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THE MOST DIFFICULT TIME OF MY LIFE

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My childhood home in Maple Shade, NJ

My childhood home in Maple Shade, NJ

If someone asked me what the most difficult time of my life was, I would have to say that it would be a difficult question to answer. Why? Honestly, I have had many difficult experiences over the course of my lifetime. I am seventy-three years old, and most of my life is spent behind me rather than in front of me. Like everyone else who has lived as long as I have, my life has had many ups and downs.

I believe the most difficult years I experienced in my life were 1986 and 1987. This is how it began. In 1986, my husband and I moved back to New Jersey. He had just graduated from Brooks Institute, a photography school in Montecito, California. We stayed with my parents for a short time. I then purchased a small house in Pennsauken, about fifteen minutes from my parent’s house. Bob had served in the military to secure a home mortgage without a down payment. By that time, he had found and been hired for a full-time position in the Philadelphia area.

I had long anticipated a time when we would be able to start a family. We were married for seven years before I had any children. In 1981, I tested positive on a pregnancy test, and nine months later, I gave birth to my first child, whom we named Jeanette after my eldest sister, who had passed away from emphysema. My mother and father were happy for us. Three years later, I had my second child. Our family was complete.

I visited my parents often since I only lived a short distance from Maple Shade, where my parents lived and where I grew up. One day, I drove with my children to my parent’s house to visit them. As I was sitting at the kitchen table, my father, who was retired by this time, called out to me. He was in the hallway outside of the bathroom. When I got to the hallway, my father indicated wanting me to look in the toilet. I looked at it was filled with blood. My father had a stroke several years before this, and he was aphasic, and it was difficult for him to speak and make himself understood. 

I contacted my siblings and informed them about my father’s health issue. I was the only one who was not working at the time since I had two young children at home, and all my other siblings were working at that time. I made an appointment with his primary physician for my father, who then referred him to a specialist. After the specialist examined my father and had xrays taken, he determined that my father had lung cancer and it was advanced. And there wasn’t any treatment available for him.

The next several months were difficult. My father’s cancer advanced and worsened over the next several months. It became clear that he wasn’t going to survive much longer. My father had been smoking two packs of cigarettes a week for many years.

My mother would then be alone. My father had given me power of attorney, so I was responsible for my parents paying the rent and all expenses. I spoke to my siblings and asked if they would all be able to take turns coming to my parent’s house at night during my father’s illness. And they agreed to do so.

I won’t lie, this time of my father’s illness was one of if not the worst experiences of my life up to that point. And it was clear that my mother was broken-hearted as well. She had been married to my father since she was nineteen years old. They did not have a perfect marriage. But they certainly loved one another and had a strong bond. And they had six children together. I can only imagine how frightened my mother was at that time. My mother had glaucoma, limited vision, and heart failure.

It wasn’t long after that my father started to refuse to eat or take all his medication. He coughed and coughed all night. And my dear mother was unable to sleep. She said the rosary all night, hoping that my father would be delivered from his pain. I made every attempt to hire a night nurse to help take off my father since it was getting more and more difficult to take care of him. He was refusing food and his medication, and he kept falling out of his bed. Eventually, I ordered a bed with sidebars to keep him from falling out. And it was difficult to get him up when he fell. He was a big man. Finally, I secured a night nurse to assist with my father’s care. My siblings and I began to take turns staying overnight at my parent’s house. So, my mother would not be alone with my father if sometihing unttoward happened at night. It was difficult for all of us since we were all married and had young children at home.

We began keeping track of the liquids and solids my father took in because of his diabetes. My sister Karen gave my father his insulin shots. In general, nights were the most difficult since neither of my parents could sleep during the night. My father began having a difficult time breathing at night and had to be checked often during the night.

The following day, my dear father passed away. It was a big loss for us all, but my father had suffered long enough. My dear mother was heartbroken, to say the least. I can not express the depth of my sense of loss when my father passed away. Not just myself but all my siblings and, of course, my dear mother, who had been married to my father since she was nineteen.

My mother could not live alone, and I felt she would feel most at ease in her own house since she was blind. I decided the best resolution was to hire someone to come and stay with her during the week. And she could cook and clean the house and keep my dear mother safe. I advertised and received several responses, and after interviewing several people, I hired a middle-aged woman named Doris Cook. She was a kind and caring person, and my mother felt comfortable and safe with her. She stayed at my mother’s house during the week. And then went home for the weekend. My siblings and I took turns having our mother stay at their houses on weekends.

My mother was depressed by the loss of her husband but managed to maintain her equilibrium for the most part. My mother suffered a heart attack and complete respiritory arrest about ten months after my father passed. It was a very difficult time for myself and the entire family. I can not express the loss I felt after losing both of my parents. My father passed in Oct. of 1986, and my dear mother passed in August of 1987. I still miss them to this day. The loss of one’s parents is a big loss and difficult to move forward from. My children never had the opportunity to get to know them since they were so young when my parents passed.

Life is so difficult at times, and you may believe you will never get over the losses you suffer. But somehow, you do. There are no other alternatives. I had to keep moving forward because I had two young children to care for, and I knew my mother and father would not want me to do otherwise. There are many challenges in life, and you have no alternatives but to overcome them.

 

 

 

SHE WAS LAID TO REST

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I received the call very late at night, long after I went to bed. Long after, I finally fell asleep. I heard the phone ringing. But my mind refused to acknowledge it. We all know that good news never arrives after midnight. And this call was no exception to that maxim.

In the morning, after my first cup of coffee, I notice the message light on my phone is blinking. I look at the caller ID. It’s my Great Aunt Maeve’s number. I can’t remember the last time I heard from her. The fact is, I thought she died decades ago. I haven’t kept in touch with that side of the family. Too Catholic, you know. Too old school. Too judgmental.

My life choices would not bear scrutiny. Not that I’m a serial killer or anything that drastic. Just that, well, let’s say I believe the ten commandments have some flexibility in them, some leeway, if you know what I mean. For instance, it’s not that bad to lie as long as you aren’t hurting anyone with that lie. It’s not that bad if you steal, as long as it isn’t hurting anyone personally. And if the money isn’t missed by anyone, then what’s the harm?

Besides, the church doesn’t believe in drinking or playing the horses or gambling at all, for that matter, unless it’s Bingo. But really, how is that any of their business anyway? What’s the problem with the occasional pint, or ten pints for that matter? Isn’t hurting anyone else, is it? No, of course, it isn’t. Get over yourself. Mind your own business. That’s what I say. Mind your own damn business.

I push the message button.  It isn’t my Great Aunt Maeve. It’s her granddaughter Katie. I always had kind of a crush on her. She was a real Irish beauty back in the day. Hair down to her waist, as dark as coal and so thick your fingers would get lost in it. Her eyes, well, they were that shade of blue that looks like blue ice. Light blue, deep as the ocean. You could drown in those eyes. Her body was a young man’s dream. Sometimes I couldn’t get to sleep at all at night just from thinking about her.

“What’s that, you say? Isn’t she’s your cousin?” Yeah, sure, she’s my cousin. But not my first cousin. What’s the harm, I say? We were young, and it was all very innocent — just a kiss or two, nothing more. Oh, get over yourself.

Anyway, Katie is letting me know that Aunt Maeve has passed over to the great beyond. She tells me the funeral is in three days. And, of course, after the funeral will be the traditional Irish Wake. Well, ordinarily, I avoid funerals like the plague. But an Irish Wake well that I wouldn’t miss even if it were going to be my own goddamn wake. Especially then, I guess. She tells me that the funeral is at 10:30 on Friday morning at Holy Mackerel Church. OK, so that’s not the real name.

It’s really called St. Patrick’s. It’s in Gloucester City, NJ. Don’t let anyone ever tell you the Irish have any creativity. Every other church and child’s name is Patrick. Even after the church admitted, there never was a real St. Patrick. They just continued naming every child and church after him. The Irish lot is about as stubborn as they get; don’t let anyone tell you any differently.

Well, no doubt about it, I was going to have to fortify myself in the next couple of days with some good booze and beer. If I am going to survive a week with my family. I’ll have to be good and drunk and stay that way if my psyche will survive the inquisition that every cousin, aunt, or uncle is going to put me through. But, not to worry, I’ve had years of practice — years of training. I’m up to the challenge. Ready or not, here I come.

So here I’m on my way to the funeral. I have Radar Love cracked up as high as possible. I get off the freeway to buy a six-pack of Old Milwaukee. Yeah, I know not a beer of choice unless you like the taste of armpit, but it brings you right down to earth. And that’s what you need when you are going to spend more than a week with the dearly departed and your loved ones.

As I pull off Route 130 onto Market Street in Gloucester, NJ, I have an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. It could be nausea, could be I drank too much. But I doubt that since I have a pretty high tolerance for alcohol in any form. As I see the house at the end of the street, I realize I feel like that kid I was long ago that left home at twenty. Angry, resentful, lonely.

Indeed, I didn’t come back as a war hero or successful businessman.  But hell, I’m a tin knocker. When I work, I make pretty decent money. When I don’t, I live on unemployment until the Union calls me back. That’s life if you work in construction.

I pull my 1971 El Camino next to the curb and stare over at the house. It looks the same. It’s a two-story stucco with faded shutters and a red front door with black hinges. My Uncle Hugh just loved to paint everything black and red. He was quite the character. Heavyset with those light blue eyes. And could be mean as a snake if you got on his wrong side. He was the one that caught Katie and me kissing on the couch in the basement.

The lilac bush was overgrown, and the grass hadn’t been cut in a long time.

But still, it’s the house where I spent most of his youth. My Aunt Maeve took care of me every summer. She fed me Lebanon bologna and cheese. Or sometimes fried bologna sandwiches with chicken noodle soup. Every Sunday, she made a different kind of cake for dessert. My favorite was chocolate cake with vanilla icing sprinkled with shredded coconuts. It was the only day they ate roast beef and noodles. I can almost smell it while I stand here on the porch.

I have my hand poised, ready to knock, but at the last moment, I grasp the doorknob and turn it. The door opens, and I hear a chorus of voices all talking at the same time. Aunt Aileen yells out,” it’s our Danny standing at the door like a stranger. ”Come in, come in and give us a kiss for the love of god. Has the cat got your tongue?”

“Hello, Aunt Aileen. It’s been a long time. You look great.”

“Oh, get on with you. You must have kissed the blarney stone. Say hello to your Uncle Pat.”

“Hello, Uncle Pat.”  He’s sitting on an ancient upholstered rocking chair. There’s duct tape holding it together. He’s even fatter than I remember. He’s wearing a red and white striped shirt with a pocket. In the pocket are his Pall Mall cigarettes. He lost all of his hair, which was thinning even back when I was a kid. I can smell the nicotine on him from two feet away. The lampshade on the coffee table next to him is stained yellow from years of exposure to Uncle Pat’s smoking unfiltered Pall Malls.

“Well, I may have put on a pound or two. You’re a grown man Danny, but I would have recognized you anywhere. So, what have you been up to? What kind of work are you doing these days?”

“I’m a tin knocker, Uncle Pat, just like my dad. I’m sorry I didn’t come back for his funeral. I didn’t hear about it until long after. I was in the middle of moving at the time. And staying with a friend. I should have kept in touch.”

“Well, you’re here now. That’s all that matters. Sit down, take a load off.  Your Aunt Aileen will get you something to eat. There’s enough to feed an army, as usual. I hope you brought your appetite with you. You’re a bit on the scrawny side, if you don’t mind me saying. But your Aunt Aileen will fill you out, don’t you worry. She’ll be right back with a plate.”

Danny plops down on the couch. He could swear it was the same couch he remembered from his childhood. They must have finally taken the plastic cover off.  He looks around the room, and there’re some familiar faces. Older than he remembered, but still, he would know them anywhere. Danny doesn’t see Katie anywhere. Maybe she’s in the kitchen. It’s loud in here.  Irish music is playing in the background. He thinks it’s the Clancy Brothers. When he was a teenager, he couldn’t stand hearing all the Irish tunes.

At that moment, he hears his Aunt Liz calling out, “Danny, Danny, my boy, where is he? Oh, there you are. Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Come here, give us a hug.”

Danny stands up and walks over to her and is crushed in her bosomy embrace. When he catches his breath, he looks up at her. Her face bears the weight of the years and all the pain she has to carry.” “Hello, Aunt Liz, it’s good to see you. It’s been a long time. You look good. Is Katie here? I haven’t seen her?”

“Oh, sure, she’ll be here in a  shake of a lamb’s tail.  Oh, I’ve forgotten how you two used to be as thick as thieves when you were kids. I’m so happy you came. I wish you had come back before Maeve left us. She talked about you all the time, and you were the light of her life. Why don’t you come into the kitchen with me and you can fix a plate? You look half-starved, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Danny follows his Aunt Liz into the kitchen. It looks as if time has stood still in this kitchen. It’s still painted a cream-colored stained with years of nicotine. The linoleum floor remained in the orange and brown checkered board pattern. Tracks are worn into the tile surface from forty years of foot traffic.

Danny walks over to the narrow cabinet next to the refrigerator and opens it. The ironing board is still neatly hidden within its depths. The General Electric refrigerator had been replaced by a more recent and larger one. And the chandelier which once graced the ceiling is now a fluorescent light fixture. Danny’s Uncle Hugh had an artistic streak and often replaced everyday household items with his creations.

Take a load off Danny. Danny pulls out the chair and sits down. His Aunt puts a plate down in front of him. Danny looks down, and his plate is so full there isn’t an inch of space that isn’t covered with food. He picks up his fork and starts shoveling it in. He hadn’t eaten a home-cooked meal in years. Mostly his diet consisted of fast food and bologna and cheese sandwiches, followed by a six-pack of Michelob.

When he looks up again, everyone is staring at him because his plate is entirely empty. And they all start laughing. Danny is embarrassed at first, but then he too joins in the laughter. He didn’t realize how hungry he had been.

“Well, you poor thing, are you still hungry? Do you want some dessert? We have some homemade chocolate cake with vanilla icing with coconut on top. What do you say?”

“I’m pretty full, but yeah, I would love a piece of homemade cake.”

His Aunt Liz hands him a huge piece of cake, and a cup of coffee, so strong Danny tastes the caffeine before he swallows any. After he finishes, he rubs his stomach and exhales. “ God, that was the best meal I’ve had in years. Probably since the last time I ate since the last time I was here. Thanks so much.”

As Danny looked around at all the faces at the table, he noticed there were tears on his Aunt’s and Uncle’s cheeks. At the same time, he realizes there are tears running down his own cheeks.

His Aunt Liz comes over and hugs him. “Oh, Danny, we have all missed you so much. It’s sad that losing Maeve’s passing is what it took for us to get you back. But I know that she would be thrilled to see you sitting back at her table.”

Danny looked up at her. ”Aunt Liz, I didn’t realize how much I missed all of you. Aunt Maeve was the closest thing I had to a mother. I guess I couldn’t get over all the anger I had when I left. I just wanted to block out all the angry words between my dad and me. And then he died, and I felt so guilty. That I hadn’t come back and made it right, I couldn’t face the funeral. I’m glad I come back now. It’s hard to be in the world without anyone caring what happens to you.”

“Oh, Danny, we did care. We all love you. We never stopped. OK, no more tears today. Let’s try to remember the good times we all had with Maeve.”

The next morning Danny comes downstairs from his old bedroom dressed for the funeral and feels a sudden emptiness.  On some level, he was expecting his Aunt Maeve to be sitting at the table drinking her tea and reading the paper. He did hear his Uncles and Aunts talking quietly together. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.

“Good morning Danny, how did you sleep? I guess your childhood bed was a bit uncomfortable for you.”

“I slept fine. I fell right to sleep and slept through the night. What time will we be leaving for the funeral?”

“In an hour. Danny, we would like it if you were one of the pallbearers, and I would like you to get up and say a few words about Maeve. You were such a big part of her life. She would have liked that. What do you have to say?”

“Well, I’m not much on public speaking, but yeah, I’d like to say a few words. After we eat, I’ll go upstairs and write down some of my memories of Aunt Maeve. I hope I don’t mess it up.”

“Danny, just speak from your heart. You never had any faith in yourself. But we do. We always did.”

“OK, I will do my best, Uncle Hugh.”

After breakfast, Danny went upstairs and started thinking about his Aunt Maeve and how much she meant to him. And how much she had loved him and accepted him just the way he was. If it hadn’t been for her, Danny would have left long before he got out of high school. His father was a falling-down drunk and used him as a punching bag. His mother had left when he was about three or four. He had very few memories of her at all.

Without his Aunt Maeve, he wouldn’t have survived his childhood. As he thought about that, he realized how much he missed by not keeping in touch with her for the past ten years. He can’t do anything about the past. But he can do something about the here and now. He starts writing.

It’s time for Danny to step up to the pulpit. He clears his throat and looks up and out at all the people who came to acknowledge his Aunt Maeve’s passing but also celebrate her life. He sees his cousin Katie in the first row. She nods at him and lifts her chin up. It’s a signal they used to use to give each other support. When they were young and, things got tough. He lifted his chin to her.

“Good morning, everyone. We are all gathered here to mourn the loss of someone dear to us, someone we will all miss. She will leave an empty space in our lives that she used to fill. But I hope we can fill that space with all the loving memories we have of Aunt Maeve.

For me, she was that safe place I could go when I felt all alone and unloved. She would cook a hot meal. She always gave me a warm and loving hug and a kiss on my cheek. She assured me that I was a person of value. And that I was someone that she loved and would always love, no matter what. She accepted me for who I was and never told me I wasn’t good enough, not smart enough, or not good-looking enough. She held my hand and warmed my heart.

My life was richer for having known her. When I talked to her, she listened. She heard and cared. She was never too busy. She was always there for me. I can see by the way you are nodding your heads that she did the same thing for each of you. We were blessed by having to know her. She was both strong and soft at the same time. I can only hope that someday I can inspire someone else the way she inspired me always to work hard and do my best. So, as we go forward in our lives, let us keep her in our hearts and minds. I know she will be traveling with me throughout my journey through life. I will always feel her by my side, and I will never be alone again.

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THE GARDEN OF TEARS

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It seems like a lifetime ago but it really wasn’t. It was only a year ago that I had lost all faith in myself and my life so much so that I didn’t feel like living anymore. It all began when I was involved in a serious car accident. I was driving along Route 70 in Cherry Hill. I was taking my mother to her eye doctor. She only had vision in one of her eyes because she had a detached retina the year before and her eye doctor was unable to repair it.

My mom was sitting in the front passenger seat. Out of nowhere a semi-truck in front of me lost control of his vehicle when someone cut in front of him and he was unable to slow down quickly enough and he hit the car and I rear-ended him. And then a car behind me hit my car. That’s the last thing I remember. 

When I woke up or perhaps became conscious I found myself in the emergency room of a hospital. The first words out of my mouth were, “is my mother alright? She was with me in my car. Is my mother alright?”

The nurse that was standing next to me took a hold of my hand and said, “I’ll go get the doctor.”

“No wait, wait just tell me that my mother is alright.”

The next thing I knew there was a tired-looking bespectacled and bald doctor standing next to my bed. He said, “Miss Reynolds, I’m sorry to have to tell you this but unfortunately your mother was very seriously injured and she passed away on the way to the hospital. There was nothing we could do.”

“What? No that can’t be true. We were just on the way to her eye doctor’s. It’s a twenty-five-minute drive from our house. She can’t have died. She’s the only family that I have left. The tears started running down my cheeks. I felt my heart break. I mean I literally felt my heart break in two. There was a tremendous weight in my chest. I couldn’t understand how I could still be alive and breathing. My chest started to hurt, I couldn’t breathe.

The doctor called out for the nurse to bring the defibrillator stat. The next thing I remember is when I woke up I felt confused. I didn’t immediately recall what had happened. There were all kinds of tubes in me and on me. There was something in my throat and I couldn’t talk. And then a doctor and a nurse appeared out of nowhere. And they started checking all the tubes and my pulse.

The doctor said, “Miss Reynolds, please try to calm down. Do you remember where you are?”

I tried to calm down. I slowed down my breathing and counted to fifty. My mother used to tell me to do that when I got upset. As I thought of my mother, it all came rushing back to me. And the tears started streaming down my face again.

“Miss Reynolds please try to remain calm. You had a mild heart attack. You’re going to be alright. But you must keep calm. I’m going to ask you some questions. Please don’t try to talk, just nod or shake your head from left to right. Do you understand?”

I nodded my head up and down.

“Are you having any chest pain or difficulty breathing?”

I moved my head from left to right slightly.

“Alright you’re doing well, now try to take slow, easy breaths. It doesn’t look like any serious damage was done to your heart. I have no doubt that you will recover completely. I want you to stay here for another twenty-four hours and we will monitor your heart and your overall condition. And send you home with some medication and the name of a cardiologist that you should see in about two weeks. He will take over your care. And once again I want to remind you to take it easy and slowly return to your regular activities. Do you understand?”

I nodded my head up and down.

“OK, we’re going to remove the tube in your throat, but leave in the IV for now. It will feel a little uncomfortable and your throat may be sore for a couple of days. Today you will be on a liquid diet. And if you are feeling better tomorrow we’ll try solid food. And hopefully, you will be released. Do you have someone who can pick you up?”

I nodded my head up and down again.

A nurse came into the room and stood next to my bed, “alright nurse could you please remove the endotracheal tube?”

As she removed the tube I felt a choking sensation and almost started coughing but I calmed myself down and I was finally able to breathe on my own again.

“Can you breathe without difficulty?”

“I said, “yes.” But my voice came out all raspy and my throat hurt.

“Can I see my mother?”

“I’m sorry Miss Reynolds but your mother is no longer in the hospital morgue. She was transported to the local mortuary. The nurse will give you the information and phone number for you to contact if you feel up to calling them. Or if you give the nurse a family or friend’s name we can contact them and ask them to come here and assist you in these details. Do you have someone to call?”

“Yes, my closest friend, Marilyn.”

“Do you have any relatives to call and notify?”

“No, no one. My mother and I were the only family left and now she’s gone. My father died two years ago from cancer. I’m all alone.”

“ I’m sorry to hear that but please, please try to relax. You can give the nurse the name of your friend and contact information. I will come in later before I’m off–duty today and check on you. There‘s a button you can push if you need help to go to the bathroom or you need anything else. Alright?”

I nodded my head up and down. But the tears kept running down my cheeks even though I had put a smile on my face for the doctor. And then he turned and walked slowly out of the room. I wondered how anyone could even work in a hospital and remain sane. All the death, the loss, the fear, responsibilities, and the weight of all the broken hearts.

The next morning I was given a soft boiled egg and limp toast for breakfast and lukewarm tea. I hate soft-boiled eggs but I ate it anyway my stomach was growling. And I know that they wouldn’t let me out of here until I ate something and went to the bathroom.

I called Marilyn and she said that she had been trying to get a hold of me for two days and was going out of mind with worry. I told her about the car accident and she started to cry. Which made me start crying all over again. She told me she would be there at ten AM sharp. And I believed her because she has never let me down ever. She is the sister I never had. I trust her as much as I trusted my dear mother.

The doctor came into my room about twenty minutes after I hung up the phone on Marilyn. “how are you feeling today?”

“Honestly doctor I don’t know how to feel. I never lost my mother before and had a terrible car accident and had a heart attack in the space of two days. If it wasn’t for my friend, Marilyn I don’t know what I would do.”

“But how are you feeling physically? I think you should stay in the hospital for another day. But since you don’t want to do that I’m giving you my office number. And if you have any difficulty at all, any chest pain, call and we will fit you in. I have scheduled you for a check-up at the Cardiologist I recommended in two weeks, don’t miss it. If you have any problem with the medication I prescribed call my office. I’m serious. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand. Thank you, doctor. I’ll see you soon.”

My friend Marilyn showed up at 10 AM sharp. As soon as she came to my room’s door I felt the muscles in my stomach relax. She came over and put her arms around me and didn’t let go for at least five minutes. We were both crying. “Oh, Marie I’m so, so sorry about your mother. This is so hard to take in I can not even begin to understand how badly you feel. How are you feeling now? Are you having any more chest pains?”

“No, they put me on medication. It has helped a lot. I have the doctor’s number and I have an appointment set up in two weeks. I have to arrange the funeral. It’s just so difficult to believe that I’ll never see my mom again. And that’s when I started crying again. I don’t know where all the tears come from. I thought I would have run out by now.

“Well, I’m going to be with you the whole way. You won’t be doing this alone at all. And I went over to your house and packed a suitcase and your personal things and brought them to my house. Because that is where you will be staying for as long as you need to.”

“Thank you Marilyn I was dreading going to my house and not seeing my mother standing there waiting for me. I just don’t know how I will go on without her.”

“You won’t be alone, I love you like a sister. I hope you know that I will always be there for you, no matter what.”

I looked at Marilyn and said,”you’re the best I don’t know how I was so lucky to meet you and stayed friends ever since first grade.”

Marilyn helped me hobble over to the bathroom and then I said, “oh no, I don’t have any clothes to wear they cut them off when I was in the emergency room.”

“Not to worry Marie, I brought some comfortable pants and a sweatshirt and underwear and socks and a pair of your sneakers. I’m going to help you take the gown off and put on your clothes. I brought your navy blue jacket too.”

I looked a Marilyn and the tears rolled down my face. I wiped them away. And new tears appeared. “I’m sorry Marilyn I can’t seem to stop crying.”

“Don’t apologize anymore, Marie. You have nothing to apologize for. You are the strongest person I know. You took care of your dad for two years when he was dying from cancer. You have been taking care of your mother. You are so much stronger than you realize. You are the bravest person I have ever known.”

“I don’t feel strong at all. It feels like my heart could stop at any minute. I can’t think of a single reason to keep breathing in and out. I can’t imagine living another day without seeing my beautiful mother again. Life without my mom will be an empty and lonely one without her. Oh Marilyn I don’t think I can go on without my mother. It was bad enough when my dad died. And now I’m all alone.”

Now Marilyn was crying too. “No, no, no you are not alone. I am here for you and I always will be. Your mother wouldn’t want you to feel this way. She would want you to continue on with your life and find happiness again. She would never, never want you to give up on life. Promise me that you won’t give up. I need you. Look straight at me and promise that you won’t give up.”

I looked right into Marilyn’s eyes and they were red and swollen and I knew I didn’t want to be the one that made Marilyn feel alone in the world. I knew she needed me as much as I needed her. “I promise I won’t say that again. I will try my best. I will take one day at a time to keep going. I promise I won’t leave you alone. And then we hugged each other like we were never going to let go. And Marilyn helped me get dressed and I splashed some cold water on my face.

An orderly brought a wheelchair to my room and said, “your limousine awaits you, madame. I laughed for the first time. I knew he probably said this to everyone but still it made me feel special in that moment and I said, “why thank you so much.”

And we were on our way. I was leaving my old life behind me and moving into an unknown future. I took a deep breath and sat down in the wheelchair. And then Marilyn said, “come on Marie let’s go home now and you can get some rest, and guess what I’m making you your favorite dinner, french fries, and hot dogs.”

I smiled at her and then the orderly helped me get into my seat and buckled me in. I said, “thank you, kind sir.” And then he tipped his invisible hat and headed back into the hospital.

“OK, Marie relax and buckle up. We’ll be home in a few minutes I’m going to take the scenic route and avoid the highways. So why don’t you take a little nap and I’ll wake you when we get home.”

I no sooner sat down and buckled my seat belt and I must have fallen asleep immediately. Because the next thing I knew I heard Marilyn say,” we’re home, we’re home.”

I opened my eyes and I saw Marilyn’s house. I tried to hold back the tears. I really did. But it felt like I had no control over my body anymore. It did what it wanted. Marilyn just ignored the tears and came over to my side of the car and helped me get out and hobble over to the front door.

She unlocked the door, and let me in, “OK do you want to have lunch now or would you like to go take a nap first?”

“Hot dog and fries first”, I said.

“OK, have a seat at the kitchen table and I’ll go get you things out of the car. Don’t try walking around until I get back in here. You will probably feel a little weak for a while.”

“OK, I won’t. I’ll sit here and wait patiently. Looking forward to a cup of tea too. The hospital tea was never hot like I like it.”

“I’m going to make a whole pot of Earl Grey for you. I went out and bought all your favorite teas, including your favorite Chai.”

“You’re the best, thank you.”

Marie drank the whole pot of tea. “Oh that was so good, there’s nothing like Earl Grey.”

“OK, when you need to use the bathroom let me know, I’m going to make the hot dogs and fries. I know that’s not very healthy. But it’s your favorite.“

Marie swallowed her last sip of tea and Marilyn said, “do you want to take a nap now?”

“I think I better start making the arrangements for my mother now. It all seems like a bad dream. I felt the same way after my father died from cancer two years ago. Like it was a bad dream. I still can’t take it all in but I’m going to have to deal with it now rather than later. We didn’t really have any family left. But my mom had a lot of friends with the woman’s club and her church so I’ll have to get my mom’s phone book to let them know. And I’ll have to get the papers from my dad’s funeral so I can contact the funeral parlor and the cemetery where my dad is buried.”

“OK, after lunch do you want me to go over to your house and get the papers? And you tell me what you want to bring back here and I’ll put it in the back seat and trunk of my car. Anything big, we’ll have to hire a moving truck.”

“OK, but first I have to take care of the funeral and the service and contact my mother’s friends. “

“We can do this together, don’t worry.”

Two days later Marie and Marilyn were in the church waiting for the funeral service for her mother to begin. Marie couldn’t bear to see the coffin. She just couldn’t imagine looking down at her mother and knowing she would never see her sweet and loving face again.

And then Marie heard the priest say, “shall we say our final prayers for the deceased, Kathleen Reynolds. A loving mother and wife and friend to all that knew her. She will be missed by all. Please come up and say goodbye to her. Knowing that you will all be reunited in the afterlife. Marilyn could you please come up first and then everyone else may follow.

Marilyn swallowed hard and using all her remaining strength she got up out of the pew and propelled herself forward to the front of the church in front of the altar where her mother lay in her coffin.

Marilyn stared down at her mother or what remained of her mother’s early remains and made herself lean down and kiss her gently on her cheek. She whispered, “I love you with all of my heart Mom, I couldn’t have asked for a better mother and friend than you have been for me all of my life. I will think of you every day and keep you in my heart always. Until we meet again.”

As everyone filed out of the vestibule they followed one another out to their cars and to the cemetery. Marie and Marilyn’s car was the first to arrive following the hearse. And they drove quietly through the gate that said, THE GARDEN OF TEARS.’

Marilyn said that is such an odd name for a cemetery.”

“Oh, it’s called that because the owner said the tears of all the people who lost loved ones watered the flowers throughout the cemetery.”

Marilyn took her friend, Marie’s hand and held it throughout the funeral and kept it until they returned to Marilyn’s car, and then she gave her a big hug and said, “let’s go friend to whatever the future holds for us.’

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TICK-TOCK, TICK TOCK

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The last two years have by far been the most difficult years in my entire life.  I’m not trying to be overly dramatic or garner attention or sympathy. I’m just stating the truth. Yes, I’m speaking from my perspective. Who’s else would I speak from?

Home in Moorestown, NJ

First, my mother developed terminal cancer, and then my father started exhibiting memory issues that worsened over time. I’m an only child, and there was no one else to help me. In addition, I have a high-pressure job. I couldn’t just stop working and stay home with my parents. Who was going to pay the bills?

After my mother passed away, I had to make the difficult decision to place my father in an assisted living residence. I wasn’t selfish. I

was practical. The day-to-day care of my father as he declined was more than I could handle. I was exhausted. Sometimes, he would roam around the house at night and come into my room crying that he wanted to kill himself or just come in and wake me up several times a night.

I never got enough sleep. I had to bathe him and change him several times a day because he became incontinent. He had to be watched while he ate. Because sometimes he forgot to chew his food and would choke on it. You can’t possibly understand how stressful and exhausting it was unless you experienced it yourself.

I made the decision that was the best for both of us. He was safe. And caring people took care of him twenty-four hours a day. I saw him as often as possible. He passed away after six months while he was living in the nursing home. After he fell and broke his hip, I did the best I could; it wasn’t my fault that he fell.

My script is due in less than a week, and I can’t afford to be late. On the other hand, I don’t want to send in a script that will be rejected. I have a reputation to uphold. I’m running out of capital, and so I’ve been writing non-stop scripts hoping that one or all of them might get approved and get me back in the black and out of the red.

Being a writer is not an easy job, not by any means. You spend a lot of time alone. Writing is a lonely job. Then there’s the additional bugaboos, procrastination, and writer’s block.

My biggest problem is procrastination. I can find reasons to delay writing for hours, days even. After all, I’m a creative guy. I have to take Al to the park. He hasn’t been anywhere except in the backyard for a week. I need a haircut. I have to get a haircut; I’m starting to look like a hippie. I haven’t had a decent meal for a week; I go out to lunch with a friend. This takes care of loneliness and hunger at the same time, a twofer. Unfortunately, I like to have a shot or two or three when I go out to lunch. And that tends to put a dent in both my creativity and my typing.

If I’m able to get past the procrastination, the blank page can deter me for quite a while. But eventually, eventually I get an idea and type away, and before you know it, I’ve finished the script or the screenplay, the short story, or even the book.

But it doesn’t look like today is going to be one of those days. I’m staring at the laptop screen, and I find myself humming “Troubled Waters.” And then, out of the blue, there’s a loud knocking at the door. It startles me so much that I scream out, “holy shit.” And then I laugh at myself. Who do I think it is, the bogyman? Or the bill collector? No, it can’t be that no one really sends out bill collectors anymore.

Well, that’s not entirely true once last year, I fell six months behind in my car payment, and they came and towed my rental car away. I have terrible credit. I’m not entirely reliable in either paying my bills on time because of lack of funds or just plain undependable, I guess. I make good money when I work. But as I said, I have a problem with procrastination and the fear of the white page.

I hear the knocking again. It is more insistent and louder. Al starts barking in earnest and goes so far as to stand up and look towards the sound of the knocking. Al isn’t a very energetic dog. He sleeps about fifteen hours a day. But the loud knocking keeps disturbing his naptime. Finally, we both get up and head toward the front door. Al takes the lead, barking the whole way. If you ever heard a Basset Hound bark, you know it’s no joke. It can be loud and resonates through the whole house. The knocking continues.

We arrive at the front door, and I look out the glass windows on the door. I see a brown cap. He’s still knocking. I quickly unlock the door with one hand and pull it open. I hold Al by his collar with my other hand. A surly face is on the other side of the door. “I have a delivery. You have to sign for it.”

I grab the clipboard and quickly scribble my illegible signature. And then he hands me a small package. I take it and shut the door. “Asshole,” I say to the closed door.

Al and I retreat to the living room, and I sit down on the couch, and Al lies down on the area rug and falls asleep in moments. I will never understand how dogs can fall asleep in a single moment. I envy him.

I carefully open up the small package. Inside I find a key. It looks old. Like the kind of key that my grandparents had on their doors. The one that could open all the exterior doors. I think they used to call it a Skeleton Key.

The key is taped on a handwritten note. It bears the legend; this key is for the house that belongs to you now. You are the last living member of the family now. If you have received this key, it is because I am no longer among the living. There is a signature on the note, but it isn’t legible, no phone number, just an address. 2567 Crofton Way, Moorestown, New Jersey. It sounds familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

“Come on, Al, let’s go have lunch, and then I will try and find out what this is all about.” Al doesn’t answer me. Al isn’t much of a talker, probably because Al is a Basset Hound.

And then the two of us head toward the kitchen. I sure could use a strong hot coffee right now. I pour dry dog food into Al’s bowl and make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Whenever I’m stressed, I eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Probably harkens back to my long-ago childhood days. I spread the peanut butter twice as thick. And I pour myself a steaming hot coffee. I’ll be the first to admit I am addicted to caffeine. Al looks up at me as if to say, any dessert?”

“No, that’s it, Al. How about I let you out in the backyard to relieve yourself.” Al looks up at me with his sad Basset eyes as if I’m asking him for a payday loan. He reluctantly heads toward the back door. I hold it open, and he goes out into the yard and is soon consumed with smelling all the smells. A Basset Hound is really all about the nose and smelling.

I pick up my phone and google the address. And Google magically comes up with the information that the address is the former home of none other than Cecile Menlo, my mother’s brother, who has apparently passed away.

Cecile Menlo, wow, now that’s a blast from the past. I scrounge up a memory of my long-ago childhood. I have to dust it off it was that old. I drink down the first cup of coffee quickly and scorch my throat. I pour a second one and sip it ever so slowly as my childhood memory comes flooding back to me.

It was in the mid-sixties I was in middle school. And that my friends were a long, long time ago. But still, those are the years of my life that I always felt I were the happiest. The endless summers with no responsibilities, swimming at the lake or my neighborhood friends above ground pools, riding my bike all over town. As long as I was home for meals on time, no one questioned my whereabouts or what I had been up to.

And then there were the summers I spent with my uncle Cecile Menlo. He lived in a house in Moorestown, NJ; it was so enormous, so over the top, it was hard to believe it was real. He had made big money as one of the original investors at RCA in Moorestown, NJ. RCA was a large facility that developed and manufactured government apparatus. And eventually became a division of RCA Government and Commercial Systems.

My uncle retired at forty, which was unheard of since most people worked until they turned sixty-five or older. Summers at his house were a kid’s dream come true. He had several pools and tennis courts and property so immense it would take hours, if not days, to see it all. He used to show movies on a screen so large that it felt like you were at the movie theater. He had horses, and I used to ride all over the property. My friends would come over, and we would play crocket or swim or hide and seek. His Fourth of July parties were out of this world. He had fireworks that could be seen all over Moorestown by everyone that lived there.

My uncle was a big influence on me as a child. He taught me self-confidence and said if I worked hard enough and long enough I could achieve anything, I set my mind to it. He was the one adult that encouraged my creativity. Everyone else thought spending most of my time writing stories was a waste of time: even my parents, but not my Uncle Cecile.

As I sit here thinking about those summers with my uncle, I wonder how I ever lost contact with him, he meant so much to me as I was growing up. Why did I drift away from him? And then I remembered that when I first achieved some fame with the first books I got published, I let go of all the people from my past and left them behind. I made new friends with the rich and famous.

I vaguely remember that my Uncle reached out to me over the years, and I never contacted him. I was too important, too busy to care about an old relative. And now here I am, all alone in a house struggling to make ends meet. Struggling because I don’t have the self-discipline to work hard and work smart like my uncle always told me to do.

And here he was, reaching out from the great beyond once more to give me yet another opportunity to do better. And to lift me out of my self-indulgence and self-pity. I have to admit to myself that I don’t deserve his help, but I need it. And this time, I decide I will do the right thing. I’m sure I don’t need a huge house and property. But I could sell the house pay my bills, get back on my feet. And then invest whatever money is left to help kids like I was. Kids who needed someone to care about them and mentor them and encourage them to realize that they too have what it takes to make something of themselves when everyone and everything around them says differently.

I pick up the phone and call the lawyer whose name and number are on the letter I received. “Hello, could I speak to Taylor Brown. My name is Johnathan Cummings. I received a letter and key this morning stating that I was the sole beneficiary of a house that once belonged to my Uncle Cecile Menlo in Moorestown, New Jersey. Would you possibly have time to speak to me in the next couple of days about this inheritance?”

“Tomorrow at one o’clock would be perfect, thank you. I will see you then.” I hear Al scratching and howling at the door, and I go over and let him in. He rubs his neck against my leg. He does this to put his scent on me. So, all the other dogs know I belong to him. But to tell you the truth, Al is my best friend. “Al, guess what, tomorrow we’re going to take a road trip, and you’re going to get to see a place where I spent the best years of my life when I was a kid at my Uncle Cecile’s house in New Jersey.”

Al looks up at me with his big, sad eyes and his doggy smile and lets out a howl. I lean over and hug him. And say, “who’s the best dog in the world, Al? You are Al, you are. And I smile at him and feel the best I’ve felt in years.

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Unexpected Surprises Often Come in Small Packages

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I was just about to step into the shower when I hear the doorbell ring. I think about ignoring it, since I was already late getting ready for my luncheon date with my old friend Maryanne. Whoever was at the door is persistent and keeps pushing the doorbell over and over again.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” I say to no one in particular.

Antique pocket watch- photo by Bob Culver

I grab my ancient chenille robe. It’s tattered and torn and stained in places. But it used to belong to my mother. I consider it a family heirloom. And I throw it on, tying it tightly around my waist. I push my feet roughly into my slippers that are also tattered and stained.

I take the steps two at a time. My left slipper comes off my foot and goes careening down the remaining steps. I almost go careening after them. But catch myself at the last minute when I manage to grab the rickety railing.

I can see through the four small windows in the door that the delivery guy is turning and about to leave. I jump down onto the floor at the bottom of the steps and all but pull the door off its hinges in an effort to open the door before he drives away.

The delivery guy has just turned his back on the door and is quick-stepping back to his delivery truck. I start screaming at the top of my lungs, and vigorously waving my arms back and forth.

“Hey buddy, wait, wait I’m here. I was in the bathroom upstairs.” When he turns around, he looks at me as if I’m a mirage or something. As if he can’t believe his eyes. I look down to see what he’s staring at and I realize that my robe has come untied and is flapping in the wind. Unfortunately, last night it was unbearably hot in my bedroom and I slept in the nude.

And that is when I notice my nosy neighbor, Cynthia is walking her dog, Alfred past my house. “Shit. Sorry, Cynthia. Sorry, sorry.” And I pull my robe together and retie the belt.

Cynthia’s face is bright red, she doesn’t say a word. But she keeps staring at me like I’m from another planet. Then she starts shaking her head vigorously from right to left. Alfred barks at me in a somewhat friendlier tone and off they go for their morning constitutional.

By then the delivery guy has made his way back to my doorstep. And he wears an expression on his face that can only be described as wolfish. All his teeth are showing and his eyes look like they’re going to pop out of his head. He leans towards me and I lean back. “Take it, easy lady, I just need you to sign this clipboard and I’ll be on my way.”

I grab the clipboard and the pen that’s hanging off of it and scribble my signature. And then I stick out my hand and he hands me a package that’s about the size of a napkin. “Thank you”, I say as I’m about to turn around and close the door.

He waits for a moment. I guess he thinks he might get a tip. But he isn’t going to get one from me today. I turn around and walk as nonchalantly as I can muster up. As if I didn’t just flash everyone that happen to be on the street this morning. I take my mother’s advice for once. She often said, “when you make a fool out of yourself just keep moving forward and don’t look back.” And that is exactly what I did, let it go and walk through my front door like it was any other day. And I forget about it.

When I get into my house, I firmly close the door and put the chain across it. And walk through the living room into my tiny kitchen. I put the small package on the kitchen counter and turn on the coffee pot. I open the refrigerator door and gaze inside. There isn’t much, I haven’t gone food shopping in two weeks and the cupboard is almost bare. I find a slightly stale piece of rye bread and stick it in the toaster and find I still had a dab of peanut butter in my giant economy size of Chunky Peanut Butter. I practically live on peanut butter; I like it with bananas but I don’t have any left.

I pour the coffee into my favorite mug, it used to belong to my Aunt Merry, which is short for Marilyn. It’s huge, yellow and round with a smiling face. In fact, it was called the Smiley Face Mug. She gave it to me when I moved to the city. It’s from the 1970s. And it is one of the few things I treasure in life. Because it reminds me of all the time I spent every summer with her when I was a kid. She lived within walking distance to the beach. And she grew all her own vegetables in her little garden.  We would take long walks across the beach and collect shells and stones. I still have some of the shells somewhere in a box in the back of my closet. Most of my childhood memories that I cherish are from the time I spent with my Aunt Merry.  I should have visited her more often.

My mom called me a couple of weeks ago and told me that my Aunt Merry quietly passed away in her sleep. That’s so like her, never wanted to cause anyone any trouble or worry. I should have gone to her funeral, but I didn’t because I didn’t have the money for a round trip bus ticket home. And my mother drinks up all her money. She didn’t even let me know until the day before the funeral.

I finish the last of my coffee and pick up the small package and I realize the return address is my mom’s. “Wow,” I say out loud. My mother never sends me anything. Occasionally she calls me and asks for money. And when I have any, I send it to her. She’s still my mother after all. And she did raise me all alone. And I guess she did the best she could. I should probably visit my mother more too. She’s no longer young. And I don’t know how much time she has left.

I make up my mind that I’m definitely going to go visit my mother, sometime soon. I start tearing the brown paper off the small package and then I shake it. Something is rattling inside. When I open the box, I see something that looks like gold. I pull it out and inside I see a pocket watch on a long, gold chain. I pick it up and look at it closely. It has flowers engraved on the back and my Aunt Merry’s initials and the year 1969. The year she graduated from high school. I remember seeing it in her jewelry box in her house down at the beach. She used to say, “someday this pocket watch will be yours. And it will remind you of all the good times we had together here at the beach.”

I feel a tear run down my cheek and more follow. I start crying and as I realize all the time that I could have spent with my Aunt Merry and I didn’t. I always made excuses not to go. I don’t know why. I put the pocket watch around my neck and go over to the mirror next to the front door and look at myself. As I stand there with the tears running down my face, I see my Aunt’s smiling face looking back at me.

As I’m standing there looking at myself the phone rings. I slowly walk over to the phone and pick it up. “Hello, Kathleen, it’s mom.”

“Yes Mom, I recognize your phone number. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, why did you hear something?”

“No, Mom I didn’t hear anything, you don’t call me often and when you do, it’s usually bad news.”

“Oh, Kathleen, you have always been so overly dramatic. I just called to see if you got the package, I sent you?”

“Yes, Mom, it was just delivered. I always loved that watch. Aunt Merry always promised me she would leave to me when she passed. I’ll cherish it.”

“Yes, she really did love you, Kathleen. I wished you had come and visited her more often you were her favorite niece.”

“You’re right Mom, I should have visited her more. In fact, I was just thinking that I haven’t seen you in quite a while. And I have a few vacation days left that I have to use up by the end of the year. So, how about if I come to see you at the end of next week.”

“Really, Kathleen? I would just love that.”

“Ok, Mom I have a lunch date with one of my friends and I have to get a shower and get dressed and drive across town. I’ll call you next week and let you know the details. I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, Kathleen.”

“Bye, Mom talk to you soon.”

As Kathleen hangs up the phone, she realizes that her Aunt Merry gave her a special gift and that was the realization that life is short. And you have to let the people you love know that you love them.

Kathleen takes the steps two at a time and gets ready to go out and meet her friend for lunch. Her heart felt light. And she hasn’t felt this good in years. It’s going to be a good day.

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DORA’S DAY GOES FROM BAD TO WORSE

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Dora wakes up slowly. She lifts her head, and it feels like it’s stuffed with cotton balls. She looks from left to right.  All she sees is what looks like the morning sky, and it is somewhat overcast. She attempts to rise. And she realizes two things at once.  First, she isn’t in her bedroom and, hence, not in her bed. And secondly, she isn’t alone. “What the hell is going on? Whose idea of a joke is this, goddammit.”

Nest

by Rauschenberg-Pixabay

Dora isn’t a morning person. It’s the main reason she never married. She can’t bear the idea of waking up next to someone every morning and having to make small talk. She isn’t cheerful, or it’s a new beginning kind of girl. She’s more of a get the hell out of my face kind of girl.

And here she is, wherever the hell that is? Outside looking at the great beyond. She finally gets her sea legs and stands up gingerly. It almost feels like she is on a ship out at sea. And a storm is brewing. There is a slight swaying beneath her feet. She looks down. Unbelievably, she sees nothing, just more sky. “What the fuck is going on?” Dora curses like a sailor on leave when she’s frightened or angry or happy, or drunk, or just because she damn well feels like it, damn it. She was born and raised in South Philly, and she doesn’t give a good goddamn what anyone thinks about her.

But right now, she fears the worst: that she has finally gone off her rocker, lost her marbles, or lived in a crazy town. Take your pick.

She twists her head and then looks down again. Her head spins. Momentarily, she feels as if she might faint or stroke out. She hasn’t decided which she prefers. At her feet are two objects that, for all the world, look like giant eggs. They look like they weigh a good twenty pounds each.  They are pale green with blue speckles. “Sweet muscular Jesus, I must have taken some bad assed drugs last night. This is the worst hallucination I have ever had. “Wake up, wake up, you dumb shit.”

Dora squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head vigorously, painfully. Trying to wake up from this nightmare or bad trip or whatever the fuck it is. She has had enough. And then suddenly, she hears what can only be described as what sounds like the scream of someone being torn limb from limb. She fears that she is the one screaming.

She pries and opens her eyes with her fingertips. Because she can’t manage to make them open any other way, momentarily, she is relieved because she doesn’t see any blood spurting out of her shoulder where her arm used to reside. She touches the top of her head, and it appears to be intact. She looks down and sees that both feet are attached to both legs. “What the flying fuck is going on here?”

And that is when she sees what is poking out of the egg-shaped object. The things that nightmares are made of. Without warning, a sound so loud, so horrific that she could not even believe it existed.  Not in the world she previously lived in or any other world man or woman has imagined. She covers her ears. She starts saying the Hail Mary, words she hasn’t uttered since she attended Catholic Grade School. God, anyone, somebody, please help me. Wake me up, help me.

She looks down; surely, her eyes must be deceiving her. But at her feet and rising out of the “egg” is what looks like a nightmarish bird. A bird from the Third Circle of Hell, a bird without feathers. A bird exposed to radiation. But, then “the bird” opens its monstrous beak, it displays a mouth full of teeth. Teeth that perhaps once belonged to a Saber Tooth Tiger. And then, just as she feels, she might lose her mind.  The other egg starts cracking, and a beak starts to emerge. The screaming begins anew. It is so loud that she thinks her head might explode. That is the moment she realizes that the ungodly bellowing is not coming from the horrific babies. But something is flying above her and baring down on what she now realizes is some kind of nest from hell.

The babies are screaming in unison. Surely, Dora’s eardrums will burst soon, and she will no longer have to endure the sound for another moment. The thing that was flying above her is now circling for a landing on the freaking nest. At that moment, a thought pops into her mind. She tries to push it away. But she can’t, it remains. The thought is I’m the worm that these ungodly creatures will be given for their first meal.

The closer the gargantuan bird came, the more eminent the end of Dora’s life became. Her life flashes before her eyes. Just like you always hear happens to people when their lives are about to end, as they jump off the roof, or the bridge, or drown in a polluted lake. She sees her long-dead mother’s face looking down at her baby self. She sees her first day in school with Sister John Michael telling her to sit down and shut up. She sees herself playing with her friends in the backyard. The vision begins to fast forward, and her final thought is, “What the fuck is happening?” Gimme another chance, please. I can do better. And then the lights go out.

The light is bright, unbearably bright. There is a low humming noise. A sense of floating through the air. Dora feels a sense of release as if she was bound and now, she is free. She hopes she is in heaven or some version of heaven and not hell. Even though in her previous life she long ago gave up the notion of the hereafter. She hears a distant voice that she thinks must be God or Satan. “Open your eyes.”

Cora is afraid to open her eyes to eternity. “You can do it, Cora; open your eyes.” Cora opens her eyes. The bright light is still above her. She hears a high-pitched crying. She thinks, on no, I’m still in the nightmare. She forces her eyes open. “Try to sit up a little, Cora, and you can hold your baby. You had a rough time of it. But you are both fine, Congratulations.

Cora looks around, is speechless for a moment, and then shrilly says,” What the hell is this?”

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THE HOWLING

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I wake up to howling; it sounds like Kodiak. Ordinarily, he’s a quiet dog, only howls, or barks if he senses danger. Danger is an everyday occurrence in Luckyshot, Alaska. I wearily rise out of my bed, reluctant to put my feet down on the icy cold wood floor. By now, the fire will have burned itself out. I lean over and search for my slippers blindly. I find one, but not the other, I look all over, but can’t find it, maybe Kodiak used it for a chew toy again. I drag myself over to my dresser and yank open the drawer that seems as reluctant as I am to face another freezing cold day. I grab a pair of heavy socks, hop on one foot, and pull the gray sock onto my now frozen toes.

Artic Fox

Photo by David Mark-Pixabay

As I walk down the hallway towards the sound, I think about my mother. The reason I’m feeling so exhausted this morning, she developed a deep cough about three weeks ago that got steadily worse. But as stubborn as she is, she refuses to drive the fifty miles to the closest doctor. Well, she isn’t a doctor, but a county nurse practitioner who delivers the rare babies and set broken legs and arms. And she offers people in the nearby area what little comfort that she can muster up after living out here in God’s country. God’s country that’s a good one. If there’s a god, he’s forgotten about Lucky Shot a long, long time ago.

People came to this place to find good fortune when gold was found in Juneau. People slaved away here for years, but nothing was ever found but heartache and loneliness.

I quietly open the door to my mother’s room. She lies quietly enough in her bed, no longer coughing, which is a relief. Kodiak is no longer howling. He has his head resting on her right hand that is lying by her side. He doesn’t look up at me as I walk slowly over. I know she’s finally been set free, to wonder the universe. I’m happy for her.

I pat Kodiak on his warm soft fur and then hug him around his neck. As I look down at my mother, who no longer resembles the beautiful mother of my childhood. Her hand is cold and doesn’t respond to my touch. Her body is here, but her spirit fled this dreadful place. I pull the old quilt over her now still, and empty body. “Goodbye Mom, I’ll miss you every day of the rest of my life. I love you, please keep an eye out over me and Kodiak. “

I lead him out of the room, and over to the fireplace in the living room, and stoke the fire, throw on a few more logs, and slide down to the floor, with my arm around my only friend. I start to howl, and Kodiak joins in. I don’t know how long we stayed; until I run out of tears, and my throat is raw. I never felt this empty before.

I think about what will I do next, my mother has always led the way, made the decisions for both of us. Who will lead me now? I look around at the room, which now seems so empty and barren without my mother’s energy-burning brightly. Kodiak puts his head on my shoulder.

It’s at this moment I know what I had to do; pack up all my worldly goods, which can fit in my backpack and go into the town. Withdraw whatever monies are in my bank account and find out what can be done about my mother’s remains. Kodiak and I will move as far away as possible from Lucky Shot, Alaska, and population zero.

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CORONA VIRUS-MAY 30,, 2020

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Here in North Carolina this week, we have had more than our share of rain. It has rained nearly every day during the past week. I’m an avid gardener, so I realize that if I want to enjoy flowers and vegetables growing in my garden, rain is necessary. Today it rained so much that the ground in my back yard is sodden. In NC, if you dig down to about ten inches, you will find red clay.

Calla Lillies - photo by Bridget Culver

Calla Lillies- photo by Bridget Culver

The clay inhibits moisture from going deep into the soil. And the accumulated rainfall after a week of rain just sits on top of that clay. When I go to my back yard, I wear boots. The first Spring after we moved here, we planted several young trees. One week it rained so hard one of the young trees, a beautiful dogwood just floated up out of its soil and fell over. I’ve never seen that happen before. We replanted it, but it didn’t survive.

Some people love rain, the way it sounds on the roof as it falls, the fresh smell after the storm. I, too, enjoy these things. But still, I love a sunny day so much more. I feel so happy when I look out the window and see the sun shining. It lifts my spirit.

Jalapeno – Photo by Bob Culver

Today it started to drizzle on my way to Animal Edventure. A thunderstorm is predicted at about 10:30 AM. I arrive at about 7:15 AM. And so, I think I can accomplish my work done before the rain starts. But the rain starts early. The bird building I work in has a metal roof, and the sound that the rain makes on the roof is tremendous. The parrots and Macaws love noise, and they increase their volume as the rain hitting the roof becomes louder. I have to go out of the building several times, and I am thoroughly soaked.

By this time, I accept that it will probably rain all day. I stop letting it bother me. I turn the radio on in the building. The only station that I’m able to tune in is a Country Station, not my favorite kind of music. But I go with it. The birds, including three Macaws, three cockatoos, and twenty parrots, all begin to chime in. They love the rain. And would probably love nothing more than to be out in the rain taking a shower. So all and all we had a good morning in the bird building, singing, and some screaming, screeching and talking.

After I took care of my parrots in the bird building, I go outside to feed the pheasants, chickens, and doves. They don’t seem to mind the rain either. I cleaned out all their water dishes and checked who needed more feed. And I rake out the waste, and I’m finished. I put all my tools away and walk out to my car. The sun shows its face. I was happy to see it even if it is only for a little while.

I hit the country road and start home. When I ‘m about one-half mile from Animal Edventure, I notice a Red-Tailed Hawk sitting on a post of a split rail fence. And flying over the hawk’s head is a wren who is repeatedly dive-bombing the hawks head, hitting it over and over. I realize the wren wants the hawk out of his territory. Possibly she’s protecting her nearby nest. I want to stop and take a picture, but I realize they would both fly away if I did. So, I just slowly drive by them and watch the show. The hawk ignoring the wren as if were little more than a gnat. And the wren unafraid and unrelenting in her desire to protect her nest and babies.

Nature is continuing to do its job, rain upon the earth, offering us the occasional glimpse of the sun, the wren protecting the future generation of wrens.

When I arrive home, I fill up the bird feeders in my yard while the sun still shines. As long as we live upon this planet, nature will continue to provide for the cycle of life. About an hour later, the heavy rain returns, and I watch the storm from the safety of my porch.

As I sit there on my porch chair, my dog Douglas jumps up next to me, and I pet his head. He’s happy that I’m home and is content to lie next to me and continue his nap.

As I sit there, I contemplate all the things that occurred during the past five days, and some of it is heartbreaking. A man’s life was lost because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and his skin was not white. The city he lived in is in turmoil, and his community is angry and reacting.

It is a heartbreaking event, one that we have all heard too many times. I can’t imagine how this will resolve. I wonder how much longer it will take for America to recognize that the color of one’s skin is one small aspect of that person. Would you define a person’s worth by their eye color? This man’s future is forever gone. His family and friends will miss him for the rest of their lives.

The number of people that have died from the virus in America has risen to over 100,000 people. A number so large it’s hard to comprehend. But every single digit represents a single person who is forever lost to their family, their friends. Anything that they could have contributed to our society, to our planet is forever lost.

Anyone who states that the “numbers” aren’t that bad, is a person who does not value human life. A person that values “things” more than life. The accumulated loss of all that this 101thousand lives could have accomplished and could have enriched our lives is incalculable ways and will forever remain unknown. But the loss will be deeply felt for generations to come.

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Corona Virus- May 16th,2020

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Corona Virus-May 16th, 2020

This week has brought equal parts of both good and bad. Reminders that life’s challenges help me to become a stronger person. This week I have observed that the Magnolia trees are in full bloom. I so look forward to seeing those majestic flowers every year. And it’s a reminder that life goes on despite what is happening now.
I look forward to the magnificent Crepe Myrtles blooming in a couple of months. We must allow ourselves these moments to enjoy the good things in life that are all around us.

Magnolia Flower- Photo by Bob Culver

One of the animals that I came to love at Animal Edventure met an untimely death. I will so miss her each day when I go there. She was the first one who greeted me, And I pet her from the top of her head to the end of her tail. I would bring her into the main building and feed her and give her something to drink. Such a beautiful animal. Such a short life.

I have faced many difficult times in my life. I believe I faced these times head-on. I look at each challenge and think about what will make this situation better or a least less painful. What can I do?

In 1985 my parents, who were then in their mid-seventies, became ill. My father developed lung cancer, he already had emphysema. He was a heavy smoker his whole life. My mother’s personality and behavior changed drastically. My mother was blind from glaucoma. She lost her vision slowly over time. She didn’t tell anyone what was happening. Her loss of vision affected her profoundly and she became frightened and paranoid. Perhaps it was dementia or as my brother who was a psychologist thought a psychosis. There aren’t words enough to explain how devastatingly painful to see my loving and caring mother change before my eyes to someone I didn’t recognize. I miss her still to this day. Not the person she became at the end of her life but the loving and devoted mother I knew for my whole life up until that time.

My children were only two and five at the time, and I was a stay at home mother for several years. And so, I was able to spend a great deal of time with my parents. My father gave me the power of attorney. I took over their finances and paid their bills and made medical decisions for them. When the time came, I bought their burial plots and their caskets, headstones, and flowers.

Lung cancer is an unforgiving disease and it progressed rapidly. By the time my father shared his symptoms with me, he had large inoperable lesions in his esophagus and right lung. At that time, there was no treatment for him, as the cancer was too advanced. My mother’s mental health deteriorated over this time. I have to admit I have never felt as low at any time in my life as I did during their illness and after their death. My entire family, which was a large one, stepped up to help take care of my parents. It was a sad time for us all.

After my father passed, it was apparent that my mother wouldn’t be able to live by herself. And I hired a woman whose name was Doris Cook to come in and stay with my mother during the week. My siblings and I took turns having my mother stay at our homes on the weekends. It was painful seeing my dear mother’s sweet and loving personality disappear day by day. She passed eight months after my father.

I know every member of my family felt this loss deeply. As for myself, I woke up every day and felt that loss and waves of sorrow would wash over me. Until I felt I was drowning in it. I thought I’m an orphan now, I have no parents. It took a long, long time for me to overcome this sadness. And still, to this day, I feel a deep emptiness when I realize that I will never see my parents again. Despite the fact that it has been over thirty years.

I have realized that loss is just as big a part of life as is joy and happiness. Loss offers us the opportunity to grow and mature and become a stronger man or woman. If we stand up to those challenges if we face then instead of running away or denying their existence.

Right now, at this moment, at this time, we are all facing the biggest challenges on every front that we never imagined would come our way. Not in our wildest imagination. A pandemic never crossed my mind, not once, not ever. I knew there was a pandemic in 1918 when my parents were young. But I certainly never thought it would happen in the here and now. In fact, I never thought about it at all. It belonged to the distant past. But here it is. And we are in the middle of it. Not just here in American but every single place big and small across our planet. So far, 308,985 people have died from this disease. Over 80,000 in the United States alone.

By nature, I am a caretaker and a fixer of sorts. In one way or another throughout my life, I have striven to give assistance and care to the people I come in contact with me. If I see a need and I am able to mitigate it in some way, I have. There are so many people now that are not getting their basic needs met with food, shelter, and clothing. I help in my own limited way.

We are all in this together. And if I could just offer this bit of advice please, please wear masks when you are out and about. They are not a sign of weakness. They are a sign that you care about others, including your own family members’ health and well-being. They protect “other people” whose masks protect “you.” Even if you never did anything for anybody your whole life, you can do this small thing NOW. Wear the mask to protect others and they will do the same for you.

We are not able to reliably project when the pandemic will end. It could appear as if it is and then flair up again and more people will die. Or it could become a seasonal disease that returns again and again. We will not become safe again until there is an antiviral available to protect us from this disease. And when this happens, get inoculated. Please. Do the right thing. If you never made a good decision in your life, why not start with this.

As you go about your daily life, try to be kind. I know it is difficult considering all the stress we are all under, not enough money to live on, buy food, pay our bills. People want to go back to work and provide for their families and they can’t yet. We miss spending time with our friends and family. And going out for fun. And a million other little and big things too long a list to mention. But, somehow, sometime in the future those of us who are still here will look back on this time and think, “I’m stronger than I realized. I did the right thing for myself, my community, and the world. I survived this, so I certainly can meet any other challenge that comes my way. Please do the right thing, not just for you but for all of us. We are all in this together.

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Corona Virus- April 11th, 2020

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Corona Virus- April 11th, 2020

I sat for two days trying to decide what to say about my experiences during the past week and come up with nothing. Early this morning at 4 AM,  I realized so many, many things happened that I hadn’t even been able to take it all in at all.

It begins with the fact that although I have always struggled with insomnia. I now have difficulty sleeping at all. I fall asleep exhausted at about 10 PM. I sleep for about one and a half hours and then wake up. It may take me two hours to fall back to sleep. My mind keeps going over and over all the nightmarish events that have happened that day, this past week. Sometimes I silently cry. If I do fall asleep again, I wake up every two hours and toss and turn. I finally wake up at about 4:30 AM for the day.

On a personal level, I was contacted by a family member and told that my brother-in-law had passed away. He lived in NJ. I live in NC, where we retired to three and a half years ago. I have known and love my brother-in-law Pat since I was about ten or eleven years old. He was married to my sister Jeanie. She passed away from emphysema in 1979.  She was forty-two. Pat was always kind and caring towards me for the entirety of my life. And when I was told he passed away, I didn’t let this sad news touch me. I sent out condolence cards. And then I  blocked it from my mind. In the past three years, I have lost my oldest brother, his wife, and my brother- law Jake.

I was told that there was only going to be a small funereal with ten or fewer people because of the danger of Corona Virus. Ten people to mourn a man who was a husband, father, grandfather, brother and uncle, friend to many. I was told maybe they would be having an Irish wake for Pat in the Fall.  I responded, “Oh, right, of course, that makes sense.”

I filed this bad news away far back in my mind, in the vault where I am keeping all my feelings now. All the fear, all the loss,  that I have no clue how to deal with it at any level. I didn’t tell anyone about my brother-in-law passing. Why?Bbecause all I hear, all that we hear all day are the numbers, big incomprehensible numbers of people that are dying in our state, in our country, in the world. It is impossible to comprehend, to digest. It is incomprehensible, completely overwhelming, and heartbreaking.

So, I lock it away, because I know that if I even think about it for even a minute, I will not be able to take one more step forward. I will be stuck in that moment, overwhelmed with fear and grief and loss. Anger is what I’m feeling right now. It is eating away at me, making me feel helpless and alone.

I have always been a person that deals with difficulties by looking at the problem, finding solutions, and then solving that problem. And now, I have no solutions. The problem is too big for me. I’m scared. I’m afraid of what the final outcome will be not just for me but for my family, our country, and the world. The loss of life already is devastating and hard to take in.

I worry about all the people who have lost loved ones or who will ultimately lose many people or might die themselves. I worry about the people who lost their jobs and don’t know when or if they will have jobs to go back to. I worry about how they will take care of their families with no income.

I worry about a country with a leader that thinks a couple of thousand dollars will take care of American families for the duration of this virus while giving big corporations billions.

I’m a person that has always looked around at my fellow humans and did what I could to help them. I continue to try and do that, but this problem is too big for me. I think we have to do everything we can to survive this and help the people around us when we can.

How this will end, I can not say. It will evolve. But I do know that significant changes will have to take place or we can not go on as we have in the past. Everything we do, every choice we make has consequences. How we treat our fellow man, how we pollute our planet.

Right now, in this moment, in this day, I will do the best that I can. I can not do more than that.

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