To Drive or Not To Drive ….

That is THE question. If we live long enough, we reach that point when the question becomes reality. Unfortunately, for some the reality comes at the point of impact.

As we age our reflexes slow. Our thought processes begin to wander. Our short term memory becomes erratic. Lapses in memory that, when we were young, were humorous are becoming more problematic, not humorous at all. Our livelihood is diminished. We become more dependent upon others. It is simply the natural progression of things.

Or, more aptly, the natural decay or decline of humanity. The reality of what is happening is painfully obvious. Just look in the mirror. The wrinkles. The sagging skin. The greying or white hair. The love handles that truly are not. The prescription meds for high blood pressure, diabetes, thyroid problems, COPD, and the bottles, they do stack up. Oh, and we stumble more.

The 60’s start us considering impending retirement. We have started feeling life or the lack thereof just a bit more. But there’s still time to think about those things later. Truth is we should have started thinking about those things at age 30 not age 60.

The 70’s bring their own special brand of crazy as everything gets just a tiny bit worse. Just add a leaky bladder, farts that are surprisingly not farts, swelling feet, ankles, calves and knees, as well as the stomach that has decided it does not like anything it used to find just yummy and comfy. The taste buds seemed to have left town with the teeth.

The 80’s introduce us to the walker or rollerater. They keep us steady if they are fitted properly to our height and weight. They keep us slightly bent forward and remind us we are less than ….

We are less than what we were and the one place we are fully accepted is that warehouse. Heaven’s waiting room?! Where the dead go to die?! The nursing home, of course. Thinking about it like that does not endear it to our heart.

The 90’s brings more of the same only more intense. The memory has faded. The body is failing. Getting up requires effort. A lot of effort. Waking brings on the, “Oh, my! I’m still here” response. Or something equally repulsive.

At this point, if one is still driving, it begs the question, “How?” We all know why. Driving is freedom. It’s the last vestige of “I’m still viable and alive!” We can get up and still go. We are not dead yet. There are still places to go. People to see and to be seen.

We tend to think more about the hereafter and the here for. We do wonder what we are here for. I mean if I can not do the things I did nor be who I was. What good am I really. The hereafter cannot be ignored as it must be faced by us all.

If there is no relationship with the Creator then there is little reason to be in the here or in the hereafter. But that is the subject of many more discussions.

Back to driving. When do we need to stop driving? When we reach a certain age, or when we reach a certain level of disability? To be frank, disability is probably the way to go. Failing eyesight is the first indicator. If you cannot see, you cannot navigate. Manual dexterity limitations inhibit turning the steering wheel, just as muscle atrophy limits how quickly you can move your foot from the accelerator to the gas or how well you can look behind the car as you back up.

Perhaps if we were not so afraid of the unknown, of death itself, we would not be quite so fearful of the aging (decaying) process. The only way to lose fear of the unknown is to get to know it. Get to know the only One Who can be in control of both life and death.

It Has Been A Long 8 Months

And it appears there will be more long months ahead. It is my task to “take care of” a 94 year old man who has no family to care for him. It is not a really bad situation, as situations go. There is little monetary gain from it. There is no pay nor hope of grand inheritance.

So why? It is not something that I really wanted to do. It is something I was lead to do. GOD truly does work in mysterious ways. Other than that fact, there would be no reason for me to be there. No reason to cook, clean house, prepare for visitors, and no reason to travel a thousand miles to do all that.

There is a relationship but I hesitate to elaborate simply because it is not so much complicated as it is just plain weird.

Most people know who their parents are by familial knowledge passed down through legal documents, adoption papers, and plain old word of mouth.

Who is your Daddy, really? Is he simply one prime wiggler that made it to the promised land? Or is it time spent doing ‘daddy things’ over an extended period of time? Some combination of the two? Maybe something entirely different?

At this point, being a grandmother myself, I thought I would have it all figured out. Well, I do not and at this point, how to proceed is still up for grabs. It will also be another chapter in life.

See you then. 🙄

Have You Reached Your Limit?

Few of us

I started this post on November 18, 2017 and the above is as far as I got.  I guess I had reached my limit that day.  And I am bound to reach my limit just as quickly today.  Today is Thursday.  It is trash day.  It is the day that the church people come with the weekly meal.  It is the day after Wednesday and the day before Friday.  It is Thursday.

When do you know you have reached your limit?  It varies, does it not?  When eating or drinking anything, your body should let you know when that limit is reached.  Running or any type of physical activity will let your body notify you when you have reached your limit.  It is the mental stress activities that we seem unable to read the signs that say, “Enough.”   It is only when some garbled version of “ENOUGH!” is shouting, no screaming at us to stop when we even slow down enough to think about what is going on.

Any event in our life can become consuming of our time and thought processes.  Only when those around say silly things like, “You look like you need a break!” do we even consider that really might be the case.  When friends, sometimes even acquaintances, start offering to help you take a break, you definitely NEED a break!

From October 2000 to April 2001 I helped out my Mom after she was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer.  I flew her home with me from the hospital.  At the time I was staying with my mother-in-law who did not want to go into a nursing home.  I took my Mom to Chemo treatments and days when she did not have one, I worked in the office.  I held a full time job and took care of both of them and thought nothing of it.  It was not stressful.  It all had to be done and it was all working.  It actually worked better with both of them there because they kept each other company.

It was not until after my Mom went back home that things kind of started falling apart.  My mother-in-law had no one to talk to while I was working and she did things she ought not do.  That is when the stress set in and she decided to leave her own home to get away from me.  I find that somewhat humorous now.  Back then it was just a relief.  Her companion was gone.  She was lonely.  And I, well, I was me.  I was the “wicked bitch of the south” constantly on her about her diet, about feeding my overweight dog, and a thousand other things I just had to bring up.  I had reached my limit and no one could see the signs well enough to tell me.  If they did, it was a case of “Not me! I’m not saying nothin’!”

Far too often, we have to be the one to say when it is time for a break.  We have to be an adult and admit that we do not have super powers.  We have to say “GOD, I need a break.  Please show me how to admit to myself that I do not have the responsibility of the World upon my shoulders.”

We are after all just human.  Man or woman, we can only do so much.  Sometimes we can do more, but this time we need a break.

The Loss of Personal Responsibility

This started as a reprint of a post of what I learned from the failed crazed woman’s march on DC January, 2017. It was what I had learned from the outspoken lunatic women of that march that failed to actually speak coherently and bring a cohesive message to the attention of all who watched.

What I did not learn is essential. I did not learn the actual source of their fear and anger. The speakers were not articulate as much as they were angry and fearful and spewing garbage just for applause, screams of laughter and jeers for the object of their scorn who happened to be a man.

They appeared to do what many women have done throughout the ages. They blame a man for their misfortune. In this case they blame a man with whom they had absolutely no relationship. It appears that women have not been liberated at all. What we women need to learn is that liberation does not come from outside of ourselves. Liberation is not dependent upon our release from a physical location nor from our real or imagined physical bonds. Liberation, true liberation comes from within. We are only liberated when we are free within. Not free to do whatever we want, whenever we want, but free to learn, free to become our best.

It also appeared that, on that day, a woman’s freedom was dependent upon a woman acting like those women thought a woman should act. And that is not freedom either. Freedom has a boundary and that boundary means that we do not enslave another in our version of freedom. If we can change their mind through honest debate or by our own actions, fine. But we are not free to bully another into submission.

Personal responsibility applies to women just as it applies to men. Just as one cannot cry fire in a crowded room when there is no fire, how is it right for a man or woman to cry rape when they walk naked through a frat party? We have all kinds of excuses why it is right for one to do so and allow no room for personal responsibility.

Advertising, greed and power based news, ignorant laws favoring the accused, faulty teaching in the churches, Marxist agendas unleashed by professors in colleges on ignorant students, awkward and dysfunctional families, little or no parenting skills, no boundaries and ignorance have all played a part in reducing personal responsibility to nothing more than a phrase used by fringe groups bent on restricting freedom.

Women have such aberrant ways of trying to draw attention to their plight. They burned their bras publicly to announce their freedom. That would be equivalent with men burning their jock straps. And it would make about as much sense. They walked topless through subways just to show they could because men went shirtless. This was hailed as new found freedom. Is it? Or is it just a redo of the Roaring Twenties, a remake of the Can-Can girls of France and a copy of the brothels of old? Why do we feel that burning desire to lie to ourselves? I can understand lying to the public, but why must we try to tell ourselves that our freedom must rely upon being unashamedly stupid? It is stupidity. Ignorance can be mended with knowledge. Stupid is willful and totally denying there might just be a better way.

Abortion – The Second Time

She had just been released from the hospital and that gnawing feeling that something was happening kept her awake and uneasy.

A trip to the clinic confirmed her suspicions. She was pregnant again. This time fear engulfed her. She had been on all that medication and the headlines about the Thalidomide babies who were just about 15 years old now.

The stories about how the drug caused birth defects stared her in the face one day as she stood in line for a burger. The girl was just about the right age. She was in a wheel chair and was missing both arms. Her mother looked tired but she was smiling.

The image seared into her mind like a hot knife through butter. Then the doubts came. What would the drugs do to the baby? She had become both obsessed and repulsed by the images of her unborn child. There was no sonogram to see if things were ok. Sonograms were not in use for pregnancy. There was no way to tell so the fear took over.

How could she do this? Who was there to help her? This man who had already abandoned her certainly could not be trusted. Oh, he had not vacated the premises, but he was of no value for emotional support and since he had quit his job he could not support her financially.

She considered her mother – a woman with three children at home and a husband who, while he worked and put food on the table, had major issues. The chaos that she had left so many years ago was not about to become her home again.

There was little to be called sane in that home. The constant profane and vulgar bickering was one thing. Watching the younger siblings be abused was quite another. She just could not be the target anymore. Everyone said that there was nothing that could be done. Her step-father was a law enforcement officer and any attempt that she made to report him was lost in the shuffle at the station. It was bad enough to be under his constant gaze while she was in the house, but his cohorts took over when she was out of the house. Their snickering and lewd remarks when she was in town were degrading and unbearable.

She could not, would not go home.

Her plan of action was formulated in a heartbeat. She called planned parenthood and made another appointment. This time would be different. She would go alone. She would take the bus. He did not have to know.

The appointment was not what she expected. They told her that they could not do the abortion. She would have to go to a hospital and have general anesthesia.

Her words blurted out in panic, “but I can’t!! I just can’t!! I have to do this now!!”

They told her that she was too far along and they were not equipped to handle it. But, there was a doctor that she could go to who might be able to help her. They gave her his number and she called him. The appointment was made and it began again.

The day of the appointment she never even told her husband where she was going. She just went.

The office was all dark wood and in a way soothing. The receptionist told her to have a seat while she waited for the doctor.

It was not long before she was called into the doctor’s office. He talked to her and told her that he would need another doctor present to administer the anesthesia and it would be done in his office. He asked her why she wanted it and she carefully explained about the drugs in the hospital and her fear and everything.

She asked Dr M why he did this and he said he was making money so he could go back to Puerto Rico and open a clinic for his people. When he told her the price, she said that she did not have that much money, but she would work for him if there was anything she could do. It was agreed that she would cover the front desk while his secretary took a few days off.

It was not hard to keep a secret in a house where no one spoke of anything important. That fatal day came soon enough and as she was leaving, she decided to tell her husband what she was doing and why. She spoke fast and left faster giving him no time to respond. She remembered his stunned look as she left.

Everything was going pretty much as it did before. The anesthesia was on standby in case it was needed. She was not as anxious as she was before. They must have given her a little something to relax her. She was trying to think of anything but where she was and what she was doing.

It was during one of those flights of fantasy that she noticed their words were more urgent than they had been. She wanted to ignore them but what was said was horrific.

Lying on the table, the IV in her arm, her legs strapped in the stirrups the words came.

Those sounds of the whirring suction machine were the same, The room was darker and more comfortable but it would not have made any difference if it had been a five star hotel or a back alley. It was then that the stark realization came upon her and finally showed her what she was doing. The tugging was becoming more intense as the doctors began working together.

Dr. M said, “The head is too big. It won’t come out. We’ll have to cut it up.”

It was at that moment that all of the horror, disgust and realization hit her. She had just murdered her child. She had murdered her second child. If you can be walking and still be in shock then she would be doing just that for several days. The procedure ended without further incident. She lay there weeping silently until they told her she could dress and go home. She lied when she said she was meeting her husband downstairs.

She did work for him the same day as her follow-up appointment. She swore to herself that she would never do this again.

If you think that abortion does not affect women, you are wrong. It stays with you until you die or completely lose your mind. You see those images. You feel everything at the mere mention of babies or birth or anything remotely connected. You wonder what kind of mother kills her unborn child. You wonder what kind of woman you truly are. You wonder many things and can become overwhelmed with self-doubt and self-loathing.

Abortion – A Personal and A National Tragedy

It was 1972 and the abortion debate was winding its way through the courts. She was not aware of all the legalities involved. She was not even thinking about an abortion. She was married and had always wanted children. It would be okay, right?

When she told her husband that she was “going to have a baby” he freaked. He told her that if she had the baby he would leave her. The words stunned her and he just kept repeating himself. The next day he told her that she was going to have to “take care of it” and she finally took it in. He wanted her to have an abortion.

She felt trapped. She could not raise a child on her own and she did not want to go back to her mother and tell her she was having a baby and her husband had left her. He took every opportunity to remind her that he did not want a baby. Despite her apprehension and her fear she picked up the yellow pages and went to the “A”s. She found the Planned Parenthood number, called it and made the appointment. She told him what she had done and how much it would be. He appeared to be relieved.

It was Saturday and the sun was shining. It was warmer than it should have been for February. As he parked the car, she stared up at the building and wished silently that it would all just disappear. He actually held the door for her when they went in.

The waiting room was not crowded but there were others there and each woman seemed to have that same blank stare. Each table had packs of birth control pills just laying there. She saw the pills and the boxes of tissues. She knew what was expected of her.

He waited with her until they called her name. The questions seemed endless, but it was only an illusion. The question she wanted to hear would never be spoken. “Do you want to just forget this mess and go home?” No one would ask that question.

She undressed and put on that gown and was led to the table. She lay down and her legs were strapped in the stirrups. She wanted her husband to rush in screaming for her to stop but he never did. The cervical dilation was painful but not as soul wrenching as the pain in her heart. The suction machine had been turned on and those awful noises were so loud. Inside she was screaming to stop, but the words never came. She lay there and happened to see the tube with the canister at the end and she was sick to fully understand what she had just done. A few bold tears trickled down.

Her husband must have paid them while she was having IT done. She sat in the waiting room for awhile and then some woman in a white uniform told her she could go and rambled on about what to do about complications or something. At that point it was all pretty hazy and it was like the volume was too low and she never understood what was said and did not care.

There was complete silence all the way home. As they walked in to their basement apartment she noticed his distance. As she took off her coat she watched him lay on the sofa facing the wall. He may as well stabbed her in the heart with a kitchen knife, it would not have hurt as much as what he said. You would think that after 38 years, the pain of that moment would have been forgotten. She remembers the sights and smells and sounds of that day like it is happening now. What he said will stay with her until she dies.

As she stood looking at him lying on the sofa with his back to her he said, “Why did you kill my baby?”

She never answered his question and the abortion was never mentioned again. It was not even mentioned the next time she became pregnant. It was never mentioned when she left him.