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Carpe Diem

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In keeping with my overall theme of seize the moment, I bid farewell to my commentary and narration of my heart attack and subsequent plumbing repairs and the recovery from all of that. God has given me an extended life. What will I do with it?

These past few days and weeks have been remarkably suited for riding. This single fact has caused me to be down a bit. I cannot ride. At first I felt little like riding but as I heal I become more anxious to do it every day. It is a goal. It is a quest. In February and in March I was beginning to ride a few miles and then a mile or so more before the universe made me stop and discover where the pain was coming from.

I need to work on stamina first. It is surprising how winded I get just walking around my little condo’s parking area. But I must pay attention to how my body is healing and what substances will help it to heal. In the hospital I was getting a calcium drip for a couple days. Debbie suggested that I should drink milk and eat cheese to accomplish a similar effect.

The simple joy of chocolate milk, I used to drink this as a child. In the hospital I was given Ensure. I found that the chocolate variety pleased my pallet. There is a chocolate variety of Bailey’s Irish Cream. Those two together can only improve the value and overall flavor profile of chocolate Ensure. This might be adult Ensure. I will try this later.

Mom said to me long ago after one of her hospital stays that Ensure or Boost is not too bad if you mix it with a little milk. It tasted like a low end milk shake.

I will drink more Ensure and maybe add some Bailey’s. And I will walk more. Stay tuned.

Carpe Diem.

Miraculous

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Miraculous Pain in the Ass (a Diary)

Debbie made this comment the other day about my recent myocardial infarction/ angioplasty/ cardio arterial bypass graft activity. I have to agree. I have complained to the medical folks steering my care that I am personally amazed that I do not feel worse than I do. The whole process has been a miraculous pain in the ass (or chest – but I felt little pain in my chest after all the chest tubes came out.)

  • March 19, 2026 – Sun shining, high of 70 or so. A good day to ride the bike and get used to the trail again. Pain in my chest and left arm that I wrote off as winter stiffness and out-of-shapeness, was not to be ignored. I did ignore it for a bit. I stopped at my “turn around” point and sat on a bench along side of the trail.
  • March 20, 2026 – a little pain here and there but nothing of note but distracting enough that I could not ignore. Debbie insisted I make a doctor appointment. I did.
  • March 21, 2026 – Pain in my chest and left arm with a vengeance while I was beginning to assemble a porch glider that was purchased online a few days before. I sat down. Debbie looked at me while I insisted that I did not need anything other than to sit for a bit. The look on her face told me that I should be taking this more seriously.
  • March 21, 2026 – I drove myself and Debbie to the hospital and walked into the ER at Jewish Hospital part of the Mercy Health system in Cincinnati. I announced that I think I am having a heart attack. They brought me a wheelchair and things happened quickly.
  • People work in the hospital on the weekends. This destroyed my theory that nothing would happen before Monday. Nevertheless a cardiologist ordered several diagnostic tests all aimed at discovering why I was feeling what I was feeling. I was put on a hepron drip and aspirin to keep me from plugging up before the eventual solution could be executed.
  • March 22, 2026 – About 5:15 in the afternoon I sent this email message to the stock club membership. — Hey guys; It is unlikely that I will be at the meeting tomorrow. Sorry about the last minute notice but I’m in the hospital. Denny has my proxy. Paul
  • March 23, 2026 – Monday. Early in the morning I had an angioplasty diagnostic test to determine what was wrong. A stint or two was not going to fix me. As previously reported one artery was 99% blocked and another was 95% blocked.
  • March 23, 2026 I was trucked (literally) over to Mercy Anderson where they specialize in cardiac arterial bypass graft surgery (CABG). I took my hepron drip with me.
  • March 23, 2026 – This was the week for CABG surgery. I had to wait for my turn which was scheduled for Friday. I needed it but I was in too good of shape to go first. No one ever said this out loud but the thought was there. I settled into the cardiac care ICU room C221. Debbie stayed with me overnight the night before the surgery.
  • March 27, 2026 – Three days of the cardiac diet in the hospital got me here. The food is not bad it is just boring. Days go slow in the hospital. A cardiac burger has little maybe no salt involved in its cooking. Otherwise it is perfectly edible. “Worth his salt” is a comment from Roman times. Nothing to eat past midnight. I did not miss it.
  • March 27, 2026 – In the late morning Becky a nurse practitioner with big hands joined us in C221 to chat about what was coming soon. The first surgery of the day was going quicker than expected. They would come get me soon. Debbie and I waited. David showed up to wait with me. Sarah showed up to wait with me. They did not come to get me soon. It was more like two hours later.
  • March 27, 2026 – Early afternoon Becky reappeared with another nurse to push me to the operating theater. I scooted onto the operating table. The anesthetist remarked to Becky that I was too high up the table. She grabbed my feet and said she was going to move me down. She did. Big hands. Moments later it was lights out.
  • March 27, 2026 – about 9PM – Wendy from the breathing department said to me, I’m going to do a little suction and then pull the breathing tube out. I was still a little groggy but she did what she said. I was breathing again on my own. Debbie had left my phone and my glasses with the night nurse after peeking through the C221 glass door. I could talk which surprised me a bit. At 9:30PM I called Debbie to report that I was still alive and kicking. I called her first because I knew she would be worried overnight otherwise. We always – since we met – call each other at night to say good night. I actually slept that first night.
  • March 28, 2026 – about 3:30AM – a lab technician showed up to draw blood and make sure that I was awake.
  • March 28, 2026 – About 5AM – two NPs showed up with their very own portable bedside x-ray machine. They sat me up to take a chest picture to be sure I was still screwed together. The My Chart report says yep, all good. They left to go wake up the next patient. The night nurse helped me to sit up in my chair about 6AM. This became my morning routine for the next four days or so.
  • March 28, 2026 – a little after 7AM – rounds. Several bright cheery young women appeared to take over the day shift and find out from the night shift any important stuff about the patient – me. Another morning routine began.
  • March 29, 2026 – 3, 5 & 7AM – pretty much the same as March 28th. The times may be off slightly but the 3:30AM blood draw was very consistent as was the morning x-ray. On this day I think I got a shower in the morning by Austin, Austin is an incredibly gentle nurse on the night shift. Austin stayed in my room overnight March 27-28 after my surgery. He monitored my numbers and laughed when I told Debbie after I woke up, “I’m still alive, baby!”
  • March 29, 2026 – physical therapy folks appeared to get me going and walking a little bit in the room. Occupational therapy showed up to ask a lot of questions about my home and to offer suggestions about staying in the tube.– which is their way for saying do not use your arms for anything like pushing up out of a chair.
  • March 30, 2026 – 3, 5 & 7AM – pretty much the same as March 28 & 29. Either a nurse or a PT person showed up every couple hours to walk me around the hallway. There are practice steps overlooking the hospital lobby. The more I walked, the closer I came to going home. I was feeling better. I found some underwear to put on in my backpack that David had brought. No longer was my butt hanging out for all to see when I walked around.
  • March 31, 2026 – discharge day. Taylor, the day nurse, came in with her trainee, Emily, to go through this book I have been filling in for several days now at home. Scott and David and Zachary came to give me a ride home. Emily went to find a wheel chair to give me a ride to the front so that I could get into my car. Scott had left his car at my house and drove my car to the hospital. I rode home in the back of the car. The medical folks were concerned about the airbags. Zachary went home with Uncle David.
  • April 1, 2026 – April Fools Day – I am home. I do not feel too much from the surgery. A little sore here and there. Debbie came over to stay with me for the next several days. David also stayed with me for a week. Sarah came and made soup. It was heavenly.
  • April 2, 2026 – People came to feed us. Debbie cooked her award winning and legendary meat loaf. Denise, Debbie’s sister, made her special scalloped cheesy potatoes and ham. It was much better than green eggs and ham (Sam I am.) There was a lot of it so Debbie and I ate it for lunch and dinner for a couple days. I think I ate the last of it a week or so later.
  • April 3, 2026 – Kristin, a work friend of Debbie’s, brought her special soup also called Paula Dean’s chicken noodle soup. It was excellent even though Kristin made it without the alcoholic beverage in it. In case you were wondering – see below
    • For the Stock;
      • 2 1⁄2 to 3 pounds broiler-fryer chicken, cut up
      • 3 1⁄2 quarts water
      • 1 onion, peeled and diced
      • 2 teaspoons Italian seasoning
      • 1 teaspoon lemon-pepper seasoning
      • 3 garlic cloves, minced
      • 4 bay leaves
      • 3 chicken bouillon cubes
      • Kosher salt, to taste
      • Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
    • For the Soup
      • 7 cups sliced carrots
      • 2 cups sliced celery, leaves included
      • 2 1⁄2 cups uncooked egg noodles
      • 1 cup sliced mushrooms
      • 3 tablespoons parsley, chopped
      • 1⁄3 cup cooking sherry
      • 2 teaspoons fresh rosemary leaves, chopped
      • 1 cup grated Parmesan cheese
      • 3⁄4 cup heavy cream, optional
      • Salt and pepper, to taste
      • Crusty French bread, for serving
  • April 4, 2026 – I found the ice cream in the freezer. This is the beginning of 4 long weeks of no driving and depending on my kids and others to drive me around. Debbie kept telling me how good I was doing. I think she meant that I was not complaining about my lot in life.
  • April 5, 2026 – Easter Sunday. I stayed home. Although I was feeling better each day, I did not feel up to church. I thanked God for Debbie and her persistence at chasing me to the hospital to be checked out.
  • April 6 – 10, 2026 – Debbie went back to work. David hung on for a couple more nights and ultimately moved home. I was on my own for a few nights.
  • April 10, 2026 – Debbie returned for the weekend and to be sure I did my exercises. Over time she has arranged her working schedule so that she has a 4 day weekend. During this time in our relationship she has cleared her grandmotherly duties to take care of me. For that I will be forever grateful. On this day we resumed our charcuterie board lunch and planning session for the rest of the weekend.
  • April 11, 2026 – It was a great day for a walk in the park so we did just that. We chilled for most of the weekend.
  • April 13, 2026 – Debbie returned to her grandmotherly duties during the day. We went to dinner in the evening.
  • April 14, 2026 – Debbie returned to work. The physical therapy sessions continued and the visiting nurse came to assess my progress. Rhonda laughed when I told her that Debbie referred to her as the exercise nazi.
  • April 14 – 17, 2026 – I continued a routine of taking care of myself. Showering everyday and gently washing my chest wound. Monitoring my blood pressure and heart rate. Getting up to walk in the parking lot. I did not do this as much as the log book wanted me to do that but it is a boring activity and occasionally I napped instead.
  • April 19, 2026 – Sunday. Debbie and I went to the Kenwood Theater to see “Hail Mary” a peculiar movie about some sort of star eating bacteria and one man’s quest to solve the problem. Entertaining but an odd story line.
  • April 22, 2026 – Wednesday – The anniversary of Cheryl’s death. Scott, Zachary and I went to visit Cheryl’s columbarium niche. Her flowers are in full bloom.

Debbie remarked that this has been a miraculous pain in the ass a couple days ago and she is right. It still feels strange to me that I am feeling so good after the surgery that was performed on me. I had two bypass grafts added to my heart plumbing by Dr. Lynn Seto who is, apparently, a skilled heart surgeon.

Dr. Seto, thank you and your team for your excellence.

Carpe Diem.

Days Four and Five

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Fourth day and Home

Open heart surgery – cracked open my chest – the whole thing – has come a long way since Mom had it many years ago.

I woke up about 9pm after surgery on Friday. The breathing specialist took the plastic tube out of my mouth and lungs. A little one, two, three and its out. Wow I am hoping to never have that experience again. There were four other drain tubes still in. two around my lungs, two around my heart. And to keep with the twos I had a double bypass.

I could talk so the first thing I did was call Debbie when the night nurse whose name was Austin gave me the phone it was great to hear her voice and I knew she would sleep better knowing that I was still my annoying self. I thought she would spread the word that Paul was back.

What a long slog this will be. The nurses and physical therapy folks – Emma and Amy – don’t leave you alone. The first day was simply sit in a hospital recliner chair until its too much. And they talked about keeping my elbows near my body, move in the tube is phrase that they use to help you remember. When they cut your pectoral muscles and your breast bone apart, your body tells you. There is that little pulling sensation in your chest that says – hey, hey, hey we are are healing down here – that will remind you to be careful.

On the Fifth day

What a remarkable feeling it is to sleep in one’s own bed. There is the added bonus of not getting poked in the arm somewhere at 3:15AM because they need another blood test. The chest x-rays at 5AM were also reduced to none at home.

I am truly amazed at my own progress.

I think I will stop here but God taught me two things; exercise is good for all recovery and do not ignore chest pain. I do have a greater appreciation of life.

Carpe Diem.

A Summer Day in Winter and other Thoughts

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A Summer Day

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean —

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down —

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

These words by Mary Oliver send my thoughts in many directions. The last two lines seem to be very popular with the counted cross stitch and embroidery set. These are words of inspiration to the young.

The previous two lines “Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?” seem a lament for the old. We tell ourselves, we have lived life as best we thought at the time.

Do I have regrets? “Tell me, what else should I have done?” hides in the back of other thoughts. What could I have done different that would put me in a better place today? How would I define “better place”?

Grief, that missing another, that emptiness for love’s object, that restless lonely, that longing, is often with me at seemingly random times. It will always be there. It is smoother on some days. I noticed this past evening as I talked to my son that I could tell stories and talk about Cheryl without choking up. Cheryl and I had many great times.

In the now, my son and his wife are splitting. My girlfriend’s daughter is very ill. She is hospitalized with an undefined infection. My girlfriend’s youngest son has split with his significant other and that is a remarkable similarity to my son’s situation. He has snapped back to his savior and supporter, Mom. (She has pushed him out of the nest several times. It is hard (but time) for him to fly on his own.) I have interest and concern for all of these people in my life. They give me a place to send my love and support.

“Tell me, what else couldI do?” is a question I ask of myself but it is an unfair question. Simply being present to other’s needs and being there as they sort through their difficulties is enough. I do not volunteer a solution if I have one. It would be my solution, not their solution. The same heartfelt commitment would not be there. (My mother would say, ‘Pull up your socks!’, which was her way of saying you have to be the designer of your own way out, otherwise you are not committed to it.)

My son is staying with me in the guest bedroom while he sorts through moving vehicles, furniture and just plain stuff accumulated over time to his new rental digs.

Debbie’s daughter is in the best hospital in town. They are committed to finding out what is wrong in her anatomy and doing their best to fix it or mitigate it.

Debbie’s son has a short term solution for housing and a wonderful employer that seems committed to his success. Maybe her consultation support is of greater value to him than monetary support. Maybe he will come to understand that. Maybe he will be able to move on from this former girlfriend who suddenly turned physically violent toward him. Maybe he will realize what he feels is grief of a sort for a lost relationship.

I do know how to pay attention, and listen and offer advice when asked and pray that God will provide a stable solution to the currently evolving dilemmas.

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? If not die, at least, stop?

Maybe not soon enough? Was that snarky?

I love them all.

Carpe Diem.

Little Women

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I stood on the scale and as luck would have it, no weight loss and no weight gain either.

Huh. Alas. Alack. Oh whoa is me. Or is it?

The new snow is coating the grass.

The early morning sky is azure blue as the sun blazes near the eastern horizon.

The chilly birds are dive bombing Jane’s feeder next door.

It is a new day!

These thoughts come to me in rapid fire as I awaken more fully while drinking my coffee and thinking about the previous evening. The play “Little Women” was excellent. The production itself is a co-production, a special partnership between two theaters working on a single play. The play was staged first in Portland and then here in Cincinnati. Debbie and I went to see it last night during one of our field trips. The play itself tells the stories within Little Women but focuses on Louisa May Alcott as a writer and her life.

At intermission we had a conversation with a younger man seated next to us. He asked how longer we had been together. I responded with “about a year and a half.” I did not think much of it but Debbie picked up on the fact that he thought I was joking. Debbie talked to him for a bit and found out that he was from out of town.

Later as we drove home she told me that he thought we had been together for a long time, an easy assumption to make since we are both older. When she corrected his notion he was interested in our story. Her synopsis of us meeting later in life interested him.

Yesterday was a pleasant day. The play was well done.

There have been many instances now where total strangers have commented on the love and affection vibe that they perceive between us.

I feel that way about Debbie and she feels that way about me.

It shows.

Carpe Diem.

Friday

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This day of the week has over time become special to me and to Debbie and I.

Last year the part time teaching job I had with a local community college involved maintaining an open lab on Wednesday and Thursday evenings as well as Tuesday mornings. Debbie works in her profession on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday also. I remarked once to her that our Friday came on Thursday, so our Saturday came on Friday. It was our day of relaxation, dinner or lunch and other dates.

The movie theaters are very uncrowded on Fridays. Sometimes in our favorite theater us and one other couple are watching the film. I like that.

When I bought tickets to the play we are going to see tonight I specifically picked the Friday performance.

When we started dating, that term seemed foreign to me. I referred to our outings as field trips. I think, I am certain, I was hunting for a term that would not hurt Cheryl’s feelings. Cheryl had passed on from this earthly existence but then as now she is still in my heart. Field trip is a term Debbie and I still use to describe our date activities. Much like a term of endearment it is a code, a phrase with a personal meaning for being together and enjoyment of an activity.

“We need a field trip.” she will say. My reply is yes we do and off we go to dinner and a movie or something.

Today the field trip is an afternoon luncheon and later this evening the play at Cincinnati’s Playhouse in the Park. The performance is “Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women” an adaptation by playwright Lauren M. Gunderson. I am looking forward to it for several reasons. It is coming to Cincinnati directly from Portland where my sister lives. Some of the actors are from there. I could not get through the book earlier in my life so I am inclined to find it in the library and read it again to see if my reading tastes have changed as I grow older. However, the real reason is that I have an opportunity to spend time with Debbie.

We will talk and muse about the past week. We will discuss Florida again. It is currently snowing in our part of the world so we will complain a bit about that. Afterward we will discuss the play itself over a glass of wine and maybe a snack.

We are going tonight because our trip to Florida bumped this play from our schedule last week. Another field trip is what we both need during this snowy season in Ohio.

We could stay in and whine about the weather or we could ignore it and rejoice in life and its pleasurable attributes. Soon the snow will be over.

Snow-mageddon be damned. We are going to the play.

Carpe Diem.

Longing for Spring

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Last week we returned from a midwinter trip to southern Florida to our home here in the “Heart of it All” Ohio. I like the slogan. Close your eyes a little and squint at the shape of the state. It is slightly heart shaped. These days here it is a cold heart.

Sit back and relax while I whine a little about the Ohio winter made worse by visiting Florida in late January. I am just starting to understand the snowbird phenomenon and why Delta Airlines has direct flights from Cincinnati to Naples, Florida bypassing their home port Atlanta, Georgia which is actually on the way.

When Cheryl was still here, winter weather was terrifying for two reasons. The first was obvious. She did not move well with her Parkinson ailment, so, any slippery surface was an opportunity for a catastrophic fall. She did not think well with her dementia ailment, so the winter darkness brought on strange behaviors that I did my best to help her cope with. We did many late night drives around a four mile loop I invented on the fly to take her home because her sun-downers syndrome convinced her that she was not home. Once I took a different path “home” and she told me, “This isn’t the way home.” I never varied from my original route after that comment.

I am not terrified of Ohio winter any longer. Inconvenienced perhaps. Uninterested in winter sports perhaps. There is a great sledding hill just across the street on an old abandoned golf course but I am not going there.

Going for a walk is inconvenient. Most folks just shovel off the driveway if they shovel anything at all.

Going for a bike ride is out of the question for similar reasons to those of walking. Many drivers are incompetent at that in normal daylight dry conditions. Cabin fever makes them aggressive it seems or maybe they are upset that the dairy guy is unable to refill the shelves in a timely manner and they will miss out. FOMO sires aggressiveness. Bicycle riders be damned. And it is too cold in any case, I am a warm weather rider.

Mostly winter anywhere is just gray while the world awaits the return of the sunlight and warmth. The view of the woods from my living room window will be bleak and gray for a few weeks more. And just as I am thinking these sad thoughts, a cardinal appears in view outside of that window and lifts my spirits.

He is wearing his best late winter plumage. He is looking for a mate. His distinctness against the gray and white is fantastical. He whispers change is coming. He cheeps a little because there are no females in this woods. He is off again.

This picture is from my trail camera that Debbie gave me for Christmas.

Spring is coming.

Carpe Diem.

A 2026 Calendar

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Time and Dates and Events

The activity of marking and acknowledging life events was Cheryl’s job. All through 2025 I realized how much I missed her and her organizational ability when my date dyslexia would dissipate for a moment and would remember that I forgot some important event like a birthday or anniversary. These, of course, were an important acknowledgment of some life altering event. Something to be commemorated. Something to be celebrated. Or something to be commiserated.

To her life was a continuum but it was marked by various events both good and bad.

When she moved to a memory care facility and I disassembled her office back into a guest bedroom, I developed a simple sorting method for her clutter. Clutter is an unkind word because in her own mind as it disintegrated she was doing real work and “getting things done.” It breaks my heart when I think about it. Scattered in various storage spaces in my condominium now I have collected the clutter into three general categories: pictures, letters, notes.

The pictures are easy. They are of our family and friends and sometimes Christmas postcards that show the growth of often far flung friends and family. In earlier times she sorted and organized these. During the last few years of her life she sorted and organized but the associations were meaningless to others, as well as, her after she had done so.

The letters did not need separation or organization. These were separated into their own file folder. Cheryl and I wrote many many letters back and forth while in high school. I have these collected with my own response in my office.

Her notes I sorted into their own tubs and a couple boxes. I hope to write a memoir as I review her notes to herself.

Today I went through the big black book that we (I) purchased for her to help her remember birthdays and anniversaries when her cognitive function was fading. The BBB is its own category. It has all the dates of family and friends births and anniversaries and in some cases, their deaths. It has also collected many other notes and pictures paper-clipped and stapled here and there at random. This coming year I hope to remember my family’s birthdays and although I am not a card sender, I can acknowledge the date.

It is hard for me to go through this book to recover birth data because it contains cognitive data and the lack there of as well. This note, stuck in the book on April 15th, reminds me how upon occasion her cognitive ability returned for short periods

– DO NOT worry about greeting cards for the W/girls for now) (too much stress –

I do not know which W/girls she referred to but her mind was telling her to relax a bit. The note is printed in all caps. Mileena’s birthday is noted on the page above this note and the parenthesis are askew, nevertheless, she recognized her internal stress about getting it right and wrote herself a note to let it go. She consistently wrote notes to herself about this or that and attached the notes to that or this. The attachment did not always go with the note.

I did achieve my goal. I constructed a calendar of my own and slid it into a plastic sheet protector. I laid it on the kitchen table so that I can ignore it in a brighter light filled room. (When she was alive it resided in the hallway to our bedroom.)

Better in Retirement

I am ready for 2026.

Carpe Diem.

Funerals

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These events are for the living. The usefulness to the living is a final farewell. The tradition helps the living cope with the fact that they too will eventually succumb. (Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, we are here and then we are not.) Nice music and often monotonic recitation of traditional prayer provides solace.

This particular funeral service was held for my sister-in-law. Three of us brothers-in-law are widowers now. Is this a trend? I hope not. I chose to sit near the back of the church to avoid sitting with the grieving immediate family and to be alone with my own thoughts. Cheryl is still fresh in my mind.

As the homilist was speaking I heard the first allusion to purgatory in a Roman Catholic sermon that I have heard without using the word for a very long time. (It could be that I did not listen to funeral sermons carefully before this one.) I was interested by the implication that the person might not be in heaven. But me being me I was not alarmed, I went off to the Wait wait What? to read current doctrine of the Roman Catholic church. Every thought, idea, law and religious doctrine exists on the WWW somewhere and it exists for any religious philosophy.

There is a YouTube video for the reading challenged at www.catholic.com that tells all. Reserve an hour or so if you are interested. I have got to admit that the current view of purgatory is much different than what I got from reading the catechism and listening to the Sisters of Mercy seventy years ago.

I have misunderstood the difference of “praying for” and “praying to” for many years. Today I read this: “… prayers for the dead: “In doing this (offering a sacrifice) he (Judas Maccabee) acted in a very excellent and noble way, inasmuch as he had the resurrection of the dead in view; for if he were not expecting the dead to rise again, it would have been useless and foolish to pray for them in death. But if he did this with a view to the splendid reward that awaits those who had gone to rest in godliness, it was a holy and pious thought. Thus he made atonement for the dead that they might be freed from this sin” (2 Macc. 12:43–45). Prayers are not needed by those in heaven, and no one can help those in hell…”

There is an in-between state (Limbo of the Fathers, Purgatory, Sanctification) and those souls we pray for. Souls in heaven do not need prayer. They are there. They are sanctified. They are prayed to. Souls in hell (damnation) are lost and cannot be helped. That is sad. The distinction was lost on me when I was six years old and I was not interested enough to ask. Catholic philosophy is laden with guilt and I did not seek out more of it by asking the nun to compare and contrast for and to.

As for me, I prefer to sit near the back of any church. It is a fine old Catholic tradition that if you get in early you can sit in the back. Cheryl liked to sit midway up and to the left side. After her death I sit near the rear and to the right. I can look at the other side of her. I see her often in church, any church, when I am there.

Family is mostly what I thought about during her funeral after I made a mental note to educate myself about the concept of purgatory. Two of my children sat with me. We did not stay for the reception in the church hall afterward. Cheryl’s death is too fresh for all of us.

Cheryl… when she died I was sad and happy… She was better at religion than I was and am now. I think women are better at religion. It is odd, I think, that men are in charge of them, all of them. I was sad that she was gone from my life and I felt that here in church at Teri’s funeral.

Cheryl came to me in an early morning dream a few months ago. It is incredibly vivid in my memory, as though I had lived though it. In the dream there was a special service in our church – Nativity. For some unclear reason we had to bring our own chairs to the service – a mass as I remember it. At the end of the service she hoped up and announced to me that she had to go. I can hear her, “I have to go!” I thought she meant to the lady’s room. She was in the midst of her Parkinson’s and with that her memory and spacial issues. She could not always find her way around. In this instance she was moving with ease towards the lavatory door which was around the corner and out of my sight as she moved through the crowd of folks leaving the service. I waited anxiously near our chairs gathering our stuff up to leave. I looked in her direction often to be sure she would make her way back. She often was unsure of where she was, so, I was worried. She was gone a long time and as I began to move towards the lady’s room a young man came up to me and asked if he could help with the chairs. He explained that Cheryl was gone.(He said, “She’s not coming back. She’ll be okay.) It is a very vivid memory/dream and I cry whenever I recall it. She is in heaven. This is what I take her last visit to me in this dream to mean.

I am happy for her because she was no longer suffering from Parkinson’s scourge that took her from this life and my life. I am happy that I can pray to her.

Carpe Diem

Fire

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https://wlwt.com/article/4-people-displaced-after-fire-engulfs-home-in-pleasant-ridge/69582581

A house fire is a terribly scary thing.

This picture of my son’s house on fire makes me glad and sad at the same time. The whole family went to a nearby church to buy a Christmas tree. Gone for perhaps 20 – 30 minutes they returned to this conflagration at their house.

Glad – they were not home.

Sad – their home was messed up and will need extensive repairs.

So now starts the extensive task of cleaning and repair.

What caused it? A small remote control outlet that allowed them to turn on a floor lamp without climbing over the couch to do that task. (Ah, It shorted out you said to yourself.) Not a “short” as electrical folks think of it. A short circuit would have popped the breaker. This did not. It cooked and got hotter until the nearby couch caught fire.

Many of us have similar devices. I have one I talk to, “Alexa! Light on!” Same thing, different remote style. I have touched all of those little chargers, bricks, power supplies, thingies plugged in anywhere in my house. Look at the picture again. Scary stuff. I will do it more often, maybe even, a nightly routine.

“I bet they did not have smoke detectors.” Social media is rife with experts and lookie-loos. One of them took this picture. “I saw them take someone out on a stretcher.” Nope.

The smoke detectors were screaming when the fire department showed up. I am glad no one was home to hear them. One of the pet cats, “Snowball”, did not make it.

Glad – they are all safe. Glad my family is safe.

Sad – one of the cats died in the fire.

Glad – they have good insurance. Things can be replaced.

Sad – for all the clean-up that will occur going forward. Enough laundry is done to get on with life and the recovery process.

Both sad and glad. Several days beyond the initial trauma, the world has stabilized a bit and the clean up begins. My son got a ticket from the zoning commission for having an unlivable domicile. We laughed at that. My grandson who stored all of his toys and cars in the living room where the fire occurred incurred a loss of all of those. When my son mentioned that to his teacher at school the first day afterward, she replied, we can fix that. My grandson came home with cars and truck carrier and some new clothes.

He has a great teacher and a wonderful school.

Carpe Diem.