Bubba keeps buying me dark chocolate, so that I can drown my sorrows.

Angel sister Jan tries feedings at noon all throught the week. Sweet sister Kathy & I trade off evenings and weekends. He barely eats or drinks. Orders are all of his food must have a "pudding" consistancy. Even his water must be thick as pudding. & it quenches no thirst, no hunger, no desire. Last night, he opened his eyes & looked and me & sang a few bars of "Pretty Woman, walkin' down the street..." Singing all the time whenever his energy allows..."It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing, doo wop doo wop doo wop wop..." Yesterday he sang The Carpenter's to Jan..."Why do birds suddenly appear, every time you are near?"

Last nite, he had a few ice chips, a bite of chocolate ice cream. a bite of pureed chicken(I covered it with salt & pepper to no avail), a bite of cherry yogurt, a few more ice chips, then he fell into a deep sleep. I tried to rouse him..."Don't cop out on me Dad, wake up! Daddy? Daddy? Larry? Larry? Doc! Doc!" His eyes closed, he grins a crooked lil smile and says, "Try Stinky", and then, asleep again...still with the sense of humor, still with his infamous flirtations & sweet talkin'. Gently, sweet sister Kathy told me on the phone last night, that we woud have to rethink our feedings, "He's shutting down, Honey," she said. I wanted to deny it or at least be startled by her words, but they were the true words that I needed to hear. Kathy, always the bravest, and is first to state the realities out loud.

And so now we wait. And I pray to God to ease his suffering..."Thy Will be done..."

I was still in the parking lot when I realized that I had not visited his wife, my stepmother. I didn't see her, nor did I go look for her. I forgot her, entirely. I could have gone back in, but a storm was brewing, so I hit the road. I've got to do better than that this evening. It is all about him at this point, and I know it must be so terrible for her in her more aware moments. I wish I could find enough comfort & courage to share with her. I hit google today, looking for her daughter, Becky, who disowned the both of them years ago. That's her trip.... I cannot find, or bring, nor be Becky for Rene. What a shallow life Becky must lead, and she is of no concern to me nor my kin.

I just finished Grisham's "The Chamber" & couln't help myself from drawing parrells between death row & nursing homes. I had never thought of it that way, but they are quite similar. Waiting, waiting, waiting...in crowded lil cells, with personal possesions confiscated or stolen at some state inspector or CNA's whim. Mom's perfume always disappears. Never returned to the family...confiscated by persons unknown, uncaring.

"Sing us a song,
You're the piano man.
Sing us a song tonight.
For we''re all in the mood for a melody,
and you've got us feelin' alright"

Dad's first gig was when he was 16 in a honky-tonk. A neighbor spotted him, & dutifully told my grandparents that their boy was up to no good. Off & on over the years, I've heard whispers that the honky tonk doubled as a house of ill repute, and I wonder, why all the whispering? As if theses places still don't still exsist & someboy's son somewhere isn't there, tickling the ivories, keeping the atmosphere up beat and jolly.

He was so good looking. Big brown eyes that would melt a young girl's heart. I've met a few of his kind in my day, and I bear them no ill will now that I am old enough to know better, I just hope they turned out as good as my Dad did, and are loved at the end of their lives as much as my Daddy is.

WWII photos have him dreamily staring into the camera, pipe in hand, much as Bing Crosby might. Only, Dad was far better lookin' than ol Bingo, then. What a heart breaker he was! What a heart breaker he will be until his last dying day...

and I will take it hard. and Kath will take it hard. And though they deny it, the babies of the family, Mokey Joe and Jan...I have to be brave with them and for them. My older brother, Buzz, another Larry, is all business. But I saw tears in his eyes in the ICU waiting room. He is an engineer & he thinks on a differnt plane of existance than the rest of us kids. But he is still the first born son of the piano man, and I know that he, too, must be crumbling from within when no one is watching. Poor Buzz...I make it a point to tell him that I love him & I hug him whenever I can...it hangs him up, he dosen't know how to act. I figure that if it is the worst thing I ever do to him, then he will be a lucky man.

It will be a kindness when my Daddy crosses over. I do believe that he will be with his brother, father, and mother again and they will welcome (what Dad likes to call) "the black sheep of the family," into a continued kind exsistance that I cannot begin to imagine. It will be a kindness when my day comes to cross over and again be back into his arms and his love. I miss him so much already...

I kissed him on the lips beore leaving last night, and said "Daddy, I love you." Voiceless, his lips formed the words "I love you, too," and I told him, "I know you do, Daddy, I know you do..."

Off & on, my courage often comes in steady streams. I find myself feeling disjointed,removed, doing what has to be done, one foot in front of the other.

This is eve of my last day at work at my latest dead end job. I've treaded water doing what I did for the last 3 years because most days it passed the time pleasantly enough, and my job performance was exceptional, providing a sense of purpose to my life and just enough stress to make each day a challange. It was a love/hate job, but now, it is all but over, and I do not plan to do a great deal of looking back, unless it is with relief that it is at long last a part of my past, and I have finally taken the necceary steps to move on. And to quote Forrest Gump, "That's all I have to say about that."

That being said, I get dizzy about going from a meager income to no income at all. I have been known to have some panic attacks when dwelling on this reality, but at the present time, our family must become even more proactive in providing our parents with the attention, love, and caring that is essential to them retaining some semblance of quaility of life in the final weeks and months of their lives. The great wheel of life has nearly completed it's circle for my father, and the only thing left to do is to try and ensure that he dies of something other than neglect or starvation. It takes me easily two hours to feed Dad & Rene a meal that the caregivers are only allowed to devote 30-45 minutes maximum to feed their multiple other maximum assist patients. The staff are on a strict schedule. They do what they can in the time alloted, but they gotta keep moving on to the next care task scheduled in their over crowded, purposefully understaffed facilities where our society has chosen to warehouse our elderly.

OK....more time, more details, thoughts, fellings, tears and fears to come....Bubba hurt his leg really bad just now mowing the lawn... we are both hurting physically, and emotionally, and in general right now. We have been through worse & better. We are still together, and that's the main thing. And right now, that's all I have to say about that....undoubtedly more to say about lots of things later.

Bubba has been plying me with chocolate to elevate my moods & aforementioned stress. Amazing stuff, chocolate.

Toe better,

Teeth anesthsized OTC meds.

Bubba tooke me for drive to mellow today after work...to Sister Jan's. Family heals.

Fragrant Icy Hot Patches.
Got to admit it's getting better.

Saw Dad for a quick spell...sis Kathy was there for 1 on 1 quality time. My visit, short & bitter sweet. Funny, no tears today...nothun like this last week.

Workplace frantic, but 5/11, last day...if I CAN LAST THAT LONG.

TOOK HE DOGS W/US FOR COUNTRY DRIVE.

LATER, bubba took me to "Next" with Nick Cage. I reccommend it.

Friday he got me Denzel"De Ja Vu" DVD. I recommend it.

Spring helping. Friends, family, meds, pro-actively fighting reality's bite.

sleeping fairly well.

doing better today...keeping the faith.

Jeeez, but depression hurts. Barometric pressure fluctuations, stress, giving my 2 wks notice @ the job I have loved & hated for the last 3 yrs. Dad is officially a Hospice patient as of today. Boss gave me the day off. I didn't ask for it. She insisted. Turns out, I'm so glad & greatful.

Toe problems, dunno if it's a corn or a bunion or a calcification or a bone spur or what. going into town to check out the Dr Scholl's corner to try some hit &/or miss remedies.

Teeth problems. Can't get into my dentist's until Monday afternoon-just no workable openings until then. Dollars to uneatable doughnuts,(I miss "Doughnuts are my life. She always made me laugh), they are gonna yank another tooth. Almost 55...another tooth gonna bite the dust-at least one. Hurt all over...these must be phantom pains where my jaw is throbbing from where teeth used to be. God, I so physically hurt.

Right sided migraine. Icy Hot pathes over my right upper scapula for the last 4 days. Behind my throbbing right eye, in my right earlobe, even. I so gotta get a grip. Gotta go back to work tomorrow & every day until next Friday. Arthritis, complete with bumps upon lumps on almost all fingers...man, but this day bites.

As some days do. As some days will. This too shall pass, sure, but in the meantime...OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

I look at these school shootings...what would my life have been like if I hadn't been bullied & laughed at from the 9th grade until graduation? This daily battle with self esteem plagues me decades later. I left town, joined the Navy ASAP after graduation, when it became public knowledge that my Dad had been sleeping with my Mom's best friend. I married a man who turned out to be a psychopathic narrcissist when I was 26. Stayed with the mostly emotional, occasionally physically abuse for almost a decade. Ahhh, the choices we make...

When my sister broke the Hospice news, I had long seen it coming. But once it is official, it smacked me upside the head all over again.

Deep breathing. Belief in a Higher Power-but prayer so often eludes me-now, when I need it most.

I need nature. I need exercise. I need to laugh. I want a drink, but don't need it...it would only increase the pain, almost immediately upon consumption. I have been several yrs without a drink, Bubba helps keep me sober, as does prior experience, but who dosen't want to escape, even for a little bit, when reality bites so deeply & shakes you from side to side whith it's teeth still deeply imbedded in all the wounds, like one of my dogs with thier toys?

I'm thinking I should get offline...not blog until I feel beter (when?when?)...I always wanted my blogs to be an upper, not the ones of lates, full of tears for fears.

I NEED music.

I want pain medication.

I want to be sedated.

I WANT TO GO TO SLEEP UNTIL I CAN WAKE UP WITH THE PAIN LESSENED AT A LITTLE.

My therapist gently reminds me that some days, some weeks are like this for everybody. This is life. Take or leave it.

A guy I dated a few times in CA recently left it, I just learned. We weren't in love (I had just been dumped by another, & he was kind enough not to expect much from me during that painful time in my life). He was so respectful, so considerate. Took me to a Dead show (you know, one of my favorite things to do, of course), took me to see Lilly Tomlin's One Woman Show, took me to a purple hpouse in the Haight-Ashbury for Thanksgiving dinner where we were assigned celebrity personas upon arrival & were instructed to "be" that character thoughout the dinner. He was assigned to be Elvis & I was assigned to be Priscilla & we both played it beautifully, except when I was begging the hostess to play more Grateful Dead (don't figure Priscilla goes there, but I gotta be me.) Rick suicided, I just learned. Life is complicated. Life hurts. Oh, geez, Rick! Once, he told me his Dad was a professor @ Harvard, and that he came home one day unexpectedly to find his father in bed with his fiance'. She was just one of many younger women that his father used & threw away, but she was someone he loved...then, lost. How would anyone ever be able to come back from that one? When he showed up at one of my goodbye parties when I left CA to move home to IN, we went for a ride in his convertible & just as I was kissing CA goodbye, he was the last man that I kissed goodbye in that fairy-taled, fabled city of San Francisco. And now, I learn that his pain & depression exceeded my own many times over. I am depressed. I physically hurt ALL OVER, but not to that point, at least, not now. Yet, as Ruth Gordon of "Harold & Maude" remains my heroine, I realize that when I am in my eighties(as my folks are mostly now), I reserve the right to at least consider the option. But not 'til I'm in my eighties. I hope.

OK.

Cher, go to town. Get some Ora-Gel, some Icy Hot patches, some sort of toe-seperator & quitcherbitchin & git 'er done before Bubba gets home from work & sees me the lump that I am (who is admittedly > 30 lbs lighter than she was this time last year-but, today, even that isn't comforting me).

Get off line.

If I don't have anything nice to say, I don't want to say it. My Mother, who often does not know me these days taught me that one. I wish I could have learned it better. But I blog, and I live, therefore, I vent.

Later, kids. "I will get by, I will survive..."

I definitely need me some music once I get home. In a cool dark room. I know what I need to do. Now, I leave, to go to try to do it.