Strange New World

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It is a strange new experience for me this new existence without Cheryl. In order to fill a large part of the time void I have been riding my new bike around for exercise, but mostly, I am exploring bike paths that I have not ridden on before. Occasionally I ride on streets nearby but car drivers generally scare me. I am an old man and I have first hand experience with falling down. I imagine being knocked down by a car would be significantly worse.

I am sitting here in my living area next to Cheryl’s empty chair. between that chair and mine is an end table. It is one of a pair I built many years ago as an off the wall furniture building project I created for myself. There is no special significance to any of that except that one evening last summer Cheryl began to scratch off the coating of varnish that I had finished them with. Over a period of several days she picked at a nick on the edge of the table until she had exposed a flaw in the finish. She worked on that flaw until she had scratched an oval area about the size of a soup spoon. I may have been upset at the time but I distinctly remember thinking to myself, I can refinish the table later sometime.

I think I shall never do any refinishing on the table. It is such a strong image that I get when I look at this little marred spot. She was so very determined. Her only tool was her thumbnail.

As I ride my bike around I think of things like this. How memories can be remembered by an insignificant prompt like a scratch on a piece of furniture. Scratches give furniture life.

Yesterday I teased my neighbor to ride with me. He had expressed an interest before. Occasionally he tells me about seeing a used bike for sale somewhere. I bought a new bicycle and as a result have a spare. He told me he has not ridden a bike since grad school.

It was a good day to ride. It was relatively cool. It was mostly overcast. He could not find his helmet in the garage clutter. I told him we were going to a park and it was mostly flat. As long as he did not fall off, he would not need a helmet. It was my own little joke. Besides I continued, aim for the weeds if you are going to fall over.

We started by riding around the park loop which is a bit shy of two miles. I took him over to a connector that joined this loop to the nearby airport loop. I stopped at the bottom of a long gentle grade and asked if he wanted to continue. He said yes and off I went. At the top of the grade I stopped near a bench to drink some water and watch the airplanes for a bit. A little out of breath, he remarked that the grade was longer than he expected. I laughed and told him the reward for going up was coming back down. We continued on for a couple more miles of flatness and at another bench stopped and watched the planes some more.

We turned around and headed back to the car. When we got there he remarked that he had forgotten that he had hand brakes. His old bike had a coaster brake. It reminded me of another story.

Many years ago Cheryl and took a Road Scholar tour to Mackinac Island in northern Michigan. One afternoon that we had to ourselves we rented bicycles to ride around the island. I tried to get her on a tandem bike with me but she was not having it. We rented a couple of bikes that looked like old Schwinn bikes. Both had coaster brakes. I had not ridden a coaster brake bike since I was about ten years old. I was fine until we stopped at an ice cream place on the island to get a snack. I had a mild panic stop by dragging my feet. Cheryl however made a smooth controlled stop because the only kind of bike she had was one with a coaster brake.

Old furniture and conversation and bike riding remind me of life stories with Cheryl. I hope that it will always be that way.

It was a good day. We only rode for eight miles which is coincidentally the approximate distance around Mackinac Island. When I asked him today how his legs felt he replied fine, but I can still feel the bicycle seat. He used to come with Cheryl and me to pizza Tuesday. He is a good friend.

Yesterday, I left him hunting for his helmet in the organized clutter of his garage as I left to visit with my son. Perhaps when the bicycle seat impression fluffs back out and if he finds his helmet he will come again.

Carpe Diem.

Weird Dreams

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Last night I had an odd dreaming experience. Odd because the story line was strange and very real. Odd because it is staying with me as a memory. Odd because the visual is a strange combination of objects.

I wonder where dreams come from in my brain.

A couple weeks ago I dreamt about Cheryl. That does not seem weird to me based on the fact that she recently passed away and left me on my own in the world. I thank her every day for giving me the opportunity to complete my training.

Last night’s dream was an odd theme. I had become a rookie police officer. (What?) In this dream story I did not feel out of place until my training officer left me standing by the road without any way to communicate except a small hand held radio with an almost expired battery. As I moved away from the radio car, the view changed to a factory office setting with old metal office chairs and a metal desk. There were few pens to write with although I was supposed to write something down.

The only object to write on is the back of what looks like a tablet or video screen. It is a molded plastic surface.

I became bored with the assignment and began to wonder if this was some sort of hazing experience. Was my training officer coming back? I woke up to go to the toilet and while I was doing that I wondered what kind of dream was that? Where did that come from? Returning to bed I took up the story some more to see how it would turn out. It was like a streaming video series. It did not turn into anything.

My training officer returned to give me another pen and another strange object to write on and left again. I began to worry that I might not get home.

I woke up again thankful I was in my bedroom.

Just weird. And vivid as I write this I can see it in my memory as a visual. Much the same as I can recall the view from the overlook in the Grand Canyon National Park. Grand Canyon is a decades old memory.

It is a good memory though. I took this picture of Cheryl there. It is my favorite image of her. When I wake up my tablet to do the puzzles in the morning this image of her greets me. I miss her but I have no inclination to become a police officer.

Just weird. Where do dreams come from? What could this one possibly mean? If it means anything at all.

Carpe Diem.

The Way Things Are (or were)

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Cheryl taught me that you do not have to accept the way things are if you think that the current situation is not acceptable or not perfect for your needs. Acceptance of imperfection was against her nature. It sounds odd even to my ear but I thought about this as I was retrieving the kitchen tablecloth from the dryer to fold it. A few years ago we were shopping for a round tablecloth in Walmart one evening. She found one that she liked but it was considerably larger than necessary to cover the table. I pointed that out to her but she liked the pattern, so, we purchased it. Her solution was to trim it and hem the new edge. She did this to two tablecloths. One to put on the table while the other was being laundered.

This tablecloth story is just one really small example. The tablecloths were not so large that they were unusable as is but it was a point in our life when we were very conscious of trip hazards and grab bars. Extra draping material from the tablecloth seemed to be a thing to avoid if possible.

Support group – her diagnosis of Parkinson and later discovery of others within our parish community were faced with the same malady inspired her to start up a support group within the parish. I wrote the following paragraphs as a part of thank you notes to many people who memorialized her by sending money to the U.C. Foundation.

She set out early on to help others cope and live their fullest life with Parkinson disease. She started a support group at Nativity Church, our parish community, and when COVID came along and stopped everything she moved it to Parkinson Community Fitness in Blue Ash were it grew to include many others who were not Nativity parishioners. Her goal was to disseminate information, provide social interaction and to help with the day to day activities of life with Parkinson. She wanted this to help both the person with Parkinson (PWP) and the care partners.

Her support group which I and a couple other helpers continue, is somewhat unique in this respect. Often support groups are for one or the other but by encouraging both to come she encouraged up front discussion about what both the care partner and the PWP were anxious and concerned about. Those concerns are often very different. Her group provided a safe place for us to talk over those issues.

Exercise – In her own body she did not accept the progression of the disease as a forgone conclusion. She knew that exercise was helpful and important for her to stave off the effects of the disease. Cheryl was not athletic at all during her life time. She played no sports. What she did enjoy is walking and hiking but she accepted the fact that she needed to exercise consistently. We had belonged to the YMCA and the JCC for a long time before her symptoms appeared. In her deep water aerobics classes at the JCC she struggled with moving down the pool as her left side motion and control manifested the influence of early symptoms of her Parkinson.

She did not give in to the onslaught of her disease. We walked more and she worked with a trainer at the YMCA who admitted that she was unfamiliar with PD but she was willing to learn and work with Cheryl. Cheryl for her part had a group of exercises provided by a physical therapist and between the two of them they developed a series of routines that Cheryl would do every time we came to the Y. I just peddled a stationary bike elsewhere in the gym and observed.

She was a consistent exerciser until the last year of her life when the disease took over her cognition and memory. I fought that by getting the doctor to recommend physical therapy. She was unable to keep up with the exercise regimen without some close in support.

Research – she participated in a research study that tracked the progression of the disease and because she told me she wanted to do it, when she neared the end of her physical life, I signed the paperwork for her to donate her brain to the scientists at U. C. studying the causes and searching for a cure for Parkinson. Cheryl’s dementia had completely taken over her brain a few weeks before death. She asserted her will until the end but eventually succumbed.

I was reminded of all of this this morning while folding that tablecloth. It is amazing, her mom’s word, where my thoughts go while doing everyday activities such as laundry.

Never settle for almost the right solution.

Carpe Diem.

The Bench is Back

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Wednesday as I rode my bike around my favorite path, the Lunken Airport loop, I noticed, was amazed and elated that the bench is back. This bench sits at the top of a paved path to a lot where many folks park their cars to walk or ride the loop around Lunken. The view is of the tarmac behind the old terminal that has been neglected by the city fathers and mothers on the council.

The bench disappeared for a while. I assumed falsely to be repaired. It looks no different. Perhaps someone stole this valuable piece of art and the parks department replaced it with another. (He thought, tongue in cheek.)

Cheryl and I often came here to eat at the Sky Galley restaurant in the terminal. It was a favorite of her mother when Elaine was alive. The bar was always full and the atmosphere was friendly. Private aircraft landed and the pilots and passengers stopped in to eat. The national guard guys would fly their helicopter over to train and get a bite to eat.

The Sky Galley is closed. The restroom facilities are part of the terminal building and not up to city code. Maybe there is another problem with a building – an art decco gem actually – that the city owns.

Riding around the loop I think of these things. Memories of bringing Cheryl and her mom here to eat. A couple times we met Elaine and Bob her for dinner when they were both alive. That was many years ago now. Those are all good memories.

It is sad that the city does not maintain gems such as this. Tempus fugit.

Carpe Diem.

Serenity and Serendipity

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THOUGHT FOR TODAY:What wisdom can you find that is greater than kindness? -Jean Jacques Rousseau, philosopher and author (28 Jun 1712-1778)

Serene, serenity and serendipity,  calm, calmness and a combination of events producing happiness might that be simply being kind to others around you in life? There is a quiet calm that comes with a kind act to another. A friendly smile, a cheery “Good Morning” or a happy wave to a neighbor, these are all simple kind acts that bring calm and lift one’s spirits.

In this new life of mine without Cheryl, I seek the serenity and serendipity of this next journey. I do not know what it will bring but Cheryl helped me to understand that living in the moment is key to living. Over the weekend I began the task of acknowledging the mound of cards, letters, well-wishes and memorials for Cheryl left from her celebration of life eight weeks ago. These days I feel a complicated mishmash of emotions. I suppose that is what grief is; a mishmash. I read in a book once, “grief is just love with no place to go.” Whether grief is merely leftover love or not, I do not know nevertheless grief is only part of my emotional upheaval. There is an emptiness, a hole, a gap in the schedule, a longing, a want for something different. There is a “no one to check with first” feeling that leaves me on my own to decide what to do about anything. I truly do miss her. At the same time I am gladdened by the fact that she is no longer suffering with Parkinson and dementia.

There is nothing on this calendar square and there is no one to ask, “What shall we do today, Dear?” I don’t want to fill my day with necessary but meaningless tasks like laundry and cleaning. I read some; both novels and not. I have several books of poetry and i pick one of them to read and think with and about. I journal although not as much as when Cheryl was still alive and I ponder as I write here.

She does talk to me and lately I have been dreaming about her. These are calm dreams. She has no Parkinson in her. She does not need my help. And when I awaken she stays with me for awhile in the morning.

Yesterday while looking through various memorial cards she directed my attention to this poem in one of them. She knows I like poetry. This was written by Anne Lindgren Davison. (Thanks, Anne.)

 I Am Free
Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free.
I'm following the path God laid, you see.
I took His hand when I heard Him call.
I turned around and left it all.
I could not stay another day,
To laugh, to love, to work or play.
Tasks left undone must stay that way,
I've found the peace on a sunny day.
If my parting has left a void,
Then fill it with remembered joys.
A family shared, a laugh, a kiss,
Oh yes, these things, I too, will miss
Be not burdened with times of sorrow,
I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow.
My life's been full, I savored much,
Good friends, good times, a loved one’s touch.
Perhaps my time seemed all too brief.
Don't lengthen it now with undue grief.
Lift up your hearts and peace to thee.
God wanted me now; He set me free.


Poetry is for me a comfort. In this poem with its simplistic rhyme I hear Cheryl’s voice. This an example of her telling me to not be too sad because there is no Parkinson or dementia in heaven. For that I am grateful.

Carpe Diem.

Too Much Money

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Some have too much money. A few days ago I found myself reading an article in the Wall Street Journal about a couple who had bought a “four hundred year old fixer upper” for a trivial sum of seven million dollars. I initially thought “good for them” they have enough money that they are not concerned about the 7 mill cost and the place may need another couple of millions to rehab and get it livable. It is the American dream. Money is fungible. Why not funge some of it into a building assembled in 1600 and something, own a piece of history.

Some have too much money. Remember the story about the needle eye and the camel?

A few days ago I rode to a restaurant on the river  bank with  a group of my in-laws. The conversation wandered around all over as it often does when I am with Cheryl’s youngest brother and the boat owner. Somehow Melinda Gates and her leaving the management of the Gates Foundation popped out of the rabbit hole and Ken asked what I thought about other folks just giving their money away. We never finished that thought because the restaurant was near and the crew (me) was in experienced. However later as I drove home I thought I care little about what others do with their money. I do not envy them. They have to figure out how to get though the eye of the needle without stepping in the camel dung.

Some with too much money buy 400 year old fixer uppers. Some donate vast sums to political campaigns. Some travel to exotic places. Some buy yachts and sail to distant shores merely to enjoy the wine. Some buy lots of wine and keep it in the basement (cellar) to drink later if they live long enough and remember which basement stores it. Some give their money to foundations to support a cause that they believe in whatever project that is. Scrooge McDuck used to sleep with his if I remember the comic correctly. It matters not how they spent their money.

I only care about my money. My hope is that It will run out about the same time I do. So far that seems to be working out on its own. There is a story about that in the Bible too.

When Cheryl was still with me, I thought if I could buy a cure for her damnable disease it would be worth every penny of savings to do that.

Do I think there are better things to do with 7 million dollars than buy a 400 year old fixer upper? I do but it is not my money so what I think matters not. Godspeed to them, I say.

I do miss Cheryl though, and all the money in the world will not bring her back and make her healthy.

Carpe Diem.

Death and Other Thoughts

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I have spent a considerable amount of time thinking about death lately. I imagine that that is not unusual given the fact that the love of my life and my closest friend died just a few weeks ago.

I just finished a memoir by Sloane Crosley entitled “Grief is for People”. In it she discusses her relationship with a good friend, mentor and boss. She delves into her own feelings of grief and emotion after his death. He commits a suicide one day that no one including his partner had any hint was in the offing. She is angry and sad and writes about her life experiences with him. Her candor and vivid description of social life and office life is compelling. She had left the publisher to follow other interests and others said to her but he was just your ex-boss, why are you so upset? She examines that question from all sides. Regardless of the manner of death it is a well written discussion of emotion and friendship and loss.

I think I fell into reading it to examine my own grief for the loss of Cheryl. This is one of the few times that I have selected a book entirely based on the title and read it through. It was not what I was expecting it to be. I am always hunting for the manual that goes with certain places, stages, phases of life. I have found none, so, one might think I would quit looking for the repair manual that goes with this or that stage, phase or place in life but hope springs eternal in my mind. I will continue to search for meaningful words from someone who went down the road before me.

This book did cause me to think about Cheryl and analyze my feelings and my grief for her death. I have come to believe it is impossible to fathom death as a concept. I am not anxious for mine. Cheryl’s dementia was such that she seemed unaware of hers.

In a Louise Penny novel somewhere is the line, “Grief is love with no place to go.” This comment probably from Gamache, her main character, is succinct and directly to the point. I wrote that down in my journal a few years ago. It seems to me that I have no place to send my love for her and that is what makes it so difficult to accept.

Death is a normal and natural event. It can also be an abnormal and unnatural event. In either case it is death. Those of us left behind must find a new place for our love.

Carpe Diem.

A THOUGHT FOR TODAY: The ability of so many people to live comfortably with the idea of capital punishment is perhaps a clue to how so many Europeans were able to live with the idea of the Holocaust: Once you accept the notion that the state has the right to kill someone and the right to define what is a capital crime, aren’t you halfway there? -Roger Ebert, film critic (18 Jun 1942-2013)

A Story from Two Years Ago

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I wrote the following essay about two years ago. I put the first draft of my book about Cheryl and the last five or so years of her life together in the form of my web log essays and stories gleaned from there and my journals.

I am letting my book gel in my brain for a while and as I do this I occasionally reread an article that I wrote sometime ago. Cheryl often comes into my thoughts and explains her side of the story. It can be and often is a mystical experience.

Apathy and Living

Has she apathy? As we move forward it seems to me that she cares less about day to day activities. She seems to recede into her own thoughts but not as a prevailing occupation. I think of it as apathy-not-quite. When she gets in this mode it’s often temporary. She is tired from some activity.

Specifically activities like taking a shower, getting cleaned up, physical therapy sessions or exercise classes are obviously tiring for a PD sufferer. Something as easy as thinking about what is next seems to tire her out also. It like a temporary apathy. Procrastination?

It starts with, ” I don’t think I can go to… exercise class, church, physical therapy…” Admittedly it takes a lot for anyone to be motivated to exercise. It was not a big part of our lives when we were younger. Neither of us were sports buffs. My main sport is riding my bike. There is a solitude to doing that which I am unwilling to give up or share. As her care partner, it is frustrating for me that she cannot observe how much she is helped by exercise and her PT sessions. She seems to not remember. It seems like she is going merely because I am taking her there.

When Cheryl gets in this mode (mood?), I turn the corner to something else. I am resistant to letting her go on and isolate herself in her little office area thinking, punding and organizing. I take her out. Anywhere works as long as it is out of our condo.

Yesterday I took her one of our local county parks that we have not visited for a long time. Afterward we went for ice cream at a nearby Dairy Queen. I had planned to make dinner at home but she suggested we find barbecue somewhere. This being an odd suggestion because it seems to upset her stomach often and she says never again later in the evening. We did not find the barbecue place to be amenable to folks with mobility issues so we landed at one of our old favorites and ordered something different than we usually get so the newness was preserved. On the way home she thanked me for taking her to Lake Erie and she told me a story about when she was very young.

In the early days of her father running his own gas station which was a life long dream of his, he rarely took any vacation time. It seems one of his friends had a vacation cabin up near Lake Erie and not far from Port Clinton. There is a park nearby called East Harbor State Park. Our walk by the shore of a much smaller lake in the park much closer to home than Lake Erie must have taken her mentally back to her childhood and a very fond memory. We visited the same area a few years ago and visited East Harbor.

She talked at length about the trip with her mom and dad. She thanked me for getting her there and back in the same day.

I started this writing and contemplating apathy, but maybe it’s projective (mine) apathy? Or predictive apathy? Or apathy is the wrong word? (indifference? passivity?) Or is it poor sleeping patterns? This morning she got up at quarter til ten which means that she was in bed for about eleven hours. She awakened this morning from the same position she fell into when she got in bed. On the previous evening she went to bed very late after midnight and slept very little. (As a result I slept little also.)

Is apathy and memory related? I wonder about ideas like this. Perhaps she cannot remember that she seemed to enjoy herself the last time we went there? Wherever there is.

When I finally teased Cheryl awake this morning, she opened her eyes and asked, “Is Mary Pat here?” An amusing opening question about the day. I smiled and told her, ” No Mary Pat is not here. I think you were dreaming about her.” I have no idea where the Mary Pat (a childhood and current) friend thought came from but she has talked to her a couple times over the past few weeks.

I encourage her to talk to her friends when she gets excited about some memory or misconceived thought. Many of them have had strange conversations with her about things. I used to be embarrassed for her and, at first, discouraged these phone calls which she often decides to do later in the evening. But as I thought about it I decided that it was not my place to absorb or accept or become embarrassed for her. Her friends know her state of mind. They are wonderful people and she is blessed to have them as life long friends.

Focus, cognitive abilities, caring, likes and dislikes are all related to memory issues. Staying active, no matter how small that activity is, helps.

Carpe Diem. Written July, 2022

The picture is from the same time that summer. Parkinson Community Fitness had a luau party.

Carpe this Diem.

Calendars, Checkbooks, Organization

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On Saturday, sometimes on Friday, I look at the checking account and check the bank’s math. These days when I do this I think of Cheryl and reflect on how she was able to show me how to do the family finances. Over the past few years she showed me how to do other things too.

Cheryl and I went to Saturday afternoon mass. It was better for her schedule wise to do this on Saturday. I typically go to mass on Saturday since she has left. Mostly to think about her and to talk to her there. This day is the beginning of festival season and there are now five festivals in the combined parish. Sr. Carren used to bring communion to Cheryl and she asked me to attend the first festival with her.

It was a good time. Several other parishioners that I knew came also.

Now I am in church for the second time this weekend. The mass today is for Cheryl. So, as little time I spend praying, I am praying with her today. Some have said pray for her but I do not think that she needs prayer. I do pray with, think about, ponder, meditate about and spend time with Cheryl. I carry her in my heart. She is with me today. One of her favorite hymns was the opening song this morning.

As I quietly sat before mass earlier I thanked her for encouraging me to do all these chores that I had not done before. I found myself talking to her in the quiet of my mind. It was comforting.

Not only do I do the chores for myself now but I also make a list of what those things are so that I do not forget any. Cheryl showed me how to do that also.

Carpe Diem

She Made Me think for a Bit

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Have you ever lived on your own before?, Natalie asked me. An innocent question on her part, I am pretty sure. We talk about sundry topics while she is cleaning. I appreciate the fact that she wants to know more about me. I think.

She made me think about it. The answer is no. I moved out of Mom and Dad’s house to our apartment in Oxford. Cheryl was slightly more experienced.

She was resident at the high school she attended but lived in a dormitory situation with many girls around her there. She lived at home in the summer. She had a tough guy for a dad who told the head of the novitiate program that when Cheryl was under her care she would do what she said and when Cheryl was home for the summer she would do whatever he said. That was after some discussion about dating boys.

Thanks, Bob.

Natalie’s question added nuance to my current situation. Another background spice that makes the flavor so new to me. I am 74. I have never in my entire life lived by myself. So far, it is not bad and yet it sucks too. Maybe I need a list.

PROSCONS
laundry can lay around until laterdo own laundry
cook own food – experimentcook own food
do whatever during day, no rulesno schedule, no rules
go wherever during dayable to eat ice cream for breakfast
get up whenever – early or latemake own bed
only thing holding me back is meonly thing holding me back is me
only consideration is mehome feels empty
I am sure there are more.

Maybe I do not need a list. Although a list does make me think of Cheryl and her lists. I have kept many that she made and put in her office when I cleaned it up.

There are pros and cons to those thoughts also.

Carpe Diem.