Ramblings of an Old, Romantic Soul

Tomorrow, Mom will have turned 92. I’ve been struggling with what to write, how to honor her memory. At the memorial mass, my eldest sister, Mary Jo, shared a beautiful reflection of her memories, of many things that most people didn’t know about Mom. So, with her permission, I decided now is a perfect opportunity to share with all of you. To Carmella - the myth, the legend! Happy birthday, Mom. You are loved, remembered, and missed every day ❣️ THIS IS A TRIBUTE TO A WOMAN OF STRENGTH, ENDURANCE, AND LOVE ~ MY MOM A wise man recently told me that “your personality is God-given, but your temperament is a learned behavior”.  On the surface, the two may not match and may contradict one another, which can be confusing to say the least to yourself and those you love. But with the help of the Great Physician, it doesn’t have to stay that way.   As I prayed and reflected on what I was going to say today I struggled through many emotions before finding the right words. Like many mothers and d

Reality: Mom is gone. Miss Marplestein is gone. Dulcinea is gone. We have three hearts grieving for our losses in different ways. But more on that in a bit.  We celebrated Mom's life with a beautiful mass on Friday, 8 October 2021, at St. Augustine's Church in Elkridge, MD. It was the last church Mom attended before the strokes, broken hip, and move to Florida. After the memorial, we had a luncheon provided by the church (with a small donation). The Helping Hands ministry did a marvelous job - handling the setup, the meal prep, and the clean up. Amazing.  Sunday, 10 October 2021, we laid Mom to rest with Dad. All my siblings were in attendance. A very simple gathering. A tough goodbye to our parents, with the sad realization that we are now orphans; and that this may have been the last time all seven of us are together. I will cherish the photos that were taken that day.  I spent three and half weeks in Maryland, visiting family, friends, and bonding even more with my sisters.

 5 June 2005 - 28 September 2021  On August 1st, I wrote one of my saddest blogs ever - the death of our Dulcinea, Miss Marplestein's sister. "Death seems to be ever preset in our home these days." And he hasn't left.  Death chose to take our sweet, sweet Miss Marplestein yesterday, the 28th of September.  We noticed a change in her, but we thought it was grief for her "Noni", and her sister.  Perhaps she had a UTI. We certainly did not expect to hear that she was in the end stage of renal failure. And nothing much we could do. Sure, we could hospitalize her, they could poke and prod and give her needles; but none of that would cure her. It would only prolong the inevitable. We decided to keep her home. Just like Dulcinea, we wanted her to be where she was most comfortable, most loved and cherished.  Have I said Miss M was sweet?  Well, she was. Dulcinea was the diva and could be standoffish, but not Miss M. She loved people. She loved her brother, Henley. S

  What does it mean when people say 'try to be strong'? Why? I am not weak because I cry, because I miss my Mom, my Dulcinea. I miss Mom's smile, her laugh, her hugs, her unconditional love, her presence. So many things I want to tell her - and yes, I've heard "she hears you". But right now that is not enough. In time it will be, but not now. And that's okay.  Every morning, every evening, I look for sweet Dulcinea - I listen for her meows, her pawsteps. I long to have her lay on my chest, gently kneading, and listen to her soothing purr. But she is gone.  Two souls, so long a part of my life, are no longer present.  I am numb. I am lost. I am no longer needed. Will I find my way again? Of course I will. A path will be made clear and I will sing and dance again. But not now, not yet.  Grief is strange. A very dear friend told me "there is no way through but through" - and that takes strength. It takes strength to confront the tears, the lonelines

Dulcinea 5 June 2005 ~ 1 August 2021 Death seems to be ever present in our home these days. First Mom, now our beloved Dulcinea.   The look of death is the same, whether human or animal. And it isn't pretty. It matters not if they died peacefully, that empty look of death is the same - when you know the living soul that dwelt within is no longer present.  We had the gift of Dulcinea for 16 years.  We chose her (and her sister, Miss Marplestein) from a bunch of feral kittens at a farm. I held them in my arms, singing and bonding with them; telling them how precious they were.  When we brought them home, they were two small, frightened, sickly kittens. But we thought they were beautiful. In fact, Mom was the first person to meet 'our babies'. We were boasting and googling over them. So proud. Later Mom told us she thought they were the saddest looking creatures she had ever seen but didn't have the heart to tell us so. We were in love. And have been since that day on the

  This is the current state of my brain.  A massive bramble, thoughts scattered, yet all tied into one gigantic mess. Mom is gone. She passed away on Friday, 2 July 2021, in the early morning hours.  In her last months of living she was visited by many family members and in the end, she was surrounded by peace and love.  What more could one want? Well. I want her here. I, we, wanted more time with her in our home. I want more walks with her, more laughs with her. I want more morning coffee time with her. I just want her. Perhaps selfish, but very natural. When Mom moved in with Terry and I, we really thought she would be with us for many years. She was healthy, a country girl, a coalminer's daughter (as she so proudly reminded us) of good stock. Yes, dementia was beginning to rear its ugly head, but many days she was alert and aware. In April I wrote "How fortunate are we to share her final years. To bring her joy, contentment, security, and love. We are blessed beyond measure

Ugh. Hospice. The word has such a negative connotation. Hospice = imminent death. When Dad left the hospital, he came home on hospice care and was with us for two weeks before he died. The hospice team was wonderful, especially his nurse, Albert - a gentle giant who cared for Dad so lovingly. But even so, we knew Dad was coming home to die. I have so many thoughts running through my head, so forgive me if this is a bit jumbled.  Mom has been talking about death for a few months. She is realizing she is at the end of her life and it is hitting her right in the face. She is not giving up, it's just where she is.  Those are her words, not mine. Her food and drink intake has seriously diminished. She has lost quite a bit of weight. And, she has asked to speak to each of her children, to tell them how much she loves us.  I spoke with her doctor and he suggested hospice. He said that people know their bodies and often times sense when it is time. The fact that Mom has stated all she has,

Look at this woman! How fortunate are we to share her final years. To bring her joy, contentment, security, and love. We are blessed beyond measure.  Mom loses her pens. I don't know how, or where they disappear, but they vanish into oblivion. The other day I was browsing Amazon and came across some puzzle books I thought she would enjoy (as you can see she does), and found these 'happy pens'.  They are the cutest pens - with different faces, and moppy hair. AND, she finds them delightful. Simple joys.  I've heard it said that children grow quickly. In a blink of an eye they are young adults making life choices on their own. Parents should spend time with their children, quality time. Parents shouldn't worry about messy rooms, or dirty dishes in the sink. Savor the time you have, each magical moment, for it will not last forever.  Terry and I were not blessed with children, but I find myself repeating these same words to myself. I've realized that playing my gam

Our minds work in mysterious ways, as does our Lord.  This is how my day started: Mom: I have a dumb question to ask. Me: No question is dumb. What’s your question? Mom: That furniture in my bedroom looks like the furniture I bought long ago. Is it mine? Me: Yes. That’s yours. Mom: Oh my! How nice that it’s here. I bought something else too, I think Me: The cedar chest? Mom: Yes! She then proceeds to relate the whole story about how/why/when she bought the furniture. Mind you, I've heard this story many, many times. And isn't it odd that she can remember the story of how she bought the furniture, which was 70 years ago, but cannot remember that the furniture was moved down here with her. It has been in her room for over a year. She looks at it often and relates the story. Yes, I could feel my inner annoyance. I just wanted to drink my coffee and do my bible study. Here is an excerpt from this morning's study: "He is always there—far outranking Satan in strength—to hear

  When I took this photo, I had a moment of clarity. These two precious beings are kindred spirits. I see a woman who has lived a good life with a mind full of wisdom and facts, and a baby, just starting her life with a mind eager for knowledge. They seem to be so different. But are they?  I think not. In fact, they are quite similar in many ways.  Mom is 91. Audriana is 9 months. Quite a disparity in age. Yet, both have their meals prepared for them or they would not eat.  Both have a walker to assist them - Mom to steady herself; Audri to learn how to walk. Both need assistance in selecting clothes for they day. Both require repetition; one to retain knowledge, the other to access knowledge.  Both take frequent naps. Mom requires a wheelchair or electric scooter for our daily walks; Audri requires a stroller - neither are strong, or confident, enough to walk on their own. Both enjoy and laugh at my dancing and find me entertaining. 😀 Both are fully dependent on others. Every need is

Hello again. Back by not so popular demand 😁  Depression is a sneaky thing.  Depression doesn't play fair. And depression does not make sense.  By all accounts, on paper, I should be the happiest person on earth. I have a loving, devoted husband, a wonderful marriage, a beautiful home, family and friends that love me unconditionally, fairly good health. The list is endless.  Yet for years, I have suffered from mild depression.   I have always believed that depression was a state of mind - that one could choose to be depressed, or one could choose to be happy.  I didn't get it.  But it is not so simple.  My depression started in 2009, with a horrific family tragedy. Subsequent years were followed by my father's death along with sudden deaths (and not so sudden) of  family members and friends. And though our move to Florida was/is the best thing we have ever done, the isolation from family took a toll.  As I said above, depression does not makes sense.  Here's why. At th