a lettre to Mary.
I know you are very very missed, but I feel quite lost with what to do with how I feel.
I KNOW you understand the other side now...I don't think dad will til he dies.
Your would-have-been 30th anniversary is coming up, and who is dad spending it with? That person up in Burnet. He has forgotten his connection to family apparently. Would that could remind him, for Sandy and Dave, if not all of us. He seems to think that person was more important to your life and memory than your kids and grand kids. Maybe it is just too hard for him to show us what he's feeling, and finds it easier to get away from all of us. I find that very painful. If you stop by to talk to him sometime, could you remind him family is supposed to come first?
Thanks.
And since you now understand the Summerlands, could you give my mom a hug, and let her know I miss her a lot too?
I'll see you on the other side.
pjd
Friday, December 26, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
And Time Passes On
I wasn't sure whether to put this here or in my esoteric blog.
Today marks the 9th anniversary of my mother's passing. Ironically, she died not long after her mother's death date, as well as the death date of my other grandmother.
I know in my heart of hearts that life is not a linear experience, something predictable and caculatable. I cannot seem to shake the irrepressible need to put dates to everything, as if it has some meaning even 24 hours after it happened. It doesn't, really. This physical existence is about experiencing different points of view from those experienced before, in other lifetimes, thru other eyes. The point of coming in and passing out of this life shouldn't be celebrated as some great event. It just means that person's time for learning here under that current perspective is done.
Actually, in one human culture- I forget which- birth is mourned and death is celebrated. They are seen as enslavement to this limited world, and release from that bondage. There are times I think they got it right, and we got it wrong. When we mourn for our deceased in my culture, we are being selfish. We are not thinking of the one who went on- we are thinking of ourselves, and having to continue down life's path with one less companion. I myself envy those who have gone over, because I remember. I remember the tranquility of the Summerlands, as we pagans call it. I remember the absolute belonging and connection and understanding that people like myself strive to find here in a world which does not support it....unless one is a true Zen master. I, sadly, am not. I miss my mom, and I miss my grandparents. I am a normal Capricorn in that respect- as my elders and mentors in this world pass over, I feel more and more alone here. I have become the elder, without really knowing why, or how to BE that part. I suppose I am not much different than others. Most older folks will tell you that mentally at least, they do not feel much older than 25. The body betrays, however, and aging takes away the agility of body that we feel, and wish, we still had. It's a terrible thing to want to be what the body will no longer allow.
See? That's why I miss my mom. After years of being lost in a bottle of alcohol, she found herself, and we spent a lot of time being and doing...she came alive for the first time in my life, and then it was taken away from her. She and I became good friends, as well as connecting as mother and child as we never had before, and then she had to leave.
It doesn't seem fair.
But, if I have learned anything in here, it is that life is rarely fair.
I miss you, mom, and I will see you again, I know. I just wish you were here still, to share things with.
Today marks the 9th anniversary of my mother's passing. Ironically, she died not long after her mother's death date, as well as the death date of my other grandmother.
I know in my heart of hearts that life is not a linear experience, something predictable and caculatable. I cannot seem to shake the irrepressible need to put dates to everything, as if it has some meaning even 24 hours after it happened. It doesn't, really. This physical existence is about experiencing different points of view from those experienced before, in other lifetimes, thru other eyes. The point of coming in and passing out of this life shouldn't be celebrated as some great event. It just means that person's time for learning here under that current perspective is done.
Actually, in one human culture- I forget which- birth is mourned and death is celebrated. They are seen as enslavement to this limited world, and release from that bondage. There are times I think they got it right, and we got it wrong. When we mourn for our deceased in my culture, we are being selfish. We are not thinking of the one who went on- we are thinking of ourselves, and having to continue down life's path with one less companion. I myself envy those who have gone over, because I remember. I remember the tranquility of the Summerlands, as we pagans call it. I remember the absolute belonging and connection and understanding that people like myself strive to find here in a world which does not support it....unless one is a true Zen master. I, sadly, am not. I miss my mom, and I miss my grandparents. I am a normal Capricorn in that respect- as my elders and mentors in this world pass over, I feel more and more alone here. I have become the elder, without really knowing why, or how to BE that part. I suppose I am not much different than others. Most older folks will tell you that mentally at least, they do not feel much older than 25. The body betrays, however, and aging takes away the agility of body that we feel, and wish, we still had. It's a terrible thing to want to be what the body will no longer allow.
See? That's why I miss my mom. After years of being lost in a bottle of alcohol, she found herself, and we spent a lot of time being and doing...she came alive for the first time in my life, and then it was taken away from her. She and I became good friends, as well as connecting as mother and child as we never had before, and then she had to leave.
It doesn't seem fair.
But, if I have learned anything in here, it is that life is rarely fair.
I miss you, mom, and I will see you again, I know. I just wish you were here still, to share things with.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Generations
I must be in some kind of nostalgic mood. I started copying to the computer a lettre sent from my dad's mom to my step mom about 25 years ago. It all details how my grandmom used to make turkey curry. It is quite a haphazard recipe frankly, but luckily, I have some clue how to make it. My mom used to make something very similar with shrimp. It's basically a curried gravy with a meat put in it. It is not the indian style curry I make. 'Scuse the ego there, but I am a darn good cook really, with no one to cook for much.
The lettre for me is really a look into my grandmother's personality. I only got to know her after I was in my teens, and only had maybe ten years before she passed. My grandfather and I had a special relationship, started whe nI was quite small by lettres he would write me. I wish I still had them. I remember the stories he sent.
And I really miss my grands, all of them. My very military family- four generations worth- has never been physically close to one another, so relationships have had to develop in other ways. I knew Granny and Gramps, and Diddy and Pop, better than my sibs, due to proximity. I got to have a little time with them as a young adult, which I don't think many of the others did. I wish I had had more.
I think I will have to publish the lettre once I get it copied.
The lettre for me is really a look into my grandmother's personality. I only got to know her after I was in my teens, and only had maybe ten years before she passed. My grandfather and I had a special relationship, started whe nI was quite small by lettres he would write me. I wish I still had them. I remember the stories he sent.
And I really miss my grands, all of them. My very military family- four generations worth- has never been physically close to one another, so relationships have had to develop in other ways. I knew Granny and Gramps, and Diddy and Pop, better than my sibs, due to proximity. I got to have a little time with them as a young adult, which I don't think many of the others did. I wish I had had more.
I think I will have to publish the lettre once I get it copied.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Who invented
Mother's Day and why?
Okay, appreciating one's mom is a good thing, but shouldn't be limited to a day. Frankly, other than the sales this day generates, I cannot see why it is done.
Why am I grumpy?
Well, my mom's gone 9 years now, my step-mom only a few monthe, and frankly, that makes today lonesome and unhappy. Even my "kids" and grands cannot change the overwhelming sense of loss. There are so many things I would love to be able to share with my mother.....I miss her more than I ever thought I would. We had become friends, gone thru adventures and trials together, and frankly, I have felt like an orphan since her passing. I am finding a friendship with my father since Mary's illness that is probably going to do this to me all over again, and then Father's Day will suck too.
I think the point to be grasped from all this is not to take one's family for granted. It can change in a heartbeat, and then those words can never be said to one's own satisfaction.
I bought two miniature rose plants, crimson for my mother, white for Mary. I am deciding whether to put them outside or not- Texas heat kills a lot of things too easily, and that would not help my feelings right now. Besides, I am the only one who understands what I mean by them, so my being able to see them everyday might make more sense. Will have to look up their sensitivity.
Right now, food, shower, and get on with the day. Staying distracted will definitely help.
Happy Mother's......don't make it just a day.
Okay, appreciating one's mom is a good thing, but shouldn't be limited to a day. Frankly, other than the sales this day generates, I cannot see why it is done.
Why am I grumpy?
Well, my mom's gone 9 years now, my step-mom only a few monthe, and frankly, that makes today lonesome and unhappy. Even my "kids" and grands cannot change the overwhelming sense of loss. There are so many things I would love to be able to share with my mother.....I miss her more than I ever thought I would. We had become friends, gone thru adventures and trials together, and frankly, I have felt like an orphan since her passing. I am finding a friendship with my father since Mary's illness that is probably going to do this to me all over again, and then Father's Day will suck too.
I think the point to be grasped from all this is not to take one's family for granted. It can change in a heartbeat, and then those words can never be said to one's own satisfaction.
I bought two miniature rose plants, crimson for my mother, white for Mary. I am deciding whether to put them outside or not- Texas heat kills a lot of things too easily, and that would not help my feelings right now. Besides, I am the only one who understands what I mean by them, so my being able to see them everyday might make more sense. Will have to look up their sensitivity.
Right now, food, shower, and get on with the day. Staying distracted will definitely help.
Happy Mother's......don't make it just a day.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Trying to Settle
3 March
It astounds me every time I bury someone, family or not, how much I want the whole world to stop and take notice, and how very little they do.
It has been three weeks, give or take, since my step mom passed and the world hasn’t slowed one iota, nor has my immediate world. Perhaps I am unusual (nothing new there!) and I feel some need to mourn longer and deeper than others. Maybe I feel that each life should hold some greater significance in the end than a mere grave marker. I found myself thinking as we inurned Mary’s ashes where my father’s will also someday lie “Is this all there is?’ It felt like a cliche, but I think it holds too much truth.
Consider seriously for a moment how many names from history one can recall, even with the best education. Literally millions more came and went before and after any of those names. No matter how far back we can go in written or unwritten history, the majourity lived lives that ended in obscurity after only a few generations. I myself know very little of the people in my family history notes save birth and death dates, locations maybe, and names.
A handful I am lucky enough to have photos of, able to look back and seen where the features in my bathroom mirror came from.
The last couple of weeks have to have been a form of hell for my father. My sister and step sister helped him clear the house of clothes, makeup and other such things, not exactly wiping Mary off the map, but at least removing an awful lot of reminders. I remember doing this for my mom’s things, pretty much all by myself. It was rough. Even through clothes washings, an essence of Jeanne lingered, whether subtle scents, or the shape clothes hold when worn often enough. I am amazed sometimes of how much is still in this house of hers, useless pretty much to me, but too hard to part with glibly.
Yesterday, my best friend Casey, a jeweler by trade, came to town to go thru Mary’s remaining jewelry, partly for the estate probate, and partly I think to help my dad just know everything was being handled as it should. It isn’t the end of the clearing out, but it feels like the worst is past. Now I find myself with my head spinning around with unresolved emotions. As I said before in this journal, had she been in her right mind, it might have been simpler. Maybe not. Maybe I delude myself by believing that the final goodbye, whispered with I love you to an ear than can understand makes a difference.
This is probably my biggest paradox. My spiritual beliefs are deep and strong and I know that while we may be forced to separate forms while here on this planet, we are in fact a part , each and everything, of a much greater, undefinable One. We come here knowing full well we will put aside our memory of the Oneness, and yet it seems we spend a lot of our lives looking for that point of belonging all over again. It is the seat of our desire, grief and greed, all in one. We know how alone we are inside these bodies, and want to not be. I know I don’t,anyway.
Yet relationships rarely fill the hole. Whether it is with another person, or persons, the land, our pet animals, or what have you, there still seems to be something not quite right. I have reached out thru mediation and sought out the source, hoping to be able to grasp it and bring it back here in words to comfort others who feel equally lost....but I find words fail.
That is my big adventure here I think, and while I know the soul I called Mary is in a state of reunion with all those before, and yes, yet to come, I long for that belonging again for myself. The wait for my turn is sometimes unbearable. I know that is why we distract ourselves with the superficial, looking to lose even for a moment the disconnection we feel. I know it is why we cling to one another, whether the pairing works or not. It is worse to be alone in the wait than to have to bear with someone else’s egocentric point of view.
I am also heartily aware that not a whole lot of people see this. Those who do often become Buddhist, because it is the one path that teaches disconnection from all the longing, that life might flow smoother, getting to its point rather than staying focused on what is past. Everything and everyone here is mortal, and will pass from this world. Everything.
Hm. See? That’s why I write. By spewing it out for the reader, I learn again for myself. I have failed myself in this time, probably due to feeling obligated by various duties, and I am clinging to something I cannot change. For days now, I have felt more alone than I had in years, and it is all my own doing. I need to find my centre again, remember the Seven Fold Path, remember that there was some reason I chose to come back to this place, and my task here is obviously not done. If it was, I wouldn’t be here to write this.
Life is an illusion. It is neither what we are, nor what we are here for. Our true belonging is so much larger than our words can describe....
And I must leave each to his or her own path to understanding that.
I still miss the woman who had the guts to stay with my father,who can be as overbearing as I can, for nearly 30 years. She brought a whole other branch of family to me, not of blood, but still family.
I am just reminded that one of the least happy things about getting older is the ones who leave before you.
I must go find myself, refocus if I can. Letting this out doesn’t complete the task of healing. My spiritual self brought back to the forefront will.
namaste.
It astounds me every time I bury someone, family or not, how much I want the whole world to stop and take notice, and how very little they do.
It has been three weeks, give or take, since my step mom passed and the world hasn’t slowed one iota, nor has my immediate world. Perhaps I am unusual (nothing new there!) and I feel some need to mourn longer and deeper than others. Maybe I feel that each life should hold some greater significance in the end than a mere grave marker. I found myself thinking as we inurned Mary’s ashes where my father’s will also someday lie “Is this all there is?’ It felt like a cliche, but I think it holds too much truth.
Consider seriously for a moment how many names from history one can recall, even with the best education. Literally millions more came and went before and after any of those names. No matter how far back we can go in written or unwritten history, the majourity lived lives that ended in obscurity after only a few generations. I myself know very little of the people in my family history notes save birth and death dates, locations maybe, and names.
A handful I am lucky enough to have photos of, able to look back and seen where the features in my bathroom mirror came from.
The last couple of weeks have to have been a form of hell for my father. My sister and step sister helped him clear the house of clothes, makeup and other such things, not exactly wiping Mary off the map, but at least removing an awful lot of reminders. I remember doing this for my mom’s things, pretty much all by myself. It was rough. Even through clothes washings, an essence of Jeanne lingered, whether subtle scents, or the shape clothes hold when worn often enough. I am amazed sometimes of how much is still in this house of hers, useless pretty much to me, but too hard to part with glibly.
Yesterday, my best friend Casey, a jeweler by trade, came to town to go thru Mary’s remaining jewelry, partly for the estate probate, and partly I think to help my dad just know everything was being handled as it should. It isn’t the end of the clearing out, but it feels like the worst is past. Now I find myself with my head spinning around with unresolved emotions. As I said before in this journal, had she been in her right mind, it might have been simpler. Maybe not. Maybe I delude myself by believing that the final goodbye, whispered with I love you to an ear than can understand makes a difference.
This is probably my biggest paradox. My spiritual beliefs are deep and strong and I know that while we may be forced to separate forms while here on this planet, we are in fact a part , each and everything, of a much greater, undefinable One. We come here knowing full well we will put aside our memory of the Oneness, and yet it seems we spend a lot of our lives looking for that point of belonging all over again. It is the seat of our desire, grief and greed, all in one. We know how alone we are inside these bodies, and want to not be. I know I don’t,anyway.
Yet relationships rarely fill the hole. Whether it is with another person, or persons, the land, our pet animals, or what have you, there still seems to be something not quite right. I have reached out thru mediation and sought out the source, hoping to be able to grasp it and bring it back here in words to comfort others who feel equally lost....but I find words fail.
That is my big adventure here I think, and while I know the soul I called Mary is in a state of reunion with all those before, and yes, yet to come, I long for that belonging again for myself. The wait for my turn is sometimes unbearable. I know that is why we distract ourselves with the superficial, looking to lose even for a moment the disconnection we feel. I know it is why we cling to one another, whether the pairing works or not. It is worse to be alone in the wait than to have to bear with someone else’s egocentric point of view.
I am also heartily aware that not a whole lot of people see this. Those who do often become Buddhist, because it is the one path that teaches disconnection from all the longing, that life might flow smoother, getting to its point rather than staying focused on what is past. Everything and everyone here is mortal, and will pass from this world. Everything.
Hm. See? That’s why I write. By spewing it out for the reader, I learn again for myself. I have failed myself in this time, probably due to feeling obligated by various duties, and I am clinging to something I cannot change. For days now, I have felt more alone than I had in years, and it is all my own doing. I need to find my centre again, remember the Seven Fold Path, remember that there was some reason I chose to come back to this place, and my task here is obviously not done. If it was, I wouldn’t be here to write this.
Life is an illusion. It is neither what we are, nor what we are here for. Our true belonging is so much larger than our words can describe....
And I must leave each to his or her own path to understanding that.
I still miss the woman who had the guts to stay with my father,who can be as overbearing as I can, for nearly 30 years. She brought a whole other branch of family to me, not of blood, but still family.
I am just reminded that one of the least happy things about getting older is the ones who leave before you.
I must go find myself, refocus if I can. Letting this out doesn’t complete the task of healing. My spiritual self brought back to the forefront will.
namaste.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Finale
This will take me a bit to complete, and tonight will not be the night. My stepmom, Mary Douglas, passed over to the Summerlands on February 12th, at about 1.15 PM. This last few days has been a blur of activity, and my dad, my step sister and myself are only now finding time to really come to terms with all this.
We were all three there with her as she took her last breath, with step brother Dave on the phone with Sandy. I don't think there had been a "person" there for about 24 hours, but just the same.....
Immediately things changed direction and got stupidly busy. It is the time when we need to be with family and friends in a state of quiet, and even with all the best intentions from those who came from all corners of the country, it was not. Today, when the last flew or drove out of town, was the first time any of us had had to really be calm inside and let feelings seep thru.
I was surprised at how upset I got. It hadn't really sunk in yet I guess. Everytime someone leaves this world, the lives that person touched change for good. I have wondered of my relationship with Dave and Sandy, and their's with dad. My other sibs know them, but there is not the same kind of relationship by any means. Hell, I don't have the same connection with my blood family as I do with them. Dad is going to come out of this, though the hurt never goes away completely. So will I. Still, everything has changed. Maybe part of my mourning is for that. I am in no state of mind to figure that out tonight.
I have much to talk about still but I need some down time too. I've gone from waiting for a conclusion, to being overwhelmed by people, back to being alone. I think I just need a rest.
No matter what is written here, I do know this much- I miss my step mom.
We were all three there with her as she took her last breath, with step brother Dave on the phone with Sandy. I don't think there had been a "person" there for about 24 hours, but just the same.....
Immediately things changed direction and got stupidly busy. It is the time when we need to be with family and friends in a state of quiet, and even with all the best intentions from those who came from all corners of the country, it was not. Today, when the last flew or drove out of town, was the first time any of us had had to really be calm inside and let feelings seep thru.
I was surprised at how upset I got. It hadn't really sunk in yet I guess. Everytime someone leaves this world, the lives that person touched change for good. I have wondered of my relationship with Dave and Sandy, and their's with dad. My other sibs know them, but there is not the same kind of relationship by any means. Hell, I don't have the same connection with my blood family as I do with them. Dad is going to come out of this, though the hurt never goes away completely. So will I. Still, everything has changed. Maybe part of my mourning is for that. I am in no state of mind to figure that out tonight.
I have much to talk about still but I need some down time too. I've gone from waiting for a conclusion, to being overwhelmed by people, back to being alone. I think I just need a rest.
No matter what is written here, I do know this much- I miss my step mom.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Dear Family
Today has been a rough day. Dad called around 9 am, saying he thought it was down to hours, if not minutes. Both Sandy and I raced over to the house, to find Mary awake, though very very weak.
After too long a wait, a Vitas nurse, male, came, and examined Mary. John was a good guy, and oddly enough, being told some of this stuff by a male seemed to help dad. Bigoted, but not surprising. John gently encouraged the use of the drugs dad has, for Mary's comfort as much as anything.
After John left, dad suggested lunch from a nearby sub shop (Zito's- very good if you come down !) and while he was out with me, Sandy took the initiative to use the syringe medicine delivery thingee, and got a half dose of the ativan and a full dose of the morphine into Mary. Dad was a bit relieved I think to find that the syringe worked. The coke and all had just not been cutting it.
Only problem now is he's concerned because she has been asleep since about 12.30 (about 6 hours now) and she hasn't been doing that lately. I told him to phone to Vitas to ask questions if she doesn't wake up at say, 8 hours, or so. It is the combination of the drugs that is causing this, but her breathing is fine. She may actually be getting some rest. I wish he could.
It is still a waiting game, and Mary's tenacity is astounding frankly. I wish I could give you clearer ideas on how long. No one can.
Talk at you soon.
Patricia
After too long a wait, a Vitas nurse, male, came, and examined Mary. John was a good guy, and oddly enough, being told some of this stuff by a male seemed to help dad. Bigoted, but not surprising. John gently encouraged the use of the drugs dad has, for Mary's comfort as much as anything.
After John left, dad suggested lunch from a nearby sub shop (Zito's- very good if you come down !) and while he was out with me, Sandy took the initiative to use the syringe medicine delivery thingee, and got a half dose of the ativan and a full dose of the morphine into Mary. Dad was a bit relieved I think to find that the syringe worked. The coke and all had just not been cutting it.
Only problem now is he's concerned because she has been asleep since about 12.30 (about 6 hours now) and she hasn't been doing that lately. I told him to phone to Vitas to ask questions if she doesn't wake up at say, 8 hours, or so. It is the combination of the drugs that is causing this, but her breathing is fine. She may actually be getting some rest. I wish he could.
It is still a waiting game, and Mary's tenacity is astounding frankly. I wish I could give you clearer ideas on how long. No one can.
Talk at you soon.
Patricia
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
A Little Relief
I will expound a bit more later, but I am in such shock, joy, and relief in the same moment, I have to do something! I called my dad, for the daily check in, and he asked me if I wanted a cheese burger and shake for dinner tonight. Now, for those who don't know him, especially in this circumstance, that meant: if you'll pick it up, I'm paying. He hasn't asked for any such thing out of me or my stepsister since this wait began. From just that, I know he's going to be okay. Sure, this will still hurt, but it will also be an easing of pain in the final cut.
And the reason for his sudden change is that he got Mary to take some of the morphine, in a sly manner, and she slept soundly for the first time in days. His relief is mine- for both of them. Apparently Sandy suggested slipping some into a little bit of Coke, and Mary drank it. It is supposed to be sublingual, but by whatever means, hm?
And the reason for his sudden change is that he got Mary to take some of the morphine, in a sly manner, and she slept soundly for the first time in days. His relief is mine- for both of them. Apparently Sandy suggested slipping some into a little bit of Coke, and Mary drank it. It is supposed to be sublingual, but by whatever means, hm?
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Waitng Game
It is no game truly, but a lesson in utter frustration.I do not know what any of us expected Hospice to be able to do, but it does seem once again that they have little part to play in this game. Mary is not willing to take even the liquid drugs, morphine and ativan, that could at least ease her into the eternal sleep. No, no one is trying to kill her, just make certain she is not in any kind of pain or anxiety. Due to her failure to understand her own illness- even acknowledge she has one- she will accept no help. I am sorry for my father, who has finally come to terms, I think, with exactly where this is going. He has to be frustrated with Mary not eating, staying in bed all the time, and not taking any meds of any kind. This is the way it goes, unless one is "lucky" enough to go out quickly.
I had a bit of a conflict with dad the other night, right after he received the drugs from the Hospice people. He didn't know what they were for or how to give them to her, and above all whether he would be able to give them to her anyway. No one else would be able to. Sandy did try the next day, as well as bring dad all kinds of reading to help him interprete Mary's needs. While it helped him feel better prepared, it all ends up being pointless. Mary will not take anything, period.
A question of a patient's right to choose hovered in our conversation. I started to wonder if this is the reason we can choose to put down an animal but insist on trying to sustain a human life out of reason. At least dad knows not to try to keep Mary on forced life support. He doesn't want her to die, to lose his wife of 29 years, but he also doesn't want her to suffer. Fear and stress would be the center of her world if any machines were attached to her right now. If she goes into a coma, always a possiblity, then monitors will be necessary to some extent. I know I sound morbid to those who fear dying, but I am hoping that one night, when they have gone to sleep holding hands, she will just slip away. I believe in the right to dignity, and that would be the best for hers.
This feeling of utter helplessness kind of floats over all involved here. Other than being there to let Dad get out of the house for small errands, or just to have a break, is about all we can do now. We have done all that was open to us, and it feels like so little. Coming from a family of people who need to DO to feel they have not failed, do something, anything, ....this is a true test of spirit. I personally am very frustrated.
The next step- making sure dad can shake loose of the bind he has been in now for months, very nearly alone- cannot happen until we have an end. I think that's what I am waiting on. To rally there for dad. make sure he knows its okay to go on living...to help him part with Mary's things, clothes and such, ...to help him find new goals. I went thru my own version of hell taking care of my mom's world, virtually alone. I will not let my father do that, even though I know him well enough. He will put on the brave face, the ever-stalward Colonel, and keep his pain and loss to himself. he and I are much alike- unable to be dependant on others most of the time. We learned to stand on our own in this life. Anything else is weakness.
Yeah, I know in my heart that isn't true, but training can be a hard thing to put aside, and he's got nearly forty years more of than on me.
*sigh*
I feel rather useless today, as far as this is concerned, so pardon if I go take some Aleve, and try to do some mundane chores. At least the day won't feel like a total waste.
I had a bit of a conflict with dad the other night, right after he received the drugs from the Hospice people. He didn't know what they were for or how to give them to her, and above all whether he would be able to give them to her anyway. No one else would be able to. Sandy did try the next day, as well as bring dad all kinds of reading to help him interprete Mary's needs. While it helped him feel better prepared, it all ends up being pointless. Mary will not take anything, period.
A question of a patient's right to choose hovered in our conversation. I started to wonder if this is the reason we can choose to put down an animal but insist on trying to sustain a human life out of reason. At least dad knows not to try to keep Mary on forced life support. He doesn't want her to die, to lose his wife of 29 years, but he also doesn't want her to suffer. Fear and stress would be the center of her world if any machines were attached to her right now. If she goes into a coma, always a possiblity, then monitors will be necessary to some extent. I know I sound morbid to those who fear dying, but I am hoping that one night, when they have gone to sleep holding hands, she will just slip away. I believe in the right to dignity, and that would be the best for hers.
This feeling of utter helplessness kind of floats over all involved here. Other than being there to let Dad get out of the house for small errands, or just to have a break, is about all we can do now. We have done all that was open to us, and it feels like so little. Coming from a family of people who need to DO to feel they have not failed, do something, anything, ....this is a true test of spirit. I personally am very frustrated.
The next step- making sure dad can shake loose of the bind he has been in now for months, very nearly alone- cannot happen until we have an end. I think that's what I am waiting on. To rally there for dad. make sure he knows its okay to go on living...to help him part with Mary's things, clothes and such, ...to help him find new goals. I went thru my own version of hell taking care of my mom's world, virtually alone. I will not let my father do that, even though I know him well enough. He will put on the brave face, the ever-stalward Colonel, and keep his pain and loss to himself. he and I are much alike- unable to be dependant on others most of the time. We learned to stand on our own in this life. Anything else is weakness.
Yeah, I know in my heart that isn't true, but training can be a hard thing to put aside, and he's got nearly forty years more of than on me.
*sigh*
I feel rather useless today, as far as this is concerned, so pardon if I go take some Aleve, and try to do some mundane chores. At least the day won't feel like a total waste.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
So It Continues
Life doesn’t always act the way we think it should. I blame Hollyweird and all the myths about life, relationships and living that it has built up. The Brothers Grimm and Hans Christen Anderson were very very brutally honest about life’s inequities, and yet somehow the stories have been turned into froo-froo bullshit. Child protective services in this country would have a field day with Cinderilla’s step mother, and PETA would go nuts about the abuse of animals for human greed!
But I jest.
It’s good to find out that my quirky sense of humour is more or less intact. There are days when I feel like the world is closing in around me and I can do nothing to stop it.
Mary’s condition is drastically changing, so much so that the oncologist urged Dad to get Hospice involved NOW. That sort of shook him I think. The pain med patch they had spoken of though won’t work on Mary, because she’s down to skin and bones- less than 85 lbs, and refusing to eat most of the time. Hopefully the liquid meds will help some , if she can be made to take them.
And my brother’s cancer is early early stages. He has chosen to go with a form of radiation treatment that has fewer potential side effects, and better recovery time. His lust for life is still high, and that is good. Attitude can make a great deal of difference in the battle.
Dad’s doing okay, though finally admitting that this is tougher than he first thought. no one should be expected to raise a child alone, nor care for the elderly/dying alone. Both are emotionally and physically draining, to the point of losing one’s self. I know it well.
Speaking of which, I am off to go help him get away for a bit. It‘s about all he lets folks do , but he’s getting better at that since Mary tires out very swiftly these days. He knows he has to have time to get things done.
But I jest.
It’s good to find out that my quirky sense of humour is more or less intact. There are days when I feel like the world is closing in around me and I can do nothing to stop it.
Mary’s condition is drastically changing, so much so that the oncologist urged Dad to get Hospice involved NOW. That sort of shook him I think. The pain med patch they had spoken of though won’t work on Mary, because she’s down to skin and bones- less than 85 lbs, and refusing to eat most of the time. Hopefully the liquid meds will help some , if she can be made to take them.
And my brother’s cancer is early early stages. He has chosen to go with a form of radiation treatment that has fewer potential side effects, and better recovery time. His lust for life is still high, and that is good. Attitude can make a great deal of difference in the battle.
Dad’s doing okay, though finally admitting that this is tougher than he first thought. no one should be expected to raise a child alone, nor care for the elderly/dying alone. Both are emotionally and physically draining, to the point of losing one’s self. I know it well.
Speaking of which, I am off to go help him get away for a bit. It‘s about all he lets folks do , but he’s getting better at that since Mary tires out very swiftly these days. He knows he has to have time to get things done.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
One Never Knows
In the last 24 hours, my dad has shown me a side I would never have believed him capable of. All the insistence about getting Hospice to start helping them out has met with a brick wall, partly because of serious, albeit illogical, objections on my step mom's part. My father has shown that his love for her exceeds the need for anyone else to be there, no matter the possible physical detriment to himself. He hasn't been eating right as far as I am concerned, nor getting the relaxation time or exercise he has always been used to. It is his choice.
Dad has always been able to put the fear of god into just about anyone with little more than a glance, and while he has mellowed a LOT in the last 20 years, he can still be a real prick. I admire Mary no end for not only putting up with him, but for calling him down when he was completely out of line. He did some serious emotional harm to all of my sibs and me, without even being aware of the damage I think. He is respected by a lot of people, but not always liked. I have a lot of him in me, and can say similar things of myself I suppose. I, after all,learned to deal socially with the world thru him.
Anyway, he has chosen to say no to the hospice thing for the time being, and my step sister has decided to back down. I will follow suit. No one can tell my dad what to do anyhow, and I suspect he knows best what it will take to give Mary a calm and peaceful last few months. She has her good days, and her bad days. There are days of complete calm, and then days where the temper flares for no discernible reason. I have compared it to dealing with a five year old, but it may be even younger than that. I got a small taste the other day, reacted as I would with a child, and it all calmed down pretty quickly. Short event, but long lasting lesson.
Mary doesn't DO much anymore. A few things get her attention: jigsaw puzzles, music and dominoes. The doctor told Sandy that Mary is living in a world of patterns, which is why those things appeal. I witnessed Mary keeping nearly flawless time to the instrumental music she turned on "for me." She tapped her feet, patted on her knee, even hummed along, and it seemed to bring her clarity of mind for awhile. i was amazed.
The jigsaw puzzles are an interesting thing too. Most of us would use colour or pattern on the picture, say, flowers, or sky, or what have you, to work on the puzzle. Mary almost exclusively uses the shape of the pieces themselves! I "helped" with one awhile back, noting that she got flustered if I was doing better than she was, and instead talked with her while she searched for the piece shapes. The speed with which she finished that 100 puzzle was amazing, considering she has trouble remembering much from the day before. Patterns mean more to her world that things.
Now the dominoes.....Sandy calls it insane dominoes when she plays with Mary. I agree. I only know that one is supposed to put like numbers butt to butt. There is a version that uses this starting point, usually the double nines. Everything starts off normally, but Mary's idea of rules is wild. She's all over the place about some things, and OCD(obsessive-complusive disorder) about others. It is really hard to judge sometimes. The one big catch is the other player MUST abide by the rules, even if Mary doesn't. Sound familiar? It's that small child thing.
There are six beginning slots on this centre piece she uses, but goddess forbid any but the three she wants used should be attempted by anyone: Tantrum. If she finds she is losing, and she is very aware of how many tiles each player has, tantrum. If anyone but her tried to play a tile out of sequence (i.e., not matching numbers) even if she just did that herself, tantrum. And sadly, jokes are not part of her mentality anymore. I was at a hopeless impasse in one game, unable to get rid of even one tile, but having many that could have interlocked. I jokingly said I would just play over here by myself, and all hell broke loose. Things started being pushed and thrown, so I just sat back and looked at her. When she tried to start a different game, I did what I would with a child in that situation. I said no thanks, I think I'm done, I will go over there, and left the table. No nasty words, no trying to reason. I just left. I went back in the living room, sat down, and continued work on something I had been doing before. To my surprise, she turned all the tiles face down, gathered all of it up, and came out to sit with me. The whole ordeal was over. I was flummoxed. Had it been a completely rational person, I'd have reacted totally different, but with her, I had to drop it, and act like it had never happened.
That is the nature of vascular dementia, and Alzheimer's. Other than her general frustration over not being in control of her life, I have no explainations for the tantrums. Her more frequent naps now may help this, but I feel sorry for dad. He is putting up with the abuse because he remembers, even if she doesn't. That, my friends,is true love. All the rest is just selfish bullshit. Tom Stoppard, american playwrite, said something once that takes it home: "It is easy to love someone when they are at their best. True love is loving someone when they are at their worst."
Horrible abuse of the English language, Mr. Stoppard, but very very insightful.
I just have to wonder if my dad understands how much I have grown to love him, watching him go thru this hell, all for love.
Dad has always been able to put the fear of god into just about anyone with little more than a glance, and while he has mellowed a LOT in the last 20 years, he can still be a real prick. I admire Mary no end for not only putting up with him, but for calling him down when he was completely out of line. He did some serious emotional harm to all of my sibs and me, without even being aware of the damage I think. He is respected by a lot of people, but not always liked. I have a lot of him in me, and can say similar things of myself I suppose. I, after all,learned to deal socially with the world thru him.
Anyway, he has chosen to say no to the hospice thing for the time being, and my step sister has decided to back down. I will follow suit. No one can tell my dad what to do anyhow, and I suspect he knows best what it will take to give Mary a calm and peaceful last few months. She has her good days, and her bad days. There are days of complete calm, and then days where the temper flares for no discernible reason. I have compared it to dealing with a five year old, but it may be even younger than that. I got a small taste the other day, reacted as I would with a child, and it all calmed down pretty quickly. Short event, but long lasting lesson.
Mary doesn't DO much anymore. A few things get her attention: jigsaw puzzles, music and dominoes. The doctor told Sandy that Mary is living in a world of patterns, which is why those things appeal. I witnessed Mary keeping nearly flawless time to the instrumental music she turned on "for me." She tapped her feet, patted on her knee, even hummed along, and it seemed to bring her clarity of mind for awhile. i was amazed.
The jigsaw puzzles are an interesting thing too. Most of us would use colour or pattern on the picture, say, flowers, or sky, or what have you, to work on the puzzle. Mary almost exclusively uses the shape of the pieces themselves! I "helped" with one awhile back, noting that she got flustered if I was doing better than she was, and instead talked with her while she searched for the piece shapes. The speed with which she finished that 100 puzzle was amazing, considering she has trouble remembering much from the day before. Patterns mean more to her world that things.
Now the dominoes.....Sandy calls it insane dominoes when she plays with Mary. I agree. I only know that one is supposed to put like numbers butt to butt. There is a version that uses this starting point, usually the double nines. Everything starts off normally, but Mary's idea of rules is wild. She's all over the place about some things, and OCD(obsessive-complusive disorder) about others. It is really hard to judge sometimes. The one big catch is the other player MUST abide by the rules, even if Mary doesn't. Sound familiar? It's that small child thing.
There are six beginning slots on this centre piece she uses, but goddess forbid any but the three she wants used should be attempted by anyone: Tantrum. If she finds she is losing, and she is very aware of how many tiles each player has, tantrum. If anyone but her tried to play a tile out of sequence (i.e., not matching numbers) even if she just did that herself, tantrum. And sadly, jokes are not part of her mentality anymore. I was at a hopeless impasse in one game, unable to get rid of even one tile, but having many that could have interlocked. I jokingly said I would just play over here by myself, and all hell broke loose. Things started being pushed and thrown, so I just sat back and looked at her. When she tried to start a different game, I did what I would with a child in that situation. I said no thanks, I think I'm done, I will go over there, and left the table. No nasty words, no trying to reason. I just left. I went back in the living room, sat down, and continued work on something I had been doing before. To my surprise, she turned all the tiles face down, gathered all of it up, and came out to sit with me. The whole ordeal was over. I was flummoxed. Had it been a completely rational person, I'd have reacted totally different, but with her, I had to drop it, and act like it had never happened.
That is the nature of vascular dementia, and Alzheimer's. Other than her general frustration over not being in control of her life, I have no explainations for the tantrums. Her more frequent naps now may help this, but I feel sorry for dad. He is putting up with the abuse because he remembers, even if she doesn't. That, my friends,is true love. All the rest is just selfish bullshit. Tom Stoppard, american playwrite, said something once that takes it home: "It is easy to love someone when they are at their best. True love is loving someone when they are at their worst."
Horrible abuse of the English language, Mr. Stoppard, but very very insightful.
I just have to wonder if my dad understands how much I have grown to love him, watching him go thru this hell, all for love.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
1000 Marbles
1000 Marbles
Author: Unknown
The older I get, the more I enjoy Saturday mornings. Perhaps it's the quiet solitude that comes with being the first to rise, or maybe it's the unbounded joy of not working. Either way, the first few hours of a Saturday morning are most enjoyable.
A few weeks ago I was shuffling toward my office downstairs with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other. This was before Reinee's knee surgery. What began as a typical Saturday morning, turned into one of those lessons that life seems to hand you from time to time.
I turned the computer on in order to listen to a Saturday morning voice chat room. Along the way I came across an older-sounding chap with a tremendous golden voice. You know the kind, he sounded like he should be in the broadcasting business. He was telling whoever he was talking with something about "a thousand marbles." I was intrigued and stopped to listen to what he had to say.
"Well, Tom, it sure sounds like you're busy with your job. I'm sure they pay you well, but it's a shame you have to be away from home and your family so much. Hard to believe a young fellow should have to work sixty or seventy hours a week to make ends meet.
Too bad you missed your daughter's dance recital." He continued, "Let me tell you something, Tom, something that has helped me keep a good perspective on my own priorities."
And that's when he began to explain his theory of a "thousand marbles."
"You see, I sat down one day and did a little arithmetic. The average person lives about seventy-five years. I know, some live more and some live less, but on average, folks live about seventy-five years."
"Now then, I multiplied 75 times 52 and I came up with 3900 which is the number of Saturdays that the average person has in their entire lifetime. Now stick with me, Tom, I'm getting to the important part."
"It took me until I was fifty-five years old to think about all this in any detail," he went on, "and by that time I had lived through over twenty-eight hundred Saturdays. I got to thinking that if I lived to be seventy-five, I only had about a thousand of them left to enjoy."
"So I went to a toy store and bought every single marble they had. I ended up having to visit three toy stores to round up 1000 marbles. I took them home and put them inside of a large, clear plastic container right here next to my gear. Every Saturday since then I have taken one marble out and thrown it away."
"I found that by watching the marbles diminish, I focused more on the really important things in life. There is nothing like watching your time here on this earth run out to help get your priorities straight."
"Now let me tell you one last thing before I signoff with you and take my lovely wife out for breakfast. This morning I took the very last marble out of the container. I figure if I make it until next Saturday, then I have been given a little extra time. And the one thing we can all use is a little more time."
"It was nice to meet you Tom. I hope you spend more time with your family, and I hope to meet you again here on this computer chat room."
You could have heard a pin drop when this fellow signed off.
I had planned to work on the computer that morning, and then I was going to meet up with a few buddies for tennis. Instead, I went upstairs and woke my wife up with a kiss.
"C'mon honey, I'm taking you to breakfast."
"What brought this on?" she asked with a smile.
"Oh, nothing special, it's just been a long time since we spent a Saturday together. Hey, can we stop at a toy store while we're out? I need to buy some marbles.
*****************************************************************************
This story has apparently become a book- lots of ideas about what to do with your last 1000 Saturdays.
http://www.amazon.com/000-Marbles-Little-Something-Precious/dp/0740715534
Author: Unknown
The older I get, the more I enjoy Saturday mornings. Perhaps it's the quiet solitude that comes with being the first to rise, or maybe it's the unbounded joy of not working. Either way, the first few hours of a Saturday morning are most enjoyable.
A few weeks ago I was shuffling toward my office downstairs with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other. This was before Reinee's knee surgery. What began as a typical Saturday morning, turned into one of those lessons that life seems to hand you from time to time.
I turned the computer on in order to listen to a Saturday morning voice chat room. Along the way I came across an older-sounding chap with a tremendous golden voice. You know the kind, he sounded like he should be in the broadcasting business. He was telling whoever he was talking with something about "a thousand marbles." I was intrigued and stopped to listen to what he had to say.
"Well, Tom, it sure sounds like you're busy with your job. I'm sure they pay you well, but it's a shame you have to be away from home and your family so much. Hard to believe a young fellow should have to work sixty or seventy hours a week to make ends meet.
Too bad you missed your daughter's dance recital." He continued, "Let me tell you something, Tom, something that has helped me keep a good perspective on my own priorities."
And that's when he began to explain his theory of a "thousand marbles."
"You see, I sat down one day and did a little arithmetic. The average person lives about seventy-five years. I know, some live more and some live less, but on average, folks live about seventy-five years."
"Now then, I multiplied 75 times 52 and I came up with 3900 which is the number of Saturdays that the average person has in their entire lifetime. Now stick with me, Tom, I'm getting to the important part."
"It took me until I was fifty-five years old to think about all this in any detail," he went on, "and by that time I had lived through over twenty-eight hundred Saturdays. I got to thinking that if I lived to be seventy-five, I only had about a thousand of them left to enjoy."
"So I went to a toy store and bought every single marble they had. I ended up having to visit three toy stores to round up 1000 marbles. I took them home and put them inside of a large, clear plastic container right here next to my gear. Every Saturday since then I have taken one marble out and thrown it away."
"I found that by watching the marbles diminish, I focused more on the really important things in life. There is nothing like watching your time here on this earth run out to help get your priorities straight."
"Now let me tell you one last thing before I signoff with you and take my lovely wife out for breakfast. This morning I took the very last marble out of the container. I figure if I make it until next Saturday, then I have been given a little extra time. And the one thing we can all use is a little more time."
"It was nice to meet you Tom. I hope you spend more time with your family, and I hope to meet you again here on this computer chat room."
You could have heard a pin drop when this fellow signed off.
I had planned to work on the computer that morning, and then I was going to meet up with a few buddies for tennis. Instead, I went upstairs and woke my wife up with a kiss.
"C'mon honey, I'm taking you to breakfast."
"What brought this on?" she asked with a smile.
"Oh, nothing special, it's just been a long time since we spent a Saturday together. Hey, can we stop at a toy store while we're out? I need to buy some marbles.
*****************************************************************************
This story has apparently become a book- lots of ideas about what to do with your last 1000 Saturdays.
http://www.amazon.com/000-Marbles-Little-Something-Precious/dp/0740715534
Changes
"It's too late to alter course now, mateys! Dying is the day worth living for!"
Hector Barbosa
That line has been going thru my head all afternoon. It's actually a very insightful statement, though I doubt an eighth of the audience has caught it or understands.
Failing to live each day as though it is your last leaves a lot of people with regrets when they sit back and mull over what has gone before. Personally, I am hoping for a Viking or Klingon ending to this life- running headlong into battle in the cause of justice, freedom or protection of those weaker. No lingering until it is over.
My step mom is getting rapidly worse, and it is just a waiting game now. My dad is finally starting to realise he cannot do it alone, and I think my step sister will successfully talk him into Hospice help. They were a godsend for my own mom's last days. Mary has stopped being willing to swallow pills, for reasons that the dementia makes it hard to understand. As a result, her pain levels, which were already on the rise, are getting worse. She doesn't want to eat or drink. She cannot remember sometimes what she did or said 15 minutes before. Not so oddly, I have been reading a lot about brain function lately, and watching this progress as such a close proximity is scary. It takes so little for the essence of what and who we are to disappear.
I recognise one thing for certain: the not eating, the increase in sleeping, the desire to stop doing things that pleased some small part of the self....these are all signs of a dying creature.I have been through the same series of changes with dogs, cats, humans, birds, even fish. I think I would look at this differently if she has her mental faculties, but it really hit home today. I had not yet shed any tears over this. Mary made her own decisions about not fighting the cancer, and I respect that. I just hate seeing once so vibrant a person fade in this manner. The biggest blessing is that she doesn't remember. She doesn't even know she has cancer- the cause of the pain in her side. It's all such a mixed bag. She doesn't remember the cancer, but she is aware that she's dying. She told Sandy that she was going to go where her mom and dad are. When she said it, she was pointing at the family grave plot, but I do not believe that is what she meant. She was talking, without the words to say it that way, about dying.
And she doesn't remember that she's slowly losing the ability to communicate. Mary's mom had Alzheimer's, and Mary was terrified of getting it after watching what it did to her mom. Ironically, Mary doesn't even remember that now.
My step brother Dave came home for a few days, and it was after his visit that things started a downhill slide. Mom wanted to see her boy again. Tying up loose ends sort of. My mom did the same thing. Once everyone had had a chance to visit, it was okay to let go. In hindsight, I started seeing the pattern, and I am seeing it now. All life passes from this place- it is the way of things. It is what grace we choose to use that marks the brave from the weak. The Buddha taught that all things we know in this life will be gone in 100 years. No matter how much we cling to the idea of immortality, what we are will end.
But...physics also has some wisdom. Energy does not die; it merely changes shape. What we truly are is compact energy, so while this body as we perceive it may dis purse to the four winds, what we truly are does not die. I will leave the religious ramifications of all that to the individual. I already know where I stand.
I am going to go look for a story sent to me once to post here. If you can, send a prayer to the Gods for my step mom's swift and as painless as possible passing. While not what some would want to hear, it is the best for all involved.
namaste
Hector Barbosa
That line has been going thru my head all afternoon. It's actually a very insightful statement, though I doubt an eighth of the audience has caught it or understands.
Failing to live each day as though it is your last leaves a lot of people with regrets when they sit back and mull over what has gone before. Personally, I am hoping for a Viking or Klingon ending to this life- running headlong into battle in the cause of justice, freedom or protection of those weaker. No lingering until it is over.
My step mom is getting rapidly worse, and it is just a waiting game now. My dad is finally starting to realise he cannot do it alone, and I think my step sister will successfully talk him into Hospice help. They were a godsend for my own mom's last days. Mary has stopped being willing to swallow pills, for reasons that the dementia makes it hard to understand. As a result, her pain levels, which were already on the rise, are getting worse. She doesn't want to eat or drink. She cannot remember sometimes what she did or said 15 minutes before. Not so oddly, I have been reading a lot about brain function lately, and watching this progress as such a close proximity is scary. It takes so little for the essence of what and who we are to disappear.
I recognise one thing for certain: the not eating, the increase in sleeping, the desire to stop doing things that pleased some small part of the self....these are all signs of a dying creature.I have been through the same series of changes with dogs, cats, humans, birds, even fish. I think I would look at this differently if she has her mental faculties, but it really hit home today. I had not yet shed any tears over this. Mary made her own decisions about not fighting the cancer, and I respect that. I just hate seeing once so vibrant a person fade in this manner. The biggest blessing is that she doesn't remember. She doesn't even know she has cancer- the cause of the pain in her side. It's all such a mixed bag. She doesn't remember the cancer, but she is aware that she's dying. She told Sandy that she was going to go where her mom and dad are. When she said it, she was pointing at the family grave plot, but I do not believe that is what she meant. She was talking, without the words to say it that way, about dying.
And she doesn't remember that she's slowly losing the ability to communicate. Mary's mom had Alzheimer's, and Mary was terrified of getting it after watching what it did to her mom. Ironically, Mary doesn't even remember that now.
My step brother Dave came home for a few days, and it was after his visit that things started a downhill slide. Mom wanted to see her boy again. Tying up loose ends sort of. My mom did the same thing. Once everyone had had a chance to visit, it was okay to let go. In hindsight, I started seeing the pattern, and I am seeing it now. All life passes from this place- it is the way of things. It is what grace we choose to use that marks the brave from the weak. The Buddha taught that all things we know in this life will be gone in 100 years. No matter how much we cling to the idea of immortality, what we are will end.
But...physics also has some wisdom. Energy does not die; it merely changes shape. What we truly are is compact energy, so while this body as we perceive it may dis purse to the four winds, what we truly are does not die. I will leave the religious ramifications of all that to the individual. I already know where I stand.
I am going to go look for a story sent to me once to post here. If you can, send a prayer to the Gods for my step mom's swift and as painless as possible passing. While not what some would want to hear, it is the best for all involved.
namaste
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