April 30, 2010
Friday, 6:55 P.M.
Home
Finally finished my paper for English. I went through a ream of paper printing out articles and spent I can't even guess, how many hours reading through all that paper to end up with a research paper that isn't exactly knocking my socks off. It's amazing how little information is really included in all the articles and reports you pull up to read. Each one of those sends you to another one that sends you to another one, all saying just about the same thing as the first, giving you a hundred words of actual information stated in a five thousand word report. Somebody should have taught these people how to write...
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Ghost Essay Part 2
April 29, 2010
Thursday
Home
Growing up in the 50’s and 60’s, the lure of the spirit world was not as significant as it is today. Séances and people communicating with those who have “crossed over” were associated with crazy gypsy women in wildly colored scarves and big hoop earrings scamming gullible, naïve ladies out of their life’s savings.
Casper, the Friendly Ghost, aired as a cartoon, featuring a little boy ghost who worked hard to dispel the image of scary, threatening spirits. As a child, I was comforted by that idea. I began to consider that, if there really were ghosts, maybe they weren’t so bad after all. This may be when I started filing my ghost data in the back of my mind.
It just seems that in the course of my life, I have felt, rather than seen, SOMETHING. There would be the cool spot in a ninety degree room or the soft, feather light touch of something on my cheek, the missing keys that mysteriously turn up where you looked just five minutes ago, the overwhelming sense of peace that comes over you for a moment, the faint scent of flowers in a hardware store, the instant solving of an impossible crossword puzzle definition, the fleeting glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye, the flush of a toilet in an empty bathroom, the creaking footfalls on the stairs when you are alone in the house. Some chalk these things up to a vivid imagination, coincidence, ignorance, or even insanity. I’m not too well known for my uncanny ability to mimic Stephen King or James Cameron, only so many things can be chalked up to coincidence, I have a pretty open, rational mind that would belie ignorance, and though I don’t have the paperwork to prove it, I feel fairly confident in my sanity.
Thursday
Home
Growing up in the 50’s and 60’s, the lure of the spirit world was not as significant as it is today. Séances and people communicating with those who have “crossed over” were associated with crazy gypsy women in wildly colored scarves and big hoop earrings scamming gullible, naïve ladies out of their life’s savings.
Casper, the Friendly Ghost, aired as a cartoon, featuring a little boy ghost who worked hard to dispel the image of scary, threatening spirits. As a child, I was comforted by that idea. I began to consider that, if there really were ghosts, maybe they weren’t so bad after all. This may be when I started filing my ghost data in the back of my mind.
It just seems that in the course of my life, I have felt, rather than seen, SOMETHING. There would be the cool spot in a ninety degree room or the soft, feather light touch of something on my cheek, the missing keys that mysteriously turn up where you looked just five minutes ago, the overwhelming sense of peace that comes over you for a moment, the faint scent of flowers in a hardware store, the instant solving of an impossible crossword puzzle definition, the fleeting glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye, the flush of a toilet in an empty bathroom, the creaking footfalls on the stairs when you are alone in the house. Some chalk these things up to a vivid imagination, coincidence, ignorance, or even insanity. I’m not too well known for my uncanny ability to mimic Stephen King or James Cameron, only so many things can be chalked up to coincidence, I have a pretty open, rational mind that would belie ignorance, and though I don’t have the paperwork to prove it, I feel fairly confident in my sanity.
Ghost Essay Part 1
April 29, 2010
Thursday, 6:30 P.M.
Home
An urban legend from my childhood told of a mean old man who died in the run-down shed on the property of a near neighbor. The rumor was that his ghost walked the streets of the neighborhood at night and came to the bedsides of sleeping children. When they would awake to his presence, he would point his bent, wrinkled up finger at them, terrorizing them in the dark. I woke one night and saw him standing at the foot of my bed, waving that mean old finger. I cowered under the covers, pulling them up over my head praying that when I looked again, he would be gone. He was.
This is my first memory of the subject of ghosts. Many were the nights after this experience that in my terror of seeing him again, I fought to stay awake, little body wrapped up in the covers like a mummy, so that the old man or any other spooky thing, for that matter, would not be able to touch me. Of course I would fall asleep and wake up just fine morning after morning until I forgot about the old man ghost.
Thursday, 6:30 P.M.
Home
An urban legend from my childhood told of a mean old man who died in the run-down shed on the property of a near neighbor. The rumor was that his ghost walked the streets of the neighborhood at night and came to the bedsides of sleeping children. When they would awake to his presence, he would point his bent, wrinkled up finger at them, terrorizing them in the dark. I woke one night and saw him standing at the foot of my bed, waving that mean old finger. I cowered under the covers, pulling them up over my head praying that when I looked again, he would be gone. He was.
This is my first memory of the subject of ghosts. Many were the nights after this experience that in my terror of seeing him again, I fought to stay awake, little body wrapped up in the covers like a mummy, so that the old man or any other spooky thing, for that matter, would not be able to touch me. Of course I would fall asleep and wake up just fine morning after morning until I forgot about the old man ghost.
Merry Way
April 29, 2010
Thursday, 6:13 P.M.
Home
Someone I care very deeply about is a drug addict, to be more precise, he is a crack addict. He was in recovery for the addiction for a lot of years, but over the past five or six, he has wandered back into dabbling with the pipe every once in a while. Now it has become more than once in a while, more like three or four times in a while. I've been around substance abusers my whole life and each and every one of them ends up the same way-hurting those they love, breaking their hearts, disappointing them and generally making their lives miserable, then saying "I'm sorry" expecting to be forgiven and going on their merry way until the next time. What crap!! Finally, after fifty years of putting up with these diseases in one form or the other, always playing the role of the loved one and never the abuser, I've had it. I don't have it in me anymore to forgive and/or forget. This life is too damn short to keep setting yourself up for what you know is just going to be more hurt. It's time for me to go on my merry way...
Thursday, 6:13 P.M.
Home
Someone I care very deeply about is a drug addict, to be more precise, he is a crack addict. He was in recovery for the addiction for a lot of years, but over the past five or six, he has wandered back into dabbling with the pipe every once in a while. Now it has become more than once in a while, more like three or four times in a while. I've been around substance abusers my whole life and each and every one of them ends up the same way-hurting those they love, breaking their hearts, disappointing them and generally making their lives miserable, then saying "I'm sorry" expecting to be forgiven and going on their merry way until the next time. What crap!! Finally, after fifty years of putting up with these diseases in one form or the other, always playing the role of the loved one and never the abuser, I've had it. I don't have it in me anymore to forgive and/or forget. This life is too damn short to keep setting yourself up for what you know is just going to be more hurt. It's time for me to go on my merry way...
Monday, April 26, 2010
Nearing the End
April 26, 2010
Monday, 7:58 P.M.
Home
The semester is nearing its end and so this entry will be fairly short. I have math studying to do to prepare for a test on Wednesday and I have to figure out how to set up the sources for my English paper. I have a feeling doing the sources is going to take me longer than doing the paper.
I sure have enjoyed this college thing, though. It's made me feel like a kid...
Monday, 7:58 P.M.
Home
The semester is nearing its end and so this entry will be fairly short. I have math studying to do to prepare for a test on Wednesday and I have to figure out how to set up the sources for my English paper. I have a feeling doing the sources is going to take me longer than doing the paper.
I sure have enjoyed this college thing, though. It's made me feel like a kid...
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Part 2
April 25, 2010
Sunday, 4:57 P.M.
Home
Student, Darien Crank, an 18 year old senior in Fort Campbell High School in Kentucky, is no stranger to his dad’s multiple deployments. His father is now serving in Afghanistan, his third deployment in six years. Darien has taken on the role of “man of the house” each time his father has left. This year his father will miss Darien’s senior prom, graduation and send off to college. Sadly, the son acknowledges that the separations have taken a toll on their relationship. “He’s been gone for so long; I can’t even imagine our relationship being really close.” (Wilson)
Fort Campbell High School psychologist, Nancy Beale is concerned about the lasting impacts on families. The teens she sees know they can handle it and know what they need to do, but they begin to resent their parents missing so many milestones in their lives. She notes that “younger children may exhibit deployment-induced stress with sleep disturbances and regression. She sees “a lot more splintering apart of husbands and wives” which is a major detriment to their children. (Wilson)
Sunday, 4:57 P.M.
Home
Student, Darien Crank, an 18 year old senior in Fort Campbell High School in Kentucky, is no stranger to his dad’s multiple deployments. His father is now serving in Afghanistan, his third deployment in six years. Darien has taken on the role of “man of the house” each time his father has left. This year his father will miss Darien’s senior prom, graduation and send off to college. Sadly, the son acknowledges that the separations have taken a toll on their relationship. “He’s been gone for so long; I can’t even imagine our relationship being really close.” (Wilson)
Fort Campbell High School psychologist, Nancy Beale is concerned about the lasting impacts on families. The teens she sees know they can handle it and know what they need to do, but they begin to resent their parents missing so many milestones in their lives. She notes that “younger children may exhibit deployment-induced stress with sleep disturbances and regression. She sees “a lot more splintering apart of husbands and wives” which is a major detriment to their children. (Wilson)
Six HoursToday Part 1
April 25, 2010
Sunday, 4:51 P.M.
Home
Considering that I have spent a solid six hours working on my research paper, I feel no guilt in using it as at least a triple contribution to my blog. So here, not in its entirety, it is!
In this era of the “War on Terrorism” we, as a nation, are dependent on the expertise, courage, loyalty, fortitude and commitment to duty of an all volunteer military force. As a result, many of these companies of soldiers are being redeployed to Iraq and/or Afghanistan, not only once, but two and three times leaving their homes and families for fifteen months at a time. Four deployments means up to sixty months, five years out of a military family’s life. Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, graduations, little league games, first dates, scraped knees, loose teeth, riding two wheelers, broken hearts, broken spirits, school projects, family vacations, proms, life, love, laughter, tears, all woven into a normal American family’s life, continues to evolve even as the parent and/or spouse of said family serves thousands of miles away. One can only imagine the impact this has on all concerned in these scenarios. As the parent continuing to endure the day to day trials and tribulations of raising a family, the military spouse is forced to establish a whole new mindset with regard to maintaining the family unit. They are solely responsible for the physical, mental and emotional health of their growing children. They end their days in bed alone with silent prayers that their loved one makes it through another day. This, in and of itself, for a twelve month period is looked upon as manageable; difficult, lonely, but manageable. When faced with the prospect over and over again, it can be construed as impossible or worse yet, not worth the effort.
Sunday, 4:51 P.M.
Home
Considering that I have spent a solid six hours working on my research paper, I feel no guilt in using it as at least a triple contribution to my blog. So here, not in its entirety, it is!
In this era of the “War on Terrorism” we, as a nation, are dependent on the expertise, courage, loyalty, fortitude and commitment to duty of an all volunteer military force. As a result, many of these companies of soldiers are being redeployed to Iraq and/or Afghanistan, not only once, but two and three times leaving their homes and families for fifteen months at a time. Four deployments means up to sixty months, five years out of a military family’s life. Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, graduations, little league games, first dates, scraped knees, loose teeth, riding two wheelers, broken hearts, broken spirits, school projects, family vacations, proms, life, love, laughter, tears, all woven into a normal American family’s life, continues to evolve even as the parent and/or spouse of said family serves thousands of miles away. One can only imagine the impact this has on all concerned in these scenarios. As the parent continuing to endure the day to day trials and tribulations of raising a family, the military spouse is forced to establish a whole new mindset with regard to maintaining the family unit. They are solely responsible for the physical, mental and emotional health of their growing children. They end their days in bed alone with silent prayers that their loved one makes it through another day. This, in and of itself, for a twelve month period is looked upon as manageable; difficult, lonely, but manageable. When faced with the prospect over and over again, it can be construed as impossible or worse yet, not worth the effort.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Little Pin Pricks
April 24, 2010
Saturday, 10:52 A.M.
Home
For the first time in two months, I am sitting in my own place after my English 101 class. There was no after class call to Carol Ann to tell her I'm on my way, no 7-11 stop to fill up the coffee cup for the drive to Malverne, no orange Powerade to buy, no wondering if I will be able to get my friend outside in the sunshine. Last week I left class and was still on my way to her; to bid her the last goodbye. This morning, I am missing that routine, I am missing her, and I am using my blog to fill the void for the moment. I have been remiss for the last couple of weeks. Even my spirit hasn't been willing. My mind consistently reminded me, even badgered me to keep up with this assignment, but my heart just couldn't get me off the couch to fulfill my obligation. But here I am again, plodding through another entry and trying to figure out how I am going to make up the ones I have missed.
Sharing Carol Ann's final path in this life was an amazing experience. Being by her side as she took the steps toward the unknown was a gift beyond all measure. I will be forever grateful to the powers that be that she knew she was loved and not alone in this world; that she would be missed and her moving on would leave a void in the hearts of others. I am finding difficulty in accepting that she is no longer physically reachable. The reminders keep coming to me in little pin pricks teasing my brain when I am least expecting them. Maybe they are triggered by a sight or a smell or a memory no matter how unrelated to Carol Ann they may seem. So many pricks over the last week and a half when I believed my thoughts were totally occupied elsewhere, sharply invaded my thought space; her empty house, her orphaned cats, her abandoned car, her idle treadmill, her dark resting place, her cluttered e-mail, her silent home, her ownerless things, her smile, her inflections, her quirks, her songs, her expressions. What will I do with my Saturdays? She was proud of me for going to school. She read my first paper with Professor Kinsley's remarks and said, "You told me the professor said you were a good writer. You were wrong, she said you are a terrific writer." That was when she told me she was proud of me both for school and for another project I had once been involved in. It's nice to have someone in your life who is proud of you and lets you know it. I will miss knowing...
Saturday, 10:52 A.M.
Home
For the first time in two months, I am sitting in my own place after my English 101 class. There was no after class call to Carol Ann to tell her I'm on my way, no 7-11 stop to fill up the coffee cup for the drive to Malverne, no orange Powerade to buy, no wondering if I will be able to get my friend outside in the sunshine. Last week I left class and was still on my way to her; to bid her the last goodbye. This morning, I am missing that routine, I am missing her, and I am using my blog to fill the void for the moment. I have been remiss for the last couple of weeks. Even my spirit hasn't been willing. My mind consistently reminded me, even badgered me to keep up with this assignment, but my heart just couldn't get me off the couch to fulfill my obligation. But here I am again, plodding through another entry and trying to figure out how I am going to make up the ones I have missed.
Sharing Carol Ann's final path in this life was an amazing experience. Being by her side as she took the steps toward the unknown was a gift beyond all measure. I will be forever grateful to the powers that be that she knew she was loved and not alone in this world; that she would be missed and her moving on would leave a void in the hearts of others. I am finding difficulty in accepting that she is no longer physically reachable. The reminders keep coming to me in little pin pricks teasing my brain when I am least expecting them. Maybe they are triggered by a sight or a smell or a memory no matter how unrelated to Carol Ann they may seem. So many pricks over the last week and a half when I believed my thoughts were totally occupied elsewhere, sharply invaded my thought space; her empty house, her orphaned cats, her abandoned car, her idle treadmill, her dark resting place, her cluttered e-mail, her silent home, her ownerless things, her smile, her inflections, her quirks, her songs, her expressions. What will I do with my Saturdays? She was proud of me for going to school. She read my first paper with Professor Kinsley's remarks and said, "You told me the professor said you were a good writer. You were wrong, she said you are a terrific writer." That was when she told me she was proud of me both for school and for another project I had once been involved in. It's nice to have someone in your life who is proud of you and lets you know it. I will miss knowing...
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Never Again CarolAnn's house
April 17, 2010
Saturday, 9:17 P.M.
Home
It occurs to me I will never again enter CarolAnn's house as my location for this blog. All kinds of little things like that are occurring to me in the last few days. I said my final worldly goodbye to my friend today. Her family held only a graveside service, purportedly according to CarolAnn's wishes. I suppose that is possible. Ca was more into the party that would be held afterward than the solemn goodbyes of a wake. I learned through this experience though, that for my loved ones, the people who really care about me, the wake is a final gift that I can give to them. Speaking for myself, I wish she had been waked. I wish we had her pictures to look at and anecdotes to listen to. I wish we had had a few hours to sit with her in the room and adjust to the finality of it all. The wake prepares the people who love you for the graveside service, for the inevitable parting. When my time comes, I don't really care how, or who, or what, or why, they can do whatever they want, whatever is best for them. I have learned through this that at that point, it isn't all about me-it's about them and my love for them. Another gift from CarolAnn; I wouldn't have ever realized that if I hadn't had this experience.
We will have a party on May 22nd. Our trusty piano player and accompianist will be back from his cruising, heartbroken that he is not be here to say goodbye, and all her music friends will get together to give her the party sendoff she so adamantly wished for. There will be music and laughter and drink and food and her spirit will soar with joy. I can't begin to describe the void that is left in my heart, my soul, my world. God, how I miss her...
Saturday, 9:17 P.M.
Home
It occurs to me I will never again enter CarolAnn's house as my location for this blog. All kinds of little things like that are occurring to me in the last few days. I said my final worldly goodbye to my friend today. Her family held only a graveside service, purportedly according to CarolAnn's wishes. I suppose that is possible. Ca was more into the party that would be held afterward than the solemn goodbyes of a wake. I learned through this experience though, that for my loved ones, the people who really care about me, the wake is a final gift that I can give to them. Speaking for myself, I wish she had been waked. I wish we had her pictures to look at and anecdotes to listen to. I wish we had had a few hours to sit with her in the room and adjust to the finality of it all. The wake prepares the people who love you for the graveside service, for the inevitable parting. When my time comes, I don't really care how, or who, or what, or why, they can do whatever they want, whatever is best for them. I have learned through this that at that point, it isn't all about me-it's about them and my love for them. Another gift from CarolAnn; I wouldn't have ever realized that if I hadn't had this experience.
We will have a party on May 22nd. Our trusty piano player and accompianist will be back from his cruising, heartbroken that he is not be here to say goodbye, and all her music friends will get together to give her the party sendoff she so adamantly wished for. There will be music and laughter and drink and food and her spirit will soar with joy. I can't begin to describe the void that is left in my heart, my soul, my world. God, how I miss her...
Thursday, April 15, 2010
If I've Learned Anything...
April 15, 2010
Thursday, 5:43 P.M.
Home
...it's to be more patient and yes, even appreciative of the annoying traits of those I love. CarolAnn had a couple of things that really annoyed the heck out of me. She needed constant reassurance. She would ask over and over again how her singing performance was, how the meal she cooked tasted, how the flowers she planted looked, and you learned in pretty short order to be complimentary or incur her wrath. She was very set in her ways, overly loyal to product brands, and pretty gosh darn judgemental. I grew impatient with her on many occasions due to these petty annoyances. I never looked at her and thought to myself, "Hmmm, if she were to die tomorrow, would these quirks be annoying or would they be endearing?"
CarolAnn moved on yesterday. Though I will not canonize her in death any more than I would in life, I do know that those little quirks have shifted one hundred eighty degrees to endearing. To realize that I will never again hear her sing that song or cook me that dinner or enjoy the plants in her backyard; to have it sink in that calling her or visiting with her is no longer an option; to accept that she hasn't gone on vacation or moved away one day to return; to absorb that she has left this world for the rest of my time in it, is having a huge impact on my perspective of who I am. To have had the gift of sharing this journey with her will alter my sanctimonious attitudes. I am not the judge, my way is not necessarily the right way, my thoughts and feelings are no more important than anybody else's. If I have learned anything, I have learned that love does not judge, love just loves moment by precious moment and I don't want to let any more of those moments pass by, wasted in petty annoyance.
Thursday, 5:43 P.M.
Home
...it's to be more patient and yes, even appreciative of the annoying traits of those I love. CarolAnn had a couple of things that really annoyed the heck out of me. She needed constant reassurance. She would ask over and over again how her singing performance was, how the meal she cooked tasted, how the flowers she planted looked, and you learned in pretty short order to be complimentary or incur her wrath. She was very set in her ways, overly loyal to product brands, and pretty gosh darn judgemental. I grew impatient with her on many occasions due to these petty annoyances. I never looked at her and thought to myself, "Hmmm, if she were to die tomorrow, would these quirks be annoying or would they be endearing?"
CarolAnn moved on yesterday. Though I will not canonize her in death any more than I would in life, I do know that those little quirks have shifted one hundred eighty degrees to endearing. To realize that I will never again hear her sing that song or cook me that dinner or enjoy the plants in her backyard; to have it sink in that calling her or visiting with her is no longer an option; to accept that she hasn't gone on vacation or moved away one day to return; to absorb that she has left this world for the rest of my time in it, is having a huge impact on my perspective of who I am. To have had the gift of sharing this journey with her will alter my sanctimonious attitudes. I am not the judge, my way is not necessarily the right way, my thoughts and feelings are no more important than anybody else's. If I have learned anything, I have learned that love does not judge, love just loves moment by precious moment and I don't want to let any more of those moments pass by, wasted in petty annoyance.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Research Paper
April 11, 2010
Sunday, 10:35 A.M.
Home
“After forty eight hours, you know it’s not yours…And I know it sounds terrible, but then you think, ‘Thank God it’s not mine.’”
These are the words of Kelly Bridson, wife of Army Spc. Joe Bridson who, in October of 2007, was stationed in Samarra, Iraq. She waited anxiously on a daily basis for the phone calls from her husband that assured her, for at least one more day, that he was still alive and well. When those calls didn’t come, she knew it most often meant that someone in his company had been killed or injured and the Army had cut communication until the next of kin could be notified.
Families with loved ones in the military expect that their husband, wife, son, or daughter will be deployed to the hot spots during war time and do their best to prepare themselves for that contingency. What has not been expected, is tours lasting fifteen months and the prospect of repeating those tours two, three, and even four times. In the days of the draft, which was ended in 1973, if a soldier was sent to war, he served for twelve months and was not forced to return for a second tour of duty. The mental and emotional impact of the horrors of war is
almost unfathomable. To be exposed to it as a routine part of one’s life could be tantamount to the torture we so vigorously oppose using against our enemies.
This piece will explore the impact of redeployments to the Middle East on the soldiers, themselves, and their families. It will also attempt to weigh the pros and cons of an all volunteer military force versus conscription to the service.
Sunday, 10:35 A.M.
Home
“After forty eight hours, you know it’s not yours…And I know it sounds terrible, but then you think, ‘Thank God it’s not mine.’”
These are the words of Kelly Bridson, wife of Army Spc. Joe Bridson who, in October of 2007, was stationed in Samarra, Iraq. She waited anxiously on a daily basis for the phone calls from her husband that assured her, for at least one more day, that he was still alive and well. When those calls didn’t come, she knew it most often meant that someone in his company had been killed or injured and the Army had cut communication until the next of kin could be notified.
Families with loved ones in the military expect that their husband, wife, son, or daughter will be deployed to the hot spots during war time and do their best to prepare themselves for that contingency. What has not been expected, is tours lasting fifteen months and the prospect of repeating those tours two, three, and even four times. In the days of the draft, which was ended in 1973, if a soldier was sent to war, he served for twelve months and was not forced to return for a second tour of duty. The mental and emotional impact of the horrors of war is
almost unfathomable. To be exposed to it as a routine part of one’s life could be tantamount to the torture we so vigorously oppose using against our enemies.
This piece will explore the impact of redeployments to the Middle East on the soldiers, themselves, and their families. It will also attempt to weigh the pros and cons of an all volunteer military force versus conscription to the service.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
The CarolAnn I Know So Well
April 11, 2010
Saturday, 7:55 P.M.
CarolAnn's house
To watch my friend holding court in her bedroom today, was a sight to behold! After two weeks of barely being able to speak, she propped herself up against the pillows and animatedly chatted and laughed (yes, I said LAUGHED!) with no less than five guests at a time for four hours straight. The number of people who decided to visit on this fine spring Saturday afternoon was staggering. As one or two would leave, one or two others rang the doorbell to replace them. CarolAnn seemed to become more animated and sociable with each new face. She even had a craving for a spaghetti dinner (with extra sauce, no meatballs) and actually got a few forkfuls down. It is evening now and the only people here are the hospice nurse, CarolAnn and myself, but there is a little brighter atmosphere this evening than there has been for a while. Don't misunderstand. I know this doesn't indicate that everything is great and next week she and I will take a trip to the jazz clubs in the city, but it sure was a lovely way to spend this Saturday afternoon. For a brief time, I saw the CarolAnn I know so well and it was a pleasure.
Saturday, 7:55 P.M.
CarolAnn's house
To watch my friend holding court in her bedroom today, was a sight to behold! After two weeks of barely being able to speak, she propped herself up against the pillows and animatedly chatted and laughed (yes, I said LAUGHED!) with no less than five guests at a time for four hours straight. The number of people who decided to visit on this fine spring Saturday afternoon was staggering. As one or two would leave, one or two others rang the doorbell to replace them. CarolAnn seemed to become more animated and sociable with each new face. She even had a craving for a spaghetti dinner (with extra sauce, no meatballs) and actually got a few forkfuls down. It is evening now and the only people here are the hospice nurse, CarolAnn and myself, but there is a little brighter atmosphere this evening than there has been for a while. Don't misunderstand. I know this doesn't indicate that everything is great and next week she and I will take a trip to the jazz clubs in the city, but it sure was a lovely way to spend this Saturday afternoon. For a brief time, I saw the CarolAnn I know so well and it was a pleasure.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
I Know...
April 8, 2010
Thursday, 9:06 P.M.
Home
It's a terrible thing to say and not a thought that is outwardly expressed very often, but this cancer thing literally becomes a death watch. I am watching the fading of a light in the vigil I keep with my friend. The transformation from vital, healthy, independent, feisty, talented, funny, sometimes unbearably arrogant woman to very dependent patient has been swift, far swifter than I had hoped. Her moments of lucidity are becoming fewer and farther between; as are her waking ones. When I enter her room in the middle of the night, I may find her crying quietly to herself and when she is aware that I am there, she will tell me "I can't do this anymore". I have gotten beyond scoffing when she speaks this way. No longer do I urge her to be strong and fight. I simply sit by her side, brushing back the hair from her very drawn, grey pallored face, cover the very thin, fragile body with another comforter, and tell her, "I know."
Thursday, 9:06 P.M.
Home
It's a terrible thing to say and not a thought that is outwardly expressed very often, but this cancer thing literally becomes a death watch. I am watching the fading of a light in the vigil I keep with my friend. The transformation from vital, healthy, independent, feisty, talented, funny, sometimes unbearably arrogant woman to very dependent patient has been swift, far swifter than I had hoped. Her moments of lucidity are becoming fewer and farther between; as are her waking ones. When I enter her room in the middle of the night, I may find her crying quietly to herself and when she is aware that I am there, she will tell me "I can't do this anymore". I have gotten beyond scoffing when she speaks this way. No longer do I urge her to be strong and fight. I simply sit by her side, brushing back the hair from her very drawn, grey pallored face, cover the very thin, fragile body with another comforter, and tell her, "I know."
Monday, April 5, 2010
Sea of Confusion
April 5, 2010
Monday, 7:12 P.M.
Home
This is just one of those hello goodbye entries. I attended my math class tonight, have a test Wednesday, and I'm finding myself floating in a sea of confusion regarding the new material. I need to sit and learn, learn, learn between now and then. This is on top of spending about 15 to 20 hours on studying for this test last week. I'm hoping, but I'm shaking...
Monday, 7:12 P.M.
Home
This is just one of those hello goodbye entries. I attended my math class tonight, have a test Wednesday, and I'm finding myself floating in a sea of confusion regarding the new material. I need to sit and learn, learn, learn between now and then. This is on top of spending about 15 to 20 hours on studying for this test last week. I'm hoping, but I'm shaking...
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Things To Do
April 3, 2010
Saturday, 1:03 P.M.
Home
Home from CarolAnn's house, I can't get her aloneness off my mind. How I hate locking her door behind me not knowing if anyone else will be by to see her today. She was going to sleep as I left after eating, what for her, was a good breakfast; 3/4 of a slice of French toast and two cups of tea. We sat on her bed and talked for quite a while. She told me she is sad, I told her I am too. She told me she thinks she's going to die very soon, I asked what makes her think that, she told me she just feels it. She told me she had things she wanted to do before she died, I asked her what they were. She told me she wanted her place cleaned out and cleaned up, I told her we could do that. She told me she doesn't have the strength, I told her I do. She will settle in very nicely in the management role. She'll direct from whatever comfortable perch we find for her and I will carry out her instructions. When we get the place cleaned out and cleaned up, we'll tackle the next item on her bucket list.
I think I should plan that trip to Ireland for the very near future, I have a list of my own...
Saturday, 1:03 P.M.
Home
Home from CarolAnn's house, I can't get her aloneness off my mind. How I hate locking her door behind me not knowing if anyone else will be by to see her today. She was going to sleep as I left after eating, what for her, was a good breakfast; 3/4 of a slice of French toast and two cups of tea. We sat on her bed and talked for quite a while. She told me she is sad, I told her I am too. She told me she thinks she's going to die very soon, I asked what makes her think that, she told me she just feels it. She told me she had things she wanted to do before she died, I asked her what they were. She told me she wanted her place cleaned out and cleaned up, I told her we could do that. She told me she doesn't have the strength, I told her I do. She will settle in very nicely in the management role. She'll direct from whatever comfortable perch we find for her and I will carry out her instructions. When we get the place cleaned out and cleaned up, we'll tackle the next item on her bucket list.
I think I should plan that trip to Ireland for the very near future, I have a list of my own...
Remembering Sunny Saturdays
April 3, 2010
Saturday, 8:57 A.M.
CarolAnn's house
As she sleeps, which she does a lot, I am straightening up the place a bit. I just took a bag of garbage out to the trash can and what a beautiful day it is going to be! I think of CarolAnn on a normal beautiful, sunny Saturday at home and I can see her in the backyard on her knees, trowel in hand, planting her bulbs or repotting her plants, cleaning up the last vestiges of a harsh winter, edging the flower beds, washing her bird feeders and refilling them, standing back and admiring her work, knowing that when she invites her friends over for a barbecue, they will ooo and aaaah over what she has done with all her blooming treasures. Aside from her cats, who are her only children, plants and flowers are CarolAnn's passion. She works magic with her arrangements and she has two green hands for her gardens. It does bring light tears to my eyes that I can't even get her outside to sit in the sun for a little while, but maybe the same thoughts are going through her mind on these beautiful days and she just can't face the pictures and treasure them as memories the way I do and will...
Saturday, 8:57 A.M.
CarolAnn's house
As she sleeps, which she does a lot, I am straightening up the place a bit. I just took a bag of garbage out to the trash can and what a beautiful day it is going to be! I think of CarolAnn on a normal beautiful, sunny Saturday at home and I can see her in the backyard on her knees, trowel in hand, planting her bulbs or repotting her plants, cleaning up the last vestiges of a harsh winter, edging the flower beds, washing her bird feeders and refilling them, standing back and admiring her work, knowing that when she invites her friends over for a barbecue, they will ooo and aaaah over what she has done with all her blooming treasures. Aside from her cats, who are her only children, plants and flowers are CarolAnn's passion. She works magic with her arrangements and she has two green hands for her gardens. It does bring light tears to my eyes that I can't even get her outside to sit in the sun for a little while, but maybe the same thoughts are going through her mind on these beautiful days and she just can't face the pictures and treasure them as memories the way I do and will...
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Truth,Whole Truth, Nothing But...
April 1, 2010
Thursday, 9:10 A.M.
Home
There were also the means of getting to the truth of a swiped ice cream sandwich or some other such trivial thing. We were not allowed to just take a snack or a treat from the cabinet or fridge. It was always “May I please have?” and most often, the answer would be, “Is there enough for everybody?” or just a straightforward “No”. So every once in a while, the devil on our little shoulders won out over the omnipresent angel and one of the kids would sneak an ice cream out of the freezer and joyfully snack on it. The punishment for lying in our house was the belt. So once you let that fib pop out of your mouth, the dye was cast. One such incident stands out. One of us, I don’t remember who, took an ice cream sandwich. My mom found the wrapper (because we were such good sneaks) and asked who took the ice cream. Nobody spoke up, which is a form of denial, which is a form of lying. So we all had to stand in one position in the living room for as long as it took for the culprit to confess. These are 3, 4, 5, and 6 year old kids we’re talking about, all over a stupid ice cream sandwich. So now whoever confesses to this crime is going to get the belt because of the tacit lie. After about two hours, I think it was my little brother, Jimmy, who confessed and took his punishment like a man.
These were not everyday occurrences in our home. Basically, we were pretty happy kids in those days. We got to go out and play, had nice clothes, went to school, and enjoyed the most magical Christmases! Santa Claus was an amazing character in our lives and we clung to the belief in his existence for a very long time compared to other far more normal kids. We learned to be very well mannered, very obedient, and very respectful. My parents were admired for their exceptionally well behaved children.
Thursday, 9:10 A.M.
Home
There were also the means of getting to the truth of a swiped ice cream sandwich or some other such trivial thing. We were not allowed to just take a snack or a treat from the cabinet or fridge. It was always “May I please have?” and most often, the answer would be, “Is there enough for everybody?” or just a straightforward “No”. So every once in a while, the devil on our little shoulders won out over the omnipresent angel and one of the kids would sneak an ice cream out of the freezer and joyfully snack on it. The punishment for lying in our house was the belt. So once you let that fib pop out of your mouth, the dye was cast. One such incident stands out. One of us, I don’t remember who, took an ice cream sandwich. My mom found the wrapper (because we were such good sneaks) and asked who took the ice cream. Nobody spoke up, which is a form of denial, which is a form of lying. So we all had to stand in one position in the living room for as long as it took for the culprit to confess. These are 3, 4, 5, and 6 year old kids we’re talking about, all over a stupid ice cream sandwich. So now whoever confesses to this crime is going to get the belt because of the tacit lie. After about two hours, I think it was my little brother, Jimmy, who confessed and took his punishment like a man.
These were not everyday occurrences in our home. Basically, we were pretty happy kids in those days. We got to go out and play, had nice clothes, went to school, and enjoyed the most magical Christmases! Santa Claus was an amazing character in our lives and we clung to the belief in his existence for a very long time compared to other far more normal kids. We learned to be very well mannered, very obedient, and very respectful. My parents were admired for their exceptionally well behaved children.
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