Living Proof

Yesterday, Mom was crying. I asked, "What's wrong?" Stupid question on my part perhaps, yet I still wanted to know why my mother, who hardly ever cries (at least in front of people) would be so sad. She was sitting on the couch that was across the room from my dad, who was lying on his bed which hospice provided. During the past couple of weeks, they've been cracking jokes, laughing and really enjoying their time together. Yesterday was different. My mom doesn't like to "upset me" as she thinks. She doesn't want to burden me with "stuff" - but for me, how can I possibly help not knowing what she needs? I asked her again, "What's wrong?" She nodded her head with no words spoken. I asked again, and she said, "Nothing," nodding her head and fumbling with her tissue in her hands. I asked her if she wanted me to call a hospice nurse so I could take her out for an hour or two, but she declined. I felt powerless. She look...

In a strange way, rain seems to be healing for me - mostly on an emotional scale. I get to shut down, withdraw or perhaps just regroup, recharge and start all over again. While I don't expect life to be a complete bed of roses, I know there are going to be challenges ahead. It's not a matter of "if", but "when".  I've been praying and praying for a span of calmness, happiness, togetherness with my family and friends and God has given that to me. I know that any given moment, I can get a call in the middle of the night saying, "Dad's in the hospital again" or "Come down, Dad's sick - what should we do?" We all anticipate these occurrences and somehow pull through it, but there's a tiny part of me that "stays awake", even if asleep, as though I'm waiting for the call or waiting for the 'alarms' to set off. My shoes are always at the end of the bed with a pair of jeans just in case I have to slip in...

As a teen, I used to smoke cigarettes. I knew that my grandfather died of it. He walked around with an oxygen tank gasping for air due to his emphysema. Even though I knew the risks involved in smoking, grandpa was just 'one' example in my mind - as though it was probably just a fluke thing - because well, mom & dad smoke all the time and they’re okay... I remember sitting in my health class being asked by the teacher, “By a show of hands, how many of you walk into another room when your parents light up a cigarette?” Everyone rose their hand. I did too. Everyone else did. I didn’t want to be the odd one out. Dinner at our house was typical by any standard, (I think). Even if we were still eating dinner, dad would smoke probably two to three cigarettes while we were all finishing. Cigarette butts were left sticking out of leftover mashed potatoes and at times, a great big ashtray was placed next to dad. Mom was more tame with her habit. My father chain smoked - to the poi...