Hello Everyone,

October 2015

I love October, not just because it is my birthday month but because the air changes, the season changes, the time changes.

It is when we must embrace the fact that the time change will have us seeing the dark sooner. A time when the trees begin to let loose the leaves, orange, brown and yellow leaves flying about.

It is the time when the ghouls and horrors are seen in decorations, shows, movies and parties.

It is the time when we say farewell to the summer heat, smile toward the cooler weather and wonder of the winter to come.

Happy October! May there be light within you to shine upon the earlier darker hours. May the ghouls and gremlins that ring the door bell make you smile and partake in trick or treat.

May you embrace the change in season knowing... it will bring us back to Spring soon enough.

I have added a tab - Whisper my words, which is a link to my site where I post stories, poems, AndMore events and the Watcher's Journal. Take a peek and enjoy.

Enjoy!

~g

December 25, 2009

Parkinsons daughter - We come from strong stuff

December 17, 2009:  He rolled her away in the wheelchair and slowly the elevator door closed, her eyes as that door separated us will haunt me for as long as I live.  There was a hint of terror that was quickly overcome by eyes of hope.  The steel frame around her head a clear reminder that she was about to embark in a surgery that most would fear with just hearing about it.  Soon, two holes would be drilled through her skull and wires will be inserted.  Part one of a two part surgery that would give her the chance to do something she has not done in years.  Walk.  For years she has shuffled the Parkinson walk, a raspy short drag of the feet in quick successions to reach a destination.  As the disease worsened the shuffle became more of attempts then actual reaching of destination.  Her head now rolled round uncontrollably, the pain from the muscle and nerve exhaustion leaving her with insomnia.  There were times I would see her soul leave her eyes.

Then a chance came by, a chance that arrived in the guise of a mishap while she went for an ordinary appointment to the Dr.  One event unfolded to another and in a few short months she was in an elevator escorted by the surgeon himself to begin the Activa DBS surgery.

I walked to the surgical lounge and sat, stunned, silent.  Visions of waiting from when Dad was in the hospital would enter my mind, and I would push it away.  She WILL survive.  She's made of strong stuff.

December 25, 2009:  It's just great to have Mom staying with me, I picked her up yesterday.  A few side effects has left her at times confused and disoriented.  Not wanting her feeling alone I brought her home with me to spend the next week with her.  She woke early and I made her breakfast.  As I whisked the eggs I watched from the corner of my eyes as she would look at her hands, slowly moving them around.  This is a victory for someone with Parkinson.  She marveled at the ease she was not capable of for well over a decade.  As I cooked the eggs I smiled as I watched her walk back and forth, not with impatience, rather marveling at the fact she was actually walking.  Capable of lifting her feet and walking.  My minds eye remembered that look years ago when my son first learned to walk.

We talked for hours as I baked bread of pumpkin and one of corn.  The aroma filled the kitchen like a warm blanket.  She talked of nothing else but the fact that she felt 'normal'.  How horrible that she had felt anything but normal.  I was saddened to realize I had not picked up on that from her.  I looked at the small staples on her shaved head, two rows three inches apart.  Healing nicely but still a horrific reminder of her ordeal and in a bittersweet way of her getting closer to victory.

Lunchtime came and I wanted her to feel at home.  I made sausages with spaghetti and sauce, I laid out the table settings and poured her apple juice.  Nostalgia my friend of late came by, I remembered as a child asking for milk to go with my spaghetti dinner and Mom pouring it, then changing my mind and asking for juice, it was apple juice she poured with a stern look of annoyance at my constant ability in changing my mind.

She 'walked' to the dining room table and said 'Wow, what service', we laughed.  It hit me, she laughed a natural gigglish laugh I had not heard in a long, long, long while.  Her smile appeared and her eyes sparkled.  For so long I would see the mask, the Parkinson Mask that kept anyone from seeing her true emotions.  I bit back the overwhleming need to cry.

I began Christmas dinner enjoying the fact that I was spending the day doing what I love, cooking.  It is just not as fun when cooking for one.  As I opened the oven to check on the roast I saw once again that she was checking out her walk.  I grinned.  Like a child with a new revelation, she marveled all day long.

The rice was almost done and my son would soon arrive, I set the table and poured myself a glass a wine.  Mom was napping.  Like a child she faught her need for rest, her eyes closing and I watched her struggle to keep them open.  I finally convinced her to sit on the bed with me to talk and in no time she was out for the count.  I got my favorite Indian theme blanket and covered her.  I smiled of that thought as I sipped my favorite spiced wine.  Yes Parkinson, she fights you.  She's made of strong stuff.

I sat back, took a deep breath and before I knew it I began to cry.  I cried.......For the years that disease stole our mother.  For the years we watched her slip away and slowly give up.  We watched as she detached herself from the world and become a recluse too ashamed to go out for fear of the people that would stare at her trembling body, rolling head and shuffled walk.  When she would get stuck mid shuffle too frequently she truly just would not leave the house save for Dr. appointments.  I cried for all the years she could not enjoy life.  I cried for my father who would not see her first victory in decades.  I cried for the grandchildren that did not know the woman she really is.  Trapped in a body that became her cage, she rarely spent time around them.

I cried for those that know this pain.  The pain of a daughter who has witnessed a disease ravage her mothers body, mind and soul.  As I heard a sound and feared it was her waking up, I quickly dried my tears, looked to the heavens for another round of praise and stood.  She was not up yet.  I went to get the serving bowls and nastalgia was still lingering.......Christmas 15 years ago, Mom cooking, her daughters (well three of the four) helping, Dad in the living room with my son, latin music blaring.  I remembered she was distant and we wondered what was wrong, the mask we did not know of, the disease we could not comprehend was so visible in her face and still......she made a holiday dinner and fed her 4 year old grandson with an ease and sadness I would not understand until years later.  She felt it then taking over and we could not understand.

Parkinson you horrible disease you, this woman, my mother, took a stand.  She's made of strong stuff.

One more nastalgic moment before that friend departs, it was that Christmas where I received the first news that my cancer was under control, Dad had held me in his arms and said 'See Kiddo, I knew you would win this fight, you come from strong stuff.'  How I miss him.  How on this day, I miss him as if he passed a day ago and not 2 years.

That's right Dad, I sure did come from strong stuff.  In a few days she will have the next surgery, then she will go for a few weeks of relearning her body.

Dinner is served and I watch as my son looks at his grandmother, she eats enjoying the food, his eyes swell at the site of her head, I see him take in a deep breath and sit proud and tall.  I say to myself as I look at him 'That's right Kiddo, you come from strong stuff.'

December 12, 2009

Goodbye, Dear Friend

Dear Friend,

You've told me time and again how brave I am; you'll never know the coward I truly am.
I've loved you not just once, twice but thrice our time. Like a milestone I got passed those feelings of mine.
The first time it was really just lying dormant within. In hindsight, how foolish could I have been?
What made that love ever more painful is that your're my best friend. The hurt is not once but twice to mend.
There was a time where bravery touched my soul.  Two friends to meet over dinner; a casual role.
Much care I took to hair and face. I even wore a blouse with beautiful lace.
The heels hurt with each step I took.  This heart of mine with each step...shook.
I ordered wine to soothe my nerves. You took the time to speak your verse.
In love you were as well I see. Your hearts desire was not for me.
Put in a good word for me you asked.  To a mutual friend; that's when I slid on my mask.
A brilliant smile I gave to you. Though my heart crumbled on cue.
No matter my love a friend I am; my word is true. And, to your love I spoke your name anew.
Not an interest she gave to your heart. I was sad for you, for me, for I knew from the start.
How hard it is to love and be loved not. To must accept unrequitted and stained heart.
I took some time away from you. With a  troubled son a move was due.
Hundreds of miles eased my pain. Yet...your calls and letters left me in vain.
Distracted and poverty stricken I returned. Our friendship anew was learned.
The second time was a big surprise. Daddy died and your comfort increased in size.
I tried to fight it, I swear I did. But your goodness and soothing way did me in.
Never a word, touch or thought you gave to me to ignite that spark. It just did, this treacherous heart, pulls me apart.
My emotions which ran wild. Not a friend around for awhile.
Your consistent friendship my heart askewed.  I blame you not; for you never knew.
That old ache I thought was long gone, spoke your name and that lost love was found.
Avoid you again I tried at last, but ignorant friend that you are would not let time pass.
Did you never really know how I longed for your love? All around us knew thereof.
Or the many ways we talked made my feelings true? I guess a part of you ignored the cue.
I lied to myself and you this third and last time. For this horrid love leaves not my heart or mind.
Each time we embrace, kiss or passionately unite, soon after I feel without a doubt your lack of love...ignite.
Yet still I yearn those small moments we share, even though after, each time, leaves me bare.
December 30th my love is the date, where I shall once again walk away.
No special reason for that date, just ease on the memory for our fate.
I shall not tell you even then, of my heart betraying me again.
I'm sorry for not being a friend first, for this wretched love has been cursed.
It constantly falls in love with a burst, and I fear this is the worst.
I shall miss you my best friend, I hope to one day receive your forgiveness; for my descend.