It’s all…relative

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One thing any writer quickly learns is that the words you share aren’t always met with approval from others, especially family members.  However factual a story that one relates might be, there is always a different perspective from another source.  So be it.  Everyone is entitled to their opinion and I respect that.  Respect what I have to say as well.

The years in dealing with my late mother as she struggled with Alzheimer’s were beyond difficult, the same as it is for anyone standing helplessly by as the disease creates a stranger where a loved one once stood.   It was during that time that I made the decision to document every incident and write my book of memoirs.  I don’t have to get long-winded about the amount of detail that goes into writing any book but one must always state the facts, without exaggeration, without innuendo and without malicious intent.  But, for me, there are times when some undercurrent of anger becomes pervasive.

I have journals with endless notes that chronicle my late mother’s medical and other issues as well as any interactions with her siblings.   Here on my blog, I’ve shared several chapters of my book and it was no surprise to me when a ghost-relative landed on a particular post while doing a Google search and elected to voice their opinion.  They were certainly entitled to do so but…the facts remain and I firmly stand my ground with anything that I’ve written.

There are always multiple sides to any story and people will believe what they choose, what makes them feel justified in a given situation.  As family relationships ebb and flow, the emotional tide of reason is anything but constant.  Enter an illness and all too often the confusion and fear associated with fleeting mortality tends to impact sensibilities.  Blood connects us as families, for the most part.  Years without communication drastically changes those dynamics. 

That is… until curiosity is piqued by an Internet search.

  workshop-button-1From Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop…Update and republish a blog post you wrote during the month of May in a previous year.

I wrote this post in May of 2012.  Nothing has changed since then and it never will.  Mixing memories with any so-called perspective involved doesn’t result with the true facts of many situations.  Especially when it comes to already-fractured families and, sadly, when a serious illness is involved.  What should bring people closer together often widens the rift of separation. 

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Stop…listening

 

Muffled sounds from another room became real once again as I stepped outside of my dreams.  The light of the moon made it seem as if a new day was ready to greet the world.  It was the middle of the night.

And…I listened.

Loud whispers grew into grumbles.  Her once breathy voice became someone else’s as she cursed, threatening some invisible being in her room.  At least it wasn’t me.  Truth was, I had ceased to exist in her mind.  I felt an odd comfort looking in from the window of the person she once was.


It made it easier for me to stop… listening.


 

 

 

Flicker of Inspiration Linkup #43: Listen

We could all do with a little more listening these days, after all.

In the almost six years since my mother’s passing,  sounds in the darkness of night still awaken me.  During those moments I sense that her spirit remains in the guest room down the hall.   I still try not to listen but she’s there, still trying to run after her memories and away from mine.

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Somewhere…in my memories

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It’s a little more than days away and, once again, I am digging deeply into the world around me to find some Christmas spirit. Much like snowflakes in bright sunlight, my enthusiasm for the season disappears quickly.  I keep holiday music tuned on every radio within reach, make endless To-Do lists and watch one more day breeze past.

But, I remember…

When there were so many presents under our tree that the huge evergreen was almost dwarfed by the packages festooned with colorful ribbons that spread across our living room.

When the season used to take forever to arrive and seemed to stay around longer.

When people didn’t line up in stores, like mercenaries, the day after Thanksgiving,  intent on inflicting pain and suffering just to purchase gifts.

When I had time to bake dozens of Christmas cookies that hid away on our pantry shelves, only to be found by sensitive little noses and prying fingers.

When everyone wore some type of holiday corsage or festive button on their coat.

When toys were simple and operated by imagination, not batteries or a power cord.

When packages that came in the mail were wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string.

When Bloomingdale’s was the main attraction where I lived and everyone raced to see their fabulous window display each year.

When outside decorations didn’t have front lawns looking like Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade, packed with teetering-tottering air-blown holiday figures and mechanical reindeer.  Simple lights and a wreath on the door told passers-by that Christmas lived in that home.

And..I remember how my mother would walk into our home and remark how beautiful everything was, how she enjoyed all the traditional holiday food.  She loved Christmas…back before she started to forget.

All of this is somewhere, in my memories.

 

 

workshop-button-1From Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop…Write about a favorite Winter memory.

I share this post just about every year.  For me, it’s a gentle step back into a time when life was so much simpler and the memories are much like gifts waiting under the Christmas tree, all with “Open Me First” tags on them.  

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