After the many losses of this past week, it was a mercy and a blessing to go home after job #2 and lay me down to sleep. A good big sleep it was, awakening to a clearer mind and a refreshed spirit.
Some losses are easier than others. Some losses bring echoes of others. There was something so valiant in our warrior, something so fierce and strong that took such a battle to best, that to see it gone is difficult to process.
My slots will fill again with new faces and new spirits but there will never be another Mike.
Showing posts with label loss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label loss. Show all posts
11.1.09
13.11.08
A Call for Help
During my move of the last months, a strange number kept showing up on my call display. There was never a message. A week of so ago the number showed again on my missed calls. There was a message in my inbox that was almost unintelligible. All I caught was: "You of all people should get it." The rest was a mumbling rant.
There have been times in my life when I enjoyed the flavours of tasty scotches. Single malt was my favourite but a good blend was fine as well. Alas, I cannot drink. One tasty beverage is enough to send me to the land of the incohorent and so I choose not to drink. There are some friends from my long ago who never came to that conclusion and I never judge them as it could be me still singing lullabies to stuffed animals and taking cabs home. My assumption was that this was a friend from scotch drinking days.
Today I was sorting through my cellphone bill and saw this number. I called it.
"Who are you again?" a very stern and gruff voice demanded.
Once explained I heard a very sad story.
This was the number of a lovely woman I used to practise singing with back in the Starlite Lounge days when I played for my supper. Because my name is memorable, she remembered me and somehow tracked down friends of friends who eventually hooked her up with my cell number. She had experienced rather too much loss in the last years and was facing 40 with cracks in her foundations. She remembered me in my losses. She knew I had somehow triumphed and wanted to know HOW.
Farewell Sarah Slink. Farewell and God Bless.
Her partner told me she went to bed last week in a flush of scotch and lorazapam and woke up in the next world. What to say?
We spoke for about an hour. I do not know this man except for our shared grief over this, a preventable loss. November is a horrible month for loss. Of course there is part of me that wonders if I had called back last month would things be different?
I suspect not as I could barely understand the confused mumbles and likely would not have been able to get through the haze of numbing.
It could be me.
----- *
"The most authentic thing about us is our capacity to create, to overcome, to endure, to transform, to love, and to be greater than our suffering."
--Ben Okri
There have been times in my life when I enjoyed the flavours of tasty scotches. Single malt was my favourite but a good blend was fine as well. Alas, I cannot drink. One tasty beverage is enough to send me to the land of the incohorent and so I choose not to drink. There are some friends from my long ago who never came to that conclusion and I never judge them as it could be me still singing lullabies to stuffed animals and taking cabs home. My assumption was that this was a friend from scotch drinking days.
Today I was sorting through my cellphone bill and saw this number. I called it.
"Who are you again?" a very stern and gruff voice demanded.
Once explained I heard a very sad story.
This was the number of a lovely woman I used to practise singing with back in the Starlite Lounge days when I played for my supper. Because my name is memorable, she remembered me and somehow tracked down friends of friends who eventually hooked her up with my cell number. She had experienced rather too much loss in the last years and was facing 40 with cracks in her foundations. She remembered me in my losses. She knew I had somehow triumphed and wanted to know HOW.
Farewell Sarah Slink. Farewell and God Bless.
Her partner told me she went to bed last week in a flush of scotch and lorazapam and woke up in the next world. What to say?
We spoke for about an hour. I do not know this man except for our shared grief over this, a preventable loss. November is a horrible month for loss. Of course there is part of me that wonders if I had called back last month would things be different?
I suspect not as I could barely understand the confused mumbles and likely would not have been able to get through the haze of numbing.
It could be me.
----- *
"The most authentic thing about us is our capacity to create, to overcome, to endure, to transform, to love, and to be greater than our suffering."
--Ben Okri
20.9.07
Sept 20th 1997
It was ten years ago today that my mother died.
It was a wretched time.
Her illness was awful in its wasting ways. She went kicking and screaming and lived 14 months longer than any team of Doctors believed possible. It werent pretty.
After Mom died, one by one we all fell apart.
In my case, after examining my life exhaustedly, I cast my lot in with a man I loved.
I loved him unlike any other person in my life. It was not the conventional romance, but a decade of longing and loving. I forgave him anything, permitted him everything and ultimately, watched as he walked away from me without a backwards glance.
Grief and loss. Twin themes.
It has been a strange ten years without a mother.
I have had to be companion, daughter and guardian angel for my father.
I long for the days of being just the daughter.
As I lay the flowers at Moms grave I will remember her for her secret legacy. Quiet charitable acts. I never knew about them until after her funeral when person after person came to me to tell me of her good works. She made them promise not to tell.
My mother was a warrior. Not gentle but fierce as Bodaciea.
She never had the struggles I have, but her own battles were epic. Somehow I think she emerged ever the champion.
One thing about Mom, -- she always commemmorated events.
So happy ten years in Heaven Mom.
It was a wretched time.
Her illness was awful in its wasting ways. She went kicking and screaming and lived 14 months longer than any team of Doctors believed possible. It werent pretty.
After Mom died, one by one we all fell apart.
In my case, after examining my life exhaustedly, I cast my lot in with a man I loved.
I loved him unlike any other person in my life. It was not the conventional romance, but a decade of longing and loving. I forgave him anything, permitted him everything and ultimately, watched as he walked away from me without a backwards glance.
Grief and loss. Twin themes.
It has been a strange ten years without a mother.
I have had to be companion, daughter and guardian angel for my father.
I long for the days of being just the daughter.
As I lay the flowers at Moms grave I will remember her for her secret legacy. Quiet charitable acts. I never knew about them until after her funeral when person after person came to me to tell me of her good works. She made them promise not to tell.
My mother was a warrior. Not gentle but fierce as Bodaciea.
She never had the struggles I have, but her own battles were epic. Somehow I think she emerged ever the champion.
One thing about Mom, -- she always commemmorated events.
So happy ten years in Heaven Mom.
30.6.07
Yet Another One...
One of the very nicest people of my acquaintance, lost her husband a day or so ago. It was not unexpected, nor untimely but it was still unwelcome.
Oh dear Mrs. T-A, I wish you well.
*hug
Oh dear Mrs. T-A, I wish you well.
*hug
27.6.07
The Entitled
Reading and researching Elder Abuse claims can be harrowing stuff. Over and over you hear about these relatives left high and dry when the family are taken advantage of by a stranger.
It seems to be strictly about money and expectations. You read the sorrow and anger as estates are not what was expected. Sorrow and anger. Do you read about the quality of life of the Elder person? What their hopes and dreams were? Rarely. It is mostly about the *Entitled*.
Perhaps I have a different point of view because of my background. My Grandparents were not poor and my Grandfather left a sizable estate. Stock options, exclusive properties, and lots of cash were in his portfolio. My Grandfather was a self-made man; an immigrant who worked very hard to attain his wealth. He and his brothers all did very well indeed. Had my Grandfather lived past the 60 years he achieved, life would have been very different for my parents. As it was, the estate passed into the hands of my Grandmother who had no intentions of sharing with anyone.
I grew up watching bitter parents making nice for the sake of their possible futures. My grandmother meant more than money to me. She was a wonderful charming person with a frugal streak and no tolerance for extravagance. My parents were very extravagant and it is fortunate my Father also worked hard and achieved a very good lifestyle on his own merits.
This money inheritance stuff is not for me to brood upon. Of course I like money- who doesnt?
But I am not going to go the way of my Mother who died of colon cancer after decades of obsessing on her lost inheritance.
There is a middle way of course. I do not see much of it in my practice. What I do see are sons and daughters, nieces and nephews swooping in at the end of life and grabbing everything they can while casting a suspicious eye on the *hired help*. Hey, we had a private nurse steal sterling flatware from us too, but that never stopped us from believing the best in others.
I hope she needed it, that's all.
My other observation is that abovesaid relations frequently thank the Hospital Staff and Nurses for the fine care of their deceased, in those last hours, days, weeks. They never think to the people who kept their relation in the home happy and independant. They are too busy taking inventory.
One of the saddest things that happened to me was reading that a private funeral had taken place for my very favourite client. The obituary was placed after the private service. There was no closure for me other than my angel ritual at the beach. I would have liked to be present to honour her amongst other who felt the same way. I know the staff where she lived felt the same way. Empty and lost. But the Doctor and Nurses in that hospital got a huge thanks.
It isn't about being seen, it isn't about the thank you. It is about respect. The respect for your departed, knowing and understanding that the people who were close to them miss them too.
Loss. Sorrow. We need to grieve it to move on.
It seems to be strictly about money and expectations. You read the sorrow and anger as estates are not what was expected. Sorrow and anger. Do you read about the quality of life of the Elder person? What their hopes and dreams were? Rarely. It is mostly about the *Entitled*.
Perhaps I have a different point of view because of my background. My Grandparents were not poor and my Grandfather left a sizable estate. Stock options, exclusive properties, and lots of cash were in his portfolio. My Grandfather was a self-made man; an immigrant who worked very hard to attain his wealth. He and his brothers all did very well indeed. Had my Grandfather lived past the 60 years he achieved, life would have been very different for my parents. As it was, the estate passed into the hands of my Grandmother who had no intentions of sharing with anyone.
I grew up watching bitter parents making nice for the sake of their possible futures. My grandmother meant more than money to me. She was a wonderful charming person with a frugal streak and no tolerance for extravagance. My parents were very extravagant and it is fortunate my Father also worked hard and achieved a very good lifestyle on his own merits.
This money inheritance stuff is not for me to brood upon. Of course I like money- who doesnt?
But I am not going to go the way of my Mother who died of colon cancer after decades of obsessing on her lost inheritance.
There is a middle way of course. I do not see much of it in my practice. What I do see are sons and daughters, nieces and nephews swooping in at the end of life and grabbing everything they can while casting a suspicious eye on the *hired help*. Hey, we had a private nurse steal sterling flatware from us too, but that never stopped us from believing the best in others.
I hope she needed it, that's all.
My other observation is that abovesaid relations frequently thank the Hospital Staff and Nurses for the fine care of their deceased, in those last hours, days, weeks. They never think to the people who kept their relation in the home happy and independant. They are too busy taking inventory.
One of the saddest things that happened to me was reading that a private funeral had taken place for my very favourite client. The obituary was placed after the private service. There was no closure for me other than my angel ritual at the beach. I would have liked to be present to honour her amongst other who felt the same way. I know the staff where she lived felt the same way. Empty and lost. But the Doctor and Nurses in that hospital got a huge thanks.
It isn't about being seen, it isn't about the thank you. It is about respect. The respect for your departed, knowing and understanding that the people who were close to them miss them too.
Loss. Sorrow. We need to grieve it to move on.
13.6.07
Hard times, soft people
IF you have never experienced a moment un-copable, if you have never been touched by the hand of fate in a withering manner, then you cannot possibly empathsize with those in crisis invisible -- the warriors of the unseen, the shadows of the mind.
During my walk-a-bouts, I frequently run into people who I met when I volunteered at the Street level Mental Health Centre. This group of people has the highest rate of loss of any group I know, including my elderly clients. The ones who wink out, or flash by tend to be in their 30s, or 40s.
It was sad news to hear that yet another of the folk I bonded with during my 2 year sojourn is gone to a heroin overdose. Damnitall people, HEROIN HATES YOU!
I would like to think this was an accidental overdose. Like last time it was an accidental fall from a cliff. And before that an accidental carbon monoxide poisoning.... and on and on and on.
The system is broke. And noone with power, authority and money is taking responsibility and trying to make it right. We need a Mike Holmes of Mental Health.
Years ago after my volunteer stint I applied for a job at this *place* and was told that they perceived my skills to be in the social realm of things. This, evidentally, was not in the job criteria. But they would be delighted if I continued to volunteer. I hate to say it but something my ex said to me rang in my mind:
"Even Jesus had to eat."
Yes, I am retired from the BIG LIFE of olde. No, I am not independantly wealthy.
I require income.
All these losses make me sad. The 3am of the soul came hard for each of these folk.
I understand. And after a week on heavy doses of codeine, I understand very well.
Opiates of any description or strength do not agree with me. Oh they take the pain away....
but they make me exist in a twilight of terror.
Getting close to 2 years since Mad Bee Maddie took her life.
I saw her former lover today - (sigh)
Why is life so hard on the young?
Why do fragile people find little strength from friends and community?
I try not to take it all on. Good thing I did not get the job at the Mental Health centre.
It would have challenged my every boundary.
Still human,...... sigh. Currently decidely human.
During my walk-a-bouts, I frequently run into people who I met when I volunteered at the Street level Mental Health Centre. This group of people has the highest rate of loss of any group I know, including my elderly clients. The ones who wink out, or flash by tend to be in their 30s, or 40s.
It was sad news to hear that yet another of the folk I bonded with during my 2 year sojourn is gone to a heroin overdose. Damnitall people, HEROIN HATES YOU!
I would like to think this was an accidental overdose. Like last time it was an accidental fall from a cliff. And before that an accidental carbon monoxide poisoning.... and on and on and on.
The system is broke. And noone with power, authority and money is taking responsibility and trying to make it right. We need a Mike Holmes of Mental Health.
Years ago after my volunteer stint I applied for a job at this *place* and was told that they perceived my skills to be in the social realm of things. This, evidentally, was not in the job criteria. But they would be delighted if I continued to volunteer. I hate to say it but something my ex said to me rang in my mind:
"Even Jesus had to eat."
Yes, I am retired from the BIG LIFE of olde. No, I am not independantly wealthy.
I require income.
All these losses make me sad. The 3am of the soul came hard for each of these folk.
I understand. And after a week on heavy doses of codeine, I understand very well.
Opiates of any description or strength do not agree with me. Oh they take the pain away....
but they make me exist in a twilight of terror.
Getting close to 2 years since Mad Bee Maddie took her life.
I saw her former lover today - (sigh)
Why is life so hard on the young?
Why do fragile people find little strength from friends and community?
I try not to take it all on. Good thing I did not get the job at the Mental Health centre.
It would have challenged my every boundary.
Still human,...... sigh. Currently decidely human.
Another Warrior felled
Sometimes the strongest warriors are the gentle ones.
A year ago, this lovely man, looking transluscent, shook my hand and looked into my eyes and thanked me for taking time on a morning to sit down with him and chat. He was critically ill and already past the day when it was expected he would join the choir invisible.
This week I had the sad news that the gentle warrior went on to other realms.Kendall was his name, and he was a friend of mine. He used to come for the Friday morning breakfast club at the local A & W when he was well enough. His cancer was slow and insidious, but it never ever triumphed over him. He was a man who lived and died with cancer, but not of cancer.
This quote is for you, Sir Kendall:
"Though my soul may set in darkness it will rise in perfect light, I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night." -- (Sarah Williams)
26.2.07
Another Sad Farewell
07:30 this morning I am going into the building where so many of my clients live.
I see the manager and she stops me to ask me if I knew Mrs. M.
Well, of course I do, and her use of the past tense does not escape me so I realise what she is about to say. She is gone. Off to join her handsome husband on motorcycles in heaven.
Is it bad of me to miss her so? She is the one who I saw out 3 weeks ago all dolled up. She was on her scooter and looked like a million. "Got a date?" I asked.
"Yes, with my lawyer." She replied.
When I frowned she told me it was best to be prepared. When I frowned more deeply she looked me in the eye and told me how much she enjoyed me and how much it meant to her to have me in her life. It was a goodbye.
She went into hospital for a minor surgery and came out with a respiratory infection.
She was home only 3 days then she had to return. I saw her one more time and she wished me luck with my own situation. Her cough troubled me. I knew when I left I would not see her again. I hate knowing these things.
She passed away yesterday in hospital. Damn it.
My grandmother died a similar way.
It made me just as mad then. If you are in your 90s and you have a cancer leave it alone.
Don't open yourself up and go through all that bother. Live and die with your cancer.
Mrs. M died of pneumonia. Post-operative respiratory infection.
Damn it.
Sad farewell. Very sad.
I see the manager and she stops me to ask me if I knew Mrs. M.
Well, of course I do, and her use of the past tense does not escape me so I realise what she is about to say. She is gone. Off to join her handsome husband on motorcycles in heaven.
Is it bad of me to miss her so? She is the one who I saw out 3 weeks ago all dolled up. She was on her scooter and looked like a million. "Got a date?" I asked.
"Yes, with my lawyer." She replied.
When I frowned she told me it was best to be prepared. When I frowned more deeply she looked me in the eye and told me how much she enjoyed me and how much it meant to her to have me in her life. It was a goodbye.
She went into hospital for a minor surgery and came out with a respiratory infection.
She was home only 3 days then she had to return. I saw her one more time and she wished me luck with my own situation. Her cough troubled me. I knew when I left I would not see her again. I hate knowing these things.
She passed away yesterday in hospital. Damn it.
My grandmother died a similar way.
It made me just as mad then. If you are in your 90s and you have a cancer leave it alone.
Don't open yourself up and go through all that bother. Live and die with your cancer.
Mrs. M died of pneumonia. Post-operative respiratory infection.
Damn it.
Sad farewell. Very sad.
23.2.07
Trepidations and Premonitions
Two of my very favourite people are in hospital.
I have a bad feeling about this.
Is it bad to not want to let people go?
One of them is 90 the other 98.
It is the very genteel woman and the Wordsmith.
I will miss them. I know we are losing them. It is just always too soon.
I have a bad feeling about this.
Is it bad to not want to let people go?
One of them is 90 the other 98.
It is the very genteel woman and the Wordsmith.
I will miss them. I know we are losing them. It is just always too soon.
15.12.06
"Is that nothing to you?"
"Your dignity is not just rubbed in the dust. It is trodden underfoot and spat on. Our people are being killed as if they were but flies. Is that nothing to you who pass by? What must we say that we have not said? 'God, give us eloquence such that the world will hear that all we want is to be recognized for what we are - human beings created in your image'" (Tutu 101)
When you suffer a blow to your dignity, it is a wound that takes a long while to scab over.
------
Today I realised that I would like to spend a working decade making a difference to people in poorer countries. We have such wealth. They have so little.
And I, do I want to be one who passes by?
One who goes to sleep as if it is nothing to me?
It is something to me. Something big.
My own problems have created in me a huge need for social justice within my own realm.
I would like to spread it further.
--------
The storm in my brain spoiled my birthday :(
Wthe tornado is there right in front of my mind's eye, I get a screaming headache and my whole left side goes into excruciating pain. No, oops it'e my right side. I get more dyslexic as the years go on. That's so typical; my getting it wrong so wrong.
I am without grace tonight.
Utterly.
-----------
When you suffer a blow to your dignity, it is a wound that takes a long while to scab over.
------
Today I realised that I would like to spend a working decade making a difference to people in poorer countries. We have such wealth. They have so little.
And I, do I want to be one who passes by?
One who goes to sleep as if it is nothing to me?
It is something to me. Something big.
My own problems have created in me a huge need for social justice within my own realm.
I would like to spread it further.
--------
The storm in my brain spoiled my birthday :(
Wthe tornado is there right in front of my mind's eye, I get a screaming headache and my whole left side goes into excruciating pain. No, oops it'e my right side. I get more dyslexic as the years go on. That's so typical; my getting it wrong so wrong.
I am without grace tonight.
Utterly.
-----------
13.12.06
Follow-Up
Tweak time. Increase in drug doseages.
Accolades for still being alive on the planet despite all odds.
Hollow victories. I look great, everyone tells me so.
I look so well. This almost makes me insane to hear.
I feel awful. Going to the Doctor upsets me greatly.
My Doctor could not be more caring or compassionate and has advocated for me in ways that most patients can only dream of. He has taken my disorders and injuries and made a roadmap for me, one that I can follow. He listens to my weirdness and never does anything to compromise my dignity. You cannot imagine how wonderful that is.
Not many years ago, before I had any recollections about accidents and injuries, I was at another Doctor - - - that is one of the worst memories of my life.
THAT Doctor never bothered to look in my medical history, never bothered to look past the *You Look Great* thing. I was a very pretty girl back then.
My Doctor of the time pretended to listen to me but wrote in his files: Neurotic.
My brain was scrambled and I was trying to make sense of all the dots I saw and the teflon skies ... the sleep paralysis and the flashback tremors. I thought everyone experienced that!
It floored me to find out other people did not have them.
Here I had always thought everyone knew some secret coping method that I wasn't privy to!
That Doctor drugged me into oblivion and back until I rebelled and tried to stop taking those drugs. He got very angry and threw me out of his practise saying I was a spoiled brat.
A spoiled brat who "wanted to be sick."
He thought I was making it up.
Of course if he had bothered to check my medical history he would have seen a brain injury, and multiple severe concussions.
But he didn't bother.
$50k in jaw surgery, dentistry, realignment and.... 4+ years of wired up hell.
Do I sound angry?
Not anymore. Just sad.
When I have a bad day, I remember Dr. R-tt--berg and his complete lack of professionalism and compassion.
Thank God for Dr. M-c---- who has restored my faith in the Medical Profession.
He listens. He researches. He prescribes appropriately.
He consults with other Physicians and when he does not know he says so and sends me to someone who might should or is able to figure it out.
So, hope reigns.
Accolades for still being alive on the planet despite all odds.
Hollow victories. I look great, everyone tells me so.
I look so well. This almost makes me insane to hear.
I feel awful. Going to the Doctor upsets me greatly.
My Doctor could not be more caring or compassionate and has advocated for me in ways that most patients can only dream of. He has taken my disorders and injuries and made a roadmap for me, one that I can follow. He listens to my weirdness and never does anything to compromise my dignity. You cannot imagine how wonderful that is.
Not many years ago, before I had any recollections about accidents and injuries, I was at another Doctor - - - that is one of the worst memories of my life.
THAT Doctor never bothered to look in my medical history, never bothered to look past the *You Look Great* thing. I was a very pretty girl back then.
My Doctor of the time pretended to listen to me but wrote in his files: Neurotic.
My brain was scrambled and I was trying to make sense of all the dots I saw and the teflon skies ... the sleep paralysis and the flashback tremors. I thought everyone experienced that!
It floored me to find out other people did not have them.
Here I had always thought everyone knew some secret coping method that I wasn't privy to!
That Doctor drugged me into oblivion and back until I rebelled and tried to stop taking those drugs. He got very angry and threw me out of his practise saying I was a spoiled brat.
A spoiled brat who "wanted to be sick."
He thought I was making it up.
Of course if he had bothered to check my medical history he would have seen a brain injury, and multiple severe concussions.
But he didn't bother.
$50k in jaw surgery, dentistry, realignment and.... 4+ years of wired up hell.
Do I sound angry?
Not anymore. Just sad.
When I have a bad day, I remember Dr. R-tt--berg and his complete lack of professionalism and compassion.
Thank God for Dr. M-c---- who has restored my faith in the Medical Profession.
He listens. He researches. He prescribes appropriately.
He consults with other Physicians and when he does not know he says so and sends me to someone who might should or is able to figure it out.
So, hope reigns.
5.12.06
All the lonely people....
Where do they all come from?
There are a few Eleanor Rigby's on my schedule. It is very sad when the person you are visiting clings to you as you are leaving. Full of fear to be alone again. Those long long days can pull you down when you are feeling vunerable.
A few other clients are in the midst of moves. For some it is a good thing and others view it as a long-avoided, now inevitable horror. They know that no matter how you dress it up, this is likely the last stop on the ride. One or two are eagerly anticipating having more people around to interact with, and more care if they need it. I know they all but they do not know each other. Because of confidentiality, we cannot pair them up one to another, even when we know they would enjoy each other's company. No matter; they will meet soon enough.
One of my little Eleanors is not moving. But she should be.
--- sigh --- *
“We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone.” Orson Wells
I made one of these calendars at www.despair.com
Noire of course, but very funny.
Sometimes you really want to tell all those motivational rah-rahs to shove it.
Despair.com does it for me.
Complete with the frowny face in the address bar.
heh
There are a few Eleanor Rigby's on my schedule. It is very sad when the person you are visiting clings to you as you are leaving. Full of fear to be alone again. Those long long days can pull you down when you are feeling vunerable.
A few other clients are in the midst of moves. For some it is a good thing and others view it as a long-avoided, now inevitable horror. They know that no matter how you dress it up, this is likely the last stop on the ride. One or two are eagerly anticipating having more people around to interact with, and more care if they need it. I know they all but they do not know each other. Because of confidentiality, we cannot pair them up one to another, even when we know they would enjoy each other's company. No matter; they will meet soon enough.
One of my little Eleanors is not moving. But she should be.
--- sigh --- *
“We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone.” Orson Wells
I made one of these calendars at www.despair.com
Noire of course, but very funny.
Sometimes you really want to tell all those motivational rah-rahs to shove it.
Despair.com does it for me.
Complete with the frowny face in the address bar.
heh
30.11.06
Carol Maureen Barker
It was a long time ago now. It was in my sixteenth year, and the best and only good thing about that time was the making of a very best friend. Nowadays the kids would say BFFs and that was what Carol Maureen Barker was to me.
We were both Sagittarians. She was crazy and creative and I was just crazy. She could draw anything at all and had the best sense of humour. I could not draw but I could laugh.
Her family lived in fashionable Oakridge in a house that looked like a castle with a terrace across the upper front. My family lived in a 1920's bungalow in Shannon-Marpole that noone would ever confuse with a chateau, castle or gatehouse. We lived 27 blocks away from each other, give or take a few.
I had the misfortune to have a younger brother who needed babysitting. She had a huge family and went out to babysit. My mom paid me in cigarettes. Carol got cash.
It was a Friday night and Carol had a babysitting job. It was on 46th avenue across Oak street which was, even then a fairly busy main road. Carol did not want to take the job as the family generally got the elder brother to drive her home. She hated that. I promised to meet her and go together.
Friday night was a lousy night and my mother was out later than she thought. When she came home she had absolutely no ambitions to go out again.
Carol called to remind me of my promise. I looked outside to the rain. It was 11 pm.
"Aww I don't want to."
"YOU PROMISED ME!!!"
I whined some more and then in fit of anger she yelled into the phone:
"I HATE YOU" and hung up.
I shrugged and looked outside again. It really was a horrid night.
-----*
The phone rang after midnight and it was another friend.
"Have you heard from Carol? She should have called by now."
"Nah" I said. "She is mad cus I didnt come to babysit with her."
My other friend had a bad feeling, but I went to bed and slept like a baby.
The next morning the telephone rang and it was the same friend.
"Carol is dead."
She had refused the ride home and walked in the rain.
She had crossed the main street in the rain wearing her babyblue coat and got hit by a car. She was thrown up in the air and came down in the other lane where someone ran her over. She lay on the side of the road, unidentified, 3 blocks from her own home.
In the hospital morgue, they found a spelling list in her coat pocket. The coroner then called all the English Teacher Head of Departments in the district and at 3 in the morning our English teacher put a name to the cold lonely body on the slab.
November 30th.
It took me alot of years to shed the shame. I believe Carol has forgiven me.
I have almost forgiven myself. These days when someone asks me for a promise I am very careful what I agree to.
Carol Maureen Barker: there is not one single November 30th that I do not stop to remember you. My first and best friend.
--------
The best way to keep one's word is not to give it.
22.11.06
Patterns
Since I abandoned my other blog and deleted the *big* one, this is all that remains of digital rantorama avec moi. Never bothering to check beyond content, I bah-logged and blah-ogged to my hearts content. ♥ ♥
Now things are a little different as I explore the structure of different webpages to see how things are done. It is really interesting to explore the HTML and yes I know its so 1996 but remember I lost ten years of my life so I am relatively current.
This last while, in November's dark dreary days, I am exploring the way people collapse their archiving. No doubt you can do this with the click of the right button but searching through the code is more fun.
Binary girl.
oh who am I fooling. I remain analogue girl in digital world.
But I excel at spotting patterns. It is one of those weird traits I have in spades.
Some of my best skills are really Chinese curses.
Interesting but..... difficult to live with.
Now things are a little different as I explore the structure of different webpages to see how things are done. It is really interesting to explore the HTML and yes I know its so 1996 but remember I lost ten years of my life so I am relatively current.
This last while, in November's dark dreary days, I am exploring the way people collapse their archiving. No doubt you can do this with the click of the right button but searching through the code is more fun.
Binary girl.
oh who am I fooling. I remain analogue girl in digital world.
But I excel at spotting patterns. It is one of those weird traits I have in spades.
Some of my best skills are really Chinese curses.
Interesting but..... difficult to live with.
19.11.06
Sorrows and Joys
My heart is elastic. It grows to encompass each soul I touch that needs me.
I met such a soul this last little while. As I am unable to meet the specific need she has,I have taken advantage of the open referral service that Hospice has. Hospice addresses people with any sort of loss.
No amount of cajoling would make my leaving after one hour acceptable.
I told her that we just had to see her through the winter and then in the Spring she could move. "I won't make it to the Spring," she cried. And yes, she really was crying.
This is the 3rd woman on my client list with identical symptoms.
Their faces are marked from frequent pulling at themselves.
They spent more time pondering the "what-if"s of life than actually living it.
And they live in a home worth well over 300 thousand dollars.
Why do things have to get to this point?
This woman should have been assisted with these tough decisions long ago.
She is lonely. That is pretty much all that is wrong. Lonely and hyper-aware of all that could go wrong in life.
It is very sad.
I met such a soul this last little while. As I am unable to meet the specific need she has,I have taken advantage of the open referral service that Hospice has. Hospice addresses people with any sort of loss.
No amount of cajoling would make my leaving after one hour acceptable.
I told her that we just had to see her through the winter and then in the Spring she could move. "I won't make it to the Spring," she cried. And yes, she really was crying.
This is the 3rd woman on my client list with identical symptoms.
Their faces are marked from frequent pulling at themselves.
They spent more time pondering the "what-if"s of life than actually living it.
And they live in a home worth well over 300 thousand dollars.
Why do things have to get to this point?
This woman should have been assisted with these tough decisions long ago.
She is lonely. That is pretty much all that is wrong. Lonely and hyper-aware of all that could go wrong in life.
It is very sad.
14.11.06
Two Ladies
Two ladies await the move to assisted living quarters. Both of them are moving into the Government assisted part of the complex saving them alot of money. One lady enjoyed a fairly decent living until her husband died and his pension with him. Her husband died 30 years ago.
The other lady also lost her husband but much more recently.
The first lady never worked and has no pensions at all except the Canada Pension and guaranteed income subsidy. She sold her home when her husband died and has been renting ever since. The second lady still lives in her home which will go on the market when she has been moved in. Her home is worth over $300,000.
Both these ladies will pay the same amount and get the same subsidy.
Is it just me or is something wrong here?
------- *
The other lady also lost her husband but much more recently.
The first lady never worked and has no pensions at all except the Canada Pension and guaranteed income subsidy. She sold her home when her husband died and has been renting ever since. The second lady still lives in her home which will go on the market when she has been moved in. Her home is worth over $300,000.
Both these ladies will pay the same amount and get the same subsidy.
Is it just me or is something wrong here?
------- *
“Democracy does not guarantee equality of conditions - it only guarantees equality of opportunity.”
Irving Kristol
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
