really what comes to my mind when thinking of this particular trilogy.

Here I sit, subject to the calendar… a prisoner of timelines… ever waiting for the latest test results, ever waiting for a new prognosis. I am guilted, by society, into telling you that I love you, on this the magical day, somebody in the retail world invented.

I DO love you. I always have. You are my mother. You are the woman who loved me before I was born. You are the woman who carried me for nine long months, who gave me life. You are the woman who cried for me when the world seemed darkest for me. You are the woman who has always felt my pain, and too frequently, tried to absorb it, to lessen that which I would have to endure. You are one of the greatest gifts that life has given me because I have never doubted your love for me.

Mama, I have always known you tried your very best to be the best mother you could be. I know that you have always wanted what was best for me. I have ALWAYS known you love me. And I have always known I had a friend in you. What you have termed as pushing you and others away, is truly a matter of self-preservation from birth. I never meant to offend. In fact, I have only sought to spread peace and love wherever my path has crossed. But in every moment, I have known that if I needed you, you would have my back.

I love you, Mama. I want you to know that I see everyday with you in my life as Mother's Day!

Oh My!

Week 18



You wake up one morning to realize that various body parts did not wake up with you. As you attempt to move, bits and pieces are assaulted by the tingling of blood rushing to parts that obviously had their supply cut off while you were sleeping.

Your bladder feels as if you will explode if you don’t hurry, even though it seems like you were up ten times during the night with the same sense of urgency. Rising from the bed, you hear creaks, groans, pops and cracks as your joints awaken and protest against your movements.

As you brush your teeth, you notice the bags under your eyes. Rinsing, you smile at your reflection and notice the wrinkles that appear around your eyes, beside your mouth, in your forehead. You toss the towel at the shower rod in disgust. You miss. You bend down to retrieve it and a hand goes to the small of your back as you straighten.

The days of jumping out of bed and rushing headlong against the world have passed. Suddenly life has become a series of aches and pains and age, oh my!

Serendipitous Kind of Day

Week 17


Three times today I have encountered a word I seldom hear used but have always loved. I love the way it gently rolls off the tongue when I say it. I love the way it trills along when I hear it spoken. I opened my horoscope before I even climbed out of bed this morning. It began, “Your impulsive behavior is making you more open to serendipity…”

Now, I am the first to admit that I do tend to be impulsive but I can’t imagine how that could make me more open to serendipity. The very definition of the word is, “A happy accident or pleasant surprise”. With a shake of my head, I climbed out of bed and began my day.

Driving home from Ms. I listened to an audio book (I listen to them constantly while travelling back and forth now). I was startled to hear the author read the words, “Darling, you simply must open yourself up so that you will be prepared when serendipity comes calling!” I actually went back and listened to it a second time.

A few hours later, while listening to the radio in the background, I chuckled over a skit they were performing until I heard the punchline, “Blame it on serendipity.”

I am sitting here wondering what it all could possibly mean when it suddenly occurs to me that it could simply mean that I might receive the pleasant surprise of having a reason to use the word serendipity repeatedly. I came home to a wondrously clean house. That was definitely a pleasant surprise. Or maybe, there is a different sort of pleasant surprise awaiting me. Regardless, I have decided it is a serendipitous kind of day!

It's The New Normal

Week 16

For the last two weeks, I have not taken my regular trips to Ms. I have been at home in Fl. What an odd time it has been. The bombing of the Boston Marathon and the events that led to the capture of two people. Packing and worrying, babysitting and working, and relaxing every chance I got. It felt terribly decadent.

I needed the break, such as it was, but now it's time to get back to my routine. It's time to go back to the new normal. It's time to take care of Mama.

Sorting Through Memories

Week 15

I find the tasks I am currently working on at home quite daunting. It is so difficult to sort through the remains of another person’s life. It feels like you are invading their privacy as you look at their photographs, read through cards and letters, and sift through keepsakes mostly from places you may have never heard of and certainly have never been.

Sometimes I feel like I’m throwing away too much. At others, it feels like I need to throw away more. I don’t know why it bothers me so much. I just know that it does, even though it certainly doesn’t seem to bother anyone else in the family. I have asked and asked everyone to tell me what they want from the house with very little response from any of them. Left to do it on my own seems to make it more difficult to decide what goes with us and what is disposed of.

I have come to the conclusion that the majority will go to be sorted and dealt with after we are gone from here. I catch myself pausing in my tasks to let the memories of them wash over me; Mom and Dad… my in-laws… my friends. When I’m in a place where I’m not so distracted with my own memories, maybe I’ll find it easier to let go.
But for now, I have memories to sort through, boxes to pack and a house to get ready to leave behind. You never know what tomorrow will bring.

Change

Week 14

I know I can’t change you.

I can only change me.

For the last several years, I have lived with constant change. I would like to believe I have grown because of those changes. I know I’ve come to see many things differently than I used to.


None of it is changing you.

All of it is changing me.


I have been forced to re-evaluate my priorities and search my soul. I have been forced to make decisions that have affected the lives of many and will affect many more.

You will never be changed by it.

I will forever be changed by it.

You will not change.

I have no choice but to.

When There Is Nothing Nice to Say

Week 13

My grandmother always said, "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all". I am at that point in life. I have been let down recently by many of those nearest and dearest to me.

Today is Easter Sunday. I awoke thinking of what that means. As I thought of the life and death of Jesus Christ (and the subsequent rising), I couldn't help but equate it with my own life right now. I have tried to be a good person. I have preached unconditional love because I practice unconditional love. I have been tormented, persecuted, condemned, betrayed, and ridiculed. I have been judged without a judge. My only solace is knowing that, like Him, I have kept my faith. End of comparison.

I have felt the sharp edge of betrayal in ways that defy description. In the past week, I have come to recognize that much of what I once believed to be true regarding many of the people in my life was all a fallacy. Perhaps who I thought they were was just a manifestation of who I wanted them to be. Or maybe I saw only who they wanted me to believe they were. Whatever the case may be, I have seen the truth and it sickens me. It saddens me to the point of despair. My heart weeps at the loss of so many in such a very short time.

Still I pray for them as the tears stain my cheeks, because I love them still.

It's All About My Mama

Week 12

I am not an envious person by nature. I have to admit though I have recently realized that somewhere way down deep inside me, I have always envied the close relationship my mother and sister have shared over the years. My mom was a single travel agent and very social. Because of her job, she was able to travel around the world. My little sister got to travel with her some. I worked full-time and went to school full-time, so travel and play weren’t things I had time for. I was booked to go on a cruise with them once but it just so happened I was scheduled to take my ACT’s the same week. College vs. a fabulous trip… no contest in my mind, college won hands down. If I had only known what the following year would bring, I think I would have taken the trip!

I married young, as soon as I turned 18. I never finished college because it turned out there wasn’t enough money for anything past my first year. Instead, I became a mother and focused all my energy on raising children… and being a wife. Being a caregiver is what I do. It is as natural to me as breathing. It can be as detrimental as poison if you let it.

Up until then, I had spent my teen years trying to take care of my mom and my sister. My mom says I was busy raising both of them. It’s not far off the mark. To be honest, I was trying to raise myself, too. At the age of 16, I paid 1/3 of the household bills, went to school and worked. Mama kind of lost herself for a few years (that is a story of its own and for another time) so I did my best to take care of them both. Mama and I weren’t friends and we weren’t exactly mother and daughter either at this point.

As time marched on, we moved our little family farther and farther away from family and friends, always in pursuit of better paying jobs for my husband. From my perspective, the farther we moved away the closer my mother and sister seemed to get. Don’t get me wrong, I am glad they were because it allowed me to worry about both of them less. But deep in my heart, a part of me always wished that my mother and I were close, too.

Fast forward 25 years or so: My mother moved home to take care of her aging mother. My husband and I moved in with his parents so I could take care of them. Finally, my mom and I had a common bond, common experiences, and a host of common frustrations. When I left home at 18, I could have never in my wildest dreams have thought that this would be the catalyst for a better relationship with my mom, but it was.

I began rearranging my schedule so I could spend more time with both my mom and my grandmother. Making the trip as regularly as I could (at least twice a month) to give my mom a break, I found myself getting a much needed break from the deteriorating situation at home.

I discovered a friendship developing that I could have never imagined. I was always very close to my grandmother. Now, I became closer to my mother. Our relationship grew and developed all by itself. I embraced the changes. For the first time in my life, my mother and I had something in common. We began to get to know each other better and found that we each admired the other. For the first time, we became friends.

Last year was an emotionally draining year. Each new season brought about another major change. Spring brought the passing of my most adored maternal grandmother. Summer brought with it my mother’s diagnosis of inoperable, incurable lung cancer. Fall brought the passing of Dad as he finally lost his decade-long battle with Alzheimer’s. Winter brought the death of my most despised paternal grandmother. Two days after my father-in-law died, my mother took a fall and ended up with a compression fracture in a couple of her vertebrae.

It rapidly became obvious that Mama needed someone there with her, someone to help her, someone to take care of her. The next thing I knew, I was back home in Ms. taking care of Mama. I arranged and rearranged until I could work out being with her 4 nights a week. Right now in my life, it is where I need to be, standing beside her and lightening her load.

I never could have imagined being as close to Mama as I have become. I couldn't have imagined that she and I could discuss our past relationship as openly and as honestly as we do. Every day with her teaches me something new. I am evolving, growing, gaining new perspectives. I am no longer envious of my sister. Many, many hurts have been healed.

My mother is courageous beyond belief. She exudes a positive attitude. She is one of the strongest people I have ever met. She is a steel magnolia, soft and lovely on the outside but solid steel on the inside. She is bold and adventurous. She is outrageous and playful. She is outspoken and determined. She is one of my very best friends. But most importantly, she is the mother I always wished for and often prayed for. I can only hope to always make her proud to call me daughter.

Continued

Week 11


To finish answering the question, “Who am I?” I am many, many things which, when combined, all add up to, me simply being me. It is as simple as you being you. I am just me.

WHERE AM I GOING?

I seriously wish I knew the answer to that question far more than any other. I don’t think I have ever felt more unsettled than I do right now. I live with my mother 4 nights a week (3 ½ hrs away in another state), I work 2 nights a week and I am only home one night a week. I feel like I am constantly short-changing the people I love.

My mind swirls constantly with questions. “Will we manage to sell the house before the bank forecloses?” “Where will we live?” “Where DO I live?”

I just realized how frequently I tell everyone, “When I get there, I will…” I am always GOING, GOING, GOING and when I get there, I am doing, doing, doing. I wish wherever it is that I am going, I would be able to take a break. I neeeeed some down time and there is none to be had.

Where am I going? One simple answer springs to mind… wherever life takes me, of course.

But for now, I am off to ride in a St. Patrick’s Day parade with my mother and her friends. Happy St. Patty’s to ya!

Who Am I? To Be Continued...

Week 10

The life I have been living the last few years has revolved around taking care of loved ones whether elderly, ill, dying or all of the above. I guess it isn’t surprising that I would take time to reflect on who I am… where I came from… where I am going. The “where I come from” is, and always has been, a multi-dimensional answer in my mind. I guess they all are to be honest.


Where Do I Come From?

I come from my family. I am a product of the way I was raised and of the family who raised me… my family.

I come from my birth. It was cold and shadowed. For my mother it was a bit lonely. Her husband had dropped her off at the hospital and gone home to bed. She was at the opposite edge of the country from her family. Then I made my entrance. In that moment there must have been a definite moment of, “you and me against the world”. A bond was formed unlike any other. The bond of mother and daughter forged in that moment.

I come from my childhood. It was often a wonderful childhood. It was often a tragically devastating childhood. Good, bad, or indifferent, my childhood experiences helped shape me and mold me. They taught me that there are two choices you can make in the face of overwhelming adversity. You can lie down and let the bad things destroy you or you can jump up and fight back by refusing to let them have power over you. I frequently say, “I am NOT sorry for the things that have happened in my life because they helped me become who I am. I like who I am.”

I come from my marriage. I have been married since I turned 18. The lessons I have learned as a result would fill volumes. Suffice it to say it has been a major part of my entire adult life and has changed and shaped me as I have grown over the years.

I come from a coastal town. A place where most folks knew your business before you did. A place you couldn’t get away with much cause somebody knew who you belonged to and your grandmother or mother knew the whole story before you could make it home. A place where you rode your bike all over town, stayed out til the streetlights came on every night, and kids felt truly safe.

I come from growing up in the church. It was as much a part of my life as breathing. Sunday school, church, home for a BIG lunch, youth group, choir, night church, it was what Sunday was all about. I miss those days more than I could ever have imagined.



Who Am I?

The obvious things come to mind like familial connections. I am daughter, wife, mother, grandmother, sister, aunt, in-law, adopted mom, etc.

I am a nurturer. I am inclined to mother the people I love. I worry about them and feel an urge to take care of them.

I have always danced to the beat of a different drummer. I will ALWAYS dance to the beat of a different drummer.

Wild hair styles, the clothes I wear, piercings and tattoos do not in any way define who I am! But, they are an expression of who I am.

I am headstrong and have a bad habit of jumping into things feet first only to find myself, as my Mama says up to my ass in alligators.

I have grown independent in my middle age. I’m often sorry it took me so long to have faith in myself.

I have good business sense. I loved owning my own business and making my own rules. Corporate America and I seldom agree on anything but the bottom line.

I am fiercely loyal. I am trustworthy, hard-working, and dependable. I am passionate, playful, and temperamental.

I am shy around people I don't know. People often mistake my shyness for aloofness. They are wrong.

I wear my heart on my sleeve. My heart breaks, far more often for others than it ever has, for myself.

The world sees me as tough as nails. I see me as a big ole blob of marshmallow (which, just for the record, I can’t stand). Isn’t it funny how our view of ourselves rarely matches the view of others?

I talk a lot. When I am anxious or nervous, I chatter incessantly. If I am anxious or tired my southern drawl is more pronounced than any other time, I think.

I am a defender of the oppressed, infirm, and down-trodden, no matter what the circumstances are. The young, the weak, the elderly, I champion them all at all times!

I only know how to love unconditionally. It frequently causes me great pain. It often causes me great joy.

There isn’t anything (inside the law) I wouldn’t do for someone I love.

I am inclined to make friends I will keep forever and shy away from “fake” friends. The real friends I have are one of my greatest treasures.

I am going to do something rare for me and say that while I give this question and the next, further thought, this post is going
TO BE CONTINUED…

We Are All in Essence Dying

Week 9

“Why do we wait to be diagnosed with a terminal illness to feel a sense of urgency about living? The fact of the matter is from the instant we take our first breath, we are in essence dying. Why can’t we live our lives to the fullest without a dire prediction?” -This is what I started to write on Saturday night. Today’s date loomed large as it is the anniversary of my beloved grandmother’s death. This led me to some serious thoughts on the subject of death, which ultimately led me to some serious thoughts on the subject of life. I went to bed with a vortex spinning in my head on the weightiest of subjects… the complexities of life, death, and life-after-death. I do not recommend this as a method to induce productive sleep.

In April of 2010, my 88 year old mother-in-law was put on a ventilator. As her medical power-of-attorney, I had to make a decision as to when we should remove it. I waited a week to allow time for the family to come say their goodbyes. Nobody came. My husband helped to care for his father so I could remain by her side. I treasure the last 48 hours in a way that no one could ever understand… unless they have been in those shoes with someone they have deeply loved.

In November of 2010, I lost the sister-in-law I cherished. We talked on the phone the day before. We talked on the phone almost every day for 10 years! We were in the middle of a conversation, discussing what the four grandkids that lived with me would be wearing for Halloween, when I arrived at the grocery store. I asked if I could call her the next afternoon. She said yes. She died the next morning. It still bothers me that our last goodbye was more of a “to be continued” that can never be continued; that there were things left unsaid between us.

In February of 2012, I rushed home to Mississippi because my youngest granddaughter was born two months early. Fraught with worry, I watched that tiny little girl struggle to grow stronger, struggle to survive. I left the NICU and went to my grandmother’s house. At 92, I knew she had already begun to give up on life. As I stood by her side telling her about the tiniest new member of our family, she grasped my hand. Her eyes cleared for a moment as I showed her the photo I had taken for her of her great granddaughter. She squeezed my hand weakly and said to me, “I just want to go home, Baby.” The following morning it became apparent it was her time to go. I was blessed to be by her side until she passed away peacefully as dawn broke on March 3rd.

In October of 2012 Dad lost his battle with Alzheimer’s. Once again, I was destined to be there as another soul I loved left its body. At the age of 90, it was his time and he was more than ready for it. How different it is when a person has lived a long, full life and is called home!

In August of 2012 my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. Words like “terminal”, “inoperable”, “stage 3b”, “less than 3 months” began to swirl through my life like a hurricane hitting the beach. Mama, however, took it in her normal headlong stride. She refuses to give up. Here it is, March 2013 and technically, she has beaten all of the doctor’s predictions. Her bucket list continues to grow and her attitude against her disease does, too. She is one of the bravest people I’ve ever known and I am proud that she’s my mother.

Under There Somewhere

Week 8

This has been an odd week. I have had a couple of mini-breakdowns that were prevented from becoming major by my wonderful diligent friends. My emotions have been on a rollercoaster that I have been unable to stop. Sleep has become nearly impossible and when I do manage to get there, I am tormented with non-stop dreams. I can’t remember the last time I felt at peace. The restlessness and anxieties of a life completely out of control are beginning to taking a toll on me. Normally, I am capable of having complete control of dozens of things at once. Lately, I come up empty at every turn.

On Friday I think I started to get a grip on things. I made time for ME. I stole a bit of time. I went to the beach and took photographs of the sky, the sea, the beauty of a cloud-filled sky that negated sunset. I stopped several times on the path back to my mother’s house to photograph trees. As I did, I realized that I had found that elusive peace I am so desperately in need of. I’m sure you know the kind of peace I’m talking about. It’s when you are all alone and quiet, and suddenly you realize you can breathe. The stress is pushed away and your heart is free! I focused on staying focused and for a while I was able to keep all my demons at bay.

In the last two and a half years, I have been with and cared for my mother-in-law, my grandmother, and my father-in-law while they died. I felt comfortable in the knowledge that it was their “time”. I lost a sister-in-law who incidentally was one of my best friends. I was shocked at the suddenness of her death. I know how hard her life had been with mental illness and an endless cycle of addiction. An early death should have been perhaps expected.

Mama being diagnosed with terminal Cancer was completely unexpected. It came at me out of the blue. I can’t stand her disease. I can’t stand the pain it causes her. I can’t stand that I feel like my entire life is being ripped apart. I keep telling myself how lucky we are because it has given us time to really get to know one another. There was a time when we barely knew each other at all. Most importantly, we have discovered we genuinely like each other. I am so sorry it has taken imminent death to break down the barriers of a lifetime between us. I don’t dwell on that aspect of things. I simply try to stay focused on where we are now in our relationship. Where we are is a really good place.

I think the hardest part of it all right now is the utter feeling of helplessness in all aspects of my life. Somewhere along the way, I became a sort of Superwoman; capable of doing everything for everybody, being everything to everybody, handling every crisis for everybody. The more I took on, the greater the weight of the load.

I woke up one day and realized I was using all my energy on others and had none left for me. Do I sound like I’m whining? If so, it’s okay, I have every right to occasionally because it turns out I’m only human. I am allowed to bend in the onslaught of the storm. But I will never break. I can survive anything because of who I am and how I was raised. If I am a bit overwhelmed by the crap that life dishes out, I will look for the lessons hidden under the pile of poo. There are always lessons under there somewhere. And I will never lose sight of the fact that I am me and I am under there somewhere, too.

There Are Nudges and There Are NUDGES

Week 7

I am in the process of going through and packing up everything in my parent-in-law’s home. It is no surprise that I am finding many misplaced, lost, and forgotten treasures. Nor is it a surprise that I am feeling more connected to them as I sort through the remnants of their lives. But I can’t help feeling like there is something more afoot.

Lately, I have been receiving a huge number of what I like to call, “nudges”. Nudges are when something happens to strongly remind you of someone who has passed away. They can be actual things that you misplaced or tucked away, perhaps a gift from someone who is no longer. They can be a series of things that point you in a direction you hadn’t thought of going or they can help you come to a decision that you are having trouble making. Sometimes, they are simply things that make you stop and think of your loved one for a moment, reminders and remembrances.

A few weeks ago, I found a tiny box my sister-in-law, Susan, had given me (nudge). Susan passed away on October 10, 2010. It was tucked away in the back of a dresser drawer. The precious contents were still intact exactly as they were the day I received it. A couple of days later, (nudge) I discovered yet another tiny box, this one I clearly remember arriving in the mail not long after her mother died on April 24, 2010. Again, the contents were intact. Within a matter of days, I encountered yet another small tin box she had given me (nudge). This one contained Violet scented lip balm. I had never used it before. When I opened it, my eyes filled with tears as a scent so lovely, so fragrant, so Susan washed over me, filling my senses.

Shortly after these incidences, I had an encounter that I am hesitant to talk about. It caused me to question my sanity momentarily. I frequently go to the beach at sunset to take photographs. I generally like to get photos from many angles, not just the sunset itself. On this occasion, I turned my back to the beach to catch the darkening clouds to the north. There is a bench on the beachside of the dunes and a gazebo on the other side. Other than that, it is very isolated. As is my habit, I turned and snapped, capturing a shadow out of the corner of my eye. I was lining up my next photo as I turned my head toward the bench. Sitting there, looking toward me with her head tilted to the side in a posture I have seen a thousand times, wearing a dress and hat I recognized, was a woman. I turned my head to finish taking the photo. Just that quick, the blink of an eye really, I turned back and she was gone.

I raced across the deserted sand, hitting the boardwalk hard. I cleared the dunes and saw that the gazebo was empty. I heard a voice softly say on the wind, “It’s gonna be alright, Sister”. I knew that voice! I turned in circles in that wide open space and absolutely nowhere did I see anyone at all. I began to shake as I hurried toward my car. My eyes constantly scanning every direction while my mind knew there just wasn’t anywhere anyone could hide. Had I imagined it? No, I know without a doubt that she was there. This was something much bigger than a nudge!

I do not see things that aren’t there. I do not hear voices in my head. I had no explanation for what I had just been through. Completely freaked out, I called my husband, my mother, and my best friend to tell them what had happened. They reassured me that I am not crazy. They all made it sound like it was perfectly natural given how close she and I were. Two out of three suggested that she is trying to tell me something and told me keep my eyes and ears open and to pay attention. Trust me, I am paying attention.

Along this same time period, I made a discovery that renews hope in my heart. Richard’s mom had a broach that a friend had made for her. On it there was an antique porcelain “King Cake” baby. It was one of her prized possessions. I can’t count how many times over the years she showed it to me, taking it lovingly from her jewelry box. Several years ago, she called me in tears because she had gone to get it out to show it to someone and the baby was missing from it. She had searched her jewelry box thoroughly and she was certain it was gone. She was convinced someone had stolen it. I assured her I would help her look for it the next time I visited. Needless to say we searched high and low without ever finding it. While packing the china cabinet a couple of weeks ago, I pulled down a teacup that rattled. (NUDGE) Looking into it, I was delighted to see a half-finished piece of jewelry with the tiny missing baby tucked inside. Mom’s baby had been right here the whole time. The mystery has finally been solved!

I wasted no time in gluing the pieces in the places she had set them. I know it’s a treasure that will always be dear to my heart (see photo at bottom of the page). I thought of the many times we talked about making jewelry out of tiny odd things such as clock faces, gears, screws, spoons, buttons, beads, babies, etc. I thought of the many, many supplies such as these that she had left behind. I decided to start a box to hold them all so that I might pursue dabbling with making things once we finally get moved and settled.

Today, a friend sent me a photo of something called Steampunk Jewelry (NUDGE). I fell instantly in-love with the design, the concept, and the name. Before I could respond, she sent me a link with tutorials on how to do it. I replied with a picture of the pin I so recently had discovered and finished. It turns out it is the very definition of Steampunk and I have a lot of cool stuff with which I can attempt to make my own.

I am paying attention to the nudges now. I am curious to see where they will lead me from here. If I see or hear something else, maybe I will let you know. Then again, maybe I won’t. But if you should happen to get a nudge in your own life, I hope you will recognize it for what it is and make something good of it. I hope you will think of the person who nudges you and smile as your heart fills with love.

On Vacation

Week 6

I am so excited! Richard and I are in New Orleans this Sunday. We are celebrating Mardi Gras with our friends and family. Tomorrow is Lundi Gras. I will have the honor of officiating the wedding of one of my dearest friends, Faith Buchanon Collins will become Faith Buchanon Blaylock. Because of this, I will be adding to this post at a later time. Laissez les bons temps rouler!

Well, Mardi Gras was not at all what I expected. To be honest, it was probably better. We had a great time. The only downer to it all was my mother being hospitalized the whole time. Mardi Gras is one of her favorite holiday seasons.

The wedding was beautiful, as were the bride and groom. I am so honored to be a part of something so special. I absolutely adore officiating in a way I never would have dreamed imaginable. I have to admit that it was a real kick to say, “By the power vested in me by the great state of Louisiana, I now pronounce you husband and wife!” This is the second state I have officiated in and my first elopement. I can’t put into words how touched I am, to be a part of such an important event in such an important way.

I hope I will spend the rest of my life marrying, burying and baptizing. My own ministry, my own way.

More Than Words

Week 5


The winds of change are blowing with gale force in my life. I feel as if I’m outdoors in the middle of a Category 5 hurricane trying to stay on my feet, with no lifeline in sight. Today I shouted three words I try to never string together, “FML”! I didn’t use the acronym, but the actual words. I threw my hands in the air as I began to cry. I let my tears fall freely in an effort to wash away the overwhelming hurt I felt.

Ever optimistic, ever hopeful, I am doomed to forever be reminded that you can’t wear rose-colored glasses and survive in today’s world. I wish sometimes I were someone, anyone, other than who I am. If I were someone else maybe I wouldn’t love so deeply. Maybe, I wouldn’t hurt quite so much for others. Nor would I be able to be hurt so deeply by the words and actions of others. But, I am who I am and I don’t know how to be anyone else.

We all have different types of people in our lives. For instance, there are people in my life I can always count on to say and do negative, sometimes, painful things. There are a few people who manage to bring drama with them at every turn. There are the people who are a positive, loving influence. And people who give encouragement and strength just because they are who they are. When the lines between the two become blurred, it can be quite painful.

I am saddened to discover that words can inflict the kind of damage that was left in the wake of a conversation I had today. The words were common, ordinary words that cut a path of destruction straight through my heart. To be more accurate, it wasn’t the words themselves but the way in which they were used.

Having someone I love, and admire, question my morals and principles on a subject that has nothing to do with either of those things was disconcerting to say the least. Their barely-concealed, sugarcoated outrage and indignation is a bitter pill indeed. Never in a million years could I have predicted that this particular person would feel the way they obviously do. I tried to make them understand that discussing the subject at hand would get us nowhere. I have no answers to many of the questions that were asked repeatedly because the situation itself is, as yet, unresolved. I am certain that we both left the discussion feeling many of the same things though for vastly different reasons. Frustration, pain, disappointment, and disillusionment are not just words but very real feelings.

The things I’ve always felt we shared such as love, concern, compassion, and understanding were tossed carelessly aside as I was told exactly what was expected from me. I was left with the impression that if I didn’t comply, the consequences would be dire in regard to our future relationship. It’s been a long time since I've felt as if my back was against a wall the way I did today. I freely admit it hurt more than I could have dreamed possible.

One of the words that came up repeatedly was "entitled". The definition of entitlement is “the guarantee of access to benefits because of rights” and a “belief that one is deserving of some particular reward or benefit.” If a person has a “sense of entitlement,” they believe they deserve certain things, if, for no other reason, than they exist. The only thing I believe I am "entitled" to is an entry to Heaven upon my death. Clearly, we see differently on this matter.

I can’t give answers when there are none to be given. I can’t allow words to have the power to inflict the kind of pain I felt earlier. I can’t look backward or forward because I am too dang busy dealing with today. The one thing I can do is to continue to have faith that all will work out as it’s supposed to in the grand scheme of things and that the answers to all the questions will be revealed in due time.

The 20 Year Manuscript

Week 4

More than 20 years ago, I began something I have never finished. Something I thought I had finished a couple of times. Back then, I suffered from an anxiety disorder called Agoraphobia. I only felt fully safe when I was at home. To venture far meant to risk an anxiety attack so severe I cannot begin to describe it. As my world became more isolated, the germ of an idea stirred in my head. It turned into a story that had the characters dancing constantly in my head. Finally, I knew the story needed a vehicle to take on a life of its own. I drug out my grandfather’s old portable typewriter and spent months sitting on the bathroom floor pounding away at the keys as if my life depended on it. At the time, I think it actually might have.

When I was finally satisfied that it was finished, I allowed my husband and my best friend to read it before locking it away. Lost in an anxiety riddled world, I didn’t want to do anything with it. I was satisfied just knowing that I had written it.
Little did I know that it would be 10 years before I would see it again! Going through boxes that we had moved multiple times, I found my manuscript. With an odd sense of detachment, I began to read it, not from the standpoint of an author, but from that of a reader. I didn’t make it more than a few pages before I went scrambling for a pen. I corrected, changed, embellished, fine-tuned and re-wrote until I was finally satisfied. Then I tucked it into a dresser drawer.

Less than a year later life threw another us another curveball. Our house caught fire and we lost almost everything we owned. While it was a simple matter of luck that our bedroom didn’t catch fire, most of what was in there was damaged or destroyed by smoke and water. Paper and water just do not mix well. I rescued what I could of it but there were large chunks of the story missing in the end. In frustration, I tossed it in a box with other things we salvaged.

Fast forward another year. I got my first computer! I was excited and frightened to pieces. I had never used a computer, outside of work, and I didn’t know how to do anything but turn it on the day I got it. It would be weeks before I discovered the word program and how to use it. It took several more weeks to hunt down that old mangled manuscript of mine.

For several months, I rewrote the story, filling in the gaps and changing many of the details. I remember my elation when I finally decided it was finished to my satisfaction. Ceremoniously, I tossed out the written copy as I surveyed my handiwork on the computer screen. Deciding it was worth having someone look at it, I began the arduous task of researching exactly how to go about submitting it to various publishing houses.

Yet again, tragedy struck only this time it was two-fold. I injured my right wrist at work which resulted in years of intense occupational therapy and multiple surgeries. And I did not back-up my computer, a term I had heard and didn’t understand at the time. You have probably guessed by now where this is going. Eventually the computer crashed and not knowing that what was on the hard drive could have been saved, my husband scooped the whole thing into the trash while I was at work one day. I can’t describe the utter frustration I felt when I discovered it was gone.

A couple of years, a new computer, and a couple of moves later, I happened to find pages from my original first draft in a box of keepsakes. I eyed it warily before shoving it in a drawer. For several weeks it sat there, almost taunting me, daring me to give it another try. The story bubbled around in my head so incessantly it even began to take over my dreams. Awake or asleep, I couldn’t escape it. I couldn’t ignore it. I couldn’t silence it. I felt as if the characters were demanding that I give them life before I could reclaim my own. With a sigh of capitulation, I pulled it out of its dark refuge and began to read. I was shocked at how rough the draft was. Poorly written, it wasn’t much more than an outline but I managed to make my way through it. When I finished reading it, I began at the beginning and started to write.

This time, was much slower than the previous times. I allowed the characters to breathe on their own. I allowed them to grow, just as I had so obviously grown since I first began my journey with them. I allowed the story to write itself, to shift and change and flow, in a way it hadn’t previously done. As time wore on, I came to really know the characters. I came to love them as I took them down new and different paths than the ones we had traveled together in the past. When I finally finished it, I was a bit saddened to find myself at the end of the story. Sadly I once again packed it away. I was emotionally drained. I was physically tired and I had just learned that we would be moving again.

Now, four years and a lifetime later, I dug out that old manuscript. Much to my chagrin, there are many pages missing. I have decided I am going to add it to my perseverance list for this year. I am going to start at the beginning and read what I have. I am going to MAKE the time to finish it one last time. When it’s finished this time, I’m going to be ready to submit it… somewhere… anywhere. I am NOT going to lock it away or lose it again. I am going to face my fear of rejection and believe in myself, and my writing, enough to at least try to get it published. To do otherwise is to kill the characters I have come to love so dearly.

Old Habits Die Hard

Week 3

For seven months leading up to April 24, 2010, I was my mother-in-law’s primary caregiver. My father-in-law’s as well but my journey with him was significantly longer. Mom battled many chronic illnesses most of which were lung and heart related. Having suffered from chronic asthma since early childhood, she never smoked. She spent the last week of her life on a ventilator, a result of end stage Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD). I was with her through the day and a half after they removed the machinery except for monitoring vitals. I watched the horror of a long, hard death. When she was gone, I couldn’t wait to get out of the hospital so I left the paperwork to my husband as I quickly went outside.

As a heavy smoker for more than 30 years, I can tell you the need for nicotine was overwhelming. I craved it the way an alcoholic craves alcohol, the way a sex addict craves sex, the way a drug addict craves drugs. Never for a single second did I relate what I had just witnessed to the cigarette in my hand. Never for a second did I hesitate to light that cigarette and inhale deeply, standing not 20 feet from a prominent “No Smoking on Hospital Property” sign. With tears pouring down my face as I began to call the family and notify them, I sucked on that cigarette as if my life depended on it.

At the beginning of March 2012 I was blessed, though many would disagree, to be with my grandmother as her life ended. She, too, was a victim of COPD and had never smoked a day in her life. COPD deaths are excruciating to watch. I wish I could say that somehow losing them both this way was the catalyst I needed to help me quit smoking. It would be more accurate to say that my grandmother’s death planted a seed.

On April 24, 2012 I ran out of cigarettes early in the afternoon. This is something that hadn’t happened in quite some time as I bought them by the carton (an effort to save money). When I got to the convenience store, it looked as if half the construction workers in town had stopped to grab lunch. There were a ridiculous number of people in line ahead of me. While I waited my turn, I looked around, my eyes caught by the electronic cigarette display. The date jumped into my thoughts. The display became more intriguing as I moved closer to the counter.

When the cashier asked to help me, I was shocked to hear myself say, “I want a regular light electronic cigarette starter kit and a pack of refills, please.” I walked out the door and that was it. I went from being a smoker to not just that quick. I made the switch to the ecigarette quite easily. I loved that it looked like a cigarette but it wasn’t. No smoke, no fire, no ash, no offensive odor. Typically, the liquid consists of vegetable glycerin or propylene glycol, or a combination of both substances. It also includes food-grade flavorings and nicotine extract. In other words, you are smoking vapor.

After a couple of months, I wanted to find a way to step down the amount of nicotine I was getting. I heard about a new shop that carried anything I could need. I was fascinated by the variety of shapes, styles and colors of electronic cigarettes they carried. My mind was boggled at the variety of flavors. I decided to invest in top of the line equipment, choosing the one LEAST resembling a cigarette. I sampled a couple of flavors before purchasing a 12 mg (meaning 12 mg of nicotine) Razzleberry. It's fruity flavor nothing like a cigarette.

A couple of months and countless flavors later, I stepped down to 6 mg. This week I will hit my 9 month anniversary of giving up tobacco. I alternate between vaping 3 mg and 6 mg. I have cut my monthly expenses in half. I no longer wheeze at night. I can go up and down stairs without being short of breath. My senses of taste and smell are much sharper than they were six months ago. I have only had two colds since I made the switch and the cough I had was less severe than I am used to. The duration of the cold much shorter.

I hope to be able to eventually say that I have effectively weaned myself off nicotine. I am proud of how far I've come so far. I can honestly say I don't miss cigarettes at all and there isn't the slightest bit of temptation. I've heard it said that old habits die hard. I'm doing my damndest to kill mine, one old habit at a time.

News Feeds, Hypocrisy & Shame

Week 2

This morning in my news feed on Facebook I noticed something that really made me stop and think. Over the course of the posts since midnight last night, I counted 9 friends who'd posted different things regarding "Don't Drink and Drive". I saw 7 friends who'd posted things related to "Don't Text and Drive". There were 28 posts about my friends drinking on Saturday night accompanied by over 50 new pictures of people drinking, partying, and having a good time. In addition to over a dozen photos of alcoholic drinks posted to show the libations that some were enjoying.

Of the 9 friends who said "Don't Drink and Drive" I have been in the car with 5 of them when they did just that. For the record, 6 out of those same 9 people posted photos related to drinking last night and I know for a fact that at least 2 have already gotten DUI’s.

As for the 7 "Anti-Text Drivers", I have been in the car with 3 of them when they were texting and driving. I have even held the steering wheel for a couple of them so they could reply to something they insisted was "Important" or "Life or Death".

As I read these posts, I bowed my head. Tears of shame filled my eyes. I have gotten behind the wheel impaired by alcohol. I have texted while driving. The only difference between me and these friends is I try not to post things to social networks that I believe to be hypocritical. I wonder if some of them are trying to assuage their guilt at their own actions.

My actions are inexcusable because of the danger and harm I could have created by the poor decisions I chose to make. Just because I have never been caught or hurt anyone else, it doesn’t forgive the potential for disaster in what could have happened. While I am pointing out the hypocrisy of others, please understand, I am also pointing a finger of blame toward myself for my own actions. I am calling myself out on using poor or impaired judgment in the past (something I have been working to improve for a while now). I am admitting that I have devalued the lives of others, as well as my own life.

The next time you text me and I don’t reply quickly, it’s not because I am ignoring you. I just might be driving. I promise I will get back to you when my wheels are no longer in motion. It could be a matter of “Life or Death”.

Welcome to My World

I hope this blog will be drastically different from my other blog, “Dealing With Dementia”. In a way, it already is because I don’t care at all about readership. I am here about writership. I have things to say even if no one ever hears them. It’s about the process of writing and winning the battle to be consistent… persistent.


January 6, 2013

Week 1

Let’s talk about unconditional love. Wikipedia does a very good job of defining unconditional love so I won’t attempt to top their definition. Feel free to check it out http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unconditional_love


I love unconditionally. There are no ifs or buts to the way I love others. A prime example is the maddening world of familial love. I may not like a person’s actions, I may not understand them or their actions, but I still honestly love them. Because they are family, I may even be inclined to defend them if I feel they are under attack whether it is warranted or not. I love them unconditionally. This type of unconditional love is rather easy for most people to achieve.

I apply the philosophy of unconditional love to every one of the people in my life who I love. I accept them without judging them. This doesn’t mean I don’t express concerns when they are showing behaviors that could be dangerous to themselves or others. It simply means I never place conditions and limitations on them as a person. I accept them totally as is.

Of all the people I have ever met, only a handful have truly understood and practiced unconditional love. What a wonderful place this world would be if more people did.