Love and Life

To Sit or Not to Sit

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To sit or not to sit that is the inaction.

That is the thought that jumped into my head as I pondered life’s choices and what we make of them when we make them.

The young man yesterday morning who in his zeal to get through the intersection on the Yellow traffic signal even though it was obvious that he had no chance of clearing the intersection before the Red because the service truck before him was also in the intersection blocking it chose to ignore his surroundings and become an asshat. (Was that judgmental of me? I chose to be judgmental just then.) I praised him for his eagerness to get his workplace twenty milliseconds faster as the rest of us became 20 minutes late while I waited to turn left through his driver-side door.

The Rule of Lines: The other line always moves faster.

  • 1st corollary: Switching lines (a choice) removes the delay in the queue you entered originally
  • 2nd corollary: Switching back (a second choice) much like Schrodinger’s cat screws it up for everyone.

Choices have consequences. Own them and learn from them.

All the time I am writing this and thinking about these I have stalled my original task I set for myself of going to the grocery store. Sometimes choices that need to be made are distasteful. Today for me that is pushing a grocery cart.

Cheryl taught me to make a list before entering the store. Mom just went to see what interested her. Her attraction to Sam’s Club was the idea that one could snack their way around the store. This idea was adopted by the Thriftway store that I would take her to when she had coerced me into doing it. I have found that Cheryl’s list method works well along side of Mom’s spontaneous want method for me.

It appears that I am fretting before doing. This attitude will keep one at home idling while the rest of the world moves on.

Carpe Diem.

Autumn Haiku and Inner Thought

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friday comes with cool
sun peeks higher in the sky
autumn is awake

she speaks in my head
often with her quiet voice
our love continues

this day Cheryl is
this day memories of us
happy memories

Haiku form – 5 : 7 : 5 – is a favorite poetic form to me. Real poets, I do not consider myself a real poet, are able to paint a picture, elicit an emotion or start a meditation with seventeen syllables. Distilling feelings and ideas to their basic form. I have noticed in myself that many times words do not work. The search for a word with the perfect nuance of what I feel alludes me often. Perfection at reading what is not there is not my strongest ability.

And yet, funneling feelings into seventeen sounds is sometimes satisfying.

Meditation (I use that word instead of prayer) comes in many forms to me. Today it is distillation of thought into seventeen bits of non-prattle.

abracadabra
in mind appears some pictures
our happier times

grieve companion lost
happy memories abound
love is present, found

Thinking about Cheryl today as I write about our life with its past joys and wonderful trips and the sadness and struggles near the end has pushed me into haiku today. Waiting to see what the rest of the day brings and the realization that existence takes care of itself without my help is comforting.

Is that prayer?

Carpe Diem.

If Only

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If Only

There is no percentage in “if only”. None. Although many of us spend considerable time with if-only style thoughts. If only I had completed (insert item here) I would be (insert perceived superlative or horror here). If only I had asked (him, her, them) about the consequences of (this, that , those) we would be (better, worse, still wondering). One can go anywhere with a good if only.

There is no percentage in it. Nothing is gained by speculative thought and other attempts to predict present out comes from “if only I had”. Additionally there is no real risk except perhaps diminishing self worth. God (or whatever one’s concept of God is) as the eternal knows the future and needs no predictors. Past, present and future is the same to the eternal.

Fuzzy philosophy there but what-iffing your past actions does not help today’s actions.

Grief Share talks about this in long winded generality. The “if only” that I deal with often when it jumps into my head is why could I not see that she was moments from leaving this existence when I kissed her good night the evening before she died.

This is my “if only”. What would be different today if I had sat up with her as she took her last breath? I will never know.

If Only.

On that sad thought – Carpe Diem.

Connections

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I really enjoy playing this game from the New York Times. It gets me to think beyond what I perceive.

One of the words today was “shiva”. To me in my environment in my meager knowledge of the world, other cultures, other traditions, “shiva” says mourning and is part of Jewish faith tradition. I am also a poor speller. That shiva is spelled with a h on the end. It can also be something that one does in a cold late Autumn drizzle while waiting for the bus if you are located in the part of New England where the r is often dropped at the end of the word. These two thoughts in combination led me to type shiva into Google’s AI driven (assisted?) interface.

The Hindu god of destruction appeared with a picture. All became clear. Before I returned to the NYT Games page to search for the rest of the connections to shiva, I spent some comfortable blissful time reading about Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. (Creator, Preserver, Destroyer) I play this game every morning but I do not always finish it because I become impatient with myself and the search for the connections. Patience is a virtue that has to be practiced often even in small ways to become comfortable. And I am not a keen observer of pop culture. Some connections are those kind.

All of this came while I am baking another new recipe and became distracted with thinking that Carl Sagan had written a book called Connections but his book is actually entitled, “Cosmos Connections”. I used to have it somewhere. His show from the 1980s is called simply Cosmos. Astronomy, planets and stars and night time sky phenomena also fascinate me. Oops I have fallen down another rabbit hole but it has led me to thinking about Cheryl. Or maybe the smell of baking has caused me to think about her.

Cheryl at the very end of her life became enamored with the moon and its phases. A couple times sitting with her in the evening in front of our home watching the moon and airplanes and the international space station go by, I saw the wonder in her eyes and voice as she marveled at the bigness of it all and the smallness of us. These little snippets of lucidity appeared at random. I think she was sensing something that I could not.

I miss that and I miss her. I am glad that our connection is so strong. I am glad that she leaves me little messages around when I hunt for things.

Carpe Diem… (I’m sure you can smell it. Banana Nut bread)

Astral Planes?

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I have been reading a lot about death lately. Looking for something else in my little office, I rediscovered a book by Robert Fulghum entitled From Beginning to End, the rituals of our lives. It seemed to fit with my overall end-of-life curiosity and reading I have pursued of late so I placed it on the table near where I often sit to read in the evening. I have not re-read it yet. I have many of his books. I may re-read all of them eventually.

I did not think much about death before these past few months. I am driven in this direction because Cheryl is gone. When she was alive either with me or comfortable in the memory care section of Bridgeway Pointe, I searched for information about her condition, how to help, how to react, how to, what if, generally I was hunting for the manual. I became very observant while she stayed at BP. The other day I looked back through my journal. I read this entry: “Thursday, April 18, 2024: (after several notes) – I think today I see that Cheryl is close to death. Her eyes are receding into their sockets. Often her right eye does not open. Her voice is almost gone. – (list of vital signs)” Reading this several months later brought me to the realization that I anticipated her death many days before it occurred. This notation was 3 days before.

Jodi Picoult in her novel The Book of Two Ways which is about an egyptologist turned end-of-life doula, the main character in her role as doula helps the dying to transition. She also helps the caregiver(s) after the death. Being an end-of-life doula is a real occupation. Had I known there existed people who did this sort of work I would have tracked one down to help me and Cheryl (but mostly me.) In the characters role as egyptologist she delves into ancient Egypt, their gods, belief structures and spells and rituals. In 1500 BCE these guys were concerned with the resurrection of the spiritual body and the immortality the soul. The rituals of helping the soul to transition into the after-world are captivating to me. I still hunt for the manual.

I want to know what is next. I write that thought with the realization that I cannot know what is next. Even so, right now, it is a strong desire. I found a book called “Life after Death”. My first thought was “Aha! There is a manual!”

Deepak Chopra in his book Life after Death writes, “Soul bonds occur on the astral plane just as they occur in the physical world. Relationships in the astral plane mean that you are vibrating in concert with someone else’s soul and therefore feel a heightened sense of love, unity and bliss. … When the disembodied soul tunes in to the frequency of a loved one back on the physical plane, that person may feel the presence of the departed…” I sure hope that is what is going on when I feel Cheryl near me.

I long to hear, strain to hear her voice. She knows what is after this physical life. It is very hard to hear what she is saying to me from that higher plane.

I have so many more questions. I could not ask Cheryl about what is next. I think she knew but was unable to tell me what she knew. It was not until after she left this plane of existence that I realized I still had questions. She gave me little hints. I did not recognize those for what they were. Many months before she left, she spoke to me about not being here for her next hair appointment. Her timing was off a little but I remember at the time thinking, you are wrong dear. Most smart men know that their wife is rarely wrong.

“… I went in seeking clarity

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountains
We go to the doctor, we go to the mountains
We look to the children, we drink from the fountain
Yeah, we go to the Bible, we go through the workout
We read up on revival, we stand up for the lookout

There’s more than one answer to these questions
Pointing me in a crooked line
And the less I seek my source for some definitive
(The less I seek my source)
Closer I am to fine …

Songwriters: Emily Ann Saliers / Amy Elizabeth Ray

Carpe Diem

Grief and Sharing

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I recently asked to be a part of and help with a ministry at our church called GriefShare. It is a support group for those of us dealing with the loss of a loved one. Mother, Father, Sister, Brother, Son, Daughter or Friend – Any or all of these losses in life. They are common and expected but not hoped for losses and we grieve.

I do not know what I am hoping to gain from this experience. For me, having spent a great part of the past few years caring for Cheryl, it may simply feel comfortable to help others.

The program itself which has a website and an abundance of videos and formal presentations seems to be aimed at guiding the participant toward some stable existence without whoever has left this existence. In many ways much of that journey occurred with me while Cheryl was struggling with her Parkinson and her accompanying dementia. I purposely try to remember things we did before her Parkinson. Sadly, perhaps because those are are farther in the past or perhaps because the Parkinson and dementia were so overwhelming during the past six years or so, this memory exercise is hard. I still make the effort.

It is not so much that I want to forget the past few years but it is very important for me to remember the fun we had for the few years prior. Those are the years when we hiked in parks and through the woods. Those are the years we out bid everyone for overnight hotel stays. Those where the years when we hopped in the car suddenly on a weekend and drove to Illinois because a grandson was coming. Those where the years we hopped in the car and drove to Indiana because a granddaughter was coming. Those are great memories. And when I purposely think about those times I do not see her deathly ill face.

Cheryl still lives in me and I do grieve for her but I think the long time we had with Parkinson and cognitive issues (I think) helped me to come to terms with her eventual death. She was very much not the wonderful person I spent fifty years of my life with during the last six or so years as she drifted deeper into dementia. I have written this before to myself but I am happy for her that she is gone. She is in fact not suffering anymore.

And with that thought I do wish for her to be here with me. Happy. Disease free. Without encumbrances. Without walkers and canes and wheelchairs. I wish she was her slightly overweight but curvy self wishing to lose a few pounds by doing water aerobics. I wish, I wish, I wish.

I have let her go but I still grieve for her and will always. How can I not?

GriefShare emphasizes that grief is a journey. Life is a journey too. I use a picture of us that my daughter took of us just a few years ago as we walked back to our spot after completing a fund raising walk for Parkinson research. I still use it and another version where Cheryl is ghosted. We are still journeying through life. She is still with me. I hear her admonish me for being a stinker because I am upset about something, usually a trivial something maybe yelling at another bozo driving along. She would tell me to calm down while she was still riding with me physically She is still traveling life with me even though she is not here. I still talk to her. I think of grief as a nuance to life’s journey.

Grief will always be there. My sister died in 2008 of MDS a form of blood cancer. My father died a few months before that in 2007 of colon cancer. My mother died in 2016 of old age. My brother died in 2020 of heart failure. Grief will always occur in life. It is one aspect of the journey.

At this stage of my life I search for purpose. A few years ago as Cheryl’s situation worsened I convinced myself that my purpose was to take care of her. That was true but I am beginning to think that there is more. I am wondering what that more is.

Carpe this Diem and all the more you are given.

Love is in the Bin

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Girl With Balloon

By Dominic Robinson from Bristol, UK – Banksy Girl and Heart Balloon, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=73570221

This picture gives me writer’s cramp (whatever that could be.) The image is powerful by itself. The other graffiti merely enhances the photo.

As I work my way through this early period after Cheryl’s death, I notice that poetry, music and simple art speaks to me internally. This piece by “Banksy” who is a mysterious graffiti artist in England is one of those. Recently another version of the image is in the news in a smash and grab robbery story. I was reminded of this image that I saw somewhere some time ago. This image is from 2004 well before Cheryl’s Parkinson appeared. She was passionate about deep water aerobics then. Life was good. We were good. The kids were good. The world was just plain good.

Another version of this same image was sold at Sotheby’s and shredded at auction. Its name was changed to “Love is in the Bin” and it was sold for 18 million pounds.

There is something philosophical about spending a very large sum of money (made of paper) on an artwork (made of paper and wood) neither of which will survive very long in the big scheme of things. So much in life is fleeting and impermanent.

I wish I had 18 million bucks and could buy back a healthy Cheryl.

I wish for a lot.

Carpe the fleeting Diem

Happy Birthday to Me

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This year marks seventy-five trips around our star for me. That single fact is, to me, remarkable. I want to say that I had not thought about my birthday and the number of years but that is not true.

The first birthday I truly cared about was my fiftieth. Several important things happened that year to remind me that all is not permanent. Cheryl was almost taken from me that year. She was in a serious car accident that year. When I first saw her car afterward I was very surprised and elated to see her alive siting on the curb at the side of the road. Her injuries were such that she felt the need to find some none impactful aerobic exercise to recover. She settled on deep water aerobics and during the fall and winter became an avid fan. The accident had occurred in the spring and as she built herself back up in the summer I found myself accompanying her to the local YMCA where I found a trainer (a kid really) to help me discover a program that was more manly than deep water aerobics for me. I had become fat and slovenly in my forty-ninth year. It was time for a change.

Cheryl on the other hand dearly loved birthdays and celebrated everyone’s birthday with a vengeance. I think her mother gave her that feeling or thought about the importance of birthdays. It was not only birthdays, any family anniversary or event was very important to Cheryl. When her family stood around and sang happy birthday to anyone the song was ended with, “… and many more!”

Cheryl bought me a card some time ago which I found some few weeks before she died. On the front: “Thank you for finding me, charming me, and loving me. Thank you for making me laugh, for being there for me in so many ways, and for always being the best friend I need.” Inside: Dear Paul, (in her hand) “Thank you for making me feel like the luckiest person alive.” Love, Cheryl (in her hand). I keep this card on my bulletin board.

I do not remember nor do I think it is a birthday card but the sentiment goes with many occasions. It merely says “Thanks”. When I found this card a few months ago, I cried a little. This card was from her favorite Dollar store and even though it was an inexpensive one, she had managed to find one with, to me, a very moving message.

So with that same sentiment, Cheryl, I am sorry in many ways that you are not here with us still to celebrate my birthday with me. I am saddened that you were not here to celebrate your birthday in May. Nevertheless I am glad to have known you in this life and I look forward to reuniting with you in the next one. I love you and I keep your heart in my heart. One day our hearts will be together again.

Happy Birthday to me! … and many more.

Carpe Diem.

What a Days I Have Been In.

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Yesterday we tripped to a couple wineries to enjoy a bottle and some snacks. Today we saw waterfalls.

Don’t go chasing waterfalls, please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you are used to. I know that you want to have it your way or nothing at all but you are moving too fast. – TLC

This song often pops up in my head. It has a good cadence for bike riding and as a result it is on my playlist from Spotify. It has a metaphorical meaning that I interpret as look around and understand where you are before you dash off looking for something better. Another phrase is – the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. Maybe it is maybe it is not. I suppose that we always want the thing that we do not have. We want what the other guy has rather than merely celebrating with him that he has it and enjoying what we have.

When I would take mom to dinner at a restaurant which has not happened for some time, she would ask me what I was having. This a different form of the same thing. Why would Mom want to be interested in what I was about to order from the menu if she did not believe in some way that it was going to be better than what she was intending to select for herself? Is there something I am missing here? Once I protested telling her what I was thinking about having and made that argument to her. She responded with – I might want to change and get what you are getting. That is a reasonable response.(After we ordered and the food came, often she would take her fork and get a bite of my whatever it was. I loved Mom but that always annoyed me.)

We all have had experiences like this. We all have a fear of missing out (FOMO). We are not missing out on anything. We may be unsure of our decision but that specificity does not imply that the particular decision that we have made for ourselves is the wrong one. That cannot be known or understood until it has been executed. The decision may morph into a learning experience. That is a good thing.

These days as I wonder what purpose this portion of my life is for, thinking about and pondering big changes to my life, I look for the waterfalls.

In the background while I am doing the day-to-day activities of life, various chores, duties near to and necessary for the little part time job I have with a local community college, I think about making larger changes in my situation. Cheryl was all of my day before she moved to memory care. She was a huge part of my day when she moved and had full time care not from me. Now that she is gone there is a vast empty time.

I have thought about continuing with volunteer work or activities of some sort at the memory care facility where she had been. I just do not think I can do that. The memories are too raw. My heart sinks when I think about it. I feel that I am letting them (the patients there) down. I do not know where that feeling comes from within me.

For now, I have filled it partially with bike trips. These trips of 12 or 15 miles at a stretch let me get much needed exercise. They provide solace and distraction. It is easier to imagine the times when she was not sick.

This week I am filling my time with visiting with my sister. We have a commonality in that she became a widow a few months before I became a widower. We support each other in that respect. She was not expecting to lose her husband and I was not expecting to lose Cheryl. Even though it was right in front of me I refused to believe Cheryl would be gone. I have come to grips with that now. (I still do not like it but there it is.) I notice myself talking about Cheryl and trips we made. It is easier as time continues.

Where do I go from here? Should I look for a new waterfall? The pool below the fall is close to the ground but still agitated. Often the stream below is swift moving. When the water joins the river it is moving slower and calmer.

Carpe Diem.

Patience, Persistence, Empathy, Enthusiasm

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These thoughts keep coming to me when I ride along the Little Miami Trail. Often I think of Cheryl and our life together. The end of it was less pleasant but I am glad for the grace that she taught me. I am glad to the life skills she taught me. I am glad for the short time that I had her in my life.

I am often impatient with myself. I suppose that is a common trait for a man. But when I put my mind in “bicycle” mode I have a calmness that enters my thoughts. It seems to appear as I load my bike onto the rack behind my car and as I attach and tighten all the carrier straps. It is funny in a way. It is like putting a small child into the car seat and checking to be sure all is secure. I squeeze its tires to see if more pressure is required. regardless of the squeeze test I attach my little battery powered air pump. Three different bikes need three different pressures. Each has different tires. Regardless of my thumb test, the gauge tells the tale, the air pump awakens and runs for a little bit every time.

On my way to the trailhead that I have picked for that day, I am okay with the anxious drivers wanting to get to their destination 30 seconds quicker. Their life may depend on it. I do not know nor am I concerned about their urgency. I find the parking lot and it is blissfully unattended. I assemble my kit to myself and remove my bike from the rack and ride off. A deep calm descends as I settle into the rhythm of the music I selected.

Persistence is keeping the drum beat going until the end. I listen to jazz these days. some old some new some new age. I like it all. It is not the music of my youth. It takes me away from the nostalgic sadness that dwells in my heart for Cheryl. It helps me to enjoy the surrounding nature. If I want to go fast there is a steady rhythm to help pedal along. Music helps the zen.

The zen feeling of lost in my own thoughts sends my mind elsewhere. Walking in someone else’s shoes for awhile and understanding their needs or trying to understand those needs is empathy. As I ride along I think more about Cheryl. I think of how much she would have enjoyed walking on this shady tree lined trail or the view of the river where I stop to look myself. I am riding a bike now but with her I would have been walking. I cover more ground on a bike by myself but we used to cover a lot of ground on foot.

Excitement about what your are going to do or what you are doing is enthusiasm. These days, without her, I am enthusiastic about bike riding. There is a peacefulness.

Cheryl

Apologies to you fast riders keeping your pace as I am lost in my thoughts.

Carpe Diem.