Category: Uncategorized

When I sit down to write, Sister Carmalita is hitting my knuckles with a ruler and chanting “You dumb bunny!” I am sure she really wanted to say “You dumb shit!” I am not making this up.

Prose is torturing me lately, I get caught in run-on sentences and different tenses; but poetry is shorter and easier. I am so naive!  Writing poetry demands discipline, focus, and the determination to travel to the ends of the earth to find the perfect word. I know that I have enough angst and sorrows, and these emotions are a requirement for writing poetry. I decide that writing poetry is foolish, but I will try anyway and see how it goes.  I am a risk taker.

Tears

One single raindrop
Quietly grows a deluge
One plus one plus one….

Winter Grief

Tree Bones and knuckles
Black blood crawls through hollow veins
Thin capillaries expand
Green Spring still a dream

Dark
Cat fight, screams and howls
The night symphony begins.
Loud clashing sounds hurt, but still
I stop to listen.

Roger would have loved the Sister Carmalita story and added it to his catalog of stories with a few embellishments. He loved to laugh and make others laugh.

What would you do if you had no fear? Several days ago, my good friend and I were talking about regrets and aging, and we posed this question to each other. Before I even thought or consciously considered the question, I blurted out “I want to run!” It was like I bypassed my brain, but something within me answered anyway. I knew I wanted to run physically,and run spiritually.

When I shared this story with my therapist she asked me what I wanted to run away from, and I asserted that I was not running away, I was running towards. She asked”What or where are you running towards?” Well I thought 3 miles, 5 days a week was a good answer. Physically I wanted to feel strong and I have always loved the rhythm of running. My thoughts were clearer when my legs were moving me along and I was breathing hard.

I ran for many years, but I got “old” and I quit, sure my running days were behind me. I told everyone I used to run and that I used be in great shape.  A life of “used to’s” I now realize just makes me a “has been”. So slowly I am running and adding distance or time in small increments. I feel good and pay attention to my body ,and I do feel stronger.

In the spiritual realm where I look for purpose and meaning,  it’s much harder for me to know what it is I am running towards. At 63, I sense that time is not on my side. Being famous and saving the world is probably not going to happen for me, no matter how fast I run, or walk or crawl. Regret is most painful when it is about roads not taken. Why didn’t I take that trip, or go to medical school, or hang onto my dreams? Ruminating on regrets is a waste of my time, it’s like asking for a do-over when the time for that is long past.

I have to start where I am today, and keep moving, and keep listening to my soul, and know that I can’t let fear stop me.  Finally, I really get what FDR said: “There is nothing to fear, but fear itself.”  I won’t allow fear to shrink my life and spirit.  No fear! Who knows what I might run into?

For months after Roger died, it was impossible for me to write because my words were all gone.  There was nothing to say because my grief was squeezing the life out of my heart.  I was very busy instructing my heart to keep beating.  Beat, beat, breathe in, breathe out, beat, beat….

Now I am surprised to find that I can trust my heart to keep beating, and I breathe without conscious awareness.  My words are coming back, but they often fail me.  I know that I need to create a life “after” Roger’s death and my writing helps me begin to do that.  Grammar and punctuation be damned! My feelings refuse to follow any rules.

Putting pen to paper now would mean my tears would fall on the paper, and blur the ink where they landed.  The type on a tablet screen can’t be blurred by tears falling on the screen and this seems a little dishonest, but please witness me as I write about the days to come. I am honored to have your company.

Somehow I lost my ability to post to my original blog”agingtroublesandtreasures”,so I have created a new and improved(?)site”agingwrinklesawonders”.  Please read all of my earlier posts here. I am sorry that my technical disability has caused this mess. Perhaps this disruption in my blogging can serve to create a “before” and  “after”.

My husband,Roger, had Lewy Body Dementia. He died on November 1, 2015. He had just turned 64. We had a wonderful birthday celebration for him in September. He understood it was his special day and he was with people that loved him. Dementia did not steal that day from him, but complications from dementia took his life soon after.  So this is my “after”; my life since Roger died. Of course, Roger will always live in my heart and memories.

Roger Lee Watson

Born: September 22, 1951

Died: November 1, 2015