7 Things I've Learned This Spring

A quiet reflection of 
looking back before moving ahead

1. I do have time to read!

I was an avid reader pre-motherhood and while I tried to remain as such during those years of mothering, I was not as successful as I hoped. When a long commute to work kept me in the car, I discovered the joy of audio books and my love was rekindled. But the commute stopped a few years ago and along with it, the endless flow of audio. In April, I signed up for an online, group, book study. We had 5 weeks to read 11 chapters. I set out to mark my book with post-it flags so I knew how much I had to read each day and I accomplished it. I'm now on my second book since then and it too is flagged with post-its and my life now has reading time scheduled in. The flags seem to make all the difference because now I don't have 'a whole book' to read, which produces all sorts of overwhelming feelings within me, I just have to read to the next flag. A task that seems very doable, and desirable, in my life.

2. Being a long distance Mimi really is as hard as I thought it would be.

Our first grandchild was born in November last year. She lives with her momma and daddy on an island 1,600 miles away. To my credit and blessing, I have been there 3 times to visit already, but I know that financially, I can't keep that up. I miss her everyday. I miss her everyday life. I miss what I'm missing. I even miss what I don't know I'm missing. She has 2 teeth now, I've seen the pictures. They popped up a few days after I left from my last visit. I missed her rolling over. I saw the video. She had her second swim lesson... Island life you know... I was there for the first one. I will witness a few firsts but I will miss a lot more. I am grateful for the technology that brings us closer but I still long for the way she touches my face with her tiny hand.

3.  It's never too late to go back and correct a mistake.

My girls watched me be a wife all their years in our home. They still watch me be a wife, just not as daily. I do the best I know how, the best I am capable of. We all do. But time brings about more wisdom and understanding and if we're willing to listen, it will show us where we could do better. If we're humble, we confess our weaknesses to those who could have been hurt by them. This spring, I presented both my girls with 2 books. Keep Showing Up, by Karen Ehman (the aforementioned online book study), and, Love And Respect, by Dr. Emerson Eggerichs. No matter how long you did something incorrectly or just not quite as good as you could have, it's never to late to say, "This is the way; walk in it." Isaiah 30:21

4.  I love snowshoeing.

I know, this is a spring reflection, but... this is also northern Michigan and sometimes it still snows in May! Not snowshoe worthy snow, but in March for sure. Winter is not my favorite season and honestly, I don't like the cold and all the effort it takes to put on all the gear required to go out in it. But once I talk myself into it, or get bribed into it with the promise of dinner afterward, I'm always glad I did it. An afternoon trek uphill, a big hill, with my husband, led to a beautiful, sunny view and a hidden fairy home. Breathless as I may have been, I couldn't help but smile.

5.  False bottoms really do exist.

I have been at a low point in my life for some time now. Actually, that's a gross understatement. My life has been flat out unbelievably hard for the last couple years. Even amidst the highlights and the cute baby smiles, the joys and the pleasures, I am dying inside. Or rather, I am fighting to live. The reasons are varied. My mother died, my step-dad's a perv, my friend is no longer my friend, my sister overdosed, the most stable and reliable thing in all of my life fell apart ... I could go on but I won't. It has been winter in my life since the summer of 2017. 

I was standing on the Rock, or at least I thought I was. And maybe I was. I was in God's word everyday by choice, by desire. I'd committed to being there daily 3 years earlier, and I. was. there.  But now, there are days the rock feels like quicksand and I fall through, crash landing on the next solid surface. I think I've reached the bottom only to feel it give way again. 

I can feel like I'm on solid ground for or a couple of weeks, or sometime's, only a couple of hours. I can truly believe that everything will be alright one moment, and then be in a spiraling, free fall the next. There are days when I know without a doubt that God has got this... has got me. Then there are days when I'm sure he's the one knocking me off the rock into the black abyss. This I have learned though. Beneath every hard landing is the potential for another hard landing. However, I don't think the actual bottom will be a hard landing at all. I think it will be like falling into the loving arms of Jesus. A safe and secure landing. Until then, I am amassing many bruises and scars on my way down.

6.  Destruction begets destruction.

I've am currently living through the aftermath of someone destroying something beautiful in my life... something beautiful in me. It was not my choice but I was powerless to stop it.  Powerlessness is an awful thing. I have come to a degree of greater understanding for those who are marginalized and objectified by others who marginalize and objectify them simply because they can. 

One becomes hopeless at times, as I surely have been... And angry beyond belief. In the face of my hopelessness and anger, I have also caused destruction. I have shredded canvases of my art; ripped them to pieces in my rage. I have burned my most precious journal; all the words of my heart I tossed into the fire like a dirty tissue. I will regret that moment forever I think. I took a lawnmower to my most prized flower garden last Sunday. 

This garden was a rebirth of all that remained of my larger garden when our barn burned down 9 years ago. This part of the garden had survived tremendous heat and flames and had risen from the ashes to produce something beautiful. To me, it was a representation of my own life, having survived the fiery trials of my childhood only to rise and live strong. So like the beautiful rebirth in my life that was suddenly cut down, I mowed down my garden in a fit of despair. Giant tears spilling out of me as the leaves and petals spilled out of the mower.  Both of us emanating the guttural sounds of distress at being asked to endure something we were not built to endure. I mowed down all but a Wisteria that I could not drive the mower over, a Morning Glory that I could not untangle from its' iron trellis, and a beautiful, tiny, white rose bush from my beautiful, Rosie girl. That I can not mow down no matter how distraught I might get. 

Some things I have done seem utterly crazy to me. This one might look like the craziest but I believe our souls are aware of things we can not necessarily comprehend in the moment. Did I remember in the moments of my mowing frenzy that I've watched this garden rise above its' circumstances before? No I did not. But now that it has been taken down again I am fully aware that the aftermath will eventually have to submit to the strength of what remains. In this I find hope.

7. Spring will come again.

Some winters seem so long but every winter ends eventually. I checked on another one of my gardens Sunday. Not to mow it down but to see what had happened during the winter, under the snow. This garden has all manner of creepers and spreaders. They work hard in the winter, underground... in the dark and quiet place. When spring comes you see the fruits of all their labor. You see how they have grown all the while they looked like they were dying. Just like the seasons in northern Michigan, the calendar has no say. Spring will not arrive until winter has had its' full measure. So it will be in my season of winter; spring will come when the hard and silent work of winter is done... 

If you would like to know more about this pause and reflect concept, you can join me, along with a number of other reflectors, and our mentor, Emily P. Freeman for What We Learned.

family dinner night

Family dinner taken October 4, 2015. Even back than mom's ability to keep up with life around her was slipping

The weekly family dinner night became a beloved tradition in our house. It started because dementia robbed my mom of the ability to cook but it quickly became so much more than just "feeding my parents". It became valuable time spent around the table hanging on as tightly as we could to that which we had no earthly ability to keep from slipping away. It became an investment in love and grace and understanding. 

It was teaching and learning, loving and laughing, sometimes crying and yelling... it was life with dementia done the best we knew how... it still is.

I wish I could remember when the dinner tradition started. I wish I had taken more pictures. I wish I had known just how precious these nights would become to me. I wish for a lot of things and many of my wishes go unanswered, at least from my human perspective. But God so often works in the unseen and the things I wish for may not be what's best. The things I maybe was not smart enough, or selfless enough to wish for, have been given because God is good.

Sometimes I wished that one of my other siblings would do dinner once in a while. Now I know that I would have missed those nights around my table that I sometimes selfishly wanted for me.  

I wished that my mom wasn't going through this. Now I know I would have never seen her with the eyes of compassion and love I see her with now, even though I still wish this had not happened to her.

I wished it wasn't a burden on my children. Now I know they, and even their friends sometimes, were at the table because they wanted to be, not because they had to be. They wanted that time with their grandma because they love her. 

I wished I didn't always have to be the one that did the right thing, that was gracious and kind and listened patiently as my mom told the same story 20 times. Now I know I was setting the example for my children on how to treat people with love and kindness.  

I wished I had always gotten it all right, but now I know that no one is perfect and my children could see that everyone falls sometimes and it's okay, there is grace for falling. 

Dementia is hard and painful and sometimes it's more than we can take and we need each other. Life is real around our table and my children have seen that... and that is a good thing. Looking back, I would not wish any of it away.

Over time, the family dinner night changed. Kids grew up and moved out and we went from sometimes having 4 generations at the table, down to usually just 2. The laughter subsided as my mom's mind faded and eventually family dinner night became my husband and I taking dinner across the street to their house because it was too hard for mom to get out.

My biological dad died when I was 12. My dad now is my step-dad. One of the greatest tragedies of my dad dying, and missed opportunities for healing, was we stopped having dinner. My mom could not stand the empty chair next to her.

On August 12th, we put my mom in a nursing home. Last night, September 21st, we had our first family dinner night without her. 3 generations at the table, and not much laughter. But in my wisdom gained over these many years of family dinner night, so many things have been born at my table as we watched my mom disappear, and healing will be one of them.  May God help us all to grow in grace and compassion.

helping the hurting

Mom and me on Mother's Day, 2016. She has Dementia

Do you ever find yourself clueless and at a loss for words when someone expresses their emotions? Or do you find that too many words gush out of your mouth at once in an attempt to fix their problem? I have found myself at both ends of this spectrum and have worked hard to learn to listen so that my response can be one that is truly helpful, instead of one that leaves the person wishing they had never said a word at all.  

Facebook group pages offer some of the most perfect opportunities to totally miss the point of a post. Posts are often vague, there is no face across the table from you. You can't see the tears the poster is shedding. True empathy and compassion can seem hard to find when there is not a warm body to hug. But Facebook groups also offer great opportunities to help the hurting. Those who share common struggles are all here in one place and often people will find the courage to write what they would never say. Sadly, people will also write what they would never say to you in person, if you get my point about that two way street.

There are some basic guidelines to follow, and there are also some subtle hints to be found in the words expressed by those we are trying to help, that can guide us if we know what to look for.

~Feelings are not right or wrong, they just are. They also may be different than what you feel even if the situation is exactly the same. No one should ever be made to feel bad or guilty about what they feel. No one should ever be told to feel something different than what they feel. No one should be told not to feel what they feel.  No one should be told not to worry or care about what other people think. Let's face it, we all kinda care, at least a little, what others think about us.

~Our goal should be to acknowledge the feelings of others without necessarily expressing our feelings or similar experience. When someone has been brave enough to put their feelings out there, they deserve the limelight. There is nothing more disheartening, that leaves you feeling totally unheard, than to make yourself vulnerable by sharing, only to have someone toss out a quick, 'I'm sorry" and then spend the next 2 paragraphs telling you about their experience. Talk about making it all about you and not about them... Sometimes, we just want it to be all about us and that is perfectly okay when it's your post. In the life of a caregiver, it is rarely ever all about us. Give us our moment. If you need your moment, write your own post so we can all love on you.

~ If your sentence includes the words "but", "you should" or "at least", you probably shouldn't write the sentence. For example, if I said: "My mom has had dementia for a long time and it's so hard to watch her slowly disappear.", and your response is, "Well at least you still have your mom, my mom died.", or, "You should be grateful you still have your mom.", those kind of responses will only serve to make the one grieving feel guilty, and that they are ungrateful. A better response might be something like this, "I know, the missing is so hard.", or "You love your mom so much, I can't imagine how hard it must be to watch her fade away." These responses acknowledge the persons feelings without adding guilt or judgement. They know you understand they are missing who their loved one used to be. Dementia is the slowest death there is yet so often we don't expect people to be grieving over it. Ambiguous loss, here but gone...

~When someone dies, one of the worst things you can say is, "Well at least they aren't suffering anymore.", or, "But they're in a better place now." While those things might be true, particularly if the deceased person had dementia or was ill and suffering, they are not usually comforting words to those who are left behind. They make the unspoken statement that the person should be relieved their loved one has died, not sad.  A grieving person may indeed be relieved that their loved one is no longer suffering, but they most likely are not glad they are gone. The knowledge that they aren't suffering does not really make the loss any easier. It is best to acknowledge death by simply saying "I'm sorry." If you knew their loved one, a quick happy memory of them might be appropriate if the setting is right. Funerals are not usually the best place for this as they have so many people to greet and are so grief stricken they probably won't remember half the good things people said anyway. Send a note or save your story for later. They will need those stories after the rush is over and everyone has expected them to get back to "normal" life. We rush our grief so...

~When to give advice and when to give encouragement. This can be a tough one for many people, particularly those with a strong, "fix it" personality. I am guilty of that personality and have to check myself often to be sure I'm not advising when I should just be listening, acknowledging and comforting. The key to this is always in their words. Statements of emotion or fatigue, like, "I can't stand this anymore, today was horrible!" are not usually looking for advice. They are looking for acknowledgement, understanding, empathy and encouragement. 

If someone says, "I'm so worn out.", and you respond with, "Well get some rest." or "You must take care of yourself.", you have just dismissed their hidden message with a pat answer. They may be talking about sleep, but they may not be. They know they should get some rest, they know they should take care of themselves. To tell them to do so is to tell them that you assume they don't know. Being a caregiver is draining and often, sadly, rest just isn't as readily available as we might like it to be. However, encouraging words like, "I'm so sorry you are worn, I hope you can get some rest.", or "I'm praying for you. I know just how draining this is.", can be words that put wind in weary sails. Their statement was made in hopes that someone would understand exactly how they feel and tell them it's going to be okay. It wasn't made so that someone would tell them to rest, they already know they need rest. 

On the other hand, if they had said, "Does anyone have suggestions for how to get some more rest?" They are asking for advice and you should feel free to give them all the tips and tricks that have worked for you. 

The difference between the two statements is obvious but often we're more interested in what we have to say about our experiences with a particular situation and we forget the post is not really about us.

If someone says, "My dad is driving me crazy, I'm so annoyed with him!", and you respond with, "You should enjoy every moment you have with him, one day he won't be here to drive you crazy." Ouch, tons of guilt added onto the guilt this person already feels for having those feelings. Let's be honest, as dementia caregivers, we all have felt, or will feel this way at some point or points. If we don't, we either got really, really lucky or we're lying. A better response might be, "I know exactly what you mean, I've felt the same way. I'm sorry you're there right now."  By saying this, we've acknowledge their feelings and we haven't added any guilt to the guilt they already have. We've also told them we understand how it feels.  If you have never experienced this feeling but you want to encourage them, a simple, "I'm sorry, I hope things calm down soon." is always good. 

Now, if they had said, "My dad is really driving me crazy! He's reading every sign we drive past. Any suggestions for how to distract him?" That's open season on advice, go for it.

Unsolicited advice, when given to someone who didn't ask for it, particularly if they are already feeling down and low, can be interpreted as criticism and can make them feel as if you think they are not intelligent enough to think of that themselves. It also totally misses the point of what they did need in the first place which is compassion, empathy and understanding. They are left feeling like they got a double whammy instead of a shoulder to lean on and a listening ear.  

Listen to what they are saying. If they haven't asked for advice, don't offer it. The last thing a venting person wants, or needs, is advice, and a person who truly wants or needs advice, will ask for it. Take the time to truly hear what was said and honor the poster's feelings by giving them what they need to the best of your ability. If you can't do that for them, for whatever reason, honor them by scrolling on by without commenting.

~Give grace, and then give some more grace. Emotionally charged people say things they probably would not say under normal circumstances. Some posts may be shocking to you. See past the shock to the pain that might cause them to say such a thing. I have said at times that I wish my mom would die. People, particularly people in the early stages of this rotten game can not comprehend that. People who are where we are now might understand it, they might not. I love my mom beyond words. She is miserable, she is tired of being miserable and I'm so sad and so tired of seeing her be miserable.  It's bad when death seems like a blessing. Give people who are at the bottom of the pit the grace they need. If you can't, just scroll on by. If you want to understand, then start by saying you are sorry they feel this way, and ask them if they would like to talk about it? If they do, don't criticize their answers, just try to understand. Remember that you only know how you think you will feel about a situation. The test comes when you are really there. I have changed my stance on so many things over the last 8 years.

~Know that none of us will ever get it all right and give yourself that same grace. Use that delete button. I think keyboards should come with a I'm sorry button too but until they do, type out the words when you're wrong or when you've hurt someone, even when you didn't mean to hurt them. It's never too late to say I'm sorry when you said the wrong thing. Strive for peace. Strive for understanding.

~Remember how you want to be treated. When you say, "Oh man, life just sucks!", do you really want someone telling you what to do so that your life doesn't suck? As if they know anything about your life anyway.

~Remember just that, we don't really know each other, about each other's lives, personal character, or struggles. Don't judge what you don't know. Be kind.

~Starting your sentence, or making the statement in your sentence, "I don't mean to be rude but", is never a good choice and clearly indicates you're about to be rude.

~Sometimes less really is more.

~I know there are others, but these are what's on my heart right now. As a side note, these things work in the real world too, not just the facebook world.

~And finally, in the words of the ever famous Thumper...

Blessings, 

Chris Anthony

amazing awful

As I sat in the car at the patient pick-up, waiting for my loved one to be brought out of the hospital, my mind was deep in thought over what I had just witnessed in the recovery room.  I wondered which family that had been in the surgical family waiting room with us was soon to find out that their loved one had died while they sat there, living life like everything was fine.  Maybe it was a risky but necessary surgery, maybe it was a routine procedure, maybe they knew it might happen, but maybe they thought their lives would be the same that afternoon as they were that morning.  

My heart grieved for them as I prayed, my heart grieved for the doctor that would be telling them, for the girl who sat at the desk and called out names of family members when their loved one's surgery was complete... that she would have to call their names as if everything was fine... maybe they don't tell that girl... I could never pull it off.  I thought about how easily it could have been us, how you just never know when your "See you later" is really a goodbye.

A car pulled up behind me and brought me out of my trance. I glanced in the rear view mirror at the young man behind the wheel and wondered who he was waiting for. I hoped he was there to fetch his brand new baby and sure enough, he was. I watched him gingerly put the car seat into the car and buckle it in, then I watched the nurse and his wife check to make sure he had done it right. They hugged the nurse and pulled away, on to their new life that will now be different than it was the day before.

My eye caught a teenager at the bus stop, headphones in his ears, dancing happily to the music as he waited.  Then a young woman in pink scrubs hurried past him, intent on a destination, with hair dyed to match her scrubs.  I couldn't help but smile. The sky was blue, the sun was out, the breeze was blowing. And then I saw the American flag on a pole, half of it tangled up around the pole while the other half waved freely in the breeze, and I thought it was a perfect example of America right now. Half the people have their shorts all twisted up while the other half are floating on air and I wondered if any of them know it's not always that great and it's not always that bad, it's only what you make it and you should do your best to make it great for others, not harder for them.

In the span of 5 minutes I witnessed life and death, felt joy and sorrow, saw pleasure in the waiting and haste in the tight schedule. I saw Americans bound and Americans free. In my grieving for this unknown family, there was still sunshine on my face. In the span of 5 minutes I suddenly saw how amazing and awful this world can be at the same moment, how joy and sorrow can exist at the same time, even in the same person, even in me.

grateful yet heartsick

As I sit here tonight drinking my tea, I realize that my hands have been shaking for a month now. Initially it was because my Thyroid meds were too high but then my husband left for an Alaskan fishing trip with our son and I was alone. Well, not alone really, I did have my pit bull and my guns! During the two weeks they were gone, my mother, who has dementia, made two trips to the ER, one for a fall and the second one for her heart. And while my mother was in the hospital in Traverse City, my sister overdosed in Indiana by eating a Fentanyl patch. After several doses of Narcan, she came back from the dead, literally. On the day my mom was moved into the nursing home, I was sitting on my sister's hospital bed crying. Grateful she was alive, angry over what she had done, angry that I was not there for our mom... Grateful yet heartsick. 

Mom got moved into the nursing home, hubby and son came home, sister got checked into rehab, Poppy is getting accustomed to being alone in the house and me, I'm working on getting used to the sights, sounds and smells of the nursing home... it's not easy. And just when I thought things might settle into their new normal, Hurricane Harvey came knocking on the door of my daughter's house on North Padre Island. Two days of long distance distress, a mother needing to be with her child but knowing there is no way possible... They are safe, their home was spared... Grateful, yet heartsick.

Did you know today is national dog day? I did but only because my facebook memories told me so. In honor of national dog day and in honor of just how much life sucks right now I suppose, my pit bull, who is always the picture of what a good dog should be, bit a child on the thigh. Of course he did! I am now one of "those" people. You know, the pit bull dog owners who are absolutely shocked after their dog bites someone and says, "But my dog would never hurt anyone". Apparently he will. Yup, there it is folks, so much to my shame. Thankfully, the little boy will be okay, it did not break the skin but he does have some bruising and his parents were so very gracious, much more gracious than we deserve... grateful yet heartsick

All these things, I can not yet find the words, other than grateful and heartsick, to describe my roller coaster of emotions. But I can tell you this though, when I have cried out to God over these things, sometimes from a heap on the floor, my words are concise and clear without hesitation or doubt. "I know that you love me and I trust you." well that and, "Please don't let this trembling in my hands be permanent!" One must always find laughter...

Sidenote: Keep all the crappy pit bull comments to yourself, I do not defend what my dog did, I make no excuses for it and I'm already heartsick enough.

my mother's robe

My mother's robe

Holding on and letting go...

My mother's mind
They are one and the same

Worn and threadbare
With holes and spots
Dulled by years of use

A source of distress
A source of comfort
Evidence of living while dying

My hand holds it suspended
Hovering over the trash
I release my grasp ever so slightly
I feel its' layers begin to slip through my fingers
I clench my fist and draw it close
Unable to let it go

I breathe it in
Again
And then again
I am wrapped in repulsion and desperation
Wrapped in longing for my momma 
Allowing what remains to cling to me

My mother's robe
My mother's mind
They are one and the same

I bathe it in chemicals
I bathe it in music
Feeble attempts to remove the years

I sew on patches
Closing the holes
But the threads are so bare
They do not hold

My mother's robe
Continually worn for three years now
Has been at my house for ten days
She hasn't asked for it once
Like everything else
It is gone from her mind

My mother's robe
My mother's mind
They are one and the same

tuesday afternoon

I've lit a fire in the wood stove. It feels colder than the 65 degrees it was supposed to get to today. I feel terrible. I'm fighting a headache and... the need for sugar. 

At my doctor appointment this morning she schedules me for a stress/echo test. One where they do an echo cardiogram first, then have you get on a treadmill until you either collapse or exceed the time limit - for me it will be collapse, and then jump back on the table for a second echo. I've had an echo before because I have one of those hearts that likes to dance a jig occasionally, the problem is, it has no rhythm. The general consensus of the cardiologist has always been caffeine intake... as in, "keep drinking it, your heart doesn't like it when you stop." It's a prescription I am happy to oblige. 

I couldn't help but laugh out loud at the thought of the impending tests and as I tell Dr. Ellen why, we laugh for a good 5 minutes. You see, they do an echo with you wearing only a gown and the thought of me running on a treadmill without the appropriate undergarments, well, that's just too much for me too contain... or rather, it will be too much for me to contain. Fortunately, she has the same sense of humor as me.

Arriving back home, I settle in with a glass of Pepsi and a bit of facebook time. Somehow I get hooked on a half hour video on pro-biotics and how there is too much sugar in our American diets. Not new news to me, nor a new diagnosis of all my stomach issues. I wonder when I will change my eating habits, really change for good. I want to change - today - I want to have arrived already with out all the work it takes to change. 

The video makes me want to barf - thoughts of bad bacteria swimming around in my gut... I pour out my Pepsi and go take 2 pro-biotics... how long has it been since I last took them? Have they expired? Do the ones that don't have to be refrigerated really work? Mine are in the fridge and exceed all the requirements of the video, by almost double, I buy the good ones - they still only work if you take them. Should I take Motrin for my headache? Just how bad is that stuff for you anyway? My whole head hurts.

I go sweep the laundry room. Anything has to be better than living in my non-stop, ever talking head. I collect all the dust, dog hair, lint and leaves at the back door, flinging it wide to chuck out all the junk and wishing I could do the same with my mind. I am surprised by how warm it is out there, warmer than in here. 

There is heat to the bright sun on this beautiful autumn day. I feel it on my cheeks. The fallen leaves, an airy afghan of gold blanketing the yard, are being baked under it. The sweet aroma of God's composting process rising to my nostrils. I breathe in deep and think of autumns past. A feeling of nostalgia I can not define, but know exists, comes over me. Not a singular moment in time but rather a lifetime of autumns wrapped up in this singular moment in time... I pause here and let my soul breathe it in, refusing to let my talking head reign.

I step around to the back garden and view my hostas. The "Empress", usually so grand and green in front of the fence, is now golden from frost and hangs her regal head. Bowing gracefully, in humble submission to the seasons of change. The pathway is strewn with the discards of fall and even though the process of seasonal change is well underway, I marvel at the memory of how lush my garden had grown this summer in spite me.

I long to take a walk, I need a walk - exercise - reflection. Too many years at a desk, too many miles in a car, they are killing me. But a walk means going past my mother's eye. She will see me go by - she will hope that I stop in. I don't want to stop in. I feel guilty that I don't want to stop in... that I never want to stop in anymore. I miss my mom, the woman that dementia has stolen. I need to be more like the Empress... 

I shake the rug, lay it back on the laundry room floor and pull the door closed behind me. Trapped in my home, trapped in my guilt, trapped in my talking head. I sit by the wood stove to write, to get it all out, but now it has become too warm...

Today is not exceptional, it's just simply a normal Tuesday afternoon in my life. I think if most people knew the wrestling that goes on inside me, the struggles I have with who I am, they would not be so quick to say I have it all together, that my life is so wonderful. The funny thing is though, my life truly is so wonderful, in spite of me, just like my garden. Me, my life,  my garden, perfectly imperfect and I'm okay with that. Maybe that is the secret to wonderful...