Miss Mona sez...
Isn't Mr Bill interesting?
31 yrs so far and he always manages to surprise me with something.
Our garden is an example (someday I will get pictures I can share, one more thing on my list). I plant and weed, he finds toys to create action scenes in unexpected places. Hits the kids section at thrift stores and garage sales, hauling home the most unexpected things to play with. Seriously, I think he is a really overgrown 12yr old.
We scored several loads of fill rock from a road crew that was dumped between creek and driveway. He spent several days leveling it and arranging the larger rocks and now there are two tanks, a batch of toy soldiers and a purple and orange dinosaur having it out by my driveway...
Elizabeth says our landscaping style is "whimsical." So that's what you call it.
Toys are a significant part of our life. Police toys, stuffed animals, cartoon characters... At Christmastime, EVERYONE gets toys, regardless of age. Kids get more, but adults are persuaded to rediscover their inner child and play.
I still have the first gift Bill ever gave me, a stuffed cat named Phred (for the Doonesbury character)(not a cat).
Given to me so I wouldn't have to sleep alone when he wasn't there. There are shelves full of tiny tin cars and other toys, figures from cartoons and story books, given at various significant (and insignificant!)times.
His number one love language is gifts...
What's yours?
We all have one or more ways that we give and receive love. Quality time, acts of service, words of affirmation, gifts and ...crap!! I never can remember the last one!
I try to be multilingual, but I am primarily motivated to acts of service. Duh. Funny thing, no matter how hard you try to say I love you to a person, if you don't use the right language for that individual, they likely will not hear you.
It is a wonderful and terrible thing, this giving and receiving of love.
Costly in the most profound ways. Painful. Magnificent. Terrifying.
I am currently up to my ears in caring for someone I love very much. Caring in the most basic and important ways. Watching and waiting as she learns to truly relinquish control. Though you would think she had no choice in the matter, still, she must choose.
Life has dealt her some pretty nasty thwacks and left her with a deep mistrust of anything or anyone she did not have firmly corralled. This slow, incessant diminishing of capacity, both physical and mental, peels back the layers of learned behavior and courteous response to the inner, foundational beliefs and emotions. Brief, shining glimpses of the sharp mind and wit surprise and delight me, reminders of a long friendship that we have had. Of who and what she was/is. That the person I love is still inside this crumbling husk of skin and bone and disobedient body parts.
It is hard to watch someone you love die. To daily experience the process, no firm schedule, no real way of knowing when and how the process of transformation will take place.
The inner struggle with both wanting the end/beginning to come and not being ready for the curtain to fall/the veil to be torn. Frustration, anger, impatience. Fear. Hope. Grief. Selfishness.
A lot of interesting and embarrassing things happen for both care provider and the one receiving care.
Such a vulnerable time, dignity be damned and pride be hanged- some things just must be attended to.
I struggle with the why.
Why must it be so difficult?
What is the point of the long and drawn-out process?
I have no answers from God except "Be still."
Not sit still or be quiet, though they are a part of this answer-that-is-not-an-answer.
Be.
Still.
Not one of my stronger skills. I am much better at doing than being. I like knowing what comes next. And when.
I am good at cleaning, fixing, planning, making....doing.
I keep picturing a pool of water. Quiet, undisturbed, reflective.
I am more of a garden hose. Watering this, rinsing that, filling a bucket to be dumped over yonder.
Not so good at quiet. I tend to fall asleep. Miss the visitation.
I learned to keep moving so that I wouldn't get caught, bored, given a job I didn't want to do.
Still working to grasp this whole concept. Wondering how much longer before I catch on.
Be still.
Isn't Mr Bill interesting?
31 yrs so far and he always manages to surprise me with something.
Our garden is an example (someday I will get pictures I can share, one more thing on my list). I plant and weed, he finds toys to create action scenes in unexpected places. Hits the kids section at thrift stores and garage sales, hauling home the most unexpected things to play with. Seriously, I think he is a really overgrown 12yr old.
We scored several loads of fill rock from a road crew that was dumped between creek and driveway. He spent several days leveling it and arranging the larger rocks and now there are two tanks, a batch of toy soldiers and a purple and orange dinosaur having it out by my driveway...
Elizabeth says our landscaping style is "whimsical." So that's what you call it.
Toys are a significant part of our life. Police toys, stuffed animals, cartoon characters... At Christmastime, EVERYONE gets toys, regardless of age. Kids get more, but adults are persuaded to rediscover their inner child and play.
I still have the first gift Bill ever gave me, a stuffed cat named Phred (for the Doonesbury character)(not a cat).
Given to me so I wouldn't have to sleep alone when he wasn't there. There are shelves full of tiny tin cars and other toys, figures from cartoons and story books, given at various significant (and insignificant!)times.
His number one love language is gifts...
What's yours?
We all have one or more ways that we give and receive love. Quality time, acts of service, words of affirmation, gifts and ...crap!! I never can remember the last one!
I try to be multilingual, but I am primarily motivated to acts of service. Duh. Funny thing, no matter how hard you try to say I love you to a person, if you don't use the right language for that individual, they likely will not hear you.
It is a wonderful and terrible thing, this giving and receiving of love.
Costly in the most profound ways. Painful. Magnificent. Terrifying.
I am currently up to my ears in caring for someone I love very much. Caring in the most basic and important ways. Watching and waiting as she learns to truly relinquish control. Though you would think she had no choice in the matter, still, she must choose.
Life has dealt her some pretty nasty thwacks and left her with a deep mistrust of anything or anyone she did not have firmly corralled. This slow, incessant diminishing of capacity, both physical and mental, peels back the layers of learned behavior and courteous response to the inner, foundational beliefs and emotions. Brief, shining glimpses of the sharp mind and wit surprise and delight me, reminders of a long friendship that we have had. Of who and what she was/is. That the person I love is still inside this crumbling husk of skin and bone and disobedient body parts.
It is hard to watch someone you love die. To daily experience the process, no firm schedule, no real way of knowing when and how the process of transformation will take place.
The inner struggle with both wanting the end/beginning to come and not being ready for the curtain to fall/the veil to be torn. Frustration, anger, impatience. Fear. Hope. Grief. Selfishness.
A lot of interesting and embarrassing things happen for both care provider and the one receiving care.
Such a vulnerable time, dignity be damned and pride be hanged- some things just must be attended to.
I struggle with the why.
Why must it be so difficult?
What is the point of the long and drawn-out process?
I have no answers from God except "Be still."
Not sit still or be quiet, though they are a part of this answer-that-is-not-an-answer.
Be.
Still.
Not one of my stronger skills. I am much better at doing than being. I like knowing what comes next. And when.
I am good at cleaning, fixing, planning, making....doing.
I keep picturing a pool of water. Quiet, undisturbed, reflective.
I am more of a garden hose. Watering this, rinsing that, filling a bucket to be dumped over yonder.
Not so good at quiet. I tend to fall asleep. Miss the visitation.
I learned to keep moving so that I wouldn't get caught, bored, given a job I didn't want to do.
Still working to grasp this whole concept. Wondering how much longer before I catch on.
Be still.
My father passed from the daddy I knew and had always expected him to be...vibrant, funny, loud, beligerant, loving... to a "husk" of a body struggling between wanting to stay with us and wanting to let go, all in 3 weeks. I am so very thankful that I got to be there with him, and also incredibly thankful that it was only a comparitively short amount of time.
ReplyDeleteWe love you both, and Grandma, so very much and you are in our hearts and prayers as you go through this with her. Vicki