Tag: grieving

Surrender

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Proverbs 17:1 “Better is a dry morsel with peace and quiet than a house full of feasting with anguish and strife.”

Surrender. A word one often associates with unique circumstances. Surrender your will. Surrender your hopes and dreams. Surrender your dog. Something I never thought that I would do.

The past month my life felt like anguish and strife constantly. Peace had so far eluded me that even night time was a battle for sleep. It took me over six weeks to discover the true problem.

The source of strife can be so elusive sometimes. She wanders away just when you think peace and enjoyment is about to be yours, strife strikes once again. The amount of strength and energy that it requires to strive after this constant battle is exhausting.

About a month ago, our Honey Doodle started to be bored and listless. She took the energy out of me just looking at her. Finally on Saturday morning the rope snapped. She had left me to do my watering and ran off to roll in something dead once again. My energy level was already zapped by allergies and asthma from the morning dew. I had just finished a phone call with my daughter. In my duty I reached to grab the frisbee and toss it for an attentive dog, only to smell that horrible stench. I snapped.

After about five minutes of being controlled by my anger, I collected Kona from his “little horse trailer” outdoor crate, and went into the house. My first call was my husband. I let him know what happened, that I had snapped, and that I was officially DONE.

My second call was to my sister to help get me down out of my anger volcano. The lava was everywhere. There was no turning back. I had spent six years trying to be a “strong” personality with this doodle dog and I could no longer do it. Being strong voiced, commanding and boisterous is not WHO I am. My energy level is minimal. I can not run six miles every day with a golden doodle. And that is what she needs.

Even throwing the frisbee for twenty minutes three times a day was not enough. She required more than I can give. My thought process included wondering if I could take care of Kona in the next ten years. I had not even been thinking that Honey was the source of my energy drain.

This morning when I heard the preacher on the radio talking about this Proverb, I was amazed at it’s timing. Does God really care that my dog and I did not get along? Does God know how sorry I really am that she was not the right fit for me and my anger was so easily roused by her every behavior?

I read the book last year about “Dog Mirrors” and how Honey was just being the mirror of my inner turmoil. Honestly there are some ways that may be true. Like my anxiety when going outdoors has been rather high this past two months. The allergies and asthma that drain my energy make me constantly wonder if the asthma will let me get back to the house before “black out” time. Well, I know she read anxiety as “anxious activity” and became more agitated and moved more herself.

Like when it was time to go somewhere and I was looking for my things, she would jump up and get RIGHT in the way. Her movements would always be just a few steps in from of me making me more and more agitated because she would block my way, block my view, or keep me from finding my shoes. It was SO NOT HELPFUL. And always made me more aggravated and I could never get her to STAY in one spot until I was ready.

Here’s a note if you are ever around a visual impaired person-Stop moving around all the time. If you can’t sit still to carry a conversation, don’t be friends with a peripherally challenged individual. I knew a gal one time that wanted to be helpful to me, but whenever we were together she behaved just like Honey. Always moving and I could never decipher where she was going to sit next. Rather than sitting in one chair and visiting, it’s like she was a honey bee checking the nectar level of every chair in my living room. I did not invite her back into my life.

So now that the dry morsel is peaceful to eat… shall we move on?

Surrendering my dog was not something I ever had in mind when I got that dog. But I am not the right fit. She is too exuberant in her greetings to strangers and I have NO CONTROL over her bad manners when people come to visit. Of course I haven’t much control over Charlie either, but he does not zoom around like his pants are on fire when someone comes to the acreage either. And he is very treat motivated. Cookies work to get him to come to me.

This week should be much more peaceful. As soon as I get to the chiropractor to fix all the things out in my back and shoulders from her bad behavior Saturday morning.

Kona looking out the window the day after

When I left her on Saturday, I felt like some great weight had been lifted from my back. We will have a few things to adjust to in the house or outside, but already I prefer the quieter life.

My Broken Glass

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The other morning my return home greeting was dropping a small juice glass in my farm sink. Yep, it broke. Broken glass is not so bad to clean up when it is contained. I was careful in my search for all of the pieces and put them into the bottom of the still intact vintage glass. No cut fingers for me.

And today I feel much like that glass. Broken and useless. The message I heard on the radio was about spiritual warfare. How appropriate I think for how I feel. We have finally had some seasonal rain and now all the trees are budding and the grass and weeds are in full growth mode. My allergies took a nose dive into the tissue box and my head is in so much pain. Honey did not wake me up for my asthma need this morning, so I slept in until past nine.

“—A threefold cord is not quickly broken.” —Ecclesiastes 4:8b (ESV) The fourth chapter of Ecclesiastes has a lot of little nuggets in it. This is one of my favorite. In the passage, the wisdom is for people to work together in unity. Two people pulling in opposite directions are only striving after the wind. One person cannot stay warm on cold nights without an electric blanket. Two are better than one to defeat an assailant. So many little treasures of advice.

The last two Sundays I was blessed to go to church with my mother. The first week there was a missionary and the second week there were two baptisms. This same week a friend of ours shared a video of a testimony from another church in the same community. Seeing the Holy Spirit working in others lives is so uplifting. Staying the week with my mom and sister and her two little ones was more work than I thought it would be. By the end of the week though my old habit of not being able to fall asleep returned.

The first night there we let Kona sleep on the bed with us. Not very restful considering he has never done that before. In the early dawn hours, he woke up forgetting where he was. His frightful bark and the big fat tears in his eyes told me he had been very scared. I snuggled him into bed with me and he settled back down. The rest of the week he slept in his crate like ususal. Sleeping with dog on bed is not my preferred pet method. We both need the complete night of rest to be able to put up with each other all day.

Kona struggled with kid magnetics the first few days together with my little nieces. By the second day they had learned to co-exist and him not be so attracted to their every movement. By the fourth day a real rhythm had been set and he was learning to cue some things. His alerts at first were a little loud. He finally decided it was okay to inside bark that the baby was awake. He also cued some of the alarms around the house. The best was the “importance” of my mom’s pill minder. The last day he decided to walk outside with my mother. She just picked up the leash and took him with. Hmmm-I though she did not like dogs. And he also began noticing if the door did not shut all the way. That was helpful also. Pocket full of treats kept him very busy trying to earn a treat!

Meanwhile, my dad’s world had some bad news the past week. It was really hard to hear such sad happenings. But the day I called to take care of the flowers, he had had such a rough day. It was a blessing to keep in touch with him and hear him reciprocate my “I love you dad.” He has only told me he loves me a hand full of times. I think it meant much to him that I reached out even though I was at my mom’s for the week.

Returning home was “fruit basket upset” for me. I felt bad for not being happy to be home. The moving about and putting everything back in its place gets me pretty frustrated. My eyes just don’t always see what I think should be there. I took a detox bath, but it really did not help much. It wasn’t close enough to bed time to actually work.

The cutest event of the week was when the little girls were getting ready for bed one evening. My sister was making the bottle, and I was trying to “settle” them instead of wind them up. So I sang a silly song about the sun going to bed and so shall I. I taught them the actions of the sun coming up and traveling across the sky until it hit the floor again, then laid down to fall asleep. The third time the girls had the actions down and even Kona layed down on the floor to fall asleep for pretend. It was so cute watching them all interact so sweetly.

When it’s my time to go, I wonder how I will behave. Watching our elderly parents prepare for “the day” is hard. Some get listless and empty, letting go of the daily duties with quite a struggle. Getting them to understand that food is their first need and let someone else do the food preparations, can be such a battle. Others will not allow a hired help to come clean the house just for “privacy” sake or something.

I know it was hard for me to let go of the green house chores for the week and trust others to water, rotate, and watch care. Each sibling handles letting go of the parents differently also. Some just let go before it’s time to even relinquish their elder to this earthly suffering so that they do not have to watch the falling season. Some hang on so hard they won’t let anyone else take certain “cares” on because they have to have some control. In the end, the broken glass just goes when it’s God’s timing. We never really know when the glass will slip out of our hands and the pieces will be left to discard. We don’t even know what pieces we will be left with. God give me the grace to handle each broken glass with care.

God’s Goodness

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Saturday I witnessed a health care worker in action. I was both amazed at her quick decisions and her patience in turn. The fact that she is my niece and “watch” caring for my mother makes it only more blessed in my mind. While everyone is feeling the loss of the changing of seasons in my mother’s life, I am going to focus on the blessings. I want to taste God’s goodness during this season. One time nearly 24 years ago, I wrote a poem that I turned to song about these seasons.

The Spring of the year does not seem quite like the right time to begin seeing the autumn of one’s parents. But along with the fall comes the harvest. And Harvest is everyone’s favorite of gathering up all the goodies that God has blessed us with. So while my parents (all four of them in fact) are going into their season of fall in life, I want to focus on the bounty that God’s goodness has given them all these years.

Railings are such good help when we use them and when they are there. Our back porch and front deck went without such things for the first ten years or more while we lived here. The railing on the front deck was put up first. And we adjusted the steps to make them wider and more functional. The back porch “basket” was done a little later. My eyesight was failing in peripheral enough to make the railings necessary. No more running down or up the steps for me. So getting the railing down the basement steps in my mother’s house was a necessary item that we felt should not be delayed. My husband installed it on Saturday

Keeping aging parents in their home as long as possible can be somewhat of a hardship on the children balancing the watch care. Life becomes something of a juggling act as each one takes turns. There is no sense that life is on hold as the days come rushing by and things need to be done faster that one can think to schedule each day into the calendar. No one is particularly just waitng for the “big fall” rather we are all trying not to miss the balls as they fly through the air to us.

Knowing that my eyesight plays a pivotal role in me even catching one of those flying objects, I hope the others will be nice and roll the ball to me and let me know when it’s my turn to catch something. So here I go trying to schedule my greenhouse care and my doggie duties around traveling. And I’m not a very good traveler. I have already begun preferring to stay home.

I found this verse in my reading time the other day. Psalm 138:8 “The Lord will fulfill His purpose for me: Your steadfast love, O Lord endures forever, Do not forsake the work of your hands.” There are verses about us being the “workmanship” of the Almighty. This verse really brought me peace when I was thinking of the days that God has ordained for each of us to live.

My hubby found a little saying that was a gardener’s “ excuse me.” Many times in life for some no apparent reason something in the greenhouse or in the house, plants just dies. The saying was another persons take on the situation. “You are a really good gardener, that plant should have tried a little harder.” But plant’s aren’t like people. And while some plants tell you that something is wrong, most of the time the disease happens way too quickly for me to respond in appropriate care. Having bad eyesight in the gardening field can cost me a whole crop. Preventive maintenance has to be part of my routine. So this winter and early spring I found a dish soap insecticidal spray and cinnamon are doing their job well to keep away some pest issues in the greenhouse.

Of neglected plants… Here below the first picture on the left is a Kalanchoe that my mother in law was “not” nurturing well. The little thing bloomed it’s head off for over three months. Finally after not receiving water on a weekly basis it decided to start dyring up. Then there is all the tulips at our place that came up the first two weeks of March only to get froze off not just once but three or four times. The first plant to show stress of my mother’s lack of “time” concept was her holiday cactus. She did get it moved out of the house last summer to finish it’s slow death outside. Plants in distress can make such a mess in the house.

Leaving the elderly alone for the holidays is also a “slow” death process. I blame the pandemic for the “keeping everyone safe” mentality that left far too many people alone for too long. I think I’m going to adopt my daughter’s mindset that says life is for living not for trying to stay safe all the time. Most of the elderly I know would rather just see their family than NOT see their family.

This week is the Easter Season, or the Holy Week. I have not been able to focus on the Scripture study that I normally do this time of year. So I’m glad that our Pastor chose a familiar text for his sermons around the special holiday. The 23rd Psalm has been one of my focus studies many times. It seems doubly important during this season of our lives.

I use to ask people around me what “season” of Psalm 23 did they find themselves in?… And right now I find myself longing for the Shepherd’s tender leading as I try to find the right paths to take each every day. The words “lead me” occur twice in the passage, so that’s what I’ll focus on asking Him. Lead me softly, Lord, Lead me gently. Just Lead me!

Side note: Kona got his first professional haircut yesterday. He won the cutest dog of the day award. What an enjoyable little bit of goodness in this season of changing goodness!

“Lord help me to taste Your goodness through each and every day. Even if there are some bitter herbs, lead me through the entire path that You have for me Don’t let me miss anything You have for me to taste!”

Summer Heat

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The weeding has kept me out of my library this summer. Maybe I care more about my flowers this year, or maybe my priorities changed. Writing has not been at the top of the list.

I was not even making a to do list for each week as it seemed the list was monotonous. Weed, water, weed, dead-head geraniums, start over. I also was trying to pay more attention to the pet bonding and make sure someone was not being picked on. Unfortunately, Charlie has decided that because Crush runs, Crush should be chased. Poor old Tom cat. Actually, I don’t feel sorry for him. Only enough to tell Charlie to “leave it!”

We lost three pets this year, Autumn, Eva and Cocoa. That is nothing in comparison to my cousin loosing her mother. I think I wrote a blog once about my Aunties. And my Aunt MaryLou and I had so very much in common. We just seemed to “get” each other even though some in the family did not get her. We could talk so easily about just any thing. We both had her mother’s eyesight disease. We both had two daughters. We both had intensely funny husbands. We both loved reading. We both loved ALL kinds of music. We both loved to talk about the little people in our lives. I just can’t imagine how her close family will live without her. But they were blessed to watch her grace and poise during her last years of painful living. Knowing that she is no longer in pain helps some.

My allergies have been somewhat more in the “controlled” state. Another reaction to bread that was “tainted” with barley has kept me away from the slices. So far the wraps that we buy have been okay for me. I had a close call the other night choosing gluten free wrap only to find out that most of the time they use potato in the dough. Real close!

Today is the hottest day of the year, maybe… I think they said the head index has it over 100 degrees. The breeze is generous and feels lovely. Though I am not working in the heat, I still am trying to get outside and soak up the warm. The bitter winter wind will be extra harsh this winter when I look back and think about today. It’s crazy how the flowers, the tomatoes, and the zuchini love the heat. What a lovely surprise to walk into the greenhouse and see one of the Amaryllis in full bloom.

The west Fig tree in the greenhouse is doing well. I have made fig preserve three times already. It is worse than candy. So addicting. We eat it with graham crackers. I have not made bars yet. There just never seems to be any left after I fill a couple of jars. OOPS!

One baby blanket this summer is completed. Probably won’t start another until fall weather. I am still enjoying making the back pack bags. A few dishcloths found their way off the hook. I have yarn for a few other projects, but all is too hot for this time of year.

Meanwhile, the back walkway past the propane was getting to be a tripping hazard, so I picked it all up and laid out some brick edgers to contain the wood cookies. Yes, I know not the best idea to have such a “flammable” path next to the propane tank. But I am using what works for me, what is cheap (except for hubby’s labor) and what I have. Several how to vid’s showed mixing up crete or mortar and pouring in when the chips are are down. Will see how permanent that would be, so probably just doing the chips again.

We have a few other projects of clean up nature and just putt-zing around the acreage. This will be kind of a forever thing. Kind of like how owning a house is always some maintenance project or another. Right now it’s the overgrown cucumber patch that is keeping me overwhelmed. So here I go to cut up some more veggies.

Beautiful dreamer (Chapter One in Good Grief series)

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Sometimes we make plans, but the Lord directs our steps another way. Like for instance, today I very much intended ot sit on the bench in the greenhouse and enjoy the atmosphere for awhile. One minute after setting out my work zone, the “little messes” began to call my name. Soon I was spending an hour of time tidying up the house. I prefer to clean in the greenhouse than in the regular house. The sound of the pond fountain, the plants, and the fig snacks just keep me coming back. Most of the plants are in thier summer homes and so all of the transplanting material needed to be removed. Also, I had done some clean up last week and the garbage was due to be removed. My daughter gave me a phone call break. And becuase the sun was heating up the geodesic dome, I took my water outside to another bench for the chat.

The first time that my positive pregnancy test ended up in loss was in March of 1999. It was a bit shell shocked to have a positive result tun into such failure by my body. Just forty five days into the gestation. Though we already had two beautiful daughters, I hoped maybe a third would make our nest full. Many arrows make the quiver ready, right?

Looking back on those days, brings a rush of emotions welling up. What am I to do with this still small sadness that creeps unexpected? Back then it was something like how the weed night shade entered our garden during these awful drought years. The dust and wind so hot and dry yet powerful enough to bring grass seed, weed seeds, and the invasive night shade. My knowledge of the plant or my allergic reaction to it was unbeknownst to me during those years of failed pregnancies

How could my body decide to fight itself? It began in my early twenties as I was first diagnosed with ITP. The low platelet disorder took me to the hospital twice in the year nineteen ninety. Auto immune disorders come in so many shapes and sizes. Viral infections usually start the process. And the results are little discoveries of physical weakness and limitations that are sometimes not overcomed by any of man’s innovations or medicines.

Nora was one of the names I had in the “nesting” bank for future use. I think the only person other than my husband that even knew that it was a possible choice was my mother. She told me about all six of her miscarriages and how some had to be cleaned out due to mid-term loss. I was thankful that it was early enough no one knew that it had happened.

While I wished for more little ones, God was not to grant this want of mine. Psalm 23 begins with “the Lord is Shepherd, I shall not want…”. Those words were so hard to except. What were my wants? And what if my hopes and dreams never came to be. What was God trying to tell me in this newfound barrenness?

Learning to live without was a new thought process for me. Meanwhile my spleen was on it’s last leg of use for my body. My platelet count continued to drop into the danger zone. The ITP that I was diagnosed with at age 22 was plaguing my system.

Each day I walk by this cemetery cement ring full of flowers. When my father-in-law offered it to me, I knew exactly where it would go. If find it ironic that we have dreams that morph and change through our life and sometimes one dream is whisked away like clouds in the blue sky. Then another day the clouds take on a new shape and we have new dreams. In the last few of years of living with a spleen and suffering early term miscarriages, I would have thought it cruel to use this cement ring as a flower bed that I pass daily. Now? It is just another reminder that God replaces many lost hopes with His flowers of kindness. His mercies are new every morning. And His grace through the mourning process is ever gentle and new each time we need His comfort.

From My Park Bench

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The whole month of June flew by and though there are four drafts in my file, nothing made it to print. The month was busy with farmer’s market, purging flowers and geraniums, trying to stay ahead of the weeds in the garden and some much needed family time. The local farmers market saw us twice. Then the work thing crept in and there just was not time to keep up with everything on the acreage and be gone from home for four or five hours on a Saturday morning. When all you have is the weekend to accomplish the acreage cleanup, the hours become precious. Also, the heat kind of kept us away a couple of times. Purging flowers and plants from the greenhouse took all of the month. I planted the last tomatoes when my niece came for camp weekend. They looked pretty worn out from their little containers. But are thriving in their “space” outside. Most of the larger geraniums are outside the greenhouse now. And thank goodness the wind has given us a break and things look wonderful. Staying ahead of the weeds also meant planting the old “potato” box grow bed into the salad box. It was so hot and dry the day I planted it all. But the thought of it gave me so much pleasure. With some appropriate drip tubing everything is up and green.

Family time this last month meant Sunday lunches with Gavin’s folks. I have been playing piano more at church these days. Though it is somewhat stressful to memorize the entirety, my mind wandered back to the day when as a thirteen year old I thought I would never be able to sit at the keyboard without a line of music in front of me. We had Christmas in June with my family and got together for the first time in over a year. It was so good to see everyone. We also celebrated my mother’s 80th birthday that day.

The month of June was also taken up with kitten care. I started a blog about the ferrel beastings and their little broods, but it seems to have lost it’s importance. After the family gathering, I spent much of the night in grief wondering where the years and time have gone. It’s hard to have the holiday blues in the middle of the summer. But thank the Lord, the days are busier and it did not last long. Nevertheless, I have nearly three drafts started all just in that week alone.

Good Grief!

Who ever coined that phrase anyhow? Grief certainly does not feel good. And there are many times grieving amounts to no good at all. This past month there have been a number of women on my prayer list that have had to deal with their share of grief. So, my mind took a play list of memory lane that I have not visited for some time.

The change of life comes in many different shapes and colors. For me, having early term miscarriages one after another for four years told me child bearing was not to be my main lot in life. I should learn to be grateful for the two beautiful girls that God had gifted us with. About the time I began to except secondary infertility, other things began to change the course of our lives.

Each of the beautiful souls that God gave me a glimpse of are commemorated in my library. The next few weeks I hope to spend some time remembering each of the “hopes” that I once had. I am so thankful that God brought Himself ever close at hand beside me during those days and the memories of His hand holding mine are special to recall.

From my park bench…

This July began with a family birthday gathering. God has blessed our girls with beautiful spouses and gifted us with grandchildren. They bring so much joy and pleasure to our days. I am so thankful that I can count the ways of our Lord in His goodness to us. We spent the fourth of July in quietness and in the heat my husband made me this lovely park bench.

We went to Boston the summer of 2010 and while there I ended up taking a walk on the waterfront by myself one evening. I saw a bench like this in repetition with many women in pairs sitting and catching up with each other on their lives. Of course much of the conversation was in another language. I thought that so particular to Boston. Then last summer my hubby and I took a motorcycle trip and found ourselves visiting a garden. There again were multiples of this particular bench.

I know that my hubby probably hated every minute of trying to measure and cut and assemble this park bench. Knowing his displeasure of carpentry makes the bench all the more meaningful to me.

So for the next six entries, come have a seat on the park bench with me as I share how God has been part of my journey form childbearing through miscarriages and into the present day of good grief!

Romans 8:28 “And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God ; to those who are the called according to His propose.”(ESV)

Out of sight, out of … hands

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Version 2.0 on the “out of sight” installments. Last one was just onee year ago on January of 2021. Perhaps I am getting closer to a title for my book. Haha

Out of min…

Some people think that loosing one’s mind involves not being able to find the car keys. For me it was the carrot smoothie in the fridge…. I spent nearly 10 minutes trying to locate the drink. I had taken it to the library, right? No, then I went to the living room. Oh, yeah in between all that i had used the restroom. Okay, where are you little carrot smoothie? I found it in the fridge.

Some beautiful geraniums in the greenhouse. The red one in my hand has the largest blossom cluster. The pink one is so delicate in color. The two tone red heart beat geranium was nearly lost from root rot but these four remain!

Or maybe I had not lost my mind altogether. I was simply distracted. Until the book I was listening to brought up another entire area of loss that most people never think of. Gestures and facial expressions. Here’s my story and I am sticking to this one.

Out of memory…

A long time ago when I was just a teenager, I remember an incident that shook me up quite a bit. We were at one of those famouse birthday luncheons at the church where I grew up. This particualr evening, my dad was into his famous story telling moods. And whenver there was an audience to be had, he seemed to think that he was the center of everyone’s attention. So, when I ran about to fill up the coffee cups as my waitress heart deemed necessary, the next few moments were very much a tell tale of the RP digression of his eyesight.

The coffee was delivered, and the speaker was not attentive the the surroundings. I waited, and waited and waited to get his attention and let him know that the drink had been refilled. Suddenly, the story teller gave an unexpected hand gesture that upset the apple cart. But that was not even the pretty part. The surprise of the spilled beverage, the demeaning words and the angry expressions by my father in that particular setting (church) made for a memory tattooed on my hearts emotional being. Yes, the negative response is a memory somewhat repressed, but nevertheless not forgotten.

Out of words…

Years later, a friend of ours said that one’s emotional explosions and expressed words after an upset hot beverage are really what the person is really truly made of. When the coffee spills, how do we respond? Surprise and shock do not necessarily mean bad words. Sometimes, choosing words of blessing and apologetic behavior matter much. I always felt that my spilled milk was always followed by yelling and angry words. No reason to cry over spilt milk? Well, being blind and having the spills happen so frequently either makes one wise up and sue sippy cups, or find some other solution to the frequent spillages.

Out of mouths…

Dealing with an eyesight loss can mean a whole new change of character. My uncle lost an eye as a result of an unfortunate farming accident. I remember visiting with him about the changes in his life. One particular change was finding moved objects in his path with toes and shin bones rather than his eyes. Now he found himself frequently cussing and fuming. It was both exasperating to himself and to those around him. Apologizing for his surpised outbursts was becoming far to regular. Ahh, how eyesight loss changes the way we must move and the way we react to surpises. There is no more laughter at the jack-in-the-box events that happen. One soon learns to live in a constant state of tension while moving for the possibility of those awful little “weasels!”

This is the beginning of “Ellas Gems” a new pattern that I found on a social media crochet group that I belong to. BebaBlanket is the creator and I purchased as soon as I saw it released to buy! Oh, how I love something brand new!

Out of hands…

My gesture loss happened during my children’s high school years. I was done teaching club at church due to my hands constantly hitting an unsuspecting child. Pointing across the room only to poke a child in the eye was so distressing. The gesture loss was hard for me. I use to talk with my hands all the time. Who does not want to point a certain thing out while talking? This abilbity to throw my arms about during speech actually began to decrease the amount of speaking that I would do. It is really hard to stop acting out like a stage professional during a good story. But waving my hands about was not an option with the peripheral vision loss. How do I visit with others in group settings without being able to point or gesture in some common way?

The next obvious loss for me was the facial expressions and hand gestures of others in group settings. It is also hard to tell, who might want to jump into the topic next with a speech that they deem very important to give. While I may be able to view the person across the way, the others around the table disappear from my view. This might allow for greater focus, but moving my eyes around to catch the others reactions to a speaker is exhausting. This large group silence at times is really unbearable for me. Expecially when I still remember so much.

Except where my smoothie is…

It was during this loss of “circle movement” by the others in a group setting that I noticed some other things happening. More often then not, I was getting “shushed” by those around me. I had missed some conversation cue of eye, or gesture that indicated who was next in speaking. My thoughts that were so ready to blurt were getting stoppped up by those around me. This too was hard. I began to feel like certain people were treating me as if I were a misbehaving child. Becoming blind day by day, year by year does not mean that I am reverting in my behavior. Simply put, I was now out of the circle…

So now, I find myself listening more and more during group settings. When I am so desperate for interaction with people, I find that interaction being stolen by my loss of vision. The surpise of a cake plate upset on my lap or on the floor feels like a common occurrence while at family gatherings. Coupled by the deafness in my left ear, the abiltiy to even hear the oncoming delicasy, is hampered by the lack of sight. Plate on the floor. “Oh, no!” Learning to live life in a perpetual motion of “i’m sorry!” Is not very fun. Embarrassment and humility do not always gather closely. Sometimes the embarrassment is overwhelmingly sad. The feelings of loss and the inability to even help with the cleanup are so frustrating. Playing statue is not that easy!

I really don’t like surpises any more. Boo! Is not fun like the peekaboo of babies and little children. The last few times that we had Christmas present openings, I lived in a state of perpetual “what if the coffee spills?” And not knowing what was in the presents or trying to figure the item out in the semi-dark was exasperating. Having the person next to me tell me what each item was supposed to be and trying to find the right facial expression after my completely confused confoundedness was not enjoyable. I began to really dislike opening my gifts. Watching the others was somewhat more enjoyable. But oh, how I needed a little parrot on my shoulder telling me all the happenings about me. It makes one feel very alone in a crowd.

And that’s the last experience that I want to share on my way towards becoming invisible me. The last time that I went to a church event without a close family member was very painful for me. Extended family that has not grown up with a “blind father” does not really understand the needs that arise as the Retinitis Pigmentosa progresses. While I could walk a straight line down the sidewalk, I could no longer navigate a crowd of people carrying plates at a potluck. Attending the church without my husband had turned out to be a “fatal” choice for me and I had become invisible. No one in my current church was familiar with the challenges of RP and I was left sitting in a corner throughout much of the meal event. I finally left the crowd and sat in the sanctuary alone. Truly alone. My ability to “flow” through the plate bearers left me feeling very disabled. I cried without end over the potential of “spilled milk.” I called my husband, and he was able to come and pick me up. The rest of the day was spent in tears. The people that I had gone with did not understand my needs, were busy and had not ever checked on me. I felt unable to express myself and ask for help in a situation that left me feeling so invisible.

Recently I read “The Hobbit” by J.R.R. Tolkien and found it very full of forward motion. The adventures of the hobbit keep one listening just to see what happens next. In the book the discovery of a magic ring gives the little fellow the ability to become invisible and disappear from danger and tribulations. Honestly, being invisible and feeling invisble are two totally different phenomenon. Choosing to shrink from view within a public event and loosing the ability to see who all is there in the public setting are two opposing feelings. Being blind in a community setting makes everyone present invisible to the blind person. Not a very fun feeling when you walk into a group of people and all of the talking stops. This has happened to me so many times that I cannot count. I can begin to imagine however what it is like to walk into a room that feels full of people but seems empty until someone addresses my presence. My father’s ability to get the group to burst out in laughter helps to break the ice about his blindness and lets him know just how many people are really in the room. I don’t see myself ever being “on display” as that-blind-lady. I don’t see myself breading the ice with bad jokes just to count the voices of laughter within the space. i don’t see myself as others see me. I cannot.

My position in a group setting is usually at the piano with the whole commune behind me. Sometimes I wish I could turn the piano around so that the people were in front of me instead of behind me. Maybe that’s the next change in my life. For now I’ll let them see my hands while I play piano since I cannot. (P.S. My therapist said that I am not supposed to use “can’t” in my speaking or writing anymore. I asked her if she still could drive a car… I said, “I cannot.”)

From animation to art

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When disability changes personality

One night last week, my mind found a hundred different sunset silhouettes to keep me occupied through the sleep hours. Wonderment filled me as I woke, had I ever seen any of these pieces in real life? One in particular was a tree swing, only the rope’s obvious use and frayed strings were more evident. Another was a scene from the Disney movie Bambi that is actually a fire in the back ground. One was the two doves on the tree branch, but with more leafage than the one below. And there are the fishing scenes on the lake, and the moored boats next to docks. While three hours looking for any silouettes on the internet was an empty handed fishing trip. The only ones in my dreams that sort of matched were these two. Each one in my vision did not have an ovious sunlight, the sun being off to the side of the actual object of focus. Sunset is implied rather than targeted.

And why would such art images fill my mind so much? I am unable to dissolve their possibilities in my mind. Each one just keeps recurring at some point in the day. What does this thought process mean to me? And why a sunset? I am not a prophet, I don’t think. Are these prophetic in their nature or a symbol of the past?

More revelation has come to me over the days since these images first appeared to me. I see so much more than the setting sun or a tree swing resting from its flight. The waters of the lake have no ripples from the jet-skies, or the breeze. Each item seems quiet, tranquil, peaceful.

At rest.

Years ago, my brother and I would write little plays and act out various performances. Remembrances of woodbox stages, and piano bench theatre fill my memory. We dressed up as pirates, or Indians and cowboys, or maybe Cleopatra, it does not really matter. Imagination was lord and we were King and Queen of the drama world in our home. From those days I learned to mime, to pretend, and to fib my way through our play day.

Throughout my childhood, from my early temper tantrum fits into my teen years, I learned the power of dramatic and emotional hand gestures. These seemed quite effective in the whole of conversation, speech, and relating an incident to an audience.

Until…

One day as a teenager, during my “waitress” years, I learned a valuable less about the tragedy of lost peripheral vision and hand gesturing. My father (who is the carrier for my families genetic retinal degeneration) was telling some story as he often did. While dramatizing his tale to a table of men, he used his hand to gesture some scene. Unbeknownst to him, I was coming in with his refill of coffee. I had tried to get his attention, but everyone knows how difficult it is to get my dad to quit talking. Interruption is not much of an option. Needless to say… the coffee got spilled.

Those were the days of my growing up. Many instances like that very one happened frequently. The challenge was to wait long enough to get noticed. Or to have the patience to wait out the telling. Or to simply never serve. Some chose the later. Gradually my father leaned not to wave his arms about while fabricating his stories. Sadly, it took me a few years to lean this dismembering of my arms and hands from conversation.

And not too recently, a plate full of desert was easily sprung to the floor when because of my lack of sight, my hands reached out for the item only to flip it through the air. Videos of food flying, cakes tipping to the floor, or cups leaping through the air are not funny to me. They are a part of the surprise of visual impairment. Sitting perfectly statue is the best response to the possible “Boo!” Not really so fun anymore.

One example that still frustrates me is my children’s club teaching years. Much of what one does while teaching children is achieving compliance so that the teacher can do her job. One particular student of mine never learned to stay in his designated space. I was actually okay if he did not sit, but the wandering into my space caused acciden after accident. My frustration reached its boiling point each week at lesson. Every night, I would go home in tears because Nathan would get “HIT” every week either by my arm, hand, foot, or another appendage. Could he never learn that I could not see him coming towards my path? I cried every week, because this child made teaching club miserable for me. My eyesight made teaching kids impossible.

Finally we made it to the end of the year and I quit teaching kids club at church. I was heart broken to end on such a sour note. I loved teaching, but children have this nasty ability to move faster than my eyes. Peripheral vision is key to dealing with “needy” children who cannot comprehend another might have some disability that clashes with theirs. I was so sad.

Ending my teaching due to my eyesight.

Yep, It was just one more thing my eyes had taken away from me. Grief set in for some time. I still don’t want to attend a Vacation Bible School program or any child focused event. It hurts. I still want to teach. But it is not possible. These encounters with moving targets still continue. I can’t even read children’s books very well because the text is so unpredictable on the pages. It’s all over the place. Up, then down, then in the middle, and sometimes on the edges. Uff. It’s just too much to feel lost all the time.

So RP changes personalities. Where does the teacher in me go?

What happens to the dramatic, funny girl that once loved to tell a story and get laughs from the room?

One time someone told me, I acted like I did not want to be in a particular place all the time. Actually, that’s not it at all. When someone hands me a cellphone with an image to look at, I simply do not see the gesture. My focus has been on their face, and unless the words indicate their actions… It is not within my perpheral anymore. People in a room throw conversation around like a hot potato. It has become difficult to follow who is talking and where the ping pong ball is now. There are times it gets so tiring, I just don’t try to follow it.

So interjecting appropriate conversation has become difficult when there are more than two or three people in a group.

But just becuase I miss a lot of conversation cues, does not mean I miss every facial gesture. Sometimes I am completely passed up when a “picture” on said phone is shown. This does hurt. Not intentionally, but it does. Sometimes, I see someone roll eyes in my direction at another person because I missed something. Yes, that hurts too.

So I have changed.

From animation to still art form, I have become the unused swing hanging from the tree branch. While everyone else around me is playing baseball, or croquet in the lawn, I miss the whole thing. The ball wizzes right by my head and I haven’t seen a thing. I am lost. And no one has found me.

I am blind, but now I see. I see that I cannot be the same animated dramatic energetic self I once was. Moving too quicly through any space could be hazardous to my health. Having a friend that can’t even sit still for a conversation is not my cup of tea. I had a friend like that once. She was so busy bodied that I would get a head ache trying to figure out where she was all the time.

Now I see that being lost all the time might just be part of who I am. Getting my dog to figure out that she has to be my eyes is the task at hand. If she becomes a new tripping hazard….

Well, the blind fold might have to go up for a day to teach her that she is IT! When I am around people that do not see me as blind becuase there is no blindfold, well, life turns into a still life form in a piece of art. I become a silhouette sitting on the dock while others are gazing at a glorious sunset. The suns rays are not my friend, so I am looking at the silhouettes. The sky has a beautiful orange and pink glow. I hope I don’t forget it.

If I say nothing at all

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Letters become words

My little grand-daughter is in the “walk and talk” stage. I know, I told myself when I had children there would never be stages. No particular thing that I was hoping to get through quickly or without some mishap. Yet because my vantage point is more in weekly coffee break doses,the changes that she has are more in stages and more hops, and skips and noticeable. The new words that she learns, the mobility that she gains is different when I am not the mommy in the trenches.

The new words are fun: Swing, Nite nite, Josh, Yes, Mom, Huh?, and Dad are all part of her vocabulary tools. The sign language she knows helps immensely on communication. Things like more, food, wash, all done, oh no, too loud, and peek-a-boo make being around baby enjoyable. But when she learns to stand up from sit and won’t stay down for a nap, that’s on her momma. So to me she is still the cutest thing ever.

The last few years being unable to “drive” away from my isolated country life has been so hard for me. There are days when the empty black pit seems to come along and swallow me whole. Few people know what I mean when I mention that “black hole.” I am not talking about some space odyssey either. Not long ago, I had a series of books on my talking book library that put into action what “Stomping Out the Darkness” was trying to teach me years ago.

Spiritual warfare, mental battles, mind over matter is never a subject others prefer. Most people just want to avoid matters of the mind. Spiritual health and well-being are considered topics best dealt with on a clinical level. So while this lovely little one year old is learning the power of words, and language, dealing with my own mental battle with the strong words and weak thought-life… here we go.

When I was a young girl things happened within our family that would best be forgotten. Words that cut through marrow were flung and spewed from the figure in my family that should have been loaded with coaching encouragement. Dealing with verbal abuse for so many years left a mark upon our family. I am not playing the shame and blame game. This is just how it was. Being a girl as the offspring of the “incapable” should have been an obvious mirrored image to the tongue that spat, but those feelings were never-the-less planted.

So today when I deal with the spiritual topic of ask and receive, my mind does a complete 360 while I consider all the possibilities. It makes me dizzy to think of the people who have come and gone in my life. As a child we learn to say please and may I and thankyou. As an adult we learn that asking others often leads to be “shushed, ” “turned off,” “told no,” or simply considered a burden and ignored. Several times in my journey towards lost eyesight, people have asked if they could pray for healing for me. Then within a short period of time told me they could not give me rides places. As if praying for my healing gets them off the hook for not helping. This kind of response led me to quit asking. So perhaps I am much too human, but this turning away has taught me that perhaps God the Father says “No” more that He says “yes.” Mentally I tell myself that God is more loving than people. Yet, it’s hard to ask and be rejected so many times.

Words are creative. Or destructive. And yes, sometimes words are like creeping bindweed. Like the boa constrictor of weeds, it wraps around the soul, the mind, the will-power, the heart and these words and feelings are difficult to root out. And like russian thistles, their barbed thorns take flesh and soul with them as we try to deal with the ugly past. Right when the field is all cleared out, some nasty ragweed finds it’s way back into our daily existence.

Because of my library of book reading, I spent years training my brain how to do battle with these nasty weeds. Knowing that the power of scripture to overcome these old thought patterns is key, I have an MP3 Bible that I plug into at night. The words of the Father Creator are far stronger than any insult, or abuse ever endured. This keeps me going on the path to uprooting the dark matter.

I also know that giving the demons voice is the worst thing that I can do. So silence often invades my life. I say nothing at all. Trying to speak good and light in the face of evil dark thoughts is the hardest thing ever. Most times all I can manage to mouth is “Jesus, help me.”

By nature, I am a creative person. I like to see crochet art take shape. I like to watch the yearn take cloth. I like to hear music fill the space. Being creative has always been part of who I am. As a child I made cards, and wrote poems. I was always singing and soon began to play the piano with passion and possibility. When I wa not turning letters into words, I made music.

That girl that I once was, letting my voice ring in noisy play, or pounding away at the keyboard seems lost to me. Often I wonder if she is still under all this skin. The tent that covers me, is it really still me? Remembering how I once sucked nervously on a strand of hair, makes me wonder what anxiety do I let rule me now? Taking another step today sends me farther away from who I once was in that little girl.

So I cherish watching our little one learn how to blow kisses goodbye. The teacher in me rejoices when she discovers imaginative play and puts “Scout” in the box that she was just in, doing for the stuffed puppy what we had been doing with her. I treasure her little fingers learning how to put the lid on the cookie tin. I want to memorize how she plods back and forth figuring out the tupperware basket for her little three inch ball. I am amazed at her ability to put sounds into words. Yeah, the cycle of life tells me this is all repetitive. But to her- Everything Is New.

If I say nothing at all, that does not always mean that there is nothing good to say. Sometimes letters become words. But just like my little one year old specialty, letters can sometimes just be magnets that stick to the front panel of the dishwasher. Sometimes words just get all jumbled up and things come out wrong, like calling the giraffe stuffy a “zebra.” Sometimes there is not even any music that comes to mind when my fingers rest on the ebony and ivory. Sometimes I just watch other people, hoping I don’t forget what they look like. Sometimes it’s easier to just copy an old crochet pattern than to learn a new one. Sometimes… I say nothing at all.

If I say nothing at all…

Will you still pick me up when I fall?

will you still carry me?

Will we still walk hand in hand?

If I say nothing at all…

Will you still sit with me?

Will you feed me?

Will you still care?

If I say nothing at all…

Will you still take me to the zoo?

Will you still show me the ocean blue?

Will you sing to me “You Are So Beautiful?”

If I say nothing at all…

Will you still tell me about your day?

Will you still say you love me?

Will we still be best friends?

If I say nothing at all…

If I can no longer call…

If I cannot help when you fall…

Will you

Still

Love

Me?

-written by Yovnne Annette