thanks{giving} #4

freedom.  to be have the ability to chose without restraint or coercion.  today we celebrate freedom as a nation.  honoring those who bravely served to maintain the common good of our country.  the dedication & sacrifices veterans and their families have made and continue to make allow me to write my ideas & opinions in this little space, vote & petition for those issues i favor,  attend church & practice my faith, own my home & other personal property, and have a family and ensure my children are granted a free education.  

dear veterans.

you chose me & my family above your own.

a selfless act of bravery which i overlook so often.

thank you for preserving that which i take for granted.

i recognize & am deeply grateful for the sacrifices you make.

sincerely-

american citizen

thanks{giving} #3

endless hours wandering & sitting.  that's how we spend our time, mostly.  he lacks the verbal skills to carry a conversation so lots of time is just sitting...so i listen to others.  other asks the receptionist when her son is coming to take her home.  other requests a car to escort him to the bank.  other questions why her daughter forget to come and pick her up.  other stares angrily out the door longing for his wife to pick him up in his Hyundai Sonata. other packs a box and brings his belongings to the lobby, announcing to everyone and no one that he has $400 and will give it to the first person to offer to take him home.

dear others,

i am sorry you feel lost and abandon.

your family has placed you here for your safety.

you will not be going home. to the bank. or in your Hyundai Sonata.

your angry is warranted but misguided.

your family has not stolen your freedom.

a disease is ransacking your brain, taking pieces without your awareness.

signed-

quiet listener

dear disease-

as you already know, there are a million facets of you i so loath

i am thanks{giving} you stole that part too.

 for erasing pjm's knowledge of home.

when i tell him good-bye and i will see him soon,

he walks off,  {no sadness. no distress}

never questioning why he isn't leaving or when i will be back for him.

signed-
his wife

dear God-

others tell me you will never give me more than i can handle.

i disagree.  i don't believe you gave me "this".

like you have a big spinner up there and somehow we landed on the "dementia" square.

i do believe you are full of grace.

i am thanks{giving} "that" piece is gone too.

i do not have the strength to hear those words mumbled from his lips,

"chrissy, take me home with you.  please."

signed-

me

thanks{giving} #2

i went "out" on saturday evening.  i was nervous and at a lost for that perfect outfit.  my hair styled well but my highlights need some love and that's not happening till tuesday.  which perfume should i chose-something soft, not to overwhelming, but like background music, you can sense it & are soothed by it but aren't even sure what "it" is.  sweater or jacket?  the evening crispness begs for a layer of comfort, yet i struggled between function and fashion.

we meet for a casual dinner & wine.  another friend joins.  the conversation is easy, until the music starts, then voices cannot travel thru the thickness of the band.  we move on to another to a bar where the room is full & noisy. not a chair inside so we wander outside with another glass of wine.  sloppy drinkers.  cigar smokers. vape inhalers {what are these devices anyway?}.  we find a spot and sit ourselves next to a young, kindle reading woman.  she acknowledges us wondering why we are out, especially in this bar in this town. we giggle and ask her the same.

that's about the sum of my GNO {girls night out}.  it's only the second time i have ventured out to socialize without at least one of my children since "that" day in january.  

dear friend.

thanks for the invite.

it was daring for me to say yes.

crazy to think that felt like a dare, but it did.

the only disappointment was the lack of cornhole.

i had been practicing my bean bag tossing skills since we marked our calendars.

sincerely-

girl date.

p.s.  i may have painted a prettier picture of "her" than we actually experienced

dear flannel pjs.

thanks for welcoming me home.

i love the big hug you greeted me with.

you are my kind of nightcap to an evening out and about.

love you-

wearer of flannel.

dear pjm.

my night out reminds me how thankful i am for our marriage.

the love-memories-adventure we made is something dementia cannot steal from me.

i have those 26 years locked tight in my heart.

and i have our children, all of them reflecting back pieces of you.

you know, it's monday.  our date day. i'll be the one with the "buckies".

love you & see you in a bit.

me.

thanks{giving} #1

So out there in the blogging world, there are all kinds of "projects".  Kind of like the explorer report sweet brown eyes has due a week from today which is on our weekend "to do" list {and I resent that...hate weekend homework}.  A framework is provided and you {me, the blogger} can chose some prompts & write about them.  For the high achiever {something i have never been accused of}, you can chose to write about every single prompt.  I don't think I have that many words in my petite brain to say something even semi profound or thought provoking everyday.  Not even to myself.

It's November.  Thanksgiving month.  And the blogging community is overflowing with "thanks giving" projects.  It is easy for me to focus on pjm & his disease & our loss.  But that is so gloomy and heavy especially when the eyes of my heart constantly hugs all the yuck.  A few years ago one of my lovies gave me a book called 1000 Gifts {you can check it out here-Ann is an artist with her words}.  After reading the book, I was inspired to count my gifts...daily.  I have this spiral bound notebook & I record three beautiful nuggets I encounter each day.  Holding myself responsible for gift finding forces my heavy heart to seek beauty-love-grace instead of broken-demented-anger.  I just write the date and three quick things I am thankful for.  Yesterday read:  10/31/13.  1. Hot shower after a cold morning run.  2. The smell of bed pillows that soaked up the fresh fall air. 3.  Screaming at the top of my lungs in a haunted house {just to scare the haunters themselves}.

I am also a big notewriter.  Handwritten notes to those who sprinkled some grace & goodness in my day.  I love to pen notes of thanks, alert mailman Bob with that wee red flag while he whisks them off to the post office. Through some government magic my little pocket of thanks ends up in a lovie's mailbox.  This is truly a $.46 miracle to me.

Today I wanted to tell you all thanks.  But I don't know your addresses or even some of your names.  But to my sweet little group of readers, I am grateful.

 dear readers.

thanks for stopping by to read about life & how it breaks sometimes.

your broken probably doesn't look like mine but i have learned everyone has their own piece of pain.

my hope is my words can encourage-inspire you to take that fracture in your life,

and somehow allow it to grow you.  and growing hurts and is awkward and somedays brutally painful.

i am grateful you return even if there are typos and my words are cumbersome.

i am thank filled for each of you.

love,

mama bird

p.s.  what are you thank filled for this november 1st?

and on a lighter note. meet calvin.

after monday's post of heavy honesty,

thought I'd bring a bit of light to you today.

i am please to introduce you to my dog. Calvin.

yep.  a jack russel.  he's 13 now and a some of his brown has turned to white.  

not sure what the glowy eyes are about.  just a bad photo i suppose.

calvin and i are having a conflict.  an issue.  a battle i refuse to lose {probably because of all "that" other loss & lack of control, right?}.  over the summer he became an ass chewer-not mine, his.  we went to the vet in hopes of ending his obsession with biting himself till he bleeds.  shampoo.  pills.  cream. even a stinkin' blood test.  the gamut.  he STILL insists upon feasting on his ass.  so i had to resort to the dreaded "cone of shame".  you know.  that plastic satellite dish kind of thing stuck around his neck so he can't reach his bottom.  but then it has somehow turned into a battle of wills and he resorted to his next move which was to hide the cone in our backyard.  sweet brown eyes & i searched under every bush, behind every tree but its gone. we cannot find it anywhere.  it felt like this 12 pound pooch had won & of course he was still nibbling at his tailend.  so i upped my game refusing to be beat by a 13 year old dog-that's 91 in human years {how this whole one dog year is equal to seven human years is still one of those scientific concepts i will never fully grasp}.  so yesterday i marched myself back to petsmart & purchased another cone.  here is a clip of him in his new cone.

dear calvin.

i win.  you look foolish with the cone

but the pink does make your eyes "POP".

 that hue has to threaten your masculinity. 

i am going to take you to dog park for a field trip.

all the other male dogs are going to laugh at you & your chomped up ass.

you wiggle your way out of this one,

and i will bedazzle the next one.

just stop gnawing.

let it heal.

sincerely-

your owner.

dear cone{s}.

i have invested $12.38 twice now, not to mention the vet bill.

your sole purpose here on this earth is to stay on my calvin's neck.

if he tries to hide you under a bush or behind the air conditioner, you best yell for help.

do your damn job or i am going to return you.

sincerely-

your owner too!

dear pjm.

remember that first vet visit with calvin & arthur {our 14 year old lab}

 we were told arthur wasn't going to last much longer.

 you then asked the vet how long calvin would live since he was such a small pup.

the vet replied "perhaps 20 years".

to which you loudly replied "20 damn years with this dog-you have to be kidding me"

i would trade the ass chewing canine in a heartbeat to have you back.

love you.

chrissy

honestly...

Honesty.  The best policy, right?  Momma taught me that repeatedly.  Gotta be honest Chrissy. Always. Telling the truth is easier than trying to remember a string of lies you made up.  But then I would watch & listen.  There was so much contradiction between how her lips moved and how she navigated her days. Upon closer observation,  the message imprinted deep in my heart was do not displease...especially with your words because words can cut and hurt, leaving behind a scar to remind all of those painful syllables.  Be a sweet girl, a kind girl.  Like cotton candy, sugar and artificial, spun into a beehive placed atop a flimsy paper stick.  But after the carnival treat is gone, there's just a saccharin hangover in your mouth and hollowness in your tummy.  Momma taught me being {word} honest is bulky. Cumbersome.  Heavy. Like a bean+cheese+sour cream+guacamole burrito.  Honest words leave a heaviness and the aftermath typically spawns some nasty bad-ass gas.  Momma rarely swore but she claimed all bodily functions should occur in only the most private of places.  In solitude.  For no others to hear, much less smell.  That's what ladies & sweet girls do Chrissy.  Honest words were like that burrito.  Keep'em to yourself.  When words are hot and bloaty, take them some place very alone and don't dare share them as it just ain't lady like.  Momma said above all, be a lady Chrissy, especially with your words.

I am still learning to be honest.  Truthful.  Candid.  I am schooling myself to not choose my words like I do nectarines-checking to make sure they are soft-not too firm, examining them from every angle to ensure there are no bruises before I place them gentle in a baggie and own them.  My words don't need to please momma.  I realize the "that's sweet" cotton candy words have no depth.  They don't reflect my soul which is full of wit, insight, fear, confusion. Candy words betray my heart trusting God in the midst of having no idea what the hell He is attempting to accomplish in my life.  Syrupy words don't invite others into my soul.  They keep everything surface sweet.

Some visits with pjm are painful.  Hurtful.  Betraying.  He passes me in the hall with not an ounce of recollection after sleeping by my side for 27 years.  His mind becomes bored with me, so he wanders away forgetting I am near.  He walks the halls holding another's hand & kisses her cheek.  While his actions are a reflection of a disease and not of our marriage, they feel like a betrayal in the moments. They swallow me whole like a tidal wave.  I struggle finding my way to the surface.  My lungs burn in need of oxygen, yet I cannot escape the turmoil of the strong waves.  They leave me confused about which direction to swim in order to breathe.

My {honest} words are bulky.  Hot. And leave a bloat in my belly like that burrito because i don't want to feel betrayed by him.  But honestly, some visits rock me to the very core of my soul.  And hurt. And my eyes burn with tears as I seek the quickest way out.

dear honest words.

i know you are inside begging for me to give you life.

sugar sweet isn't good for either of us.

but when i allow you to crack the candy coating,

i am afraid all that spills out will cause a messy aftermath & life is already so damn messy.

be patient with me-like a young girl on roller skates for the first time,

smoothness will only come with practice.  right?

sincerely-

rookie of honesty

dear disease-

i hate what you have done to him-me-us.

you have left pjm so lost in the reality of life. 

he no longer knows his love ones.

somedays i feel you are not just strangling the life out of him, 

but also out of me.

honestly.  i.  hate.  you.

signed-

dementia hater

dear God.

i hate the path You continue to ask me to walk.

somedays i doubt Your presence.  it feels like You're MIA in the middle of  "this".

i am not lithe, yet You continue to stretch me in ways that feel impossible. 

 physically. emotionally.  spiritually.

 but i do find freedom in tell You my honest words.

even when they are like nasty bad-ass gas. 

You love me regardless & always. Your Word promises me that. 

truly.  honestly.  bravely-

me

the eyes have it...

my boys.  just a few years back on Christmas morning.

{can you believe they would sport matching pjs for me!  they rock...truly.}

pjm...see his casual smile & the way he is looking right into the camera...

as if he can see my very soul behind the lens.

those eyes.  cerulean, like an ocean in the tropics.

 they captivated me so many years ago.

a brief encounter at the entrance of the restrooms at a bar

which abruptly turned to dating-engaging-marrying-parenting &

lovely memory making brimming with adventure

but those "blues" of his were my initial attention grabber.

as our years together grew, i found refuge in those eyes

knowing they would seek me-protect me-love me-honor me.

but then "that" began to happened.

and it's erasing all that lies beneath those eyes of his.

now he sees thru me-past me-or not me at all.

i have a sick yearning to document what "that" continues to steal from us. 

he is literally disappearing before my very eyes,

and i resent the sea of vacancy i see in his.

i can no longer capture his mischief-humor-drive-love for me & life

because somehow a disease has eroded away that deep blue,

leaving depthless blue-grays that have forgotten so much...of me & us.

dear baby blues-

when & where did you wander off to?

i long for you to know without a doubt who i am.

for you to identify me in a room abundant with people.

for you to reassure me when i lack confidence.

for you to stare sternly at sweet brown eyes when his pre-teen sass erupts.

for you to compute & calculate & make financial decisions

but your depth has been replaced with empty, shallow indifference.

your vacantness leaves me blue.

signed,

sad over you

dear jpl-

you are a rascal of a boy...just like your gramps.

you {his 5th grandchild} not only own his name but rock those darn baby blues.

thanks for reminding me of life & love in the depth of all the loss.

love you-

nana c