My daughter called me the other day. Β It was one of those “just to say, ‘Hi,'” phone calls. Β Nothing important, no purpose – a lunchtime catch-up. Β Although itΒ was a sweet moment, this isn’t what made me cry.
We talked about her job and a recent promotion. Β I am very proud of her work ethic and her accomplishments. Β I am delighted when others see in her the beauty of her mind and her soul. Β My love for her flows to those around her. Β She has worked hard to gain the respect she deserves, but this isn’t what made me cry.
Recently, in a moment of high energy, I took a moment to do a little, silly “dance.” It all started as I was leaving the sanctuary and I noticed a friend enjoying the closing song. Β Most of the congregation had left, but a few of us remained. Β Β Rising out of my wheelchair, I grabbed my friend’s hand. Β Together, as we sang and swayed to the music, another friend joined us. Β (My husband caught the moment on his phoneΒ and had sent the video to my daughter.) Β My daughter and I laughed about the joy of the moment. Β As I related the story behind the video, we talked about spontaneous physicality and about how few of these opportunities were available to me. Β The energy required to stand and sway is not often possible. Β Usually, my heart wants my body to participate, but my disease refuses to comply. Β However, this isn’t what made me cry.
She turned the conversation around to me. Β “How are you doing?” she asked. Β I told her that I was taking a painting class at the local art museum, again. Β This time around, the art instructor had demonstrated a technique that had broken a creative barrier for me. Β I was elated with the new style and eager to generate some new pieces. Β (Maybe even a Christmas gift or two.) Β This isn’t what made me cry.
My refusal to give in to my disease keeps me busy (with lots of naps). Β Once a month, I attend a writing group. Β They are a great group of people, and I told her about the inspiration and constructive insights I have gained from their critiques. Β We meet in the late evenings, and I need to take a long nap before I head over to our meetings. Β The energy cost is high and the next day is spent in bed. Β Nevertheless, this isn’t what made me cry.
Finally, the conversation turned to the progress of my disease. Β I told her that I have had more incidents of the falling/slipping out of bed. Β My husbandΒ springs out of bed and rushes to me as I quietly call out in the middle of the night, “Dennis, help me. Β I am falling.” Β In addition, I am starting to have trouble sitting up in bed in the morning. Β My brain tells my body it is time to wake up; my body refuses to comply. Β I cannot sit up or roll over. Β I just lie there: observing the war between mind and body. Β Again, I need to ask my husband for help. Β “Dennis, I can’t sit up. Β Will you please come help me?” Β As always, my husband responds quickly. Β Telling her about this isn’t what made me cry.
When I finished telling my daughter about the physical problems I am having, I said, “I don’t know what I do would if something happened to Dennis.”
Immediately She said, “Mom, you would come to live with us. Β Not in our current home. Β We would get a different place that would accommodate your needs.” Β You guessed it. Β This is what made me cry.
Now that made me cry. You did a wonderful job raising a beautiful daughter. Sending gentle hugs…
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Thank you. Hugs to you.
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I enjoyed the read as always, and now I have tears in my eyes! xxoo
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Nurture reciprocated. Touching.
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What a beautiful reality amidst the struggle. Tears lubricate the soul.
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Thank you, Jerry.
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Nice Blog, especially liked the bit about ‘naps’ and the painting – for me it has been one of the best pastimes I could have taken up, even at my ancient age ! Keep it up !
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Thank you. Purpose and productivity are good for the mind and body.
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Rose, your lovely daughter sounds like you.
I’m sorry to hear of the sitting problems.
I do admire your strength and bright light.
Love and hugs π» π π πΉ π
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Thank you. Your consistent support is a blessing to me. π€π πΆπ¦
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