I miss my mother greatly but she left behind some wonderful memories. 

A Simple Life

Saturday night adventures, hot dogs from Burger Carte,

Going to watch Chief Black Eagle wrestle in Oak Hill,

My mother, fists in the air, cheering on her favorite wrestler,

People slurping drinks, crunching popcorn, mesmerized,

Unaware of the traffic, or the passing of time, lost in the moment.

The Grand Ole Opry; Faron Young, George Jones, and Porter Waggoner,

Who done who wrong songs playing on a jukebox, lights flashing,

Local bars, bare and dark, filled with coal miners and dreamers,

Plain people enjoying simple pleasures, being whoever they were,

Walt Disney World with the family on Sunday evening.

Day after day, watching him put on his heavy boots,

Kissing him at the door, sending him off with a lunch bucket,

Deep into the belly of the earth to mine black diamonds,

Watching him until he was completely out of sight,

Then crawling into bed to pray for his safe return.

Then came the waiting rooms, patients in every chair,

Symptoms creeping in along with the wrinkles lining her face,

The doctor spoke of cancer, offered encouragement and pills,

She became the wrestler, fighting off cells, refusing to give up,

Smiling, demanding a hot dog, fists in the air, living until the last breath.

© Dianna Doles Petry

Define Old Age

Photo of Julia Doles

April 2015

Sometimes you wake up thinking, “Well, I made it through another night.”  You are not seeing the sunshine filtering through your window or allowing the peaceful moment to fill your soul.  You spend too much time thinking about your aches and pains, your late relatives, and finances when you should be enjoying just being alive.

Then something, or someone, forces you to stop and take a good long look at yourself. That is what happened to me today. I was out to pick up a few things I needed and started to pass an elderly lady in one of the aisles of the market.  She opened a conversation by asking, “Can you reach that corn way up on the top there? I swear they picked me before I was done growing.”

The lady was about five feet tall with short white hair that was neatly brushed. She was dressed neatly and her eyes were ablaze with determination. As I handed her the can of corn I had just retrieved for her, she said, “My grandson is in here somewhere. He probably found magazines or something. Lord, he’s fifty years-old and you would think he was ready to retire. He spends an hour trying to avoid fifteen minutes of work.”

The grandson appeared at the end of the aisle and walked toward us. He stopped a few feet behind his grandmother as if waiting to see if she would invite him into the conversation or send him scampering outdoors to play. The petite, feisty lady continued, “My daughter, his mother, is a whiner too. Why she’s only seventy years-old and wouldn’t get out of bed if she didn’t get hungry. I tell you, it’s beyond my understanding to tell you what’s happened with the young folks today. I’m ninety-five and I go help her clean up her house at least once a week.”

I have lived most of my life as if I’m expecting some important guest and need to have my life in order before they arrive. I sweep the floors, bathe the pets, clean the windows, and would probably sweep the lawn if I could rid of some of the extra dirt. I never really think about why I do what I do, I just do it. I’m pretty sure this lady never stops to think about living either. She just does it!

I smiled at the lady, told her I was happy to have met her, and walked away feeling as if I had just been given a gift. The road of life can be very bumpy but people like the lady I met today not only help me navigate the road, they pull me back into the right lane of traffic. I sure hope her family makes sure she is well praised this coming Mother’s Day.

© Dianna Doles Petry

4/24/15

Different Paths, Same Destination

I was talking with an old friend in the supermarket the other day and I have to admit, it was almost as if we were exchanging war stories. I think that happens often when two or more caregivers get together. Taking care of someone with dementia or Alzheimer’s changes the life of the patient, and it changes the lives of the people who love them and take care of their daily needs. Incontinence, food texture, hygiene, and patience are all battles waged on a daily basis and fill conversations.

It is never easy to watch a person engulfed in a merciless disease. They don’t see themselves as we see them. They don’t understand their thoughts are no longer lucid. They don’t understand their sentences are seldom finished and if they are they don’t make sense to anyone else. They are frustrated, impatient, and eventually angry in a way we can’t understand. They express their emotions to the only people they can, the people who are there for them every day.

Most of us watch the six o’clock news, maybe discuss it a few minutes, and then go on with our lives. We take normal precautions to insure the safety of our family. A dementia patient might remember something from the six o’clock news days or weeks after hearing it and become stressed about it. My friend mentioned coming home to find her husband sitting with a pistol aimed at the front door when she walked through it. Thankfully, there was no tragedy that day but it could easily have been a very sad day for their family and friends. The firearm is no longer present in the home but the truth is, it is impossible to keep the home danger free when someone has dementia or Alzheimer’s. 

Sometimes I want my mother to be the woman with the hearty laughter again. I have moments when I feel like I am losing myself to the stream of cleaning, medicating, researching, and worrying. Those are the moments when I want to hug my mother tightly, look her directly in the eye, and beg her to please not forget about me, or her grandchildren, or the little dog who so faithfully watches over her day and night.

I write about this journey I am taking with my mother to ease the stress and ache in my heart. I know her voice will go silent someday and she is barely walking now. She asks how many people are working here and often looks at me as I enter the room and announces to the air, “There’s my mother. I knew she would be back.”

I sit and write down my self-perceived mistakes just to pass the time. I go over them like I check and recheck my store list to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. I try to remember when this carousel ride began and for the life of me, I cannot pinpoint the descent into this dark tunnel.

Until recently, my mother recited the names of her brother and her sisters nearly every day. I think she was determined not to forget them, not to let them die along with her other memories.  She has become quieter and quieter over the last few weeks and even when I should be sleeping I can’t get my mind to shut off and allow me to rest. I cherish the moments when she has some clarity and calls me by name.

I often feel guilty about the time I cannot give to my adult children, my neighbors, and my own dreams and desires. I fret about not being able to keep up my appearance the way I once did and I still struggle to keep my home immaculate. Taking care of someone else is physically and mentally draining at times but I remind myself over and over again that my mother can’t help losing her memory, her thoughts, or her youth.

Then I cross paths with someone dealing with far more than I am and it humbles me. The friend I talked to in the supermarket is dealing with her husband and his late stage Alzheimer’s. She is also bearing the pain of knowing her young granddaughter is fighting a battle with cancer. Her son is going through problems in his personal life. I know she wishes she had more time to devote to them but she must take care of her husband first.

As we walked away in separate directions the other day I promised to keep her and her family in my prayers and asked her to keep my family in her prayers. God brings us comfort in times and ways we aren't expecting.

© Dianna Doles Petry

Another Sunday Evening

Another Sunday is winding down,

Sunlight has faded and the sky is dark,

The mountains are silently listening,

Church bells ring and stray dogs bark.

I’m looking forward to warmer days,

Sitting beneath the moon on a summer night,

Days pass and seem to blend together,

I dread the darkness and reach for the light.

Tomorrow I’ll walk into the morning,

A list of things to do on my mind,

Giving thanks for the rain and snow,

And whatever blessings I might find.

I’ve walked through this house of mine,

A thousand times before,

All hours of the day and night,

I used to want so much more.

Now I sit at the window and look for stars,

Never imagined I would be this old,

The adventures I’ve had and memories made,

Are much too precious to ever be told.

Another Sunday is winding down,

I know how lucky I am these days,

To know the love of friends and my family,

I’ve been blessed in so many ways.

© Dianna Doles Petry

2/8/2015

If You Can't Beat Them, Join Them!

If You Can’t Beat Them, Join Them!

Have you heard the old saying, “If you can’t beat them, join them?” I have come to the conclusion this is the path I need to take with my ninety-two year old mother. Instead of trying to be logical with her I have to love her and care for her just the way she is and trust me, logic has not been a part of her life for a long time now.

This might sound easy but it isn't. You always think of your parents as being strong and healthy. They are the ones who protect you when you are too young to protect yourself. They teach you more than any school teacher ever could and they have high expectations for you no matter what the rest of the world thinks of you. When the day comes for you to realize you are a helpful stranger to them it nearly breaks your heart.

Earlier today I was trying to reason with my mother who was determined she was going to put on her shoes and go visit her mother. She was fretting because she hasn't seen her mother for a long time and “She’ll be worried about me now. I’m going home.”

I tried to tell her the weather is terrible, the vehicle is not running, and she could get sick going outside in the cold wet weather. She didn't care about any of that. Finally, I asked my mother where grandmother lives now. She said, “You know, up there.”

“Up where?” I asked.

“Up the road in that other house. “ She spoke to me with a blank expression on her face as if I should know this already.

I responded, “Grandmother is not home. She had a doctor’s appointment and was going to the supermarket after she got of the doctor’s office.” Telling her grandmother has been deceased for the last thirty-one years would only upset her. She would cry and feel the pain of losing grandmother all over again and it would serve no purpose so I went along with her belief in going to visit her mother.

Yesterday she didn't want to go the restroom even when it was obvious she needed to go. She insisted she had just been in there and was ready to physically battle anyone who attempted to help her up or clean her up. Those are the moments that make it hard to go along with her and it bothers me to force her to do what has to be done but I can’t leave her lying there soiled.

My friend often helps me with my mother and she was here. She hadn't seen that side of my mother before. I leaned over my mother, placed my arm under her armpit and raised her to her feet. At that point she looked at me and said, “I’m going to the bathroom. You don’t need to go.” Then she looked at my friend and said, “You can go with me.” The ladies walked off into the bathroom reminding me of a cowboy riding off into the sunset.

Sometimes it is not easy to love someone with dementia but you can’t forget who they were long before they were forgetful and angry. You have to remember the laughs, the times they encouraged and supported you, and the times they dried your tears. I have learned I have to love the woman my mother is now and leave the woman she once buried in my memories.

Those times when I reach for my mother’s hand and she pushes me away, I have to remember I am no longer the daughter she remembers for her daughter is still a young woman. In her eyes I am the older helpful stranger and when she doesn't like something I say or do she reminds me, “I know my daughter is paying you well to be here with me. I’m going to tell her how you've acted today! She’ll fire your ass!”

She needs my love, my care, and my patience, and I must admit; I need the laughs she brings me that many others might not understand.

© Dianna Doles Petry

If You Were

If You Were

If you were a scent,

You would be the sweet, sweet aroma,

I think of when I think of Heaven.

If you were the light,

You would shine through darkened skies,

Chase away the rain and the thunder.

If you were the moon,

Casting light upon the water,

I would count stars every night.

If you were music,

You would play to the beat of my soul,

Never to be heard by a human ear.

I’m standing on the edge of a dream,

Where I can hear you whisper to me,

You seem so happy and so strong,

You walked hand in hand with me all along.

If you were a scent,

You would float upon a breeze,

But you’re laughing with the angels in Heaven.

© Dianna Doles Petry

1/22/2015

Confusion

I have allowed my blog to rest unattended over the last few months but that is going to change. I am going to keep it active and will start with this post. I hope you enjoy it.

Confusion

She’s getting up when the sun goes down,

Her days and nights all turned around,

She talks about people only she can see,

Her mind stays lost in a fog of history.

Years ago she dyed her hair black,

Trying to get a youthful appearance back,

I wonder if she ever tried taillight red,

Or if she thought about the days ahead.

She’s fading fast like the spots on her eyes,

Her speech doesn't make sense but she still tries,

The cold fingers of January reach into her heart,

Little by little her memories are torn apart.

Like Hitchcock’s birds, her thoughts fly away,

She’s a bride dressed in yellow on a hot July day,

Paintings of moments lived out through the ages,

End up as blank stares from nearly vacant pages.

Now the sun is coming up and she’s ready to sleep,

She may be laughing or she might weep,

Give me the strength Lord, to see this through,

Let me show her love and kindness in everything I do.

© Dianna Doles Petry

Moments of a Life

This is a writing I penned in 2009 but want to share tonight. I think you will be able to relate to it.

Moments of a Life

This year got off to a rough start and the road has continued to be a bumpy one. I celebrated my birthday on the second day of the year and in the days after I had to acknowledge that I have lived for half a century now. A lot of learning has taken place in those fifty years and every step I took along the way has molded the woman I have become. Some call it life experience, some call it childhood, and some call it “training” a human being to be an adult. I've been thinking about a few of those life lessons today. I do this every time I hear of a death that touches my life in some way.

Our parents, our grandparents, our guardians, even our extended family has a hand in helping to teach us what is expected from us as we grow and become adults. In my childhood home manners were not an option, they were expected. We were taught to say “Please” and “Thank You” from the very first day we came home after our birth. We were taught by example; our parents used manners and we did too because it came right along with learning to talk. They wanted us to think of others and as my mother always told us, “Teaching starts in the home.”

We learned to say “Good morning” and “Good night” without realizing it was a way for our parents to keep track of us and either know that we were in a room with them or that it was safe for them to talk about adult subjects because we had gone to bed for the night.

Some of our hardest lessons came in the form of dealing with sibling rivalry and aggression. There were moments when my brother and I would have been fist fighting in the blink of an eye if we could have gotten away with it. One roll of the eyes could give either one of us that familiar sensation that this had happened before, in fact, maybe it was happening all the time. “MOM! He’s looking at me funny again!”

My mother’s solution to the problem was to make both of us sit down on opposite ends of the room until we could act like a brother and sister “should act.” We didn't know how to do that at the time, but by having to be perfectly quiet and sit still without moving we learned to pick and choose our battles.

Transitions in life teach us to always strive for more, to always improve ourselves, to strive for personal growth. We learn social skills and empathy. We seek wisdom and we reek of responsibility. The lessons are even deeper for a female because as she ages she is expected to become a caretaker to everyone she loves and cares about.

In the same respect, we learned about grief and how families mourn for loved ones who have passed from this life. When I was a young child, “wakes” or “viewings” were held in the family home of the deceased. Friends and relatives came to view the body and often carried in a pie, a can of coffee, or even a casserole dish for the family to serve to anyone in the house as needed. Many stories were told about the life of the departed and while the immediate family was grieving, very often laughter would be heard as people who had not seen each other in a very long time reconnected.

These wakes did not end at any particular time of the evening. It was not unusual for people to actually fall asleep in chairs set up throughout the house. A couple of relatives, usually a father and uncle, or sometimes brothers, stayed awake all night in the room where the viewing took place. Through the years, many stories evolved from the wakes and most of the stories were so funny you could not help but laugh. I learned not to fear death and from an early age I understood that we are all going to pass from this life at some point in time, we just never know when.

The hardest part of losing a loved one is the private soul searching we do as we wade through every memory, every event, and every decision we have made during life. Conflicts and disagreements swirl in our mind as if they are dancing with our soul. We tend to replay difficult conversations as if they were filmed for public viewing. We allow our minds to roam to the negative moments in the life we shared with someone else and we swim in a sea of regret. We fail to understand that every spat we had, every fear we felt, every laugh we shared and every kindness we offered were the moments of a life that helped us to form a bond, to share a connection, to be complete human beings.

There will never be a world or a relationship that is totally free of all problems. Parents do not always agree with their children. Siblings often battle between themselves and those battles often produce achievers in our society.

We all need to be a bit more kind if we can but not to the point of becoming a doormat. We can be more open-minded but not follow anyone along blindly like rats following the Pied Piper. We can become more accepting of one another and most of all, we can show gratitude for the time we were blessed to have someone in our life. Grieving is a moment in a life that is unavoidable but as long as we are alive we can keep the memory of our loved one alive.

Moments of a life: birth, reaching, grasping, desiring, achieving, setting goals, falling, loving, hating, playfulness, sulking, humility, creativity, passion, denial, adventure, acceptance, and finally, the natural end to life; death. It is not that final moment when we die that is most important, instead, it is all of the moments of a life that lead to that point.

Tonight as I gaze into the sky, I will appreciate the fact that I am a very small piece of a puzzle in the grand scheme of things. I will experience many moments in this life including new life and the loss of other lives. I am blessed, however, to be a part of the magic that surrounds me. Just this once, I will pause long enough to feel my heart beat. I will stand and say a few words to the people I miss so much and tomorrow I will live my life in the fullest way I possibly can. I know they would want that for me.

© Dianna Doles Petry

Rusted

I am sharing this poem written by my son, Chris, because so many women think men don't feel the pain and sorrow of lost love. Let me tell you, women hold far more power over a man than they might realize. It is only a man's world when he is happy and motivated to strive to make it a better world for the people he loves.

Rusted

Rusty hearts, they can’t beat

Dried up dust, is all they bleed

You thought I had a smile, but it’s just a crack in my skin

Thought you were happy when we were two, now I’m back to one again

 I’m just a wound

Peel back my scab and tear it loose

Take the neck of my love to a tree

And tie the noose

Kick the ground from beneath me and watch me fall

Push me off the hill and I’ll tumble like a ball

Take my eyes; I don’t want them so much anymore

Don’t want to see some beauty when it’s ugly in the core

Rusty lungs, they can’t breath

Dried up dust, is all they need

You thought I had a hope, but it’s just a crack in my skin

Thought you were the one when we were two, now I’m back to one again

I can’t take the thought

I fear I’ll feel that way again

Every time I say it’s my last time

In the flame called love, I’ll jump again and again

I’m just an accident

A train off the broken track

A bad car wreck with one survivor

And a sadly shattered back

I’m rusty again

Learning to live

It’s not been long

I’m rusted again

A rusty chain, pulled apart by its ends

Rusted, rusted again

© Chris Petry 2014

Aging Ungracefully

 

Life hasn’t been the same for her,

For many long years,
Her once contagious laughter,
Now dances with her fears.

Seems like the days drag along,

While the years keep rushing by,
I hold her hand and brush her hair,
Sit alone when I need to cry.

 I don’t how she fights to live,

Or what she dreams of when she sleeps,
Not sure if she enjoys the warmth of the sun,
I just know she’s not mine to keep.

My little gray haired mother,

Still beautiful by the light of the moon,
Time with her is always well spent,
Youth escapes all of us too soon!

 

© Dianna Doles Petry

Celebrating Motherhood #3

 

 

Celebrating Motherhood #3

 

I wanted everything to be perfect,

In the house where you were born,

Placed your bassinet by a window,

So you would feel the sun each morn.

 

I watched you grow into a young boy,

Soaring high on your swing set,

Climbing trees to save a baby bird,

Your imagination is growing yet.

 

One day you were Batman,

The next a cowboy head to toe,

I thought you’d be young forever,

Where did all the good times go?

 

I’m sure I seemed old-fashioned,

And how I loved to tease each guest,

I hope I wasn’t too embarrassing,

I tried so hard to give my best.

 

I still love to hear your cheerful voice,

I love to hear you when you sing,

Each moment with you is a memory I keep,

We don’t know what tomorrow may bring.

 

My child I loved to stroked your hair,

Tried to ease your worried brow,

If I could go back and hold you close again,

I would do it here and now.

 

© Dianna Doles Petry

Celebrating Motherhood #2

 

 

 

Celebrating Motherhood #2

Often, when I close my eyes at night,

My thoughts drift off to a beautiful sight,

When I was a child in my mother’s care,

And I sat quietly as she brushed my hair.

 

I learned to pray; “Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep.”

I was unaware of the events in her years,

Or how often I brought my mother to tears.

 

I didn’t see flaws, I loved her embrace,

I was always pleased to see her smiling face,

She lives in her own little world these days,

I’ve become her mother in many ways.

 

She asks for her own mother in her ninetieth year,

I feel on my cheek the hot sting of a tear,

I wipe it away without a care,

As I bend to brush back her now silver hair.

 

Her heartaches were many, her blessings were few,

Now her voice falters when talking to you,

To me she’s the woman with arms holding me tight,

Rocking me to sleep at the end of the night.

 

© Dianna Doles Petry

Celebrating Motherhood #1

 

 

Celebrating Motherhood #1

Neglected now is the little tricycle,

Little toy soldiers buried in disarray,

Long forgotten are the story books,

Dust gathers instead of children today.

 

Many times I prayed by night,

To keep you healthy day by day,

I mopped floors while you slept,

Until the day you moved away.

 

Neglected now are the little ribbons,

Dolls and teapots meant to teach,

Long forgotten is the swing set,

Daily hugs well out of my reach.

 

Many times I would kiss you,

Look at you and gently sigh,

Exhausted and sometimes struggling,

Yet content and knew just why.

 

Neglected now are the movies,

All the music you danced to then,

How I would love to hold you close,

And brush your unruly hair again.

 

© Dianna Doles Petry

Precious Peaceful Moments

Relaxed as a baby in her mother’s arms,

I close my eyes,

Kick off my shoes,

And hum a few lullabies.

Sprawled in my wooden swing,

Away from the chores and routine,

I can sit and ponder life at leisure,

Slowing the pace of this well-worn machine.

Feeling the still cool earth against my feet,

I think about feeding songbirds,

Happy moments long gone,

Like my father’s soothing words.

Music lingers in with a breeze,

Quickly chasing away my forming tears,

The hum of a lawnmower in the distance,

Is a reminder of the passing years.

Wasn’t it only yesterday,

I plucked flowers and played games?

My life was filled so many people then,

I couldn’t possibly remember all the names.

I breathe deeply and relax again,

While I convince myself I am not old,

I can still dazzle and create joy,

Still offer shelter when the night is cold.

There are never enough of these moments,

Never enough time to find what we seek,

I keep my eyes closed for a while,

Content to swing without taking a peek.

© Dianna Doles Petry

Spring Cleaning and Snack Breaks

For the last few weeks I have been in spring cleaning mode.  I have opened drawers I never open any other time to try to rid them of clutter. I go through my closets in an attempt to get rid of clothes I no longer wear and clothes my ample assets can no longer be stuffed into without my body taking on the appearance of a stuffed sausage roll.

This is a much more difficult task than you might think. I have a sweatshirt with an ironed on photo of my Goddaughter when she was two years old. That was the year her mother gave me the shirt. She is seventeen years-old now and the shirt is stained, faded, and has a couple of small holes but I cannot possibly part with it.

I am the owner of one of the ugliest sweaters I have ever seen in my life and I would not be caught dead wearing it but it has a designer label and I know the friend who gifted me with this paid a good deal of money for it. The sweater reminds me of her zest for living with its vibrant colors and strange patterns. I have to keep this sweater. There is really no other choice.

I own another sweater that I wear every year on January 19^th. That is the date my father passed away. I had given him the sweater on his last Christmas. It is very large on me and I have to push the sleeves up to keep them from swallowing my hands but I could never part with this sweater. It’s been washing at least twenty-three times but I still think I smell Old Spice whenever I put it on and it comforts me.

I gave up storing the winter clothes in the summer and vice versa many years ago. I leave my winter sweaters hanging right beside of my summer blouses. I finally figured out there was no real reason for moving all of the clothes around every season except to make more room in the closet. Extra room in the closets means I could store more boxes of memories and to be honest, memories don’t do you much good unless you can enjoy them.

Getting much of anything done here is a real chore and spring cleaning is no exception.  I do the cleaning at the same time I am taking care of my elderly mother. She doesn’t remember what year she was born and she will tell you she just talked to family members who have been deceased for the last twenty-five plus years. She is sure I haven’t fed her since 2001 when, according to her, I gave her biscuits and gravy that had cheese in it.

She wants a peanut butter sandwich every half hour and the other day she was in the middle of eating her dinner when she announced, “I’m hungry. Go fix me a peanut butter sandwich.”

I mentioned the owners of a local garage today and she said, “Are they the ones that had that restaurant?”

“Yes, Mother. They still have the restaurant.”

“They had the best steak hoagies. I think I want one of them.” She said.

Yesterday she said, “I want to go home.”

I replied, “Mother, you are at home.”

“No, I want to go to where I’m from.” She said this with a very serious look on her face and I had tears pooling at the corners of my eyes. Then she added, “That woman that was from there cooked pinto beans and cornbread and I want some of that.”

No matter what I cook or how often I give her a snack my mother always asks, “Do you have any pies? Cake? Cookies? What about Candy?” I guess food is about the only thing she remembers now and the only thing she really enjoys.

Every now and again then though, she surprises me. Yesterday I was lying on the couch trying to find something on television that might entertain her. The young lady living here passed through the living room with her infant and my mother looked up and said, “You were born in the middle of the night and all the nurses wanted to keep you.”

Tears again welled up in my eyes and I said, “Really mother? You remember that.”

“Of course I do.” She answered after a pause. “I was hungry and they held you while I sat up to eat my breakfast! I would have let them keep you if they would have given me some more coffee.”

Maybe someday instead of cleaning out the dust and the closets I’ll sort through my memories and my kinds will smile. I just hope I don’t ask for so much chocolate that I overdose myself with it! I guess food is the last vice any of us have if we survive into old age and our jobs are gone, our children have left the nest, our friends are as old as we are, and material objects just don’t bring us any joy anymore.

Shoot, I guess I should go ahead and clean out that stash of leftover Halloween candy right now while I’m thinking about it……

© Dianna Doles Petry

Blood on Metal: Where I Talk About Horror, Heavy Metal, Pop Culture, Art, and A Bunch of Other Stuff: Unique Singers

Blood on Metal: Where I Talk About Horror, Heavy Metal, Pop Culture, Art, and A Bunch of Other Stuff: Unique Singers:             Usually when discussing singers I, and just about everyone else, will analyze them in accordance to vocal range, impact, and ...

Never Ending Thoughts Sometimes I blurt out my thoughts without stopping to soften my words or make sure I am not stepping on any toes but I never intentionally plan my words to strike with pain. I never purposely use my words in place of a sword to spear anyone in the heart but alas, I am sure it occasionally happens. I read a post on Facebook today that left me wondering about the opinions we are all so eager to share at times. This particular post stated, “Marriage is a union created for procreation. If you can't have children you shouldn't get married.” I wonder if the person who wrote that statement has any idea of how many infertile couples there are in the world and how many tears have been shed because couples haven't been blessed with a child. I tried, when my children were still under my care, to teach them about ignorance, the cruelty one human could inflict on another, and prejudice. I wanted them to rise above these things. How many women would know they were incapable of conceiving until they tried to conceive, which is normally after the marriage vows have been taken? I am not sure how this post was meant but I can assure you it caused many women who saw it to feel unworthy and hurt. I have also had a dream on my mind all day. I dreamed it last night and many other nights previously. I was trying to fold my mother’s wheelchair and get it into the back of my truck but I wasn't able to lift it. No one seemed to see me as they passed by chattering about where they were going to eat after they left the doctor’s office or which mall they were going to visit later in the evening. I felt nameless and faceless and when I looked at myself in the side mirror of the truck I realized I was no longer the woman I used to be. I have this dream many nights but the truth is I often feel like an actress playing a role because I am not doing much of anything for myself. Somewhere along the line, while standing in line at the pharmacy, consulting with doctors, crying myself to sleep at times, and sometimes falling asleep in a chair and waking up with a stiff neck, my steps have slowed and I have started to roll out of bed and jump to active duty without so much as running a brush through my hair. I am no longer a woman standing out in front of the crowd and directing others. These days I am living more in the shadows of my responsibilities. Most of the time, if someone should ask how I feel, I respond “Fine, thank you.” I say this even if I have only had two hours of sleep or my joints are all throbbing like a toothache. I reply that I'm okay even if my feelings have been hurt or I feel tired and alone. Even when I feel like crap, mentally and physically, I say I'm fine to spare the feelings of those I care about. But if I slip up and say, “I feel like I've been run over by a truck and it kept backing up to run over me again,” I have made someone else feel bad because I admitted I am not fine. You know, it’s not easy to watch someone you love in pain every single day. It’s not easy to be tied to the house because you're afraid no one else can take care of them like you do. I can take Ibuprofen for the joints that ache and the headache that threatens to make my head explode but there are no drugs or numbing agents to help with the day to day struggles that come with being a caretaker. I spend my “free time” trying to run errands, making phone calls, making sure all the prescriptions have been filled for an entire family, preparing food, sometimes dropping off food, worrying about my pets, my neighbors, my extended family, insurance forms, paying bills, and often answering the same questions over and over again. Maybe someday I'll have the time to finish all of the work I have in progress. Maybe someday I'll stop dreaming about eroding like a sculpture in the middle of great sand storms. Maybe someday I won't have to feel guilty when I say, “I hurt all over,” instead of saying, “I'm fine.” For now, I'll just go back to being thankful someone bothers to ask how I am even if they don't really want to know. For the record, I'm doing just fine. ©Dianna Doles Petry

My Role as a Mother

My Role as a Mother

The last few weeks of my life have filled me with self-reflection and memories. My son’s long-term girlfriend informed him she wanted to end their relationship. She did this on Valentine’s Day right after a long romantic dinner and gift exchange. I have no doubt that my son will eventually move past the initial pain and trauma of this failed relationship and get on with his life. He sometimes dreams impractical dreams but he has a desire to follow those dreams and it keeps him motivated. I tried to see his girlfriend through his eyes but when I heard her laugh at the idea of having a child I will admit to having to take a deep breath and counting to ten before I said another word about anything.

 Two young women in my extended family are going through divorces and dealing with custody issues. One of those two young women gave birth just eight days ago. I have no doubt that the fathers involved in the divorces both love their children. Still, there is a bond between mother and child that no one else can build no matter how hard they try. A mother carries her child for nine months. The child knows her scent, the beat of her heart, and the sound of her voice by the time of the birth. Even adopted children form a bond with their adopted mothers. No other voice or touch ever takes the place of the one that caresses you, comforts you, and sometimes even scolds you when you’re a child.

Being a mother is not always easy. Trust me; there were many mothering moments in my life that were definitely not “Kodak” moments.  For instance, every year on Christmas Eve I ended up at the local emergency room with my daughter. Her nerves got the best of her as Christmas Day approached and she would begin vomiting on Christmas Eve. I never had to worry about her catching Santa in the act as he delivered packages. He had always been down the chimney and was gone by the time we made it back home in the wee hours of Christmas morning. By the time she was seven years-old the nursing staff had a small gift waiting for her when we got there.

Her father was never much help when she was throwing up. In fact, if he came within eye sight of her vomiting, he quickly headed for another bathroom in the house to throw up himself. I won’t even mention the lovely shade of green he took on when the scent of a freshly filled diaper hit the air anywhere within a few feet of him.

One day my son was playing in the neighbor’s yard and I heard him scream out in pain. I saw him fall to the ground and as I headed in that direction he got to his feet, grabbed the back of his head, and started toward me.  No one really knew how but apparently there was a large rock wedged in a tree in the neighbor’s yard. There was a group of children playing hide-and-seek and when my son ran to touch the tree they were using as home base, the rock fell and smashed into the back of his head. I’m not talking about a small rock either.

I immediately grabbed a white towel, soaked it with ice cold water, and placed it on the back of his head. Blood soaked the towel immediately and my son looked at me and said, “Mom, am I going to die?”

“Not on my watch, Son,” I said with false confidence.  I ushered him to the vehicle and was headed off to the hospital before his father was even sure of what had happened.  Eighteen stitches later we returned home to find his father sitting at the dining room table staring at the rock that had hit my son in the head. I wanted to crush the rock with a sledge hammer. His father wanted to take it to work and show everybody what had come out of a tree and hit his son in the head. Men and women think on different wave lengths.

I’ve been the one who nursed broken hearts, upset stomachs, and helped to hide a blemish that developed the morning senior portraits were to be done. I’ve heard doors slammed in frustration, eased self-doubts in teenagers, and cried with my children when they were hurting either physically or emotionally. I have given talks and lectures about the birds and the bees and sat with tear filled eyes explaining death.

I have also been the one to call my children to the mat when they did something dumb or tried to make excuses when there were no excuses for what they had done. I’ve helped them through selfish periods, bouts of immaturity, temper tantrums, and vulnerability.  I’ve doled out discipline and I’ve handed out bandages, hugs, and compassion as needed.

I’m not saying their father didn’t love them. I’m just saying that fathers tend to react differently to things than women do. God left the task of motherhood to women for a reason. Women are nurturers and caretakers by nature. Men are normally the providers and the protectors.

All of my children, the ones I birthed and the ones I gave my heart to by choice, have been blessings to me and each one of them have been my reason for getting up every day and trying to make the world a better place for all of us. 

Most women bring children into this world because children give back the love you give them without being disgusted by your flabby arms or your ten year-old car. With a child in your life the world doesn’t seem quite so unfriendly. I knew my role as a mother meant I had a chance to teach my children tolerance, compassion, and how to think outside of the box.  I knew I had to teach my children to make good choices about how to make their place in the world a happy place. My own children are adults now but I still possess my mothering instincts.

The young women I have here with me during this dark spot in their lives are both good mothers. I see it when I watch them with their children.  I have watched this young mother with the eight day-old infant change every diaper, prepare every bottle, and hold the baby to her chest to comfort the infant and herself. 

To be needed, to have someone who needs you to hold them, to have someone to guide through life and learn from your mistakes and teach you as they make new mistakes is what being a parent is all about. What could I do except welcome these young mothers into my home and my heart? I could do nothing else because I will be a mother to the world until I take my last breath. I would have it no other way!

© Dianna Doles Petry

After Labor Day

 

 

It took me several minutes of digging around in my purse this evening to find my vehicle keys so I could drive to work. Rain was steadily falling and I was sure it would bring down some tree limbs all along the route I drive to work each evening. As much as I had enjoyed the weekend I felt my mood turning more and more somber as the time for me to leave the house drew closer. Normally, I look forward to going to work but this evening I would have been content to stay home and watch the world pass me by as I looked through the front room window.

Today was Labor Day and the reality of summer coming to an end is no longer deniable. While I will not miss the extreme heat we experienced this summer I cannot say I’m looking forward to the long cold and barren days of winter. The beautiful flowers I’ve cherished since late spring will soon be bitten by Jack Frost and the rebirth and new beginning of another season in life will take charge and hold us all hostages until it weakens and fades away. That is the way of life and just thinking about the change of the season causes me to reflect on my life and all the changes I’ve experienced.

The last two days have been wonderful. My son arrived home late Friday evening and my daughter and son-in-law arrived Saturday afternoon. My daughter and her husband had just returned from a trip to Rhode Island and they arrived with coolers filled with lobsters, clams, and scallops. Hugs, love, and laughter were plentiful in the house on Saturday as my daughter and my son took over the kitchen and prepared a seafood feast. There was a time when I would have been trying to clean water rings from beneath glasses while people were still drinking from them and trying to keep every utensil and bowl washed as it was being used but not this weekend. For this occasion, I stood back and enjoyed the interaction between my son and my daughter as they worked together like two well oiled pieces of machinery doing a job they had been designed to do. Wasn’t it only a few years ago that I was hearing, “Mom, can you make me a sandwich? School was a beast today and I’m starved!”

My son was the first to leave the house this morning for the trip back to Pittsburgh. He had already loaded up his two fur babies and his luggage when he grabbed me in a bear hug and held on tightly for longer than he normally does. He turned and headed for his car stopping one last time to look back at me standing on the front porch before he slid behind the steering wheel. His last wave good-bye as he drove off was not the enthusiastic wave he offered when he was first leaving home for the big city. His wave today was born of being torn between his new life and determination to succeed and his desire to remain my little boy at the same time. Who said growing up was going to be all fun? Wasn’t it just a short time ago that my young man would be filled with frustration and in an effort to ease that frustration, pick up an ax and head off to the woods where he would land blow after wood splintering blow to a tree until we had too much firewood for the fire pit and he had no energy left to use for anger?

Next to leave was my Goddaughter. How in the world did she change so quickly from being a little tomboy with pigtails in her hair to a beautiful sixteen year-old with plans for college? It seems like only yesterday she was standing at the fence as she intently watched two young boys just waiting for any possible opportunity to join them while they rode their bikes, or better yet, have them come back into the yard to swing her around and around like an airplane or help her climb up the ladder to the slide over and over again until they were all exhausted? Wasn’t it just a few years ago that her lower lip was constantly protruding in a pout and her favorite activity was running away with grandma’s television remote so someone would have to chase her down to get it?

The last to leave was my daughter, my first born, my first real joy as well as my first real challenge. She was always impetuous and full of questions, fragile with a determination forged of titanium, wore her heart on her sleeve but defended her family with enough courage to rival any knight. Wasn’t it just a short time ago that she was learning to drive, developing new tastes in music, baby sitting and bringing the children home with her for lunch, and soon after, falling in love for the first time?

Friends and family filled my home with love and laughter all weekend but today I had to fight an empty feeling from taking up residence in my heart as the cars pulled out of the driveway. Walking back into the house felt a bit like walking into a morgue; far too quiet, unsettling, the silence almost deafening!

My life has taken many turns through the years. Most of the paths I envisioned myself taking always seemed off course and the paths I did end up taking I never really planned at all. Everything changes, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worst, but nothing stays the same forever. These days I am working a full time job, still a care giver to my eighty-nine year old mother, experiencing aches and pains in places I don’t even remember having, and oddly enough, missing things I once thought of as irritating. Still, I am blessed in many ways, still standing, and still smiling.

I miss the noise and commotion a house filled with children brings. I miss the door slamming shut oodles of times every day. I miss the constant stream of teenagers and even their appetites which left me in the poor house more than a few times. Would you believe I even miss cleaning the floors at two in the morning because that was the only time I could do it without someone walking across them to get to the refrigerator? Well, I do.

I miss having people always at hand to talk to, being able to share my thoughts about a book or movie, and most of all; I miss the feeling of accomplishing something every day just because I made them smile. I am really thankful they have cell phones so I can keep in contact with them as often as we need to talk to each other. I am also really thankful for the friends who still come home to let me share their lives as their “other mom.”

The nice thing about this time of the year is having several holidays in a close time frame. I had better start planning the holiday menus now. No matter where they go, what they accomplish, or who they spend their time with, they are still my family and my family is always the most important thing on my mind. The seasons will continue to change and we will change with them. As long as we are here to go through those changes we can still change the path we’re on at any time. The important thing is to never forget the way back home!