My search for grace and meaning after a former care partnering life with a wife who suffered from Parkinson's disease and dementia giving her a confused and disorienting world.
And Sweetest Day are arbitrary celebrations that I do not get. If you are someone who thinks those are important I apologize for any offense you may get from this essay but why did you focus on one single day? Well maybe two? Why not celebrate that relationship, that connection every day that it exists?
Valentines Day seems to celebrate sugar and chocolate. Sweetest seems to celebrate flowers. The months that each are in, February is filled with frantic anticipation of warmth returning and, October, dread of warmth leaving the Earth seem to posess little reason for flowers and candy. Nevertheless, clever marketers have made up a reason and then filled it.
Tony Decouple was badgered by Nick and Gayle on CBS the other morning when they had run out of mudslides, fires, snow and Donald to talk about. Tony is not a fan of a big deal special day as I am not nor is Debbie. And when Cheryl was with me she was not or pretended to be as she discovered how poor I was at acknowledging dates. I have had my wedding anniversary ingraved inside my wedding ring since day one.
My term for it is date dyslexsia. Many of you will say just write it on the calendar. That works but what if you have calendar dyslexia too?
Debbie and I spent time together yesterday. We had lunch and enjoyed the cold but sunny day here in southwestern Ohio. Discussed movies and kids but did not exchange candy and gifts. Maybe we are older and wiser and less enamored with the made up marketing ploys. (Maybe I screwed up.)
We first met after Sweetest Day last year so that dyslexic event was not an issue.
I use “Carpe Diem” as a sign off to posts that I put here. A few nights ago as Debbie and I were talking over the phone about random topics, she pointed out to me that for me the use of that phrase is a wish. I responded that I think of it as a motto and that spiraled my thought process into analyzing what that phrase meant to me and why I use it as a motto.
A motto is a brief sentence phrase or a single word used to express a principle, goal or ideal – a maxim. This is from my big dict (The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language) which I got from my mother many years ago. The online Merriam-Webster lists proverb as a synonym in their thesaurus section.
Debbie expressed the thought that I use it in the sense of a hope to remain in the present and to remain present to what life brings me. She is right again. I sometimes say to her teasingly that I hate it when she is right but I forget she studied sociological things in school.
Life or, as I like to think, the universal consciousness has brought Debbie into my life. She is a sounding board for ideas of mine and I am of hers. It is curious to me how similar and dissimilar our lives have been before we met. We attended the same schools. Her kiddos and my kiddos attended the same schools. Those are similarities. She chose psychology and sociological studies. I chose engineering, science and technological studies and later in life, education studies. Those are dissimilarities.
Engineers tend to think, plan, organize and prepare for some future activity – an installation, construction, machine, infrastructure – with things. I am always on the hunt for a manual to fix things (and situations), an extrinsic solution. Sociologists work with people – people as they are now. They help them to find their solutions within themselves.
Staying present is hard for me personally. So, seizing the current moment, especially when Cheryl’s disease was getting worse, finding something to do then at that moment, while she was doing good, became incredibly important. I constantly told myself, find what works today.
In that frame of mind I took myself to that first meet up with Debbie over coffee in a coffee house ran by a church group. I seized that moment, that fear of trying something new in my life, and pushed myself out of the doldrums of grief. You do not know if you are ready until you try it.
It worked. So far it is an ecstatic experience with Debbie; conversations about anything and everything, movies and dinner afterwards, fun little field trips, and just talking and flirting on the phone, she is special to me and at the same time I have a niggling fear of that happiness dissipating.
It is a fact that the last person I felt this way with is gone now. I cannot ignore that aspect. Debbie and I talk about that too.
We have now. My hope is our happiness will last until I am no longer. That idea is selfish. It is a wish, however. So far it is a wish fulfilled. (There is the niggling fear again.)
Once in a while, not very often, but once in a while when someone I care for says something that piques my interest, I think, what if? This time around it was Midwest Mary who in a chat about writing fiction she said, fiction is when you play what if with reality. That comment spiraled my mind into lalaland. It may never come back. I have been thinking about that on and off all day for the past several and to me “what if” falls into the category of second guessing one’s own decisions and actions in life.
But what if the reality of those decisions and actions cause a different reality to develop. Second guessing reality. Those three words seem to suggest all sorts of outcomes.
Recently the newsy folks, the Congress of the United States, some guy in New Jersey and a lot of people who do not look at the night sky leaped to the conclusion that Iranian drones were spying on people and activities in New Jersey and southern Florida and to avoid detection those drones had their running lights on. What if? Are we about to be invaded or attacked by Iran? This sounds a bit like a Stephen King story. (One of my favorite story tellers is Stephen. He makes me interested in going to Maine for something other than chowder.) A better question might be why? But asking why the Iranians might be standing off shore of New Jersey flying drones to spy on us and looking to see if President-elect Trump putts out or just picks up, takes away from a good fictional story.
Maybe I am too clinical as I think about background, situations and possibilities. The Martian is a great book and was made into a great movie. A what if. The atmosphere on Mars is so light that a violent storm is pretty much like turning on the ceiling fan in my bedroom on low. Beyond that though, all the rest of the actions are believable as reality. Great story tellers are not concerned with this reality. They are making a new reality in the story. Mary has a strong argument. (Thank you, Mary for making me think about the ordinary and extraordinary.)
I do not live on Mars.
I have no desire to be there. I exist in this world and I am unable to imagine another so no doubt I will not be a fiction writer. I should embrace that in myself. There is a new person in my life and life moves on into the future. This is my reality.
We first met in a coffee shop and talked for two hours or so. We were total strangers then, not so now, but we connected that first time. We have met several times to have a meal. We have eaten brunch, lunch and dinner. I have cooked for her which at the time I think surprised her. We have seen a couple movies. During one of those I reached over to hold her hand. It was a comfort to me then and it is now. We went to a bookstore and shopped for books. She is a buyer of books, I am a library borrower of books but I bought a book anyway. We are both readers of books. We met in local winery to have a glass of wine and just chat. I cannot think of a better word than connection. Between us there is a connection.
Cheryl and I connected the first time we met more than fifty years ago. That is a long time between connections. I had forgotten how important connection and conversation is to me, is to us as humans.
In between all of those meetings we exchanged many many text messages and phone calls. I am interested in her family and her life and her thoughts about stuff.
She makes me feel like a teenager. I am happy around her. I am uncomfortable around her like a teenaged boy. I say stupid teenager like things because I am less guarded in my conversation. I enjoy her conversation and she is a good friend. It is not all about her when we talk. (I try to not make it all about me when we talk.) I do not know where this is going but I do know that within myself I miss relaxed conversation about anything and everything. With Debbie’s presence I can have that conversation and comfort. I hope this feeling does not escape from me. I hope it does not escape from us.
Ten weeks or so later and I feel as though I have known her longer. I can tell her my stories without fear of boring her. She tells me her stories and I listen with great interest. We have a lifetime of stories to tell each other.
We only just met. So what is up with that? When see sends me a text message I have to respond even though it may not require a response. When we are chatting I am comfortable with her silence until a new thought appears. We tease each other like young people do – not vicious teasing, it is light, warmhearted and fun loving teasing.
Where is this going? Where are we going? I should take my own advice and Carpe the damn Diem. I will and I am. I am grateful that Deborah is seizing it with me. I am grateful that we found each other.
This time of year many make resolutions for the new year. Me too, of course. My resolution to myself is to be a better me. And I have no idea what that means. Yet, the idea that I want to be a better me implies I know myself now and there are improvements that can be made for the better.
Do we ever really know ourselves? How old does one have to be before acceptance as is becomes the norm?
This past year as I passed through three quarters of a century and Cheryl did not, I began to emerge from a deep funk, a depression, the sadness of her death, the gladness of her death, half a decade of overwhelming anxiety about her care and looked toward an open road and at the new sunrise and wondered, what next?
A new person entered my life who knows me only as me, a man, single, a writer that exposes his emotions to the world, who tries to be of service to others around him, and maybe shares too much of himself. She does not seem to mind my nuances of self. Like everyone I have many of those nuances, sides, aspects. We seem to fit.
Another resolution, perhaps a better one is; stay in the moment. Being a better me is a look into the past and attempting to improve. Staying in the moment is not looking back. Nor is it planning for some future that may not come. For now fitting is enough.
These are thoughts that come to me as I think about a new relationship.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy. (Max Ehrmann)
I opened this page to write about my thoughts and feelings this Christmas Day this year this 2024 this time without Cheryl. How do I feel?
Rested for one. I had an enjoyable dinner with my son and his wife and their two sons. I left their house in time for Rudolph and the team to get started without me watching. Here at home I read for a short time and went to my bed with visions of sugar plums, etc. You get it.
I feel a definite lack of enthusiasm in me. I suppose that is normal.
The apparent traverse in the sky of the sun has changed but the morning light is gray. It is overcast and still dark. Thank the lord for Rudolph’s nose.
It will take an extra effort on my part to get my mood out of the doldrums.
I am not feeling it yet but when I think of the saying framed on my granddaughter’s apartment wall in Chicago “Carpe the Damn Diem”, it makes me smile.
I have wrapped all the presents that I have to deliver today and stopped to think of each of them while I was cutting and folding and taping. They are very special to me.
I miss Cheryl today. That is normal. I do not feel bad or sad or anxious or down. I miss her and her holiday enthusiasm.
(“Sometimes love does not look like what you had in mind.” – Anne Lamott)
Perhaps this is one of those days. Perhaps love will surprise me if I look for it in those around me. Perhaps it will wash over me if I let it. Perhaps.
“No matter what happens between now and then, tomorrow is another day” said the news anchor on “The Day.” I think, “Absolutely and thank you mister obvious.” I suppose it was his intent to sound profound. Walter Cronkite used to end with, “And that’s the way it is…”
I started using Carpe Diem a few years ago at the end of my commentary as a way to remind myself of the potential available to us to use each day. And yet, at the end of the day I spend little time reporting to myself the high points of the day. I also do not focus on the low points.
There are many things to think about at the end of the day. Am I brave enough to love again? Am I too open with others? What great things happened today? What did I learn today? What should I think about avoiding if I can next time? At the very end, I push all those and others away by reading a novel. It is a habit I developed over the last few years. About half of the time it worked. I was tired and Cheryl was asleep or mostly so when I came to bed. These days it always works. I have also become a critic of some fiction that I have selected to entertain myself.
Before reading some novel or ones that are not novel at all to me, however, other actions take over my interest. I am in charge of myself and what I watch and what is entertainment and what is not. I was disappointed in the movie version of “Wicked” for example. I think there was a rush to get a snippet of a story onto the big screen that is in many ways incomplete. Money people for movie producers need a return of money to keep going. I think I was greatly disappointed. The singing was great but the story line went nowhere. I have some of these projects.
Quite often but not when I was working I did not finish some project. I have many of these little abandoned projects (mostly little electronic things) scattered on my work surface in my office. I have a pleasantly cluttered office and once in a while I straighten things for a bit in order to find a place for another soon to be abandoned gizmo. And yet through it all I am able to keep track of important actions that I need to do to take care of myself – pay bills, cook, shop for food, laundry – the mundane tasks of life. It may be that I am not so disorganized as I perceive myself to be.
Sometimes my blog is a stream of conscience construct. This may be one of those times.
Many people I have known were, or seemed so, very organized. I am not – at least in my mind I am not. Is it okay to be un-dis-mis-organized? (Cheryl was so good at organization.) The answer is yes. Mis-organization, as I like to call it, indicates to me that I am often not satisfied with the path I have taken to somewhere. Something does not feel quite right. I look at it as taking the next fork in the road. How many forks are there in my road? Where is this trip around the sun taking me?
It may be that I am merely constantly learning about myself and this new life without Cheryl.
Yesterday my nephew, Jeff, and his family came to visit. It was a spontaneous phone message in the dark of the movie theater. “I’m in town for a few days on business. Can we get together for breakfast or lunch?” He lives in California and I have not talked to him face to face since his wedding three years ago. I invited him to my little condo and spread the word to my kids. It was a wonderful spontaneous family gathering.
When I mentioned it to my neighbor Jane later she remarked, “Serendipitous!” Yes, it was.
I made a quiche out of some random components that I had in the refrigerator. Quiche and frittata are in the same category of use what you have, I think. And of the two I think quiche is better. It could be the pastry crust that is required for an excellent quiche. One can make a crustless quiche but that is just lazy and in that other country it is called frittata, so, go over the mountain and call your crustless quiche by the correct name.
Jeff told me that no one had ever made him a quiche before. (It made me feel good inside. I was proud of myself.) The title for this essay jumped into my head after they were all gone yesterday. It is from a satirical little book that I recently found was written in the 80s. (Wow, I am getting old. I thought it was written just a couple years ago.) I had almost said it to him when he said, this is pretty good.
This quiche was bacon, Italian sausage, broccoli and onions with sharp cheddar and mozzarella, eggs scrambled with a little sugar and buttermilk over a pie dough made with flour and butter and a little salt. It was good.
Sometimes us real men eat quiche and pronounce it to be good. The accompanying picture is AI’s version of real men eating quiche. You can tell they are real people because they are washing down their quiche and other green substances with lager. (Never mind the fact that they all have the same mother and they were all born within 15 seconds of each other.)
Beer and quiche, Could be the breakfast of champions.
Early in the morning after awakening I find coffee and turn on a newsy program to get information about the latest weather history. This time of year and on this day that Google Calendar tells me is Native American Heritage Day but the sale folks tell me is Black Friday, the weather folks are doing their best to get us out to shop before the temperature gets to absolute zero. In between the commercial advertisements are entertaining.
A cute little girl asks her mother, “Do crabs have eyebrows?” Today it made me laugh. Why did I laugh on this day?
Who knows? I certainly do not. I tripped over a Spotify playlist of Lindsey Stirling and her high speed electric violin playing and it picks up my spirit today.
And the ads have made me think of Christmases past and hope for Christmases future.
Perhaps I need to be in a crowded place with a hot chocolate in my hand.
The bear got his hat out yesterday. Maybe his friend the elf will show up and help celebrate soon.
On this day, however, this day before Thanksgiving Day I am thinking about our life, Cheryl’s and mine, and what a gift it was to us. Tomorrow is the day to count blessings and be thankful for what we have. For me I am also thankful for what we had.
I do not have Cheryl with me any longer but what I have instead is the knowledge that she is not suffering with Parkinson and dementia. I am thankful for that knowledge.
I do have three well educated and successful children who have built successful careers. All of the grandchildren in all of the families are healthy and happy. Some have moved into careers themselves. Some are still figuring it out for themselves but they are all self reliant. Their parents are excellent teachers. I am thankful for the family Cheryl and I made.
I do have my own health. My knees do not hurt constantly like other friends that I have. My hips do not hurt when I walk like others that I know. I was still able to hike four miles up and down the face of a wooded cliff-side in Kentucky. (My legs complained a bit afterward but the bourbon worked. I bought real hiking boots when I returned home.) In the summertime I spent many days riding 15 – 20 miles on my bike. (I am not fast but I can keep up 12 – 15 mph for long stretches. I am not in a hurry. I like to look around me while I ride.) I would like to lose a little weight but my physic will probably never be like what I was at twenty-five now that I am seventy-five. I am thankful for my health.
My sister and I have become much closer. Only she and I are left from our original family. She and I are both widowed and that is sad but it seems like we lean on each other a bit and that is helpful to both of us. I am very thankful for our relationship.
I am thankful for all the help we received from friends and family this past year as Cheryl’s health rapidly declined. I am thankful to all the kind folks at Bridgeway Pointe and Queen City Hospice that took care of Cheryl as she faded. Thank you all.
I am thankful for new friends and old friends who have helped me through the past year.
I am thankful for kindness in the world.
I am thankful that mom taught me a few basic cooking techniques when I was younger and I did not realize she was doing it.
I am thankful that I like to cook and that I like my own cooking. (See the physic comment above.)
I am thankful that things always seem to work out.
I am thankful that I am getting better at staying in the present and not experiencing anxiety for the future. This quote from Matthew pops into my head sometimes (it is true!) when I think about what comes next. [“Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin.”] I thank Cheryl for teaching me this concept of staying present and Mom for pointing out self-reliance goes hand in hand with that.
Mom left me with a gift that I will always be thankful for. I wrote this paragraph sometime ago: At the very end of her life my mother awakened for a few minutes as I was sitting with her in her room at Bridgeway Pointe which is an assisted living community where she lived out the last fifteen months of her life. When I walked into her room Mom was quietly dozing in her bed. I sat in the usual chair I sat in and waited to see if she would awaken. It was after her dinner time and she often took a nap after dinner. After a few minutes, maybe half an hour, she woke up and looked over at me. She did not have her glasses on but she said, “Paul, is that you?” I replied, “Yes it’s me.” And then she said something that I was not expecting. She said, “Thank you for all your help.” After that she dozed off again. It was the last conversation I had with my mother. She passed away a couple days later. It still makes me cry.
I am thankful that I was helpful to Mom. She acknowledged that to me. All I could say to her was, “you’re welcome.” And I sat in her darkened room as she dozed off again.
We should always be thankful for what we have and what we have had and what we may be given. When someone is helpful to you, acknowledge it and say thanks to them. (Do not whine about it if they are unhelpful – reread the Matthew quote.)
The holiday festivities are here. The Grief Share topic is “how to survive”. Last year was hard enough. Am I expecting it to be harder? I do not know.
This particular weekend has been and is still a busy one. For some simply being busy helps with grief and I suppose that may be true for me too. Fewer folks showed up for the holiday grief share program. Perhaps that is because they are busy with Thanksgiving planning. Perhaps many simply do not want to think about it. I was not thinking about it until the opportunity arose to attend this special group.
This will be the first Thanksgiving Day – which by the way is my favorite festivity – without Cheryl being physically here. Last year she was not mentally here. I do not expect to not be sad and I will not apologize for feeling that way.
When the carpet cleaner folks are finished today I will decide where to put the Christmas tree. And after I make that decision I will get it out of the box and put it up. I did not do that last year. Perhaps I will start a new tradition this year and place the tree in a different spot. Cheryl will argue with me in my head. I look forward to it (the arguing).
Do not be a curmudgeon, Paul. Try your best to be if not happy, at least, up beat. When we gather this year let’s talk about the good times. I remember a Christmas Eve a long time ago when she insisted that I open her gift to me after we had come home. I wanted to do was go to bed and sleep after a night of celebration and maybe a little too much alcohol. She had made me a shirt. She was so proud of it. Those are the experiences that I want to remember. (I do not remember what I gave her that year.) I was then and am still now impressed with her ability as a seamstress. That is only one of my favorite memories.
Another more recent memory from maybe three years ago, she said to me, “Get your music machine out and turn on Christmas music.” She means Alexa. I cringed when she told to do that. I think I grumped a little too and then I went to get the hockey puck I move around to listen to music. A Christmas song or two in among others is okay. WARM 98’s idea of solid Christmas music, old, new, good, bad, chipmunks, Benedictine monks, rock and roll, country-western, some group of nuns, Bing Crosby, etc. a few years ago lost me as a listener. That was not a big deal to them since I rarely listened to their station. Five weeks of Christmas music is agony to my ear. I feared the worst was going to happen – Christmas carols from Halloween to Christmas. There would be no “Monster Mash”. I said loudly, “Alexa, play Christmas music!” Off we went into the holiday season. Cheryl insisted on making cookies that day and I helped her. (I wish I was not so reluctant to do so that day but that day is history.)
Cheryl often told me a story about peeking through the keyhole of the doorway to the living room and seeing all the toys around the Christmas tree. The keyhole got dark and the door flew open. (Uh oh.) There is more to the story and I wrote it down somewhere. I may spend the rest of the day looking for where I put it.
Smile!
Be thankful for what you have been given! Carpe the Holidays and Carpe this Diem and all the rest you are given.
Adjunct_Wizard 