About a year ago, I was cracking up (not in a good way). I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So I did both. Often. And intensely.
I’m writing a play. A book. A blog post. A dozen blog posts. Articles and particles, bits and pieces, nuts and bolts.
A lifetime. I’m writing a lifetime.
I’m writing a lifetime in which the main character is invisible. Unseen. Unheard. Unnoticed. She barely exists in her own story. Or so it would seem. At times. Continue reading
This is part of an endless series of posts about my experience of Alzheimer’s disease. Some others are: I see you and me. And love. Loving Words at Sunset, Life Breaks My Heart, The Lost and Found, and See me?
An Endless Prayer
She has fat little fingers now.
Her precious rings don’t fit them anymore.
At night, she counts her rosary:
one bead after another after another after another.
In the day, she sits and strokes the tops of her legs:
up and down up and down up and down.
Her hands, the days and the nights:
soft, gentle tides going in and out in and out in and out on a desert island.
I wonder what she feels as she comforts herself and gazes,
mindless, into the near and far.
She turns to look at me.
“Hi Punkie, I’m so glad you came to see me,” she says.
My heart is in a million pieces.
I wrote this poem in this morning’s writing group. The prompt was “Five easy pieces,” a quick warm-up exercise in which we were asked to write five discrete sentences thus:
- describe someone’s hands
- say what they are doing
- add an exotic location
- ask the subject a question
- have them partially answer the question
Tweak if necessary when done and voila!
I’ve heard those words from my mother at least a million times:
“Oh Sue, you’re so opinionated. Oh Sue, you’re so serious. Oh Sue, why do you have to be so argumentative? Oh Sue, did you have to get your hair cut that short?” Oh Sue, something-or-other-that-doesn’t-quite-measure-up.”
Like many mother/daughter relationships, ours has been fraught with issues and challenges (as well as joy and happiness) about which I blogged a year ago today. So, it’s curious that the one “Oh Sue” I remember most specifically isn’t a criticism, but a little cheer. And I hear it as clearly today as I did forty-four years ago across a riding ring one late-summer afternoon. Continue reading
According to a happiness test I once took, I score highly on the “happiness scale.”
But I don’t often feel happiness. Rather, I frequently feel joy, which for me is a different and deeper emotion, and which can be evoked by the simplest everyday things.
There are countless notes in my continuing ode to joy; here are 10 of them: Continue reading
The words “lost and found” always make me think of amazing grace.
Not of lost mittens or keys or caps or a single red shoe. Nor of the “lost and founds” one must call in search of them. No.
“Lost and found” makes me think of amazing grace:
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me
I once was lost, but now I’m found, was blind, and now I see… Continue reading