Grief and sadness ruled my night & morning. I hope to give it the time that it needs and soon, move quickly to another, any other emotion...none to soon. The sorrow exhausts me and all that I want to do is excercise like crazy, and sleep, sleep, sleep. I CRAVE UNCONCIOUSNESS.

Visitng my folks during this little vacation was a "must-do", but it didn't do any of us any favors. Again. my Mom knew that I was a familiar face, but I don't believe that she knew me from any of the nurses or aides that she sees every day. Again, with the herding of the old folks down to the dining room for a minimum hour wait before being served. Again, the conversation was limited to complaining & wondering why they were stuck there sitting so long. It is just the way things are done in nursing homes. On one hand it sort of forces them to socailly interact with the others at the table, but by & large, the interaction is limited to complaning or staring off into space lost in their own thoughts...those that are still thinking, I suppose. All of the ladies at Mom's table hurt & wanted lunch to hurry, so that they could make short work of the offerings, and high tail it back to their rooms to try & find a more comfortable way to position their bodies to sleep," perchance to dream".

There was no mention of a cigarette Thursday-from Mom or me. I almost wish there had been...As she requested, I wheeled her down to her room when she was done, but we thankfully caught RN Norma's eye enroute & she was right behind me to overhear my Mother's refusal to go to the bathroom, "I'll just wait until later..." which I knew to be a ruse, and Norma knew was her cue to take charge. Mom was having a really difficult time, one more of many. I had a 2 o'clock appt., & I was not much help anyway, and when I left, 2 aides plus Norma were working with my Mom trying to make this encounter a success. They were not having much success. I will spare us all any other graphic details. I have worked in nursing homes in the past. Done what Norma & the girls were doing when I left...felt the satisfaction of finally getting through the mess & the smells & the patient's total confusion as to what was going on. I can still remember the satisfaction of getting everything cleaned up & the spray of a canister of a sweeter, cleaner fragrance, and putting the patient finally into her thankfully dry bed, looking into the grateful fluttering tired eyes as they settled into the matress and pillow, a murmur of thanks and love, then, the almost immediate progression into sleep...anything to be unconcious. Only now, I am the visitor, and my back is not killing me from the lifting and angleing, and pleading for cooperation, and frustration of the pationt unable to comprehend what she is in the middle of trying to accomplish, all of that is not gnawing at me, and the satisfaction of a job well done eludes me. Because this is my Mother, my Mom, my Mommy. And this English major, private secratary of an international prestigious firm no longer remembers how to go to the bathroom. How to go through the motions of what should be second nature. This is a different Ma, and we are strangers who know that there ought to be something more...

She used to make cakes. People would pay her to make beautiful intricately designed cakes for children's (& I am sure, some adult's)
birthday celebrations. She'd find out the child's favorite colors, the theme they most liked, then go to town combining cakes cut in different shapes and angles to achive that dream. NO SHORTCUTS. Just beautiful, glorious cakes, with frostings of varied colors and hues decorating the fanciful landscaps of the wonderous treat. I recall a train with sveral cars for a brother. Usually, we girls had a doll stuck in the midsts of a frosting antebellum gown...But I hope I never live long enough to forget the cake that she made for me when I was a sixth grader. I was the unofficial leader of the kids on my block. I had had baton and tap dancing lessons earlier in my life, and then, I put the lessons to good use spontaneously organizing, then leading parades around the block. Four kids from our family, all 6 of the Hill boys, the Gustephen twins, the younger Coonseys,the Gibbs boy, the 3 Dunne girls...sometimes less, sometimes more. And there I would be directing whose bicycle went first, whose tricyle followed where, and usually 2 wagons with young'uns safely seated bring up the rear. I'd mostly be picturing the opening scenes of he Mickey Mouse Club, with Mickey up front, "Who's the lader of the club that's made for you and me?", and strive to march with Mickey's enthusiasm. I always had a gang of kids following me around, knocking at our door, looking for my company back in those days. And the year that I am remembering, Mom made my birthday cake in the shape of a big ol' shoe, with lots of lil stick-kids strategically placed to give the appearance of children at play. The theme was that I was the old lady who lived in a shoe, who had so many children, I didn't know what to do...We named all the lil frosting kids & each neighborhood kid got to pop his or her namesake's into their mouths as our child like hourdevoures The shoe had laces. and holes for the laces, and windows at the top of the shoe with frosting children waving from what appeared to be within. It was perfect. A real work of art. Then, it was consumed down to the crumbs. Sadly, much as my Mom is now.

It is so frustrating. It is all happening so fast, yet all the while, lasting through what seems like forever. And they will never get better. It will never get easier. And when all of this is over, the void left in my life will be inconsolable. It will be real work to try and compartmentalize the pain and go on with my life. It is really hard now, and has been for a long time.

I want to write more. I saw Cecile after I saw my Mom, and I want to write about that. But right now, the tears won't stop, and my heart aches unbearably, and I just have to take a break & try to get my life back into a happier perspective. I may post agsin today, and I may not. If I do, I'll try harder to keep it light."It's not dark yet," as Dylan says, "but, it's gettin' there."

As vacations go, this is nice enough. I've managed to sleep in past 6Am 3 out od the 5 mornings so far. I've splashed on the Stream & gotten mostly friendly feedbak.As vacations go, I've had worse.

The vet just called. Peggy Sue's tests came back negative for Cancer. Oh happy day! These are the good old days! I'm so overjoyed, the $1,000 vet bill is almost worth it. Next yr, she will almost be 10. Bubba & I say "No more tests," unless of course, there appears to be an obvious problem. The vets always seem to weasle in a buncha tests to prove our fat & happy healthy looking dogs are just that. We can't afford lab tests that comfirm what we pretty well already know. Rabie's shots only. We will keep her on her thyroid dose & Rymadyl dose as is & we don't care what dubious damage their pain pills may or may not be affecting their liver.... 'cuz I think the docs are exagerrating the possibility. Just like last year, my income tax return does not exsist. My dogs are my kids & that's priceless, but I don't feel the vetinary business has my well-being at heart. This is a hefty bill for a 55 yr old woman who has just decided to quit her dead-end job within the month. Bubba will help, of course, but neither one of us is solvent enough to take this in stride without some stumbbling about.

I saw Dad & my step-Mom, Rene, on Monday. I had told the staff at their nursing home that I would be joibng them for lunch & they assured me that I would be welcome. I got there @11:15...lunch was supposed to be @ noon, and Dad & Rene were already seated with a table full of folks & no room for me, which was no big, but was a lil uncomfortable. My sis Jan arrived with some frash pears which I proceeded to section and share among the residents whic halped break the ise some. There was still a full hour wait for Dad's lunch to arrive at his table. He was actually one of the first to be served, and I'm thinking that that possibly preferential treatment was due to the presence of his family members. It's what they do at these nursing homes...round the folks up & set 'em in the dining room anywhere from an hour to 2 hours awaiting to served by one sever, running one tray out at a time. She got some help for a few minutes, then her help was called away...this is the way things are in this warehousing of our parent's generations. it does them no real harm to sit around the cafeteria table & they can keep an eye on more of them better than when they are kicked back in their rooms. But for that prolonged waiting time at the table, the majority of the talk(when there is any talk), is indignation at being herded down there and made to wait.
"Ah, Dad, What can I tell you? It's boring maybe, but at least you are sitting up...you spend too much time in bed, this is one way that they ensure you are sitting up for awhile. You just beat pneumonia again, you can't let it get it's foot back in the door."

"Oh heney, I'm just so tired. I don't even want to eat if it takes this much effort."

"Dad, you've got to be brave, you've got to gather your strength. Be here for your Rene." (his w/c bound Parkinson's afflicted love of his life, my mom's ex-best friend)

Rene just leans over and says,
"he treast me so mean"

Both delusional, in & out of tinges of madness, exhaustion, and glimpes of warped reality. And always...so tired. Rene in pain. Both hallucinating, delusional, dreaming in their waking hours. They continue their slow snowball of iisolation and descent.

Tough Monday. Thank God for my Angel sisters, Kathy & Jan.

Tues., was big buck$ at the vet's for expensive good news today.

Wed., I watched some favorite DVD's & fished in the Stream which is always a hoot for me.

Today, I slept until 7AM, had no pain upon awakening(yeah!), had my oatmeat, yougurt, banana & coffee, watched som "GMA" & "Montel.

Getting ready to head out. Got to run errands I procratinated yesterday, see Cecile @ 2, see Mom before or after the appt., taking tha day as it comes, taking it easy, cuz I am still on vacation!

I've worked out Sat, Mon, TUES, Wed with treadmill & hula hoop(1/2 hr minimum), average of 4 miles give or take. Good stuff.

making lots of typos & have no time to fix 'em as the adventure, indeed, continues.

People killing one another. Killing children, spouses, lovers, friends, parents, brothers, sisters, strangers, themselves. There is no stopping it. It has always been thus. We have a deluge of media coverage which makes it hit home more than in the earlier days, but it has always been thus.

We can label them -Psycopathic, Manic Depression,Psychotic, whatever...but we cannot stop them. I remember my Mom trying to console me regarding "Man's inhumanity to man," but the fact that it has always exsisted, is no comfort. There is no comfort. We must accept the pain of life and senseless death, and individually, we must persevere and strive to live our own live's in the spirit of kindness, the opposite of the destructive behavior we see around us...the tearful pictures that the media shows and even tends to glorify.

It is all we can do...do our best to live our own lives in goodness and dignity in the face of evil.

Whatever made Chou tick, whatever still makes OJ tick, made Saddam tick...whatever led the Romans to crucify the Son of God...all of that evil, hopefully, the majority of us can never comprehend. We can only do our best to learn that it is a dangerous world when one steps out one's front door. We must go on in the face of evil, doing the best that we can to be good. We must be loving, brave, fair, considerate and kind...something that the murders can never comprehend. It is all that we can do.

And we can pray. Always, we can pray. There are no aetheists in foxholes.

I'm on vacation this week.

I am happiest at home...I don't want to go anywhere, but here.

I will have lunch today with my Dad & Step-Mom @ thier nursing home, then, when they go down for thier naps &/or weary of me(as old age forces them to do), I will observe the speed limit & fly down the road to my lil sister's house & spend some healing time with her. I can never gracefully accept the ravages of time that my folks must endure. I can accept it, just not gracefully. I cannot help but look back to the vibrant scoundrels they used to be, bar hopping, restraunt hopping, sitting on the shaded front porch drinking Bloody Mary's (back when I drank, & Daddy adored me for it...).

Tuesday, we take all 3 dogs to the vet for annual shots & to spend my income tax return in less than 2 hours. At least. Peggy Sue, our sweet & soulfull Slobber Boxer has a tumor upon her previous fatty tumor. Boxers are prone to Cancer. I don't want to dwell on anything until Tues @ 2:30 when we see the doc.

Wednesday, I hope to have lunch with my Mom at her nursing home. She will be happy with a cigarette or two to follow & then, go down for a nap, most assuredly tiring of me (no offense meant, none taken). She will forget that I was there before I am out of the parking lot. That is just the way it is. I have accepted it.

Last session with my therapist, Cecile, we talked of mourning the loss of my parents as they slip-slide away. My grief is one that all who love their folks will have to go through at some point in time ,in most cases. I am not alone... Then, she said to me words akin to, "Cher, if we agree that Jesus did not lie, that His promise of life after death is true (& we do), then I, (Cecile), choose to believe that those parts of your father & mother that are gone, that are deceased...those aspects of their life that you mourn the loss of, I choose to believe that those parts of their souls are already with God..." It took awhile for me to wrap my head around the concept, but it is growing on me & I am choosing to believe much the same thing. I never took the concept of waiting in line @ St. Peter's Gate while he checked & balanced the books seriously. This concept, that the missing parts of my parents are already at peace, I am growing more fond of with each passing day. Their mis-firing nuerons & depleted synapes remain in their sad, crooked bodies because we are all here to learn. The survivng kin, the follks themselves, the nursing staff, my friends who try to help me, all of this is for the life long learning process of non stop, sneaking up on ya', hitting you up side the head learning. To value what we have now. To revel in the small glories of each & every day. To learn to accept the inevitable as best as we can...grace is, after all, a matter of perspective.

I am quitting my dead end job shortly after this week's vacation. I have not pursued another dead end job to replace it as of yet, but I have have a soft place to fall, and a little time to play with, and I will find something, anything to do probably a month or two down the road. Humble Cher has had a multitude of jobs in her life, she'll find another, I choose to believe. And it will be an adventure. Maude says to "Try something new every day...we're here to find it out." So be it. Sure, I am scared of the ch-ch-changes, but I know that I can do better. I will miss the wonderful friends that I have made, but I will make new wonderful friends. Harold tells Maude, "You certainly have a way with people," to which Maude replies," They're my species!"
Yeah, I can do all that, and more...

Working out on the treadmill, I like to keep the pace of roughly 3 miles an hour. It feels good. And the next morning, I am not awakened by searing back pain as I was this AM, as I chose a sedentary Sunday with DVDs & John Grisham's, "The Chamber." I enjoyed the quiet day with Bubba & the dogs, but I woulda, coulda, shoulda exercised. I always feel better doing it than not. I think that we all harbor a self-destructive streak to one extent or the other. I have beaten many of these streaks in my time, but overcoming the inclination to take the path of least reisitance is indeed, a never ending battle.

The weather in Southern Indiana this week should be as Spring should be. Brisk & sunny & really nice, I hope. I can hula hoop easily for 1/2 an hour in the sun with or without my ipod to warmup for the treadmill. I want to get good enough to dance while hula hooping, as my friend Debbie does. I already dance, march, & stride in rythm while on the treadmill. My goal is to take advsntage of this midlife affliction of awaking @ 5 or 5:30 AM, and not being able to return to sleep, thus wasting valuable time.... and anyway, I want to incorperate an early morning workout in addition to my late afternoon/early evening whenever it is convient for me... I do not want to become fanatical about it...it is just the something new that I wish do do whenever I can pull it off. It feels so good to have whittled down my stomach & waist line to a more socailly and medically accepted form. It feels good to have some muscle & some endurance. My treadmill stops itself @ 100 minutes & I love the never-ending surprise of reaching that point, then having to go even further in order to cool down...Not bad for this middle-aged lady... & my back pain never wakes me the morn after a day that I chose to exert myself. I'm thinking that there are a multitude of layers to this aspect of what I am learning.

In fact, I've blogged enough for now. I can fit in a lil workout, then shower, then head to Dad's nursing home & continue with this sunshinny vacation day, doing as I please, as I live a life of love these days. As opposed to that earlier life I lived when I was married in CA to HP...a life of isolation, requesting permission (usually denied), and fear...I though I was in love, then. Look how much I have learned since then.

And the adventure continues.

I have a headache, now. Just cuz a cold front is coming through. I've had horrible ER-worthy, stick a needle with steroids in my eye, bad, bad headaches all of my life. It took years for me to realize and finally admit to myself that drinking was a big contributor to these headaches, just as stress, sleep drprivation, skipping meals, messing with my normal sleep schedule...so many thingscan trigger this pain that rules my world. I gave up drinking eventually, not just due to headaches, but cuz, it's the company that you keep that blinds you to the obvious. All of my friends drank, the majority of my family drank, and I suddenly noticed that even though they insisted that drinking was their right & that they were enjoying themselves, everyone's drunken behavior suggested otherwise, including, when I drank, my own. Being with Bubba, who has never had a drink, helped me to see things in a different light. Designated driver's, drunken drivers, people puking on my table in a bar, puking in my car, puking out the window of a moving car, fighting, agressive, angry, stupid behavior with nothing but shame filled hangovers the morning after to show for the evening's frivolities. It just wasn't fun for me anymore. So, I quit.

I had quit my job to spend days taking care of my father & step-mother whose health was rapidly fading in their mid-seventies. St, Patrick's Day was always Dad's favorite holiday. We are German-Irish, and as he fought the German Nazi's in WW2, he dwelled on the Irish. He had green ties, hats, suits, even shoes. Dad played a wonderful piano & organ by ear all of his life. He started playing in bars when he was 16. He always had a gig for St. Patrick's Day, and I'm thinking it was 4 or 5 years ago that he had the St, Patrick's Day to end all St. Patrick's Days...literally.

He started partying with his friends the night before in excited anticipation as soon as I had left for the day. He wanted me to stay for a drink, but I declined, stressing for the umpteenth time that I just couln't be around drinking anymore. He never understood & it hurt his feelings, but it was the way I was and still am. He had been sneaking nips all day, & was drinking Scotch on the rocks when I left, knowing that I disapproved as he was on a blood thinner from a stroke a coupla yrs back. But he felt it was his right to drink, and no one was going to stop him. He had just ordered a case of Old Smuggler's from the local liquor store earlier the same day in defiance of us kids trying to run his life. Long story short, he had a great time & drank until he fell off his barstool and cracked his head on the floor. An ambulance took him to the ER & he was admitted over night for observation. Staff told him that he was 3 times the legal limit, and Dad's defense was that he wasn't driving, what was the big deal?

I took his wife to see him at the hospital the next morning. It was a cold & rainy day & my head was banging from the weather & the loss of sleep, as I had driven home & was called back to take care of her as he was in the hospital & she should not be alone medically, and psychologically, she has not ever been able to be alone. Dad was irritable & impatient when we came into his room. He had sobered up, and he had places to go and people to see, and music to play, on this, his favorite day of the year. Dad never missed a gig in his life & this day, he had 3 gigs scheduled. The MD discharged him with strict orders not to drive just in case he might develop a cerebral hemmorhage. It came to me, for awhile that day, to be his devoted daughter & driver. He had a van that he ferried his Hammond Organ to all of his gigs. The first one that day was a funeral. It was one of the departed lady's last wishes that Dad play at her funeral, and he was determined to do it. He instructed me on loading that organ(no small chore), tying it down, driving his wife to the funeral home then, I drove back to pick up the van & Dad & drive to the funeral, She always tried to go with him wherever he was playing. Mostly cuz she never trusted him, but that's another soap opera. My head was killing me, and Dad said he had a headace too, but that it was from the bump he got the night before.

Finally, the funeral was over. I loaded the van, took the folks to the house, drove back, picked up the van & drove it to the Knights of Columbus for his second gig. I wasn't used to loading the van, and a piece of equipment that was not properly secured, slid off the top of the organ, and bashed me in the back of the head at a stop sign, breaking the front window of the van. I was so pissed. What was so all fired important about playing gigs when you're a post CVA, early altzheimer's, weak and confused old man? He glossed it over with the old " Da show must go on," bit & I knew better than to try & argue with my stubborn Irish father on his favorite holiday. Besides, my head hurt. I got the van unloaded with some volunteers @ the K of C, turned around, drove back to Dad's, got his wheel chair bound wife & Dad into their Lincoln & then took them to the K of C. My head was splitting. Dad still had his headache, but claimed it was no big deal. Mokie Joe met Dad @ the K of C & loaded the van when they were done playing, and got them all to The Cozy for the final gig of the night, I made Dad promise me that he would not drink. To this day, I dunno if he kept that promise or not, but you see, the damage was already done from the night before, so it really does not matter. We, all of us, were in denial. I expressed my impatience to Mokie Joe & he assured me things would be fine & I could go home now. Everywhere I looked in the K of C people were drinking & having a great ol time, anxious for the music that Dad played for them, the music that made the experience so wonderful and complete. I was still new to not drinking, but joining the party was not an option. I'd had enough, & left for home.

The rest is heresay. I wasn't there. I dunno exactly what happened, I know that Dad kept playing at the Cozy even as his cerebral hemmorhage had him at a 45 degree angle. Nobody could see the forest for the trees. Most folks figured he was drunk again. Few knew about the bump & the hospital the night before. Many continued to watch him in denial of what they were seeing. My sister was at the Cozy with her husband, & they din't relize what was going down. Later, after the fact, there was much finger pointing and blame gaming among my family...it just is what it is. No one was to blame. Maybe those folks that make liquor & make slaves of our society are to blame. But it was just something that happened. Woulda, coulda, shoulda been different, but it wasn't. He wouldn't stop playing until the gig was over @ 2AM when he finally agreed to go back to the ER. He still has brain damage, five yrs later. The rehab was pure twilight zone, as is much of the present day experience. So, on top of multiple strokes, Alzheimer's, and now, bowel cancer, stage 3, he is living in a Hell of his own making, angry & sober in a nursing home of highly questionable quality. Yet still, anotheer soap oper for another time...

I am almost 55 yrs old. I know that in my past, I must've partied hearty at many a St Paddy's day party. I'm sure the hangovers were horrible & my head was killing me. But, you know, I cannot recall a single St. Paddie's Day celebration, except the one when my father almost died. And now, the joy of a drinking holiday escapes me. It just is what it is.