Tag Archives: remember

Bill and I

 

 

Below is the last picture I took of Bill before he got really sick. In this picture, he looked contented and peaceful. He was just glad that I was there so he could hold me again. From here his final nose dive. From this time on, he was not my husband. I didn’t know the man this mental illness turned him into.

He weighed about 140 lbs so far and used to weigh 188. He turned into a very different man, pushing everyone away and hitting some people including me. These are the days I went home and cried. Continue reading Bill and I

Remember

The word “Remember” can invoke many thoughts to each of us. You may even wonder where to begin. I’m sure that each of us could write a book on our own memories. I’m only thinking of the first thing that this precious word makes me want to write. Continue reading Remember

Lurch

Ever played dodgeball? Well, we played it a lot at lunchtime break in elementary school. That was grades one through six for you youngsters. Now mind you, I was a shy child and always got picked last for any team but I did play and I was good at most sports. Still, my school years were not my best years.

It was me that was usually chosen first in dodgeball. Believe me; it was worse than being picked last on team sports. Chosen first in this game meant being the first one everybody threw the ball at. Oh come on, this meant low man on the totem pole and the boys threw hard enough, but the girls matched and sometimes beat the velocity of the ball.

Here I am in my hand me down dress that I hadn’t grown into yet, and bubble gum still stuck in my hair from the night before. I closed my eyes and just knew that this was going to hurt. The first throw made me lurch forward and I fell in the dirt. The second throw hit me before I got up and somehow landed under my dress. Of course, that made my dress fly up and show my panties which made everyone laugh. Therefore, with a heart full of indignity I took my rightful place in the circle.

I got to throw the ball first and I missed. Even though I was able to regain my dignity, I caught the ball again. When I did anything, I really put all my energy into it and play my best. I guess that can be expected growing up in a family of tomboys, and being raised in a neighborhood of all boys. I had to play tough. The trouble was that while I was a tomboy and could climb trees with the best of them, I still threw like a girl. My turn to throw again landed smack dab in the middle of a girl’s stomach. Noticing that she didn’t even move when I threw the ball, I knew that I was being set up.

Back in the circle again, I lurched to one side and then the other trying not to get hit. The next thing I knew, I was eating dirt again. Of course, that is when the bell rang and playtime was over. I stood up, brushed the dirt off me and once again tried to regain my composure. Once inside I breathed a sigh of relief. Another day of indignity put behind me. I shuddered to think of what tomorrow might bring.

Of course, I wasn’t raised in a good environment growing up. The five of us would have been removed by social services if raised in today’s society. I was picked on a lot by the boys in the neighborhood and always felt as if my heart lurched backward every time I would get a cruel comment. I’d head home each time but stopped crying as I neared house. Unfortunately, I would end up crying before bedtime got there, and even more when I went to bed.

Occasionally I remember those school days. I don’t look at them as being too terrible. I survived into adulthood. When I got into my 30’s, I got five years of therapy. Believe me, once I understood that when a person becomes an adult, they do so by letting go of the past and taking responsibility for the adult you want to be. If we don’t do that, then our childhood continues to rule our lives and we never mature.

 

 

Casual; has it gone too far?

 

When I was in school, mind you I’m giving away my age, we had to wear dresses or skirts, and boys had to wear dress pants and dress shirts. There were no exceptions, nor were there any excuses. It was automatic that you put them on and it was expected with no variations to that rule. It was the school dress code and girls dresses and skirts could not be above the knee. It had to be just below the knee or longer or you were sent home no questions asked.

As a matter of fact, I was a senior in high school before the code changed. The schools became a little less strict on the matter. They dared to let girls wear pant suits and this was allowed for the girls. Boys dress didn’t change yet. Girls pant suits had to match top and bottom with a blouse if it didn’t cover the below the neckline. The style in that day was that the neckline was covered. I felt absolutely scandalous wearing pants to school. It was utterly unheard of.

The next style to appear on the scene were mini skirts. Oh my goodness! That was allowed in school but it could not be any shorter than 3 inches above the knee. Already thinking that was showing too much, never would anyone be catching me wearing one of those kinds of dresses. That’s what I thought. Bob, my boyfriend at the time want me to wear one, so he gave it to me for a gift, all wrapped up in pretty paper. I already thought that the school dress code had gone too far. In fact, when I was wearing a pantsuit I had felt as if I should have a dress on. Bob knew my opinion, but wanted me to wear one anyway.

Casual was the word for these mini skirts dresses and skirts. I wore one out on a date with Bob. He loved it and I hated it. I felt positively naked in it. I kept trying to pull it down over my knees, but every time I tried to pull it over my knees, he would push my hand away. I hated this dress and I hated Bob for making me wear it. Our heads clashed once the two piece bathing suit came out. I gave in and bought myself a two piece bathing suit, but I found my own style of two piece. I bought a two piece that covered the midriff and the bottom was the length of our gym shorts had been, and our behinds did not hang out.

Anything goes today and nothing is casual really, that is not according to the words above. So be careful ladies.

Dance, Dance, Dance

Dance? Why, Thank You Sir

When I saw a flyer sitting on the counter at the nursing station one day while I was waiting for Bill to get ready, I just knew this would be something Bill and I would be interested in going to. There was going to be a shindig at the nursing home. Everyone and their families were invited. There would be a Country Western Band from 2-4pm. A petting zoo would be set up between 4-6pm which consisted of a skunk, kangaroo, porcupine, camel, capybara, and some other more common animals to our part of the world. Continue reading Dance, Dance, Dance

A letter to my stepson

 

 

My dear Stepson,

From the first day you came to live with us when you were eight years old, and the cutest little boy I had ever seen. You looked like your father, walked like him, talked like him. You followed after him all the time. Your brother had come to live with us at the same time. I’ll have to admit, we had some issues settling in and thinking of us as a family. I’m not sure that either you or your brother ever did.

I know you remember the house we lived in when your dad and I were married. Remembering one instance still brings tears to my eyes, and that is when your brother got up on the roof to help your father repair some shingles. I was standing there when you asked if you could help too. Your father said “No you can’t, just your brother can.” I saw the tears welling up in your eyes as you looked at me with disappointment on your face. Do you remember what I said? I do. Continue reading A letter to my stepson

End of phase

End of retirement phase

 

Along with dementia comes a loss of many things in our lives. When one party is sick, and the other has dementia, the medial bills stack up fast on the credit cards. With medical and bills piled up, something has to give.

Therefore, another phase of our lives ends after retirement. We had to sell our beautiful four-bedroom home on five acres. One reason was the medical bills that stacked up leading us to bankruptcy which put an end to our good credit we had at the time. Alzheimer’s had resided with my mother for 15 years by now. Dementia had been diagnosed in my husband Bill’s life. No more trips, no more dropping everything and going somewhere. Yes, the carefree phase of our lives had slammed the door quickly.

We had entered a new phase. It was one of high medical debt, and maxed out credit cards. There was no end in sight to this new phase either, especially after I fell and broke my shoulder. Necessity left me with five surgeries in the first year alone. My mother had to be moved to a nursing center and I still needed to be with my mom often. My mom needed me in these last of her days, even if she didn’t recognize me. I had to be sure that she still was taken care of properly. I had to take her laundry home and wash it because her clothes disappeared when they went to the laundry there. Dementia in the first stage was waiting at home for me.

It does sound like I’m whining, but I’m not. My mom died a few years ago. My husband’s dementia is in the second stages, but I don’t mind. Our bills are under control and we now live in a one-bedroom apartment. I wouldn’t say that life is good, but for me it is. I still have my husband home with me. I rejoice each day that we are able to communicate and be understood by each other. That is a joy in my life.

In the early years of our marriage, he had to care for me. He did it so lovingly and never complained. He was there for each medical emergency, and each surgery. Now it is my privilege to care for him. I hope that I can do that with the same love and gentleness that he has done for me all these years. So now begins the final phase of our lives and I will still thank our heavenly father for the Kingdom we pray for, the Kingdom that will rule over the entire earth, (Rev 21:4) and tells of no more death or tears.

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The Flying Fork

 

When my stepdad came into the picture, I was about 11 years old. There were five of us kids, four girls, and one boy. My older sister was eight years older than I was and she had just left home the year before when she turned 18. She joined the W.A.C.S to get out and away from home.

Jack asked us if he could marry our mom which I was very impressed with and the four of us said yes even though my brother didn’t fall in love with him like the rest of us did. He came from money but drank it all in his early years. He was broke and just out of jail when he met my mom. They met at an AA meeting and he fell in love with her. Continue reading The Flying Fork