Thursday, April 7, 2011
She Said To Write About It.
My Friend ... faithful soulmate ... author ... Shirley ... She Said to Write About it.
That is a hard assignment, deep and intrusive.
Mother has Alzheimer or some sort of dementia …. I am confused as to what “the” doctors’ say and things my sister and I have researched. It doesn’t matter what her illness is labeled, our mother is not the mother that nurtured us into adulthood.
She and my father have always been best friends, looking out for and after each other. This morning, Mother wandered in attempt to go see her long-deceased mother. Dad followed close behind admonishing her to go back in the house. She physically attacked him In a defensive move he blocked her blows with his forearm. She now has a bruise on her arm where their bodies met. He feels terrible, as if, somehow he caused her injury.
My father said the attack upset him so badly he threw up. He is a man who always has taken care of his family … his wife, his girls. He can handle things; knows the right way to do stuff. This is too big for him … but he can not let go. It is misery to witness his heartbreak, his inability to accept the slipping away of the love of his life.
Me, I feel helpless. Confused as to what I can do or am capable of ---. That is the whole of it --- void. Void as to understanding, believing, trusting, acting, being … just a void that I can not put a label, a name, or a feeling ---
Life moves on as it should. The sun shines, the birds sing. People go to work, play, shop, vacation, exercise, sleep … Within in my heart the clock hands move in psychotic directions … time blurs at warp speed forward, backward … then the big hand stands straight up 12 and the little hands pushes forward slowly like a water-bug caught in swamp mud … psychotic confusion.
Doris
4/06/2011
That is a hard assignment, deep and intrusive.
Mother has Alzheimer or some sort of dementia …. I am confused as to what “the” doctors’ say and things my sister and I have researched. It doesn’t matter what her illness is labeled, our mother is not the mother that nurtured us into adulthood.
She and my father have always been best friends, looking out for and after each other. This morning, Mother wandered in attempt to go see her long-deceased mother. Dad followed close behind admonishing her to go back in the house. She physically attacked him In a defensive move he blocked her blows with his forearm. She now has a bruise on her arm where their bodies met. He feels terrible, as if, somehow he caused her injury.
My father said the attack upset him so badly he threw up. He is a man who always has taken care of his family … his wife, his girls. He can handle things; knows the right way to do stuff. This is too big for him … but he can not let go. It is misery to witness his heartbreak, his inability to accept the slipping away of the love of his life.
Me, I feel helpless. Confused as to what I can do or am capable of ---. That is the whole of it --- void. Void as to understanding, believing, trusting, acting, being … just a void that I can not put a label, a name, or a feeling ---
Life moves on as it should. The sun shines, the birds sing. People go to work, play, shop, vacation, exercise, sleep … Within in my heart the clock hands move in psychotic directions … time blurs at warp speed forward, backward … then the big hand stands straight up 12 and the little hands pushes forward slowly like a water-bug caught in swamp mud … psychotic confusion.
Doris
4/06/2011
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Crimson Morning
It was not the best time of my life ... those teenage years. I was a good kid, mostly because I did not want to awaken my father's anger. He was kind too ... I now understand he was hardest on himself and we, my mother, my sister and I, were to him a reflection of who he was.
There was fire between him and my mother. I watched the mystery growing up of that shared love. The look that passed between them often, how he touched her in the small of the back and she turned her clear blue eyes to look into his dark brown eyes.
But daddy expected perfection of himself and her. She was a beauty and young to be my mother ... only 17 1/2 when I arrived. My mother with her curvy figure and curly Blondie hair was beautiful in any color but she loved crimson red. Daddy was okay with that most of the time, but once, when mother, my sister and I were dressed and ready to walk out the door for church, he insisted mother change her dress because "good women did not wear red to church".
I was angry with him - "Not a nice thing to say to my mother" - my mother was always a good woman. So what if she favored bold red lipstick -- so did most of her friends.
They were good women. It was just silly of him to be so angry over a color.
With tears, mother dutifully changed her dress and dried her eyes. My sister and I waited quietly, my daddy fidgeted with his new paper, never looking up. Mother, wearing a soft blue number, walked gracefully pass us to the kitchen, checked her Sunday roast, telling Carlene and I to gather our Sunday school books for church. Daddy sat in his easy chair with his paper. Daddy had "enough" of church growing up but he wanted "his girls to be ladies and go to church."
I knew my life was good but I guess it was clear that I was upset. As we walked to my mother's car, (Mother never missed much) ..."You know Allison, your daddy loves us and wants what is best for us always. Look what he just gave you. How many girls have their own car"?
As I climbed into the front seat of mother's car, I felt a little guilty for being angry at him. I thought of my cardinal-red Volkswagen he had just given me for my sixtheenth birthday. "The car is red", was all I could think. I was still pissed at him for talking to my mother like that ... and so was she.
All three of us "ladies" were silent, gloom filled Mother's sedan. Driving to church, Mother said softly but distinctly to Carlene and I, as she tightly gripped the stirring wheel looking straight ahead, "Never let a man tell you how to dress or wear your hair". Carlene and I were quiet, listening, filing her words in our hearts.
The church building grew into site. I looked at my beautiful mother, her dress matched her blues eyes, no more tears but they were sad. She breathed deeply and a soft smile crossed her face as she prepared to meet her church friends. She was strong. I was proud of her and I would remember her words.
There was fire between him and my mother. I watched the mystery growing up of that shared love. The look that passed between them often, how he touched her in the small of the back and she turned her clear blue eyes to look into his dark brown eyes.
But daddy expected perfection of himself and her. She was a beauty and young to be my mother ... only 17 1/2 when I arrived. My mother with her curvy figure and curly Blondie hair was beautiful in any color but she loved crimson red. Daddy was okay with that most of the time, but once, when mother, my sister and I were dressed and ready to walk out the door for church, he insisted mother change her dress because "good women did not wear red to church".
I was angry with him - "Not a nice thing to say to my mother" - my mother was always a good woman. So what if she favored bold red lipstick -- so did most of her friends.
They were good women. It was just silly of him to be so angry over a color.
With tears, mother dutifully changed her dress and dried her eyes. My sister and I waited quietly, my daddy fidgeted with his new paper, never looking up. Mother, wearing a soft blue number, walked gracefully pass us to the kitchen, checked her Sunday roast, telling Carlene and I to gather our Sunday school books for church. Daddy sat in his easy chair with his paper. Daddy had "enough" of church growing up but he wanted "his girls to be ladies and go to church."
I knew my life was good but I guess it was clear that I was upset. As we walked to my mother's car, (Mother never missed much) ..."You know Allison, your daddy loves us and wants what is best for us always. Look what he just gave you. How many girls have their own car"?
As I climbed into the front seat of mother's car, I felt a little guilty for being angry at him. I thought of my cardinal-red Volkswagen he had just given me for my sixtheenth birthday. "The car is red", was all I could think. I was still pissed at him for talking to my mother like that ... and so was she.
All three of us "ladies" were silent, gloom filled Mother's sedan. Driving to church, Mother said softly but distinctly to Carlene and I, as she tightly gripped the stirring wheel looking straight ahead, "Never let a man tell you how to dress or wear your hair". Carlene and I were quiet, listening, filing her words in our hearts.
The church building grew into site. I looked at my beautiful mother, her dress matched her blues eyes, no more tears but they were sad. She breathed deeply and a soft smile crossed her face as she prepared to meet her church friends. She was strong. I was proud of her and I would remember her words.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
WHAT MATTERS NOW ...
What matters now? They are beckoning to me, these people who look so different than myself ... their look is exotic, dark skin and eyes ... Native American. They have strong sharp features - his face is chiseled with the knowledge of the hunt to survive, to provide for his family. He appears the Eagle protector ... the seasoned warrior ... fearless of all things.
But She, the soft mother-earth ... SHE is the stronger. She shields him from the harshness of life - the pains of change - death and birth. He is renewed by her body. She inspires him to step forward - to create when he does not understand he creates. She grows their combined Spirit within and passes their Spirit to those that follow. He can not bear the thought of her crossing the veil before himself.
For her ... reality is that death is the doorway to greater understanding ... Spirit flows after the breathe ceases ... Spirit lives in the children produced from their bodies, moves in the air, and fertilizes the earth ... Spirit unifies them. Her mantra is "they will always be".
She is lion-hearted and shields him from his fears. They are one. He is strong for and from the lioness.
But She, the soft mother-earth ... SHE is the stronger. She shields him from the harshness of life - the pains of change - death and birth. He is renewed by her body. She inspires him to step forward - to create when he does not understand he creates. She grows their combined Spirit within and passes their Spirit to those that follow. He can not bear the thought of her crossing the veil before himself.
For her ... reality is that death is the doorway to greater understanding ... Spirit flows after the breathe ceases ... Spirit lives in the children produced from their bodies, moves in the air, and fertilizes the earth ... Spirit unifies them. Her mantra is "they will always be".
She is lion-hearted and shields him from his fears. They are one. He is strong for and from the lioness.
Forgiveness
The time will come when we will dance again.
That my heart and your heart will open and become as one.
We will remember time before this life.
We will remember the sacredness of our pledge.
Gratitude will fill our spirit for the lessons each taught and received.
Truth will open locked doors and love will enter in.
Joy will fill our being and we will dance again.
That my heart and your heart will open and become as one.
We will remember time before this life.
We will remember the sacredness of our pledge.
Gratitude will fill our spirit for the lessons each taught and received.
Truth will open locked doors and love will enter in.
Joy will fill our being and we will dance again.
Monday, May 25, 2009
The Circle
Memorial Weekend 2009 was the Simpson Family Reunion. My two daughters and their families came and we all stayed at my parents home on Sam Rayburn. My dad is almost 83 and he takes care of my mother and most all the everyday concerns of keeping up a home and property. My mother turned 79 on December 18, 2008. She is still beautiful. Her hair is silver and her eyes are still an unusual light blue ... sometimes they sparkle like they use to when I was a child ... but much too often, she doesn't really remember who she is ... are where she is. If she sleeps during the day, she thinks it is a new morning (maybe that is not all bad) ... at least that is one way of getting two days out of one! Our family loves to eat and talk and we all love children. Seven of my precious grandchildren, who attended the reuion, hunted lizards, ran with the their distant cousins, laughing over everything, beating a pinata till the candy fell out ... my precious Emma even managed to head-lock an unruly older male second-cousin at the pure delight of her mother's only 1st female cousin ... Angie is still laughing about that.
I've always loved to climb in bed with my parents and visit. As a child, they said I would lay between them and listen to radio programs with them till I feel asleep. Then daddy would put me in my bed ... my bed was a dresser drawer until I outgrew it. So Saturday night with my husband asleep in our bed, my adult children in their beds, my seven grandchildren sleeping scattered on padlets across the living room floor along side of Scratch, (my parent's hugh chow-lab mixed dog) ... I crawled in bed with mother and daddy. Daddy turned on his left side and was asleep in all of 5 minutes. Mother and I talked a bit about the day. She was very content, then she drew close to me and laid her head on my shoulder, I wrapped my arms around her and she went to sleep. So many times ... I remember my mother holding me in her arms just as I now held her. When I knew she was soundly asleep, I kissed them both goodnight, neither one moved ... I crawled from their bed and gently closed the door. Everyone was asleep ... In the living room, I looked over my sweet babies with that lion of a dog semingly keeping each one safe, and I felt that peace that I was taught about as a child ... the peace that passes all understanding. Life is good.
I've always loved to climb in bed with my parents and visit. As a child, they said I would lay between them and listen to radio programs with them till I feel asleep. Then daddy would put me in my bed ... my bed was a dresser drawer until I outgrew it. So Saturday night with my husband asleep in our bed, my adult children in their beds, my seven grandchildren sleeping scattered on padlets across the living room floor along side of Scratch, (my parent's hugh chow-lab mixed dog) ... I crawled in bed with mother and daddy. Daddy turned on his left side and was asleep in all of 5 minutes. Mother and I talked a bit about the day. She was very content, then she drew close to me and laid her head on my shoulder, I wrapped my arms around her and she went to sleep. So many times ... I remember my mother holding me in her arms just as I now held her. When I knew she was soundly asleep, I kissed them both goodnight, neither one moved ... I crawled from their bed and gently closed the door. Everyone was asleep ... In the living room, I looked over my sweet babies with that lion of a dog semingly keeping each one safe, and I felt that peace that I was taught about as a child ... the peace that passes all understanding. Life is good.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
January 01, 2009
I watched the sunrise this first morning of 2009. The palate was awash with purples, pinks and oranges ... forty years ago I was waiting the birth of my first child. Time travel is real ... remembering that time puts me back in that moment amid the smells, sounds and exciting feeling of new life stirring inside me ... recalling all the love and expectations feels me with joy. His precious face is fresh in my mind, new little fingers wrapping around my one seemingly large ring finger, his large soulful eyes searching my face, his scent lingers in my senses. He was the center of my universe ... tiny, fascinating and beautiful ... a gift and a trust from God.I will hold that beautiful memory I was given this morning and face the New Year with gratitude and excited expectation for the life I am living.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Carlene
Little sister Carlene slept soundly beside Anna. Her breathe was soft, erythematic. Grandma liked to sleep with the windows open. Sometimes that seemed a little scary but tonight with Grandma and Granddaddy talking softly in then next room, the night sounds were comforting. It had been a great day with aroma of Grandma’s cooking filling the air. Anna had spent the day playing with her cousins.
Now, snuggled comfortably in Grandma’s big feather bed, Anna watched the stars, thanked God for a perfect day and prayed for tomorrow to be just like today. It felt good to have her family all together, singing songs and playing games. Pulling the colorful homemade quilt up to her neck, she turned toward her sister and watched as Carlene’s little chest moved gently up and down.
Tiny whisks of syrup colored hair framed her sister’s little angle face. Anna smiled at thinking her sister was an angel. She remembered how earlier in the day Carlene persuaded their younger cousins that her way was the “right” way. Carlene had a little of Tom Sawyer in her. Grandma told Carlene to tidy up the play yard. Carlene had somehow convinced her cousin that the cleaning was a fun part of play. Anna watched as Carlene played Mommy, rocking her baby doll as Cousin Treat happily worked to clean their “house”.
Anna snuggled into her pillow drifting in and out of sleep. She was looking forward to the morning. Anna knew that when the sun peaked through her window and the night mist still covered the ground, Grandma would be in the kitchen making biscuits and cream gravy for breakfast for her “girls”. Grandma’s love was the best of all. This was Anna’s last thought as she closed her eyes to sleep.
Now, snuggled comfortably in Grandma’s big feather bed, Anna watched the stars, thanked God for a perfect day and prayed for tomorrow to be just like today. It felt good to have her family all together, singing songs and playing games. Pulling the colorful homemade quilt up to her neck, she turned toward her sister and watched as Carlene’s little chest moved gently up and down.
Tiny whisks of syrup colored hair framed her sister’s little angle face. Anna smiled at thinking her sister was an angel. She remembered how earlier in the day Carlene persuaded their younger cousins that her way was the “right” way. Carlene had a little of Tom Sawyer in her. Grandma told Carlene to tidy up the play yard. Carlene had somehow convinced her cousin that the cleaning was a fun part of play. Anna watched as Carlene played Mommy, rocking her baby doll as Cousin Treat happily worked to clean their “house”.
Anna snuggled into her pillow drifting in and out of sleep. She was looking forward to the morning. Anna knew that when the sun peaked through her window and the night mist still covered the ground, Grandma would be in the kitchen making biscuits and cream gravy for breakfast for her “girls”. Grandma’s love was the best of all. This was Anna’s last thought as she closed her eyes to sleep.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
July 17 Waltz
Almost thirteen years ago, my friend, Jackie, gave me some CD’s when my husband Larry died. The three of us were childhood friends, our ties run strong and deep. My friend has a poet’s soul and he gave me music to help heal my broken heart. Time seemed to stand still for me that first year and the music rocked me in its arms, caressing and soothing my heart, nurturing me with tender memories and promises of joy to come.
Everyday chores help to keep me grounded … cleaning floors, washing dishes … putting my house in order. I did those things then and that is what I did today. I found one of my old CD’s, opened my house and worked. I accomplished much and feel really good with my house in order. Somewhere during this timeless day ... the music recalled the steps of that first year …I began to waltz ... a slow, rhythmic dance of shared undying love … joy filled my heart and reminded that there is so much more to life than I can see .
Everyday chores help to keep me grounded … cleaning floors, washing dishes … putting my house in order. I did those things then and that is what I did today. I found one of my old CD’s, opened my house and worked. I accomplished much and feel really good with my house in order. Somewhere during this timeless day ... the music recalled the steps of that first year …I began to waltz ... a slow, rhythmic dance of shared undying love … joy filled my heart and reminded that there is so much more to life than I can see .
Thursday, June 12, 2008
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