Ramblings of an Old, Romantic Soul

Depression is deceptive. Grief is sneaky. Together they are lethal, cunning, and insidious. And somedays I feel them grasping, pulling me deeper and deeper into the mire. It is scary.  This is truth. It does not mean that I do not have faith. I do. And I pray every day. Every day I see God's beauty. I thank Him for His grace and mercy - thankful for the blessings in my life.  And yet.  The other day I was mowing the lawn, something I enjoy doing. While resting, I happened to look over to the garden where Miss Marplestein and Dulcinea are buried - the hammer hit with the knowledge, again, they are not with us; that they died so close together and so near Mom's death. I am convinced that grief (for Mom and her sister), was a huge part in Miss M's death. These thoughts hit so unexpectedly. What do you do? Thoughts of my brother, still languishing in a hospital bed for three months, are never far away. Will he pull through? Is this his time - is God calling him home? Why can...

 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, Hen...

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...

  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 beyo...

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 al...

  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 ...

Dementia does strange things to the mind. This may sound like an obvious statement, and I suppose it is, but to see firsthand what happens to the mind is both heartbreaking and astonishing - from the mood changes, to the forgetfulness, to the obsessions/fixations. As in the photo above, a cloud descends upon the mind which shrouds all thoughts and memories.  Early on it was dental floss. Then it was picking her fingers. Now it is kleenex and constantly wiping her mouth and nose.  Each day brings a new fixation.  Who knows what happens during the night, but  I am beginning to realize that the first thing Mom asks about in the morning is usually the question of the day.  Last week she was asking about her move to Florida.  How did it happen, why wasn't she asked, why couldn't she stay where she was, etc. Her finances are also a very big concern.  Every other day she asks if she is contributing to the household, what money she has, and how much she t...