Retired not Expired

There’s a song I think of every time I lose some I haven’t seen in a long time. For a Dancer by Jackson Browne:

Keep a fire burning in your eye
Pay attention to the open sky
You never know what will be coming down

I don’t remember losing track of you
You were always dancing in and out of view
I must’ve thought you’d always be around

I felt a visit from beyond one day and that started me me thinking about my sister who has passed on. We use to laugh about whoever died first coming back and what signs to look for. That was our psychic period when she found one to go see to find out if her baby was a girl or boy and I went with her. Our Stevie Nicks witchy days, Mom made us long velvet black capes with hoods and lined them with red satin.

I had a page come up in my newsfeed on Facebook of course. Facebook is life after all right? Anyway, I had stopped following this particular page because someone told me not to answer questions like what is your mother’s maiden name or the name of your first pet. It made sense to me because those are security every website in the world asks. Just like never use your birthday for your password or pin. I wasn’t too concerned, I figured anyone who broke into my bank account would probably feel sorry for me and deposit money rather than steal my few dollars. It would still be a hassle to be hacked, I’ve had my identity stolen before by a family member so I remain vigil.

This page is a favorite among women called Nametests. They tell you to click on this picture and reveal your future or every girl’s name has a symbol click on the picture to reveal yours. I never noticed this page posting anything religious but this time it said someone you lost has written you a message, click on the phone to read it. They had finally hit on something to entice me so I clicked and it read:

“I see how hard life has been for you since I left. I know how hard you are working to keep my spirit alive. Always know that I am watching over and protecting you still.”

Exactly what I wanted to hear and it had to be my Father because his was the only spirit I promised to keep alive. Then I remembered that wasn’t true, Mom and I had enough long talks under the trees drinking beer for me to know what she wanted too. This message didn’t make me think of them though it made me think of my sister for some reason.

She had come to me once before a few days after she died. I was sitting at Inspiration Point in my car on a hot afternoon. This was where everyone went to skip school or neck with the boys growing up. I wasn’t really thinking of anything when I heard doiiiiiing and saw my antenna wiggling in the wind like someone had pulled it way back and let go. I looked over at the rustling bushes and a beautiful doe came out and stood at the front of my car.

I immediately thought of my sister, I thought I could hear her laughing. The image that came to mind was the younger version of her, her blonde soft hair fell about her face and she looked happier than I had seen in a long time. She looked so beautiful and the laughter was her thinking the antenna would really freak me out and it did. After a few stunned seconds I immediately jumped out of the car in case it was going to explode. You never know, better safe than sorry. It was still so nice to think of her happy again.

I’ve had other experiences where I felt someone from beyond was visiting but I always have a strong feeling about who it is when it happens.

The other day I got up and started my morning as I always do, dogs, cats, coffee. I sat down to watch the news and saw a prescription bottle on the end table. It was a medication I haven’t taken in over a year and should have been in the studio closet in a basket. I hadn’t gotten it out because there is a lot of stuff in front of the closet door and it was all intact. I would have had to move baskets of quilt scraps, a tool bag, pictures I still haven’t hung and more to get to it. I keep the meds I use in the bathroom and strictly forbid myself to ever take them out of that room because I’m bad about missing doses.

No way to explain the bottle on the table so I forgot about it. Actually I have never returned it to the appropriate basket now that I think about. I have no idea where it is now.

Later that day I got sleepy as I usually do around 2:00 every afternoon and since I can I took a nap. My body is tired after a lifetime and has developed few quirks that I’m used to, they don’t alarm me much. When my body relaxes a muscle here and there will twitch or jump no big deal. Just as my eyes were closing my entire prone body jumped as if lifted a little off the bed. It was over before I fully had time to be freaked out about it. As far as I know bodies don’t normally twitch all at once like that. My sister’s laughter came to mind again and I thought of her smiling and happy. If she can reach out after death she would enjoy doing things to really freak me out.

I called out as I always do who is here? Who did that? As always no one answered but it got me to thinking about her again. Not her at the end because I didn’t get to see her before she died. She would not have wanted to see me then, it would have seemed unfair I would imagine and I don’t know I could have comforted her at that time. We hadn’t seen each other in over fifteen years anyway. If she had called I would have gone and we both knew it. I didn’t have any way to contact her, no phone number or address but she would have told my brother and he would have found me. No one was surprised when that didn’t happen least of all me.

Someone not our brother did something I won’t forgive when she was sick and near the end. She had a friend from high school that I never could stand. I had come home one day after school and since we were latch key kids I knocked on my brother’s door to tell him I was home. I opened it a crack, saw someone shooting up and a fierce looking guy with wild hair screamed at me to shut the door. It terrified me and no doubt my brother worried I would tell but I never did. I should have and it was Dad I should have told but he was in Vietnam. Anyway I have hated that guy ever since and always felt like he was the one who brought drugs into our house. He always looked greasy and slimy to me and I did not/do not consider him family like my siblings do.

He called me about my sister and created drama she had not wanted so he wasn’t a very good friend. Years before I heard he had asked her to marry him and I sent mental messages to her DON’T DO IT! I already knew she had cancer and had been thinking about how to reach out to her. I didn’t dare just jump up and called her, I was waiting until I knew more.

He got her upset and created drama she hadn’t wanted and neither did I. She had asked people not to talk about it and not to pray for her, she just wanted to be with her kids and grandkids. Like most people she had asked that her privacy be respected and he hadn’t done that, he betrayed her. He is not family, not to me. He’s the drug slug and last I heard a few years back he was still selling xanax. He was not good enough for my sister.

Whew, that felt good getting that out. I hope I never run into that guy again.

After my visits from beyond I felt validated by whoever had sent that message because I have tried hard to keep all of our spirits alive and no one seems to care. I’d given up on all of it and wasn’t going to bother trying again. My first thought was THANK YOU, it’s about time someone noticed,Now tell me how to keep any of it going if you would. No one in our family seems to care any more. And again there was no answer except maybe my sister doooiiinging antennas and looking for ways to make me laugh.

I sat down and started writing about her before life got so freaking hard for us both. I wondered if the end if she felt a little sense of peace that she would never have to worry again. I hope so. There have been times when I think of dying and it never scares me anymore. Just thinking about never having to struggle anymore and it seems it would be such a relief. I know she felt that way at times too. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.

I sat down to write where before all I could think of were the hard times we both went through. Neither of us had been lucky in love and were born beautiful instead of rich but we always made it through somehow.

That day I started remembering before our parents divorce when we were Daddy’s princesses. We were three years apart and she didn’t want me tagging along all the time but it wasn’t a bad thing then. Dad would come home and because I was so tiny I could climb him like a tree then he’d swing me through the air. Once when my sister wanted to be swung he told her she was too big now. She was disappointed but then he reminded her that I couldn’t do some things that she did because I was too little and she smiled again.

We never felt jealousy then, fights were over silly things. We were princesses and sometimes she would let me tag along. I walked her to the bus every morning and waited every afternoon for her to come back. I couldn’t wait to be big enough to go to school with my sister. When she went to Girl Scouts or the Bluebirds Father Daughter dance I would watch her get ready and I knew she was so excited. To me she was the most beautiful girl in the world going out with the most handsome man in the world and it would be my turn next.

I’m glad she reminds me to smile and be happy. To remind me to stay excited about the future and one day I will follow her again and that’s ok.

D.S.G. Thinking of you especially today
“When I was a young girl
I had me a cowboy
He weren’t much to look at
Just a free ramblin’ man
That was a long time
and no matter how I tried
the years just flow by
like a broken down dam

If dreams were thunder
And lightnin’ was desire
This old house would’ve burnt down
At a long time ago” ( Bonnie Raitt Angel from Montgomery)

Just give me one thing I can hold onto

When I think of things like an eclipse or the solstices it reminds me of someone I lost long ago. The years I was forty nine and fifty I lost a lot of people permanently. It was often enough that I noticed and developed a fear that I was going to die. My premonitions are right more than they are wrong so that was a creepy little time period for me.

We met at a party at his house. Every party I had been to up to that point was to get drunk or high. Pot and cocaine were plentiful and cheap back then. I found out later I was invited so we’d meet each other. No one was getting drunk or stoned. Everyone was acting civil. Like aliens compared to what I had grown up and known all my life to that point.

His house was about an hour south of Ft. Worth in Alvarado. You had to pay close attention when driving out there or you might never find him. That was the plan when he moved out there. It had a long curving driveway and a bridge over a pond you had to cross to get there. There was a flat boat tied to the dock. You crossed the bridge and the road curved left and then right again. You’d never have known there was a house there.

I knew a few people there though so I felt comfortable. I went in the house and was drawn to a window in the living room, alive with movement. The window had been modified to create a hive. You could sit there and watch the bees at work. My grandpa was a bee charmer in Arkansas so I’ve always loved bees. I’d never seen a box hive, only the tree Grandpa robbed honey from. He came over and started telling me about the bees and how the window came to be.

We went out back and he showed me his beehives and garden. We wandered around outside and he talked about water and its therapeutic values. About his research looking for hot springs in North America.

When dinner was served I didn’t know half of what was served but I tried it all and enjoyed it all. . After dinner we all went to a bedroom that was converted to an office with a roll top desk and a large table with books and papers spread everywhere. He rolled the top of the desk up and it too came alive. The keyboard came out and the monitor lit up. The desk had been modified to hold each component of the computer and printer and as it unfolded everything turned on.

The room started buzzing with ideas. One project was the natural food co-op he had started. He had opened a little health food store on E. Lancaster in Ft. Worth. Just a little old clapboard building the kind you saw all over Ft. Worth back then.

It was a nice little store that was very popular. One entire section was herbs and spices, you weighed things out yourself. The smell was exotic. The buzz in the room was how much easier it would be to do bookkeeping for the co-op with the new computer.

Dessert was served and the party started winding down as everyone got ready to leave. I stayed that weekend and every weekend I could manage after that. We didn’t talk about it I just stayed. There were no premature professions of loving me at first sight to get me in the sack. We stayed up late into the night talking about bees and water and natural life.

Are you trying to tell me I can dodge bullets? (The Matrix)

When I left on Sunday we shared numbers. He had no home phone but had used a CB connected to his friends to stay in touch. later on he had the first car phone I ever saw. He tried to stay away from life’s interruptions as much as possible. I had a pager and could be reached anytime. Neither of us called the other that week.

Waiting back home for me back home was the constant chaos I was used to. I worked around family so it was hard not to see everyone was having affairs with married men in my family. I have never understood why anyone, especially the smart women in my family, would want to have an affair with someone else’s husband. My ego couldn’t have handled that and my imagination would have made me crazy.

My sister was doing insane things and pointing the finger at me which was absurd. We had barely spoken after our fight in the parking lot of the Backstage Club. It is a club that’s only open two weeks a year when the rodeo and stock show are in town. Or it used to anyway. Our Father wouldn’t let her drive his truck after she wrecked the baby blue convertible Thunderbird he had given her. She fell asleep at a red light and rolled into the intersection at the wrong moment. My tonsils were swollen and on fire that night but she somehow talked me into borrowing Dad’s truck. He told me that truck better be in the driveway when he got up the next morning. And it was. Letting my father down was never going to happen. We get to the club and she spots the married man she was having an affair with. (WTH ?) I don’t know what was said between them but they didn’t seem to be on the same page. I told her I was leaving, she could stay or go. We get in the truck and before I could put it in drive she grabbed the keys and started walking back to the club. This was our relationship all our lives. Somehow I was always tangled up in insanity that had nothing to do with me..

We barely spoke after that until she got stopped by the police and told them she had lost her license. That much was true, her license had been suspended for drinking and driving. What’s a girl to do? She gave them my name and address and got away. Not even the right house number since she’d never even been there but it worked. Nothing was said until i got a warrant for my arrest. My daughter was an infant at the time and always with me. I was livid at the thought of what could have happened. The family turned against me for wanting her to face the music. Even my husband joined in, not the first betrayal from him . Life was insane and chaotic. When I pointed out my daughter would have gone to jail with me they argued it hadn’t happened. I have always felt like an alien in life. The rogue-affair- having- cops fixed it for her of course. As we left the courthouse I turned and said You’re welcome. She walked the other way but turned and said Fuck You. All my life she told lies and made sure people knew she hated me. Not once would I or have I ever said that about her.

Insanity and chaos and what a bitch was I? Everytime something like that happened in our family it was treated as if it were normal.

The next weekend I just drove out to Alvarado as if I belonged there. I could feel stress and anxiety leaving the minute I got outside of town. By the time I arrived I was me again. I hadn’t come in the front door last time and when I walked up to the porch it was alive too. It took me a minute to realize Daddy LongLegs were everywhere. The web swept down from one corner and covered the entire wall. It was beautiful and it captivated me.

He opened the door and said I was right on time for dinner. We talked about Daddy LongLegs and trips to seek out a new hot spring he had discovered.

Down the years and my grandson was born, family all arrived at my house which was still unfinished. I had been trying to recreate his house all my life. I came outside because the house wasn’t finished and everyone was out there. Someone had a rake and a hoe and had killed my corn snake I had been living in harmony with for years. Someone else had put birdhouses and squirrel feeders everywhere and there was a tub of sunflower seeds by my shed. I’d come out in the mornings and the snake would poke his head up through the hole. I saw him cut in two pieces and my heart broke. I know they saw my dismay but no one cared really. He was dead so what did it matter? They tried to tell me all the reasons my non poisonous friend had to die. I thought of my angel in Alvarado.

I went on trips hunting for springs with him when I could. Not as often as I wanted but I was content with what I had been given. A gift.

I knew he would be moving to Colorado eventually because I was in on the planning. We took several trips to find his home there. Along the way we’d visit baths and springs. My favorite to this day was a cave near Steamboat Springs where bathtubs had been carved out of clay and the hot water piped in. We visited Vail, Telluride and Aspen and finally landed on the area around Marble. and Glenwood Springs. My first trip to Colorado had been to Telluride and I had my jaw broken and all my teeth knocked out in a skiing accident. This was a very different trip.

You could drive down beside a railroad track and it looked like a very disorganized cemetery. Slabs of marble would fall off the train during transport. I fell in love with the aspen forests. It was the life I thought I would have after I got married. Not the drunken weekends and BBQ’s with god only knows why – my brothers friends. I had always been told I was too young to hang out with him and his friends and didn’t care for many of them anyway. Now they were somehow a part of my everyday life. I think he dated every friend of mine from school.

Before I met him I had been seeing my doctor who told me it’s wasn’t what I was eating it was what was eating me. Mother’s little helpers. There was always a paper bag in my Mother’s drawer full of Valium and birth control pills.

I always had acid reflux and the doctor said that was the ulcers I was working on. I’d get painful hives on my instep that made it difficult to walk. They’d also break out on my arms. Not long after I started going to Alvarado I threw all the meds in the trash. He taught me about healing herbs and how to wrap my feet in comfrey leaves. The hives went away. I was eating and sleeping well. No drugs and no drinking. I didn’t smoke around him. There were no games. I never wondered if he was seeing other women. He never tried to make me feel jealous. He never tried to con me into bed. There were no premature vows of love to get me in bed. I never worried about anything about any of these things after I met him and I never shared things back home. He would have thought it all a little too ridiculous, I think.

Shoo-fly pie and pandowdy

I helped him load his car and watched him drive away. I kept the house in Alvarado for a while but it was too empty with him gone. Maybe I should have gone with him but at the time I knew I couldn’t. I know that if I could have I would have. We stayed in touch. Met up a few times when his research brought him close to where I lived at the time.

Every Christmas I made him fig preserves from my tree and he ordered me a shoo fly pie. Figs were his favorite sweet treat.

I always dreamed after my girls were grown I’d go to find an old gray man in Colorado and we’d live out our lives. Pick up where we left off. His black hair had been to his waist when we’d met. Longer than mine and I pictured us with gray ponytails sitting on the porch.

One year my pie hadn’t come and I was thinking about calling him. I went to the mailbox and there was a package in it. It was my fig preserves being returned with DECEASED stamped on the box.

That’s when I learned that knees can actually buckle.

I miss my angel. I wish he was here so we could watch the eclipse together.

“I am an old woman
Named after my mother
My old man is another
Child that’s grown old

But that was a long time
And no matter how I tried
Those years just flow by
Like a broken down dam”

(B.Raitty – Angel from Montgomery)

Pictures from Adobe Stock
The wisdom that comes with growing older. It’s taken me awhile to see it for me to see what that actually is.

I thought back down the years and about people that life put in my path. I wonder what would have happened if I turned left instead of right that day? What if for that one moment something had delayed me ten minutes, would that have changed my course?

Is growing old actually like F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Benjamin Button? We don’t become infants at the end but we are more infantile as the years go by. If I could choose that is the path I would choose.

We don’t get to choose though, we just have to play the cards we are dealt.

When I made the decision I did ten years ago it was choose bad or worse. If I chose wrong I would be trapped in a world I didn’t belong in. I couldn’t stay where I was. I was left with no vehicle, no job and I lived thirty miles away from anything. I hoped to hang on for one more year but it wasn’t meant to be. I mistakenly thought if I removed myself the young woman that needed one more year people would reach out to and help.

The house I built still had no floors after twenty years. Very little had been done to finish it in all that time. No one was willing to help her though for fear of ……. I don’t know what. Of them having to help, plain and simple. It was selfish on everyone’s part if anyone were to ask me, but no one asked. All of my adult life I have been expected to work miracles with nothing to work with. To do the things others didn’t want to do. Thankfully it is in the past and that young woman made it on her own.

My only hope for survival was to cut the ties of people that didn’t belong in my life. People who clearly meant me harm. It wasn’t an easy decision but everybody needed to go their own way. I honestly thought at that time if I stayed I would not be here today to tell any story. For several reasons.

I thrive now that I am independent. The only one responsible for me is me. I haven’t felt this good about life since I was eighteen. I don’t get close enough for anything to interfere with my path now. People can lie or make promises and I’ll cheer them on because do or don’t do it won’t affect me.

I started thinking about the people no longer in my life. I’d like to send one an invoice. Not because I put a financial value to the things I did for her, I’ve never done that with anything. Caring for someone’s child and treating it like one of my own while helping it’s mother financially was a lot to ask from someone I had met only once. I figure close to $10k, Karen, since a thank you never happened. And would have meant the world to me. All I got though were complaints.

Some people are takers and others can only give.

There are a lot of people I should have said no to being there for them for free. I’ll probably not sit down and figure out the numbers though. If it wasn’t appreciated at the time it’s probably never going to be appreciated. I am perfectly ok with that.

A couple of people have passed that I might have sent an invoice to if I had been one to charge for my services. I become emotionally invested instead and have my heart broken over and over. Wisdom in my older age has taught me that whether anyone appreciates anything or not there were just certain times I couldn’t say no when it would have served me better. That’s not someone I will ever be. Knowing that brings me peace.

I would not know how to say no to someone’s dream. I could never tell someone they should stop feeling the way they do and start feeling the way I want them to. Now I have nothing to offer but myself and I’m hanging on to me for dear life. I think of all the people that told me my dreams weren’t possible. I wonder what kind of ego does that take?Why would anyone want to shatter dreams? It’s still foreign to me.

Some people have passed and some people have left and I am still who I am.

I have parted ways with many people because it just makes no sense to go on.I remembered a conversation I had with a family member a few years ago. It may have been the last time we spoke. I was either having a conversation with a real bonehead or there was something going on that I did not need to be a part of.

I mentioned that I had seen on the local news that an old theatre in our old neighborhood was being restored for historical reasons. He claimed it was impossible, the building was too far gone to restore. I explained it really was being restored, it had been on the news that morning. Someone had bought it and the restoration had begun. Everything I shared about the project was met with impossible. A shake of the head and impossible was all he said.

I just looked at him and let him have that one. I wasn’t going to argue about it. I’ve never felt I had to be right. I was right because it was on the news and has happened. I think of this now because the theatre has been restored and is open to the public. I wondered what was his motivation was? To say I was wrong? Normally bringing up something like that might open a conversation not an argument.

Another time we were discussing how far back is it possible to have memories. I had shared a memory when I was three and four and he said that too was impossible. You don’t start having memories until much later he said. At least five or six.

There’s that word again, impossible he said. He said it with great authority too. He’s a few years older than me so maybe he thought………..hell, I don’t have a clue how he thinks. This time I didn’t let it go. I have memories from when I was three that I described to older relatives and they confirmed my memory was correct. As I age my memories are much clearer too. I love that about growing old. Maybe it is like Benjamin Button.

Again I wondered about the motivation. Was he just going to argue that I’m wrong no matter what I say? Was it personal? Misogyny? Machismo?

I knew he spent a lot of time with his grandchild.He adored the child and talked about it a lot. About all the fun things they did together and things the child said and did. At the time of our little discussion the grandchild was about three maybe four. Our little discussion was not heated but I wasn’t just letting it go this time. Finally I said so what you’re saying is that little johnny ( not his real name) is not going to remember all this time with you? If you disappeared tomorrow he wouldn’t remember you? Is that what your saying?

The look on his face said it all, his face got red and he puffed up a little. He had been gearing up to full blown argue with me. When I said that he deflated like a balloon. I could actually seeing the gears turning as he thought of how to respond. He didn’t say another word. It was personal after all.

I thought back to other conversations and my memory told me it has always been this way. I once thought we were alike in many ways but I realized that day that we didn’t know each other at all. I couldn’t take another one of those conversations so I had to say goodbye. It was just time. It had run its course.

Growing older has become like a new adventure everyday for me. I am remembering moments I had forgotten in greater detail than before but they are memories I have always had. Bits and pieces that have been missing over the years are clearer now and I am finding some answers I have always sought. I know something happened but I never knew why. Now I know why Some are sweet some are sour. Some break my heart to realize why something happened and others give me joy.

Life can still be a bitch.

My only arguments these days are with Sam the chihuahua refuses to come back in after our normal circle every morning. I head toward home and he digs his feet in and won’t move. I forget people hear me now when we are out walking so I don’t say anything I just dig my feet in and turn my back. An animal behaviorist told me to do that. Apparently Sam has a human behaviorist because he’ll just wait until I turn back to him. He blinks slowly at me and turns his head in the direction he wants to go. I have two choices I can either pick him up and carry him in or go the way he wants to. It’s not just a direction either, he has something specific, I’ll turn back the way we came and he is still dug in. Finally I figure it out and he’s moving again. It’s ridiculous. I know people are watching this crazy old woman arguing with an eight pound seemingly sweet little dog. Like I’m the bad guy here. Wisdom kicks in again and I let Sam go wherever he wants to. We are in no hurry. Leisurely walks with my dog are pure heaven. I just wish I was in charge but too late for that.

Tempe is fifteen years old now and she has always been in charge until her disease changed all that. She needs twenty four seven care and I try to give her anything she wants. It’s hard to leave her even for a little while because she constantly paces and sometimes gets stuck no matter how I try to rearrange things. She has to be right next to the wall in her pacing. If anyone came in our house they would probably wonder why everything is eight or ten inches from the wall. It took me a while to figure out why George the cat would go behind the toilet every time we went in the bathroom. He was blocking Tempe from going back there and getting hung up on the pipe. A friend described George as other worldly and that describes him perfectly. He was born wise.

The little girl that no one hears me talk about was forced to get wise. She never had a childhood really. The first time I tried to save her some evil person took her babies and dumped them. I had offered to take the whole package but they wanted to keep MamaCatwhereyouat. She immediately got pregnant again and the bad owner wanted help with another batch of kittens. I promised anything to get her out of that house and get her spayed. I’d take them all and give her back after she was fixed if I had to. I sure didn’t need another cat. I just wanted her to be fixed before her little body wore out. All the inbreeding was showing up in this second litter.

For an entire year she would only come out if I closed the others out and shut the door. She was afraid of everything and everybody. Today she is still rarely seen but she’s starting to venture out. Sam kept charging her for so long but we have finally got him to stop that. I’ve never had a cat talk to me like she does. I call out Mamacatwhereyouat and she’ll meow from wherever she is sleeping. If the boys, George and Sam are doing something wrong she comes and starts chattering to me. She paces back and forth just meowing away with different tones and pauses. I answer her like I would anyone. She loves me and only me and guards me every night. Fat George spoons with me under the covers, if an intruder came in he’d probably not wake up. Mama sits vigil by me every night until it’s time to get up.

Life is putting people and other living creatures in my path to take this walk with that are supposed to be here.

Life can be a bitch but it can also be mysterious and wonderful.

Artwork by Donald Carey
Like a ton of bricks, it hit me.

What am I doing?

Why am I still doing it?

More importantly….

What am I apologizing for?

The answers have been there all along.

And just like that, it was over.

For D. S.G
Trying to put it out there that I’m here for any parent that is going through estrangement has taken thirty two drafts and way too much of my blood

I’ve never written thirty two drafts of anything. Then deleted it.

Maybe I should take a different approach.

Certainly I want to list some resources that could change a parents life like they have mine.

I don’t mind sharing my story if it would help another parent. but I’m not looking for sympathy. Or pity. I have no axe to grind. No desire to exact revenge or say unkind things to anyone.

I share so that other parents can find some peace.

If you have already spent miserable years trying to understand why your ADULT child has cut you out of their lives stop that right now. If you don’t have a support group or therapist you need to find one asap. Donald Stott’s group Healing and Hope for Parents of Estranged Adult Children pulled me out of the darkness. For years I thought I was the only one. Then I found out 27% of Americans are estranged from a family member. So about one fourth of the population. What is different about this group is you have to be a parent who does not want the estrangement.

It’s not a place to put down or blame it all on the child. This is important or it was for me because I love my children no matter what. I don’t want anyone to look down on my children no matter what. Donald also has a podcast that I haven’t listened to yet but I like Donald and feel comfortable recommending him. Beyond the Pain wherever you get your podcasts. The Facebook group is private but you can find it in a search: Healing and Hope for Parents of Estranged Adult Children.

Shari McGregor has written a book that has become the estrangement Bible of sorts. She also has a blog and other tools to help others through this.

http://www.rejectedparents.net

Her book Done with the Crying is available on Amazon or her website.

It ended up that all I needed was kindred spirits and a couple of years of therapy to find myself. I no longer wonder why because it doesn’t matter. It was the single one thing that helped. Knowing I wasn’t alone.

Estrangement is going to go on until the adult child decides it’s time to stop. No matter what you did, do or say. Just like letting someone disrespect you it keeps happening over and over. As long as you take it. Once you realize that the only person you can control is yourself you might starting feeling peace.

One of my daughters in her junior year of high school had a headache every Monday. She’d miss the bus or her ride and I’d have to take off work sometimes and take her to school. And not just around the corner either. I worked thirty miles north and the school was about ten miles south of our house. It took at least two hours out of a Monday. Not to mention I was in classes too at the time. It got frustrating. Very frustrating. One day she reported the headache as usual but that time she said I guess I’m too old to keep doing this huh? And it was over.

That is how disrespect and estrangement work. They will likely keep doing it until you stop taking it or they realize they are too old to keep acting this way. Adults talk about problems and try to work things out. Until they are mature enough to see that it keeps on.

I’ve reached out in the past couple of years trying to open a conversation. One of them I can never reach out to again. It’s far past any hope of reconciliation. Remember through this journey that you deserve to be treated with respect.

I tried to keep my problems far away from one of my daughters new life. I didn’t want my problems bleeding over in her life. I can take care of myself. I’ve never asked any of my kids for help and never intend to. After I had made a huge decision regarding my home someone went to her to ask her to help me. ?????? To help me do something I had already made a decision about and didn’t need any help.Pretty ballsy on his part and very immature. He had no right to do that and I hadn’t asked him to do anything. What? Instead of telling me he had done that when they clearly weren’t representing me she got angry and has remained angry at me. Angry at me for what someone else did. The few times I have reached out I got my head snapped off or was cruelly ridiculed.

What applies to literally every other person on earth does not apply to an estranged parent. Estranged children would never treat anyone the way they will us. Parents often say that their children would be nicer to a stranger on the street. I can feel that.

Until or if they are mature enough to see this is not how people treat each other there’s not much a parent can do. There were rules I was expected to follow but I wasn’t told those rules. I was supposed to read minds I guess, it was ridiculous. It’s kind of hard to know what you should do if the rule maker will not share that with you. Interesting that in my case I was told not to talk to my son-in-laws. Not sure what that is about but I have a few guesses. When did my children start seeing me as someone who would ever betray them about anything?

What can a parent do? There’s not much you can do until the adult child wants to talk. Many of them never will.

You can start loving yourself again. Find groups of people you have something in common with through Meetups or in groups on Facebook. Steer clear of people that brag about their children or grandchildren. One in five Americans are aging alone. Find those people. They are delightful, interesting and will be there for you when you’re down. Our Elder Orphan Encouragement Group has become a true community. There are other EO groups out there too. Aging Solo, Golden Girls, Elder Orphans Relocating. All these people know what it’s like and you will find support and friendships. I met one of my BFF’s in our group. She drove over from Dallas, an hour away and took me to lunch on my birthday. She came back and helped me move to a 55+ community. In more ways than one. (Shoutout to Jean! )When we need help we reach out to each other.

Write that book or take up painting. Start dating if you’re single. Your kids can’t disapprove any more of anything you do. You can be whoever you want to be. Finally.

It’s ok to hold on to hope but don’t let disappointment destroy you. You can be happy, it doesn’t mean you don’t love your kids.

Get out there and live the life you want to live! Be kind to yourself for a change. Maybe if you start respecting yourself again, others will follow.

Get out there and live again!

Email me at leslie@agingsoul.com if you need help or someone to talk to.
A couple of us old EO’s weren’t really having a discussion about death. We weren’t really talking at all. I’m in Texas, David is in New Jersey and Jan is in West Texas, which is its own little country.

West Texas blows itself around out there. Remarkable that anything ends up in the same place on the rare occasion the constant billowing wind takes a break.

More like we were finishing each other’s thoughts. Hundreds of miles apart. We’ve never been physically together but some days it’s we’re right next door to each order. In the grand scheme of things all three of us do not care for neighbors.

Most of the time I pretend I don’t have any. It’s probably offensive to the ones I do have.

Jan likened her inevitable date with death to a divorce. Wondered when she woke each day which part of her body would stop supporting her. She would defend Texas to the death but longed for her home state to step a little further into the present. To lighten up a little. Rather than fight for every last breath there are those of us who wish Texas, unlike our bodies, would support death with dignity or MAID. Medical Aid In Dying is not just for the hippies in Oregon and Washington. Canada is leap years ahead of us. They embrace life and death with a gentle caress. They haven’t destroyed their homeland at breakneck speed. They cherish and nurture it.

No stomping over each other for more, more, more. More money, more land , more food than our fellow travelers in life. I have always strived for less. Less of everything.

We’ve both considered moving to more liberal states that support dying with dignity. Not for David, he’s in a place that would favor his body in a divorce. New Jersey won’t force him into a warehouse to wait for his final settlement. They won’t charge his body for being where it does not want to be.

To infinity and beyond.

His body may have some legitimate complaints if it files divorce against him. Eating a slice of cherry pie followed by a giant sour pickle was a brave act of rebellion. I hope his attorney is sharper than the one his body will retain. That was gutsy. I want to say almost whimsical but David is a giant of a man. His description of himself makes be think of my giant of a father. Whimsy?

The more I thought about it my father would be whatever he wanted to be and laugh mirthfully at any haters. He’s the first man I knew that wore a colored shirt after a lifetime of khaki, work clothes and coveralls.

I said pink???? He said salmon. He’d be whimsical if he felt like it.

Anne and I keep an eye on David’s choice of desserts. After a week of pure hell with him challenging his digestive system to do what he told it to, we watch him. We text each other if we see him being chimerical with his old stomach. We got him through the Great Constipation of ‘24 after all.

“Chimerical:”

Being a figment of the imagination

Not able, or impractical, to be implemented

Playfully quaint or fanciful, especially in an appealing and amusing way

Without any grounds to support it

(https://www.wordhippo.com/what-is/another-word-for/chimerical.html)

Our little butterfly, Anne won’t have to take her body to court like we will. She has kinder options. She flitters and flutters around us playing with the puppies and kittens. A gentle soul with not a single complaint in life. She puts us to shame when we get crotchety.

Shame, shame I know your name my mother used to say. It worked.

I am not ashamed though many have tried.

Our Anne.

She apologized to me once for not being unhappy.

I had started a support group for a woman whose child had been murdered. I start support groups now and then. Support group, koffee klatch, social hour. Call it what you want. If someone comes to me in need of a strong shoulder I answer the call in any way I can. I try to be the person I wished had been there for me. I have no friends but I do try to be one.

Anne is happy with her Florida/Canadian life where her only responsibility is to feed and play with the puppies and kittens. She can’t attend our support groups because she feels bad about being happy. As if she thinks she doesn’t deserve it and it will make others feel bad to see her happy. How can we prove to her that happy is the goal and she has won the race?

Don’t stop being happy, our Anne.

One might be able to unhappy her if they hurt her furry family. Or us. Her chosen few. There will be no fight or arguments in her quiver to defend those she loves.

Just a palpable silence.

A black hole that didn’t swallow the butterfly.

A black hole that does what black holes are said to do.

“A black hole is a region of spacetime where gravity is so strong that nothing, including light and other electromagnetic waves, are capable of possessing enough energy to escape it. “(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_hole)

All you get is this warning from her gang of old outlaws.

Don’t harm our Butterfly. Lilly, David and I are a little scrappier.

David described days now as we age as what fresh new hell is this?

The poet Dorothy Parker is given credit for that. When her doorbell would ring she’d say what fresh hell is this?

My daughter can read you my poem about unwanted guests showing up.

She was making mud pies and a car pulled unexpectedly in our driveway.

She glanced up from her baking and said “oh shit”. I don’t know where she heard that but I warned everyone to be careful with what they say around my baby.

Everyone has their own version of how our bodies will betray us. Drag us through divorce court leaving us with nothing. Dependent on strangers possibly when we can no longer care for ourselves. A new hell every day.

My first thought was bring it on. It doesn’t scare me. My divorce career began at the tender age of five. So far I haven’t found anything or anybody that I can’t divorce.

Try me.

Just look as if you are thinking of leaving me and I’ll divorce you so fast your head will spin. I’ve done it all my life and never paid a lawyer a dime.

Jan’s analogy stuck with me until my mind finally figured out what my response will be if my body tries to put me through yet another divorce.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Al Cabone – my spirit animal

Dorothy Parker’s collections of poems are worth reading.

https://poets.org/poet/dorothy-parker
There’s a spiritual belief that when your world seems insane and out of kilter you should just sit still for three days. That’s supposedly how long it takes the universe to get right side up again. I’m on day 18 and see no relief in sight.

Twice I ventured out in the world recently. Twice the world promptly chewed me up, spit me out and sent me home.

I do not argue when the universe tells me to sit still.

Being home more means having to interact with neighbors.

I’ve noticed neighbors seem to be friendlier these days although I still sit with my back to the corner. A habit that was formed in the seventies. My Father said you should always sit with your back to the corner so no one can sneak up on you. My brother-in-law told me to sit with my back to the wall in case of an intruder. I should have the gun ready and when they came in I should shoot. He said that’s much easier than dragging their body in the house. Never owned a gun and most likely never will.

I’m seeing the neighbors more now that I’m home all the time.

My neighbors are sneaky and they must be watched. I was thinking of the many bizarre things people have said and done since I moved here. It really would make a good comedy show. Dark comedy maybe but all laughter is good for the soul.

First they just watched us for the first week. Neither friendly or unfriendly, more apathetic. After a week I’m sure they caught on that I was living here. My dogs like myself are unique. They aren’t pets, they are companions and I don’t use them to socialize. Everyone remarks on how cute they are but they just aren’t very social. Sam’s getting better but the only human for Tempe has always been just me.

The next neighbor snarled at me. I’ll When I took my dogs over to where the grass was a little greener she actually turned her lip up in a snarl and took her dog inside.

Next was the neighbor that lives two doors down. She really has been an anomaly. First she saved my life after I set off bug bombs once all my things were inside. I wanted to be proactive on the subject of bugs because bugs creep me out. Unfortunately I had a reaction to the spray and my throat closed. We called 911 but by the time they arrived I was breathing again. The neighbor brought me a washcloth and seemed nice enough. She wouldn’t answer the door when I tried to return it so I eventually left a note along with the washcloth. No big deal. At my last apartment I never answered the door.

We exchanged names and pleasantries and she fell in love with Sam like everyone does. I assumed at the very least we’d smile or say hello if we passed each other in the hall. Wrong. In our hallway she was nicer than nice. Downstairs she walked past Sam and I as if we were invisible. The first time I was pretty stunned. I mean, I’m not going to be hanging out with people here so say hello or don’t, I don’t really care. She snubbed my dog. It hurt his feelings.

Don’t hurt my dog’s feelings.

Still, I didn’t react because, well, it was a silly way for a woman in her seventies to act. I just kept Sam back if she was in the hallway. I don’t remember when it happened or why it happened but we became at least civil again. Possibly because whenever I saw her I said nothing. Just smiled and walked by. Now she knew that I knew and we could both stop acting stupid. I hoped anyway.

There was the woman at the outdoor picnic tables. She kept inviting me to leave the dogs at home and come down. That was never going to happen. Why would I traipse back downstairs again without the dogs? I had a pretty good idea why she invited me down. Never going to happen. First of all if I’m going outside and the dogs can go the dogs are coming. Second, I was not going to sit around with a bunch of smokers so soon after quitting. Lastly, I wasn’t going to answer any of the nosey questions I knew she wanted to ask.

After a couple of weeks of me not going down she threw her arms up as we walked by. I have no idea what that means.

People here need to learn how to use their words.

Being grounded by the universe I’m home more and around people more. The stalker has reappeared. I turn around and there he is. Both he and his dog just staring at me. When possible I turn the other way to avoid interaction. I check outside to see if he’s there but he still sneaks up on me. One morning I took Sam outside the gates and noticed the stalker noticing me on the other side of the gate. I’ve already yelled at him. I was hoping there was a Mrs. Stalker but no one has come forth. I’m just going to ignore him.

I finally figured out how news gets around here. I’ve got nothing against any of these people. Maybe it’s always like this when you move into a new community. Most of my life I had no neighbors. I’m aware I may not be the best neighbor either. I’m not welcoming and I don’t like people in my house.

On the upside I have met a very nice neighbor whose dog is so cute you can’t help but fall in love. His dog, Eli is a poodle with the floppiest hair I’ve ever seen. He’s too small to be a doodle. His owner has the look and demeanor of a college professor. I am drawn to anyone involved in academia. My years in college are my favorite memories. I’m planning on asking if they’d like to have play dates in the parlor area of our floor. I’m actually trying to be neighborly!

Neighbors like all people come and go. Ships that pass. I’ve never really gotten close with anyone. No friends for fifty years like some people. My therapist said I have strong abandonment issues. I leave before anyone can leave me. Who knows, that may be true. I am a loner like my Father and his brothers were.

Maybe the universe sent me home for Tempe. I have to be with her when she passes. Everything else can wait. The east coast calls me but that will have to wait too.

I’m grateful I can sit quietly by her as she sleeps. She sleeps most of the time now. Her breath rattles now like it’s slowly getting harder to do. A calm came over a few weeks ago. I see a new found peace when she looks at me. I’ll look up from what I’m doing and she’ll be looking at me and smiling. That look she used to get when she got to run free at the river. She doesn’t want to go out anymore.

She was diagnosed a year and a half ago. The Dr said best case she’d be with me for two more years. We might have six months now. For months I begged, pleaded and enticed her to come out now and then. She used to love lying in the sun. It’s just too hard now. A heating pad warms her bones.

I make her favorite chicken with rice, sweet potatoes and spinach. She enjoys it but what she seems to enjoy the most is when I sit on the floor next to her. I write or watch tv until she drifts off. I rest my hand on her back. I just want to touch her and keep her with me forever. I hate leaving her for even a second.

The other animals didn’t like me being away either. I can tell they are happier now. They follow me from room to room. George sits on my lap for reassurance several times a day. He also checks on Tempe throughout the day. He has helped care for her too. He’ll follow her around the house or curl up around her. Just now he came over and kissed her nose.

Her breathing is more difficult. I can hear it rattling. A friend said it might be agonal breathing. A sign the end is near.

I keep praying for a miracle. As if, perhaps I never take my eyes off of her she will live forever. Or at least until I can go with her.

I’m grateful to the crazy neighbors for distracting me now and then.
I remember all the times I had to look death in the face knowing that death was going to win. I’ve been feeling the same feelings lately. Death makes me angry. I accepted my own mortality and made peace with it years ago.

Losing someone I love is another matter altogether.

Like the other times I am alone. I think there are just some paths you have to walk alone.

I feel alone when I’m surrounded by people these days.

My best friend is going to die soon. No matter how hard I pray that she lives forever it’s inevitable. At the very least I wish she could wait and maybe we could go together. Many years down the road.

Tempe is all that is left of the life I had before this one. Pre 2015. We’ve been together since she was eight weeks old and she turned fifteen at Christmas.

When she first received her death sentence I tried sharing it with the people I loved and that I hoped would be there for me. One of them laughed when I explained Canine Cognitive Disorder. I’m not sure what was funny and I don’t want to know. My impression was that it was funny that it was happening to me.

It was a hateful response. One that I don’t dwell on anymore but I’ll always remember the pain it caused. I won’t give anyone that power over me again.

It’s Alzheimer’s. There’s nothing funny about that in dogs or people.People like my neighbors don’t understand it’s not normal dementia in a dog. It’s far different.It’s very sad to watch.

A little over a year ago she was given two years at best.

I’ve been in a fugue state since last I wrote. Watching her and trying to decide if keeping her alive like this is cruel.

My friends and I discussed MAID and Die with Dignity quite extensively for a few weeks. MAID is built into Canada’s health care system. It’s Medical Aid In Dying and I think it’s wonderful. To give someone with a terminal diagnosis the ability to die on their terms. We aren’t so evolved, only a few states allow Die with Dignity and I’m not in one of them. After Tempe goes I’m stepping up my plan to relocate to a more liberal state. Somewhere that has all four seasons.

If Tempe could talk we would be finishing each other’s sentences. Our bond runs deep and is strong There were a couple of times I didn’t think we would make it. Part of the reason I did is because she was there for me. The only reason I even started to consider it was when something in Tempe changed. It was almost like she was relaxed for a little while. The anxiety that comes with her condition is gut wrenching. I’m careful not to startle her. She’s rarely lucid anymore. Every now and then I’ll look up from something I’m doing to find her staring at me. Her black eyes clear and I know she knows who I am. For a little while. She looks relieved and confused at the same time. But so glad to see me finally.

People like me don’t have thousands of dollars to spend on our dogs. If Tempe needs it though I will find a way like I always have for so many others over the years. That I know I could do somehow if I have to.

It’s saying goodbye that I don’t think I’ll be able to do.

I wish Tempe could die at home and I hope she does.

Life isn’t usually that kind.

If anyone is dealing with end of life situations a wonderful resource is to look up Death Cafes in your area or virtually. It is a safe place to discuss what some won’t talk about.
Man makes the money but money never made a man. I heard that on tv and it stuck in my head.

I ruminated on it for a few days and then considered what makes the woman? It’s not money either. The handful of women I have known that had money were not very nice people. That’s not to say they all are selfish and mean spirited. My data is limited so I’m just saying what my experience has been.

My experience has been that everything is wonderful as long as they got what they wanted and could buy it. Retail therapy. It’s usually said as a joke as if sending one out with a fist full of money will make one happy. It works too. For a minute. Then they move on to the next thing and the things after that.

I wouldn’t trust my happiness to a dollar bill or even a million dollar bills but many people do.

I looked at the closet that I have barely used since I moved in months ago and wondered why I wasn’t like other women. I don’t have a closet full of shoes and purses. I’ve never even liked purses. I looked at them as useful at times but mine mostly filled up with junk until they wore out and then I’d get another one. My favorite was my chicken purse I bought at the Bill Clinton museum and gift shop in Little Rock. I’m sure my family hated it but I loved it. I wish I still had it but things get lost in life.

It’s never been a lack of money that keeps me from filling a closet. Growing up I had the coolest clothes of all my friends. My Mother would sew all night and I’d wake up to a freshly pressed new outfit.I think she invented the pleat in bell bottoms made with a different pattern. She pleated my blue jean bell bottoms with a different material. Later on, thanks to Stevie Nicks, she made a full length black hooded cape lined with red satin for us. She may not have invented cool clothes but I was often the first to wear a new trend.

Oldsmobile Cutlass

My Father was a 6’4 Marine that filled any room he walked into but he was the most fashionable man I’ve ever met.I remember him wearing only khaki or blue work clothes made right here in our hometown. The Dickies line was basically uniforms. I have a picture of him in white painters overalls. I’ll never forget the first time I saw him wear anything with color in it. He had just bought a Cutlass Supreme. He drove up and did the usual honk. He never came in after the divorce, he just pulled up and honked and we came out. We somehow knew his honk because even if we were out playing in the neighborhood we went running when we heard it.

I was shocked to see the shirt he was wearing and said”PINK?”. He said no it’s salmon. It was a very good color for him. He looked so handsome in his salmon shirt and new car.

Men didn’t wear colors back then. It was work clothes or suits.I was proud of my trend setting father.

If it was good enough for the Beatles…

When he was overseas and would send us the newest stereos,cameras and recording equipment. I carried a recorder around interviewing anyone who would let me. He also sent exotic material from foreign lands. Once when a friend of mine invited me to a political party her father was involved in Mom turned the silk into a Nehru Jacket and matching slacks.

His brothers were the same and from one uncle came more exotic material and flowing dresses from wherever he was at the time. The other brother lived near the border of Mexico and we’d go visit often. He’d hand us the keys to his latest Cadillac and off we went shopping in Juarez.

Nehru jackets

It wasn’t until I was grown and married that someone pointed out how poor we had been. How my parents were somehow less than because they were divorced. He questioned me about everything in my life prior to meeting him and then attempted to make me feel bad about my life. It was an attempt to gaslight me into believing he was somehow my knight in shining armor.

Please.

That was the beginning of a long line of people who thought they needed to save me. People that wanted me in their life but not as who I really am. It was who they could turn me into.

Again, please.

My father took me fishing, gambling and smuggling goods across the border of an exotic foreign country. He filled his truck bed up with vegetables and fruit and made the rounds of all our homes to share with us.

I learned to sit very still and very quiet watching my Grandpa rob his beehive for honey. I learned about love watching him present it to Granny like a gift because he knew she had a sweet tooth.

My mother stayed up all night to sew me a new outfit for school. Nobody among my friends could say that.She crocheted dresses for my daughters. She showed me how fun it is to sit on the tailgate of a truck filled with cobs of corn. She got so excited about visiting her parents farm in the backwoods she grew up in. I still feel rich when I come upon an abundance of food and I get excited too. I immediately start deciding will I can? Will I bake or freeze? Will I roll tamales? Shelling peas on my granny’s porch or stealing a watermelon from Grandpa’s fields made for rich memories but you still never wasted food. Grandpa trucked his harvests to towns all over and being wasteful was also being disrespectful and that wasn’t allowed.

He drank his coffee one third coffee and the other two thirds sugar and a pat of butter in a dainty china coffee cup and saucer that Granny always served it in. A giant of a man sipping from a fine cup is a man comfortable with his life.

I learned dignity and grace when Granny handed me her handkerchief and told me to stand by Grandpa’s coffin and keep the flys away on a hot summer day. It was more than that, in her grief she couldn’t face the long line of people that filled the little cemetery at the end of the long driveway to their house. I was nine years old and stood vigil as friends and family came to say goodbye. When one woman in sympathy said “Is that your Grandpa?” I proudly said yes and answered all their questions. I had been there the night he died at home and I was very proud to see him off. No more robbing beehives.

I wished I’d named a daughter Dixie

Years later I think I fell in love with a young man because he had beehives. He had a window framed in his house with a hive between the glass and you could watch the bees at work.He also had black hair longer than mine and I’m a fool for men with long hair. He had established a co-op and the excess was sold in his health food store. Customers got a discount for working in the store and everyone was happy and well fed.When my birthday came around he bought me a baby goat. I should have jumped in the car when he left for Colorado and never looked back.

I was too busy trying to be what everyone else thought I should be instead of who I am.

My favorite job was milking 300 dairy cows every morning for my friend in Virginia when she was shorthanded. My toddler played on the parlor floor while I worked. In all my married years the focus was on someone else’s career while I tried to arrange life to be there for my kids. It never worked out. All the promises of “you do this now and I’ll do that later” were all hot air. When people realize someone is a giver they take and take until there is no more to take so they move on.

My friend with the dairy farm took me to town and bought me my first pair of Birkenstocks. She wasn’t trying to save me she just thought my husband was selfish and self centered and it was true. Nothing was bought without his approval. I let that happen when I allowed him to think he contributed more than I did and somehow should be in charge of our finances.

I’m not sure what makes a woman but it’s not money either. If someone handed me a million dollars right now clothes shopping would be the last thing I would think of.

I only know what makes this woman.

I gave everything I had, maybe it’s finally my turn. I am ready!