memories

The Things You Keep

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(Pieces of a Life)

It is interesting and nostalgic to find a pile of random objects in your sock drawer and ask yourself – why did I keep this? Looking for something else I found a pile of these random printed things that I had kept over the years. The why for many of these is obvious. Most are cards that express love for me from Cheryl. I know why I kept them. Neither of us has been very poetic, romantic or good at expressions of love to each other. I mean that in the literary sense. We have always expressed our love for each other.

The employees at Hallmark and American Greetings are expert at expressing emotional thoughts. Cheryl would write Paul or To my dear husband at the top of the verse and sign below with simply Cheryl. I know why I kept them. I kept them because when I read them now I hear her voice. She is so much better than I am at marking life events with a card.

Sometimes things mark the first of some event, so, it is necessary to keep a record. In this particular pile is an old scorecard from a golf game I played with a friend from work. Circled on the card and highlighted with arrows is a “3” scored on a par four hole on an old Cincinnati golf course. The notation is “the first birdie for Gerbs” and the card is attested to by Rick Hilt.

I play golf very little these days. I still enjoy a round with my sons or grandson but it is no longer a passion as it once was. My very first round of golf I played with my father and my brother long ago on Blue Ash golf course. The course was brand new. It had only nine holes. My brother had chased his job to Florida but was back for a visit. It was a special occasion and I had asked for a day off from work to play. Bill gave me his driver, a tee and a ball and said, “Just swing it around a bit and get loose. When you are ready to hit, just think smooth.” I can still hear him say that. I was young, skinny and inexperienced.

The teeing area was elevated slightly but across the front of the tee was a riff in the landscape that drained the land in a rainstorm. The landing area for the experienced drivers began one hundred and fifty yards to the fore. The landing area for the hackers was the riff. The pressure to stay away from the dry weedy creek bed was great. As I approached the ball with my brother’s driver he said to me, “Remember. Smooth just think smooth.” I kept thinking smooth as I took the club head back. Being inexperienced and skinny I was unsure of grip and other nuances to send the ball rapidly into the hackers paradise below. As I swung the club forward I stayed with his advice, smooth.

I am sure it happened too fast but as I think about it, it is all in slow motion in my memory. The club impacted the ball squarely through the bottom of the arc. My body followed it around and through. As I lifted my eyes to follow the ball on its flight, it moved straight away from me for twenty or thirty yards of flight and then gently rose and headed to the experienced drivers landing area away from the surrounding clover, the weedy creek bed and the trees. It struck the ground two hundred or so yards from me and ran up the slight grade of the short grass for another fifty yards into the heal of the slight dogleg left fairway.

I was ecstatic and proud of my effort as I handed my brother his driver back and asked, “Like that?” He grabbed his club and switched to competition mode. My brother Bill was a scratch golfer and an excellent Bridge player through most of his life. He said, “Why don’t you have your own sticks?” He approached his ball and hit a very fine drive and when his ball stopped out in the fairway it was only a few feet beyond mine. It was the best drive from the tee that I ever hit playing golf. I had almost out drove my big brother. He felt the need to compete with me. It was a good day although that was it for my first golf game. I was in hacker’s paradise for the rest of the round.

In another handwritten letter, I have been “ripped a new one” by the mother of a child that played on a soccer team with my daughter. I kept it all these years for a couple reasons. It was the first time I have been ripped a new one in such elegant cursive and her reasoning did not carry any weight after my daughter pointed out that her daughter was an only child.

Memories like this come flooding back as I hold various objects from my very own junk drawer.

I still see Linda and occasionally talk to her because she is a dear friend of our neighbor Jane. They are both gardeners and talk often. Jane has had several bouts with lymphoma in her life. During a couple of these Linda called me and asked if I had seen Jane. How was she doing? And so forth. My response was to knock on Jane’s door and ask her to please call Linda. Linda was worried.

I do not know if she remembers the soccer incident.

There is a completely random collection of matchbooks from my old days of smoking. I suppose I was worried about running out of lights for my cigars and cigarettes. These were originally ensconced in a decorative water pitcher that resided on top of our hope chest in the bedroom. About two years ago our granddaughter was visiting and during part of that visit Cheryl began routing through the hope chest for something. When they were done the pitcher was put inside the chest. (This was probably another presentation of Cheryl’s slipping mental acuity.)

Some of the match boxes and packs evoke memories of times past. French Lick Springs resort is a wonderful memory. Cheryl and I went there early in our lives. It was part of Sheraton Hotels at the time and it was still just that, a resort hotel with a golf course and tennis and a built in nightclub. Meals were included in the room price. If your round of golf was scheduled over the luncheon hour, a call to the kitchen provided a box lunch on the cart when you appeared at the clubhouse. There were two swimming pools but the one immediately adjacent to the hotel had a roll back cover so that it could be used in winter and in the summer months was reserved for adults only. I remember sitting next to Cheryl poolside dangling my feet in the water and a guy approached in a jacket and bow tie and asked if I would like a drink. I ordered a gin and tonic. Cheryl ordered rose wine. I signed the check with my room number. It was elegant and chic.

For dinner one evening we ordered a Caesar salad. The head waiter prepared it table side and made the dressing there in front of us. At another time after dinner we ordered cherries jubilee. It too was prepared table side with a little flair and elegance as the sherry is set on fire and the alcohol is burned off. It is not the same as a time share.

There are several restaurants represented. There are also several packs of matches from the wedding of Diane and Ron. I wonder who they are.

There is a stack of old credit cards and ID badges from several work situations. My old Xavier University student ID is there as well as a luggage tag made from an old business card. We keep these items, I do anyway, because they are pieces of a life. They are memories to remember.

They are nostalgic. I do not keep bad memories in my junk drawer. A couple of those are on full display in my office atop my computer. There are good remembrances there too.

All are pieces of a life.

Carpe Diem.

Christmas Season 2023

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(A beginning of a new life and the ending of an old one.)

This holiday season marks the beginning of a new phase in our life. “We’re in this love together” popped up on the Spotify playlist as I started to write my thoughts. Cheryl and I are in this love together and forever.

For the past few weeks I have been organizing, sorting and cleaning our living space. I have gotten rid of multiple copies of old emails and address lists. I have meticulously gone through rubber banded stacks of old Christmas cards and retrieved pictures, snapshots and photographs. The work has been tiring and emotionally draining. Old photos bring back fond memories and nostalgic remembrances of good times. And some old photos do not. Those photographs distract me into detective mode. (Who is that person? Why were we there?) Even with those questions hovering in the background of my mind I think, look how young we were once. How did we get here?

This year has been a tumultuous one with both love and mental chaos, physical challenges, extra equipment and extra medical help as Cheryl’s Parkinson and dementia seemed to overwhelm her and me. Her good days became fewer. Now, today, Thursday, December 28th, my sister Laura’s birthday, Cheryl is staying in the Harbor memory care section of Bridgeway Pointe. How we got here is a story about the agonizingly slow progression of Parkinson’s disease and the mental toll it takes on many of its victims. It is also a story of how it slowly came to me that although I thought my love could conquer all, there is strong evidence that extra hands and expertise were needed. It is a story for another day.

This holiday period is very different. About two weeks before the Thanksgiving Day holiday Cheryl moved into the Harbor. A week and a half later as I took her to David’s house for Thanksgiving dinner, she was resistant to getting out of Bridgeway Pointe to go to David’s house. After that experience I told the kids and extended family that any more celebrations we had to take to Cheryl. We should not expect her to go to them. (It is too hard for her and for her husband.) Cheryl had settled into Bridgeway Pointe in a fashion that I had not expected.

The rest of the holiday dinners and celebrations I attended without Cheryl by my side. I visit Cheryl every day. The kids visit on many days. Her brothers and sisters and friends visit when they can. It is different. I do not know what I was expecting or what I want it to be, all that I know is, that it is different. There is something missing for me at the celebrations. I think that something is Cheryl’s spirit, her smile, her glee watching the kids open presents, catching up on family or simply delight in the moment. “Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone?” – these words are from an old song.

From here at this moment in time we begin anew. I do not know what our new life will bring but it will be better for us.

Carpe Diem.

A New Attitude

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My brother-in-law’s wife recently had some surgery to her neck and over the past couple weeks we have exchanged text messages and visits. I ask how he is doing and how my sister-in-law is doing. Often I send him my latest picture of Cheryl at Bridgeway Pointe. Yesterday we had the following exchange.

  • Thanks for sharing. Tari still has lots of pain !!! I am tired and frustrated !!! How are You ?? — 2:36 PM
  • Not tired and frustrated. With little to do for Cheryl, I think lonely and broken hearted. Is Tari home or in rehab? How did that turn out? — 3 pm
  • Rehab did not go well. Tari is home now. Waiting to see about Home Health Care. — 4:29 pm
  • In home physical therapy sessions? — 4:30 pm
  • I guess. Not sure. –4:31 pm

I wrote lonely and brokenhearted to him. It was the first time I admitted that to anyone.

I get up in the morning and realize again that I have no particular schedule. Nothing that I have or want to accomplish this day. Three weeks ago my day was centered around Cheryl. I made very few specific plans for me that did not include her somehow. I focused on getting her going, up and out, onward and into the sunshine. In the Autumn months when it is still warm, just four weeks ago, I conjured little trips to the places where we used to walk. I did carryout from a little chicken place nearby sometimes and we had a picnic. Her in her rollie chair and me waving the bugs away. In September I had my picnic supplies in the trunk of the car so that we could do that spontaneously (Carpe Diem). My main goal for each day was simply to get her out into the sunshine somewhere.

A new attitude is my goal today and the rest of my days. I need to be less broken hearted. Lonesomeness I think I can deal with. That feeling will come and go. Cheryl is safe and well cared for at Bridgeway Pointe.

Carpe Diem. Cheryl is safe and well cared for at Bridgeway Pointe. (Repeat)

(Repeat)

Little Treasures

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For the past couple weeks I have been sorting through and pitching out much of Cheryl’s punding piles that she had squandered away all over her office area. Many of these are simply random collections of old and very old birthday and Christmas cards.

Today I discovered a small envelop with a picture that had been taken of us at a formal dance in 1969. A treasure it is to be sure. But the letter makes reference to me as though I know the writer. She sent it to Cheryl at her address in St. Bernard.

I have no memory of this event. I have no memory of Ginny. Ginny did not pass along her last name. She only passed along her address on the envelope. Who is Ginny? To be continued…

This picture so old that I did not have a mustache or old wrinkled skin or gray hair. I was eighteen and so is Cheryl.

Carpe Diem.

If She Was Home

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If Cheryl was home with me she would be on my case to get the tree up and drag in the decorations. I do not have the enthusiasm for that activity that she has (had?) every year. I wondered this morning if I really wanted to do that at all. I am gaining an understanding for why many who have lost people that they love deeply may not have as much enthusiasm for the holidays.

I will eventually put the tree up when I think I will be able to do that without tears coming to my eyes.

And that brings up a new/old theme I have not written much about. For the past year I have listened to a lot of instrumental jazz music. New age, Smooth jazz that has no ties or memories from my youth. It is soothing and calming. I suppose I have become a fan of elevator background music.

All the other music that Cheryl and I listened to, her tastes are much different than mine, I like rock, she likes big band standards. I like classical and opera and ballet. She does not. Nevertheless, much of that other music awakens memories and nostalgia. It is hard to see through the watery tears, so, I do not play it as much as I used to play it for myself.

So far, I have my Christmas tree on this blog. These are last years pictures of the tree but the Christmas cactus has opened its blooms for this year. I moved it away from the window that it was shining its beauty out of. And I have reread last December’s blog posts. (deep sigh here.) things have not improved.

This is a selfie from yesterday’s visit.

Carpe Diem

Discoveries of Her View

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Cheryl is safe in her room a Bridgeway Pointe and I am cleaning up and sorting through papers in her office. She has collected vast piles of birthday cards, Christmas cards, notes, emails and other writings. She has put these together in random collections of paper that, at the time in her thinking, belonged together. (Punding is the term used by the Swiss.) This collection of items is her version of it.

One of the thoughts that comes through to me is a background fear of losing her memory and remembrances of her life. Some of her notes to herself are frantic in her attempt to categorize and save memories.

In the following email she is very succinct in her experience. I uncovered it while sorting. At the time she was taking amantadine. It was prescribed to help deal with the dyskinesias (rapid uncontrolled movements). After a failed trip with lifelong friends Cheryl wrote this letter to explain. It was, I think, the first time she felt the need to explain things to others. Here is her email to Cathy:

Wed, Sep 5, 2018, 10:04 PM to Catherine

Cathy and Paul,

I hope you’re having a good time on Mackinac Island. The tour in which Paul and I participated was very informative and fun. We learned a lot about the island, the people who live there all year round, the horses and how they are cared for, the history of the island, what happens during the winter when the horses are moved to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, and much more. The Harbor View Inn is a very comfortable hotel, the food is always good and there is plenty of it. This is why we were so excited about sharing this trip with you.

I want to explain to you what happened to me last weekend. Every 3 months, I have an appointment with either my neurologist or with his nurse practitioner. Last Tuesday, August 28, my appointment was with the nurse practitioner. During the past 10 months or so I have been taking a new medication that was prescribed for me by the nurse and doctor. It is a drug that is supposed to keep me from swaying side-to-side. By summer I was taking this drug 3 times a day in addition to my prescriptions of Sinemet (I’ve been taking Sinemet for the past 8 years ever since I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease).

About a month ago, I began to experience hallucinations. They weren’t too bothersome. They usually manifested themselves as vivid, sometimes bad dreams. By the time I met with the nurse practitioner (Maureen) last week, these hallucinations were becoming a little more than dreams. I asked if I should begin to wean myself from this new drug. Maureen agreed that I should begin to do that, and we worked out a schedule … and I began to work on eliminating that drug the next day. For a week, I was to stop taking the 7am dose of the drug… I didn’t notice any bad reactions… I still had the hallucinations but they hadn’t become any worse. They were just an annoyance.

On Saturday, Paul and I had a nice drive from home to Lansing, Michigan. The weather was nice. We stopped for lunch in a nice restaurant in Van Wert, Ohio. Then we drove on to Lansing, checking into our hotel around 5pm. We found a nice Bravo restaurant near the hotel, and we had a delicious Italian dinner. We watched TV at the hotel for a while. As I was organizing my things and getting ready for bed, I began seeing things that weren’t really there. There were bed pillows piled on the bed the way they usually are… but I saw what looked like a little child peeking out from under the pillows. I knew this was an illusion, but it persisted. Paul and I talked about it, and Paul said that we should just go to bed and everything would be ok. Based on what had been happening in previous weeks, I thought he was probably right. So we went to bed. Then what I called the “hallucinations from hell” began. The little child kept appearing in and around the bed with the pillows continuing to move. What appeared to be a man wearing a long piece of fabric (I would not call it a cape, but more like a blanket) was “flying” around the ceiling. We tried turning out the lights… nothing changed… things were still moving around. Paul did not see any of this, but he believed me. Finally his solution was for me to close my eyes, since this was all apparently in my head. I tried that for a while, then became frustrated with the whole situation. I got up and walked out of the room in my pajamas. As soon as I heard the door to the room close behind me, I realized that I did not have the room key. Fortunately, Paul heard me and went right to the door and let me back in. But what I had just done frightened both of us. After that I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, repeatedly telling myself that none of this was real, but I wasn’t very convincing. Somehow we made it through that night, but with very little sleep.

When Sunday morning finally arrived, we found a nice restaurant close by and had some breakfast. We talked about the trip and what had happened Saturday night, and we decided that we could not stay and go on the tour. We had never experienced anything like that before, but decided that we did not want to expose anyone else to our troubles. We felt it would be better for us to leave… that would ensure that you would have a good time.

We both think it was a good decision because I continued to have these horrible hallucinations for a couple more nights. Since it was a holiday weekend, I had a difficult time getting in touch with my neurologist’s office. I sent a couple of emails, asking for assistance. Of course, it was not an emergency. I was certain that it was my body’s reaction to withdrawing the medication. I had not thought I would have such a violent reaction. On the other hand, I did not want to increase the dosage again – that would just cause me more problems. So we toughed it out. Each day and night things went a little better. At home at night, the ceiling fan in our bedroom would appear to be falling toward me and the windows would appear to be moving toward our bed… mind you, they never came all the way to the bed, but it was still unnerving. There were people and children moving around in our bedroom and in the living room (this went on day and night). In our master bathroom, which is of course right off the bedroom, a couple of the hand towels were turned into a puppy… I was very surprised when I saw that!

Early yesterday the nurse practitioner contacted me, answering my email messages to her. I had asked if it would be a good idea for me to speed up my withdrawal from this drug, or if it would only cause me more problems. She answered that she did not think my reaction could be much worse. So I should stop taking it all together, and contact her with frequent updates about my condition.

This seems to be working. I’m not out of the woods yet, but I’m definitely feeling better. And the hallucinations are almost gone (I’m almost afraid to say that). But I think they are no longer a problem.

Again, I’m very sorry that Paul and I could not go on the tour with you, but I think now you understand why. We will go on another trip together again sometime soon.. maybe in the spring or summer.

I thank you for your prayers.

Take care.

Love,

Cheryl

This is the best and clearest description she has ever given me of her hallucinatory apparitions. She still sees people, things, children and bugs but less so and the visions are not terrifying to her as they were on this trip.

To me, it is a gift to understand what she has been going through in her mind. This is a love story that is not finished. I think that many of her visions are of people she knows or has known. Much like the theme of the TV show “Ghosts” she may be able to see beyond this world. (Why not?)

Carpe Diem.

Diachrony

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Change happening over a period in time. This is the word of the day from Anu Garg who has been publishing “A Word A Day” since 1990-something. He started in college.

I wrote the following story almost two years ago. I found it back looking for something else. It tickled me then when I wrote it then but reading this and thinking about Cheryl’s current state has dramatic contrast. It makes me wonder how much longer? Diachrony makes no reference to how long the period.

Black Underwear

In my new life as caregiver, I have developed several routines. Friday is laundry day. In the “delicate” load was a pair of black panties and a black brazier. And then my mind wandered off into the weeds.

When we were much younger and it was early in our marriage, I let slip to her that black underwear was for me a big turn-on. Through out our younger lives she kept this in her heart. She would let it be known through certain hints, glimpses in the mirror or direct conversation that this was a good night for what she referred to as intimate time.

On various date nights or other occasions the clue phrase was “I am wearing black tonight”. Somehow the wine in the restaurant tasted better. The conversation was closer. I quit seeing the surrounding tables. I quit hearing the surrounding conversation. I guess pheromones intermingled with testosterone does that.

Sometimes I would initiate the contact. Is this a black night? No, she responded, I thought red would be more appropriate. Well it was! It is hard to go slow and stay with your partner when she is wearing black underwear. Much more so when she is wearing red. Holy cow, I miss those days.

I guess she does too. A couple days ago, I do not recall where we were off to, but I was pecking away at this computer and she, after finishing her shower, stood in the doorway of my home office wearing only the two items that were now in the load of laundry I am folding to put away. “I’m wearing these today”, she announced. My brain went spiraling off into the weeds. Holy cow I miss those days. Sorry. I am repeating myself.

Even now I am distracted by those thoughts. Our intimacies in many ways are much closer now even though less sexual in nature. Love is a lot of things. Only a small part is sexual.

It is hard to express how much closer this journey has made us. It is hard to express how this illness has opened my eyes to things in her that I did not notice before. I am more aware that my words can hinder her. I am more aware that my words can hurt her.

This is an eye-opening experience for me as well as her. I have taken on many of the domestic day-to-day tasks – laundry, cooking and others. We have hired out the cleaning to my niece who has her own cleaning service going. We moved into a condo situation so that lawn care and building maintenance is contracted. I am amused by the fact that I have become somewhat protective of my own methods and how easily I become annoyed when she or anyone else critiques my method.

She takes care of me as much as I take care of her. I miss the younger us. I miss the crazy running around chasing kids sporting events. I miss the, “I’m wearing black tonight.” And the opportunity to make more kids. But I really love her in this moment. I just hope I am able keep caring for her and I as fear for the worst outcome, and cannot fathom why my feeble brain goes there, I realize how deeply I love her.

The black underwear still looks good.

That was written in January of 2021. These days she can barely stand much less lean seductively in the doorway in her underwear.

Our love is still strong.

Carpe Diem

Blessed By Cheryl

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… and help us to get to the end of our journey. And help Paul get home.

She added this to the end of the meal blessing spontaneously. I was surprised. Lately she has been struggling with a few delusions about her deceased sister Janice. (Her conversation will start, “I talked to Jan when she was here…”) I resist telling her Jan died in some of the early covid deaths. She was very close to Jan in their childhood years. They slept in the same double bed right up until we were married. Sometimes she calls me “Jan” in the middle of the night as I make my way to the toilet.

This blessing did precede another discussion about Janice. To Cheryl, Jan is not gone. Perhaps that is a good thing. We live on in those who remember us. (A quote from someone else not me.) Cheryl’s mother lives on in conversation with Cheryl too.

When she pronounced this blessing at the end of the standard, bless us oh Lord and these thy gifts – it surprised me. Perhaps in her lucidity and presence for a minute I was transported to our younger lives when occasionally extra prayers were added. Her brother always adds … may the souls of the faithful departed rest in peace.

I did not ask what she meant by her prayer. Those thoughts are private to her and if she wants she will tell me. Throughout her continuing decline with dementia these small nuggets of situational awareness bubble up to the surface for me to ponder.

Help us to get to the end of our journey… (and your thoughts here).

God, I love her.

Carpe Diem

Little Incremental Changes

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This morning I am thinking about the little incremental changes this disease of Parkinson caused in Cheryl. The trees in these pictures are maples and they are turning with the season. It is not apparent in the big picture as they show below but zoom in and each individual leaf has a tinge of red around the edge of the leaf. The green still remains in the core of the leaf. Little incremental changes as the leaf begins to shutdown for the season.

Tonight and on days since I started this essay, I am thinking about the little incremental changes this disease of Parkinson that has invaded the person I most want to be with, the person where I am home, has caused in me. Our green area is smaller. And yet at the same time it is still green.

It is my goal to talk to her on a level that is her. Sometimes her behavioral response to some situation can appear childish to me. It has only recently come to me that I must ignore that perception and talk to her as I once did. Almost every morning when I wake her she will ask, “Can we still get to church?” or “What time is church?” I used to respond with, “There is no church today.” Sometime in the past I decided that response was unhelpful. These days when she asks me about church I take that to mean, “What is on the agenda for today?” She has little memory of what we may have discussed doing on the previous evening when we went to bed.

Aphasia appears often. When she is telling a story it is very important to her to get the names dates and places correct, even if she is way off the mark. Her mother is no longer on this Earth nor is her sister Janice. Cheryl tells stories about them or visiting with them in the present tense. Once in awhile I might tell her that her mom is in heaven. She will respond, “Are you sure?” That question reminds me that it is unimportant to correct her perceptions. I have a difficult time resisting the natural male response of – bullshit that is not the way it is.

It appears to me – just observation – that although she can read, the words are mostly meaningless. It the morning over breakfast we look at the newspapers. For me that is the Wall Street Journal. For her that is the Cincinnati Enquirer. I have two observations; She does not recognize that they are two different papers. She is unable to comment on articles that she may be looking at in the paper. (I have asked.) The particular article might be about some city council fiasco. She will tell a story about Sr. Janet and what the newspaper tells Cheryl about her job with the parish office.

I know there is some green still left in the middle.

I am thinking about how it has changed my focus. I used to worry about how late she slept in the morning. The why of that worry always comes back to how much sleep I will get that night. Those two ideas are connected only in my mind. They are not connected in practice.

It changes my perspective. There is a bigger picture. Just like these trees on our property, when one zooms in one sees the differences in the leaves but when one zooms out one sees beauty.

It changes my interest. What can I do to enable her to reminisce even if her memory is weak? Perhaps I can aid her reminiscence. Comment about her stories to get her to tell me more.

It changes my observation of the universe. There is beauty everywhere you look. Cheryl is always telling me about the moon when we are driving somewhere. I look too. She can see the moon in the clouds. So can I if I look carefully and listen to where she says she sees it. A shape in the clouds looks to her like the moon. I long to see through her eyes.

Maybe I could read to her rather than watching her struggle to understand printed words.

Carpe Diem.

It’s Near Time for Good-byes

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I started this a couple days ago while sitting in the airport and elsewhere. I mulled over many thoughts that I had about family and siblings and care giving and end of life. A great visit with my sister and only sibling alive comes to a close.

Joyce asked me if I was shifting back into caregiver mode. I am. I also think that I never left that mode or mood. I was far away but the kids were close by for Cheryl. David took it upon himself to visit his mother every day. I was able to relax a bit.

In the collection of photos below in the picture immediately above the lighthouse there is a little white speck to the left of center in an otherwise empty ocean. That is a whale spout.

When I return we ( our family) will be planning, thinking carefully about future care for Cheryl. This was a test for us all. There are lots of imponderables. What is best for Cheryl? How will we finance it? How will we respond to her needs?

Carpe Diem.