Cable tv offers several Ghost Hunting shows comprised of pure folly. The host waltzes around with a camera crew and scares off any legitimate entity. It’s more of a psychological drama with an overlay of music so you can’t hear anything. A modern version of the 1800s parlor séances with faux spiritualists. I’ve discussed ghosts previously on this blog.
As I have stated before, most reported hauntings are logically explained to not paranormal. Of the .01% remaining, the vast majority are electromagnetic (EM) imprints with no intelligent spirit involved, more like a few seconds of silent film flickering. A space-time continuum event. Of the tiny remainder, .001% perhaps a legitimate ghost or spirit is involved but it is usually neutral. Positive or negative entities are extraordinarily rare. I don’t believe in angels or demons since that would involve believing in “God and Devil.” If an intelligent superior being(s) exist, it is one being not separated into ubiquitous Good verses Evil. Just as sentient beings are capable of both good and bad deeds, it would be both. I do believe in a soul but who knows where it goes after the body ceases to function.
To detect a real spirit, you have to be quiet and calm. Otherwise, you interfere with the EM imprint. Walking around and shouting isn’t going to draw out an entity. I am sensitive to EM fields and seen some interesting shadows. Besides nasty Ouija Boards, I’ve only encountered one that frightened me (poltergeist in a friend’s home located in an old barn). Perhaps positive shadows aren’t as noticeable.
A long time ago at my friend Teddy’s house, we saw flashing lights in the ceiling of the basement (no wiring was in that area) and heard a strange sound. We went upstairs and a cold breeze came through the room even though it was 75 degrees with no open windows. His family had lights go on and off, odd music, voices in the house for years. It was probably a temporary wormhole that brought the sounds of another era to the house. They haven’t seen or heard anything for twenty years. I wonder if the wormhole was two-way, could the people in the past hear the noises of the present? Perhaps they thought the house was haunted, too. A space-time conundrum with no resolution.
The creepiest episode was at Vijay’s home. He had just moved in and I was sitting on the couch. I saw the cushion sink down and felt a weight on my arm. I asked Vijay what was going on. He said that it was the ghost dog that still lived there. I was totally creeped out. The ghost dog played with his living dog for years. After he got a second living dog the ghost dog went away. When we took a tour I told him that there was an elderly women in the upstairs East bedroom, he grimly smiled. She didn’t want to leave after 60 years. She would take the new occupant’s scissors and move them into her sewing room and move medication into the bathroom. The living residents became accustomed to her antics but had to acknowledge her to the realtor when they were selling the home. Truth in selling principal. It took them a long time to find someone willing to buy a nice house with a benign ghost resident.
Thump in the night.
Copyright © 2014 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Monday, February 3, 2014
DISCONNECTING MUM
Her
- Mind Ebbed
- Body Died
- Spirit Flew
Missing my mother.
Copyright © 2014 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved.
- Mind Ebbed
- Body Died
- Spirit Flew
Missing my mother.
Copyright © 2014 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved.
Sunday, December 22, 2013
LETTERS TO MUM
“to: Mom
from: Ima
I love you! mom I kno
w you love me. but I
think. I love you more
than you love me.”
Image of tree, three clouds and a sun below the writing on 4-inch square hot pink notepaper. Due to my dyslexia, I didn’t figure out how to read or write until third grade so this was written sometime after that point during primary school. Oh my poor dear mother, how exasperating. I was the youngest kid of dramatic teenage sisters. My eldest sibling got pregnant during her senior year in high school, married two weeks after graduation, and delivered my nephew in September. I was probably feeling neglected because my parents raised my nephew since my sister and her abusive husband were clueless.
My dad was clearing out my mother’s possessions when he came across these notes. My mother had also kept a letter that I sent while I was in college. I had just moved up the Twin Cities to attend college and wrote because I could not afford to call long-distance. This was long before email was publicly available. I wrote this in January while residing in the University of Minnesota’s only female dorm (which is co-ed now). The first two pages of the letter have been lost. I have added brackets to explain a few items.
January 19th (1980s):
“Speaking of Mike [my best friend], have the pink flamingos [which I ordered for his birthday] come in at the mall? Tell them to hold them until I get down there to pick the pair up. I’ll just give one to Mike as a 20th birthday present. [Mom wrote the store’s name and phone number on the letter]
Gosh, I’m going to turn 20 [soon]! Sounds old - but better than – teen Blah. Thanks for Terry’s [a friend from high school] address! He called the other night and we had a nice half hour conversation. I think he may transfer up here next year but I’ll be forced to quit due to financial problems – oh well.
Its ccccooolllD up here and it’s a good thing the worst was during the weekend. I’d freeze walking to classes, even if I wore tons of clothes so I’m glad I could stay inside. –75 windchill is not my idea of a balmy day.
Well, gotta go – Take Care and I Love You Lots!,
Ima
PS Say “Hi” to everybody
THINK HAPPY!”
My question is why did she retain these notes? Did the love note make her laugh or cry? I wrote a poem on the back of the letter, was that the reason? ‘Tis too late to ask. Poem will be published in the next post. I still can’t unpack her clothes even though it’s been more than two months since she died.
Questions unanswerable.
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
from: Ima
I love you! mom I kno
w you love me. but I
think. I love you more
than you love me.”
Image of tree, three clouds and a sun below the writing on 4-inch square hot pink notepaper. Due to my dyslexia, I didn’t figure out how to read or write until third grade so this was written sometime after that point during primary school. Oh my poor dear mother, how exasperating. I was the youngest kid of dramatic teenage sisters. My eldest sibling got pregnant during her senior year in high school, married two weeks after graduation, and delivered my nephew in September. I was probably feeling neglected because my parents raised my nephew since my sister and her abusive husband were clueless.
My dad was clearing out my mother’s possessions when he came across these notes. My mother had also kept a letter that I sent while I was in college. I had just moved up the Twin Cities to attend college and wrote because I could not afford to call long-distance. This was long before email was publicly available. I wrote this in January while residing in the University of Minnesota’s only female dorm (which is co-ed now). The first two pages of the letter have been lost. I have added brackets to explain a few items.
January 19th (1980s):
“Speaking of Mike [my best friend], have the pink flamingos [which I ordered for his birthday] come in at the mall? Tell them to hold them until I get down there to pick the pair up. I’ll just give one to Mike as a 20th birthday present. [Mom wrote the store’s name and phone number on the letter]
Gosh, I’m going to turn 20 [soon]! Sounds old - but better than – teen Blah. Thanks for Terry’s [a friend from high school] address! He called the other night and we had a nice half hour conversation. I think he may transfer up here next year but I’ll be forced to quit due to financial problems – oh well.
Its ccccooolllD up here and it’s a good thing the worst was during the weekend. I’d freeze walking to classes, even if I wore tons of clothes so I’m glad I could stay inside. –75 windchill is not my idea of a balmy day.
Well, gotta go – Take Care and I Love You Lots!,
Ima
PS Say “Hi” to everybody
THINK HAPPY!”
My question is why did she retain these notes? Did the love note make her laugh or cry? I wrote a poem on the back of the letter, was that the reason? ‘Tis too late to ask. Poem will be published in the next post. I still can’t unpack her clothes even though it’s been more than two months since she died.
Questions unanswerable.
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
LUNA MOM, Part II
I reluctantly brought home the boxes containing some of Mum’s clothes to my house. They languished for a couple weeks. When I was switching my warm weather wardrobe to cool weather attire I decided to blend in Mom’s items. Bad idea. I began sobbing and everything got blurry. I had to sit down. I don’t know when I will be able to incorporate her clothing into mine.
Attended a grief support group at my faith community. I am acquainted with one of the attendees but didn’t know anyone else. It wasn’t comfortable. I didn’t say much. I choked out a quick synopsis of my mom’s illness and death but it was difficult to talk. Not an enjoyable experience. I don’t know if I want to return. Perhaps the wound is too new.
Six weeks after the funeral I finally began to feel better. I was finally able to read a book, though in short spurts. Listened to polka music for a brief period of time. Mom liked polka and we had a lot of fun watching the dancers. Sleeping a bit more. I still continue to cry. Managed to finish the yard-work, cleaned the shed and garage. Revved up the snow-blower in anticipation of the winter weather. I still need to winterize the house and clean the back porch.
Bookclub group met and they were very kind. Lots of condolences and hugs. I made several of them cry while relating the story of my Mom. I didn’t intend to spread my misery. A lot of people have been telling me their experience(s) with a parent or loved one dying. At some point it will make me feel connected but right now it only increases my grief.
Missing Mum
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Attended a grief support group at my faith community. I am acquainted with one of the attendees but didn’t know anyone else. It wasn’t comfortable. I didn’t say much. I choked out a quick synopsis of my mom’s illness and death but it was difficult to talk. Not an enjoyable experience. I don’t know if I want to return. Perhaps the wound is too new.
Six weeks after the funeral I finally began to feel better. I was finally able to read a book, though in short spurts. Listened to polka music for a brief period of time. Mom liked polka and we had a lot of fun watching the dancers. Sleeping a bit more. I still continue to cry. Managed to finish the yard-work, cleaned the shed and garage. Revved up the snow-blower in anticipation of the winter weather. I still need to winterize the house and clean the back porch.
Bookclub group met and they were very kind. Lots of condolences and hugs. I made several of them cry while relating the story of my Mom. I didn’t intend to spread my misery. A lot of people have been telling me their experience(s) with a parent or loved one dying. At some point it will make me feel connected but right now it only increases my grief.
Missing Mum
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Monday, December 9, 2013
LUNA MOM
Mom was “sensitive” and would yell out, “Ima, its for you,” just before the phone would ring. Due to her accuracy, we knew that she was correct long before Caller ID was invented. She didn’t like talking about her abilities because she was afraid that the Devil would cause harm. Sibling #2 and I inherited the ability. I consider myself clairvoyant, I see things that others don’t or else they deny. When I feel safe and secure, I am highly sensitive but due to prolonged financial stress I haven’t been as aware as usual.
A few days before I ventured to Dad’s house to help clear out the clothes closet Sibling 2 was at his house. The home is a rambler with a front door leading into the living room and a hallway leading to the bathroom and bedrooms. She had just walked down the hallway and entered the living room when Mom came through the closed door and said, “Hi Sis, did you miss me?” Mom smiled, took off her coat and dissipated. #2 stood there stunned. I know that #2 would not lie about this apparition. I’m glad that Mom looked healthy and pre-dementia. I’m a bit jealous, Mom has not visited me or else I am too emotional or cut off from the sensitivity due to stress.
#2 wasn’t surprised by my incident with the earring. She thinks it is highly possible that Mom was playing a joke on me. Since #2 has a hubby, 30 year old daughter, and two granddaughters living in her home it would be difficult to determine if Mom is playing jokes on her. Mom was a benign practical joker while she was alive. She loved to “pull someone’s leg” and make them laugh. Nothing mean but sometimes it was annoying.
Life is a joke.
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Friday, December 6, 2013
ONE MOON, Part II
The next day we focused on sorting Mom’s remaining clothes. Siblings 1 & 3 had sent a box home to themselves before they departed. Sister 2 had gone through and selected some items already. I got the leftovers. It was exhausting to look at them all and remember how she liked certain outfits. Her favorite color was teal.
I then had to try on the outfit to make certain that it fit. Sadly, I am a bit too large for a lot of her clothes. I don’t like to wear white and some of the fashions don’t fit my preferences. I still managed to fill a box. Not the method that I wanted to expand my wardrobe. I also inherited some of her tennis shoes and underwear. Disappointed that one of my sisters absconded with the bright shirt that I brought back for Mom from Hawaii.
Opened the hallway closet and found a stash of sugar and flour. Mom loved to bake and must have run out of storage room in the kitchen. It was hard for her to climb stairs so this was her alternative location. There were lots of handbags, which Mom didn’t use. Her mom had a collection, which should have been auctioned off when she died. Grandma Daisy compulsively bought purses.
For a person who rarely wore jewelry, Mum had oodles. I presume that some of it she inherited from her mother who died fifteen years ago. Mom loved butterflies and would occasionally wear a butterfly necklace. She did not have pierced ears and didn’t like to wear clip-ons. I received a pearl necklace that Dad had sent Mom when he was stationed in Japan during the early 1950s.
Dad is overwhelmed by Mom’s stuff. Shifting of the boxes made us both sneeze. He is at least taking the time to sort through the items but I fear that he will just start throwing boxes out without looking at the contents. I have offered to return but it is emotionally draining work. I don’t want to erase the existence of my mother.
An individual is not defined by their “stuff.” It is about relationships and being remembered fondly. Dad received almost 200 cards and nearly $1,000 in donations (that he is aware of). Once I heal a bit more, I will strive to write down her stories. You will never have the opportunity to meet my mom, dear reader, but I want you to know her through me.
Tell your loved ones that you love them today!
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
I then had to try on the outfit to make certain that it fit. Sadly, I am a bit too large for a lot of her clothes. I don’t like to wear white and some of the fashions don’t fit my preferences. I still managed to fill a box. Not the method that I wanted to expand my wardrobe. I also inherited some of her tennis shoes and underwear. Disappointed that one of my sisters absconded with the bright shirt that I brought back for Mom from Hawaii.
Opened the hallway closet and found a stash of sugar and flour. Mom loved to bake and must have run out of storage room in the kitchen. It was hard for her to climb stairs so this was her alternative location. There were lots of handbags, which Mom didn’t use. Her mom had a collection, which should have been auctioned off when she died. Grandma Daisy compulsively bought purses.
For a person who rarely wore jewelry, Mum had oodles. I presume that some of it she inherited from her mother who died fifteen years ago. Mom loved butterflies and would occasionally wear a butterfly necklace. She did not have pierced ears and didn’t like to wear clip-ons. I received a pearl necklace that Dad had sent Mom when he was stationed in Japan during the early 1950s.
Dad is overwhelmed by Mom’s stuff. Shifting of the boxes made us both sneeze. He is at least taking the time to sort through the items but I fear that he will just start throwing boxes out without looking at the contents. I have offered to return but it is emotionally draining work. I don’t want to erase the existence of my mother.
An individual is not defined by their “stuff.” It is about relationships and being remembered fondly. Dad received almost 200 cards and nearly $1,000 in donations (that he is aware of). Once I heal a bit more, I will strive to write down her stories. You will never have the opportunity to meet my mom, dear reader, but I want you to know her through me.
Tell your loved ones that you love them today!
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
ONE MOON
Sleeping a bit better. I occasionally procure a 5-6 hour rest but still plagued by insomnia. It’s pitiful to be tired when I am supposed to be waking up and then falling asleep at my desk at work. I have used some sick time due to exhaustion in the afternoon. I make certain that the vital tasks are completed and then venture home. I nap on the couch with the cats frequently. People have been observing that I appear “worn out.” Sorrow is brutal.
Friends are checking in less frequently. Sporadically receiving a belated condolence card. I am up to seventeen now. I have sent in the donations to Alzheimer’s Association and direct it towards research only. I don’t want the money going to other programming or administrative costs. Utilized the other funds toward gas costs. I spend about $30 for each trip to my parent’s home.
Apprehensively returned to my Dad’s home five weeks after Mum died. Cried as I passed the cemetery, filled with dread. Strange to state Dad’s house, I am accustomed to saying Mom & Dad. They were always an inseparable unit. Singular is an uncomfortable expression. Dad hated going to the doctor so Mom always feared that he would die at a young age. His family has longevity since his fraternal aunt lived to 105, mom to 97, and siblings are still alive at 99 and 97.
Arrived in the afternoon. Dad invited Betty over for supper. We looked over some of Mom’s notebooks. It was apparent that she realized that she was having memory problems nine or ten years ago. She would write over and over the names of the kids, grand-kids, and great-grandkids. She kept notes on all types of things. She always wrote a synopsis of sermons but stopped in January 2011. The arthritis in her back would hurt more during winter so she didn’t like going out in the cold. By the time she returned to church, she stopped taking notes.
Dad was very sad when he came across an envelope marked “music for my funeral.” We only sang one song Mom wanted, “How Great Thou Art.” I wish that the service would have been taped and then the version given to the family could have contained her desired songs with a montage of photos. He had diligently planned his funeral but never bothered to ask her what she wanted. Too late now.
To be continued.
Funeral plans are good.
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Monday, November 25, 2013
SO MANY TEARS
By week three after my mother died, the daily phone calls from friends had dwindled. I received a total of twelve cards and $100 worth of donations to Alzheimer’s. My closest friends contributed funds to use toward gas. Sleeping four to six hours per night. Starting to have moments of normalcy again. Helped a friend take out her kids for Halloween and laughed for the first time in a couple months.
Worked myself into a state of fatigue by cleaning out the compost bins and garden beds. Sat on the couch to relax and glanced at a photo of my Mom. Cried intensely, probably more than I have before this moment. I suppose the physical weariness broke down more of my emotional barriers. Wept myself dry and fell asleep on the couch. Awoke, took a shower, and felt better, extremely weary but better.
Purchased a bottle of wine but only drank one glass. It sits in the fridge. I’m afraid that it will make me more depressed and that is a bad experience. The dwindling daylight hours and cooler temperatures are bad enough without chemically adding to the sorrow. I still need to change out four storm windows and seal a multitude of drafty windows in the house. I must keep as much of the warm air in the house as possible. I can’t afford to heat it over 58 degrees so the poor cats suffer the most. I wear layers and earmuffs at all times.
Continuously rejected on job interviews. It is very disheartening. I try and try and try to no avail. I must procure a better paying job. My dad is struggling to pay bills so there will be no inheritance. My finances are near collapse and I am terrified of defaulting on my bills and mortgage. I have begun to sell stuff and I may raid my meager retirement savings. I will be destitute as an elderly woman, if I live that long. Government programs always seem to end just as I need them so I will undoubtedly be homeless when I am eighty. I don’t expect to be rescued. I want to support myself by working, good honest work. Maybe someone will want to publish this blog….
Time of Tears.
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Worked myself into a state of fatigue by cleaning out the compost bins and garden beds. Sat on the couch to relax and glanced at a photo of my Mom. Cried intensely, probably more than I have before this moment. I suppose the physical weariness broke down more of my emotional barriers. Wept myself dry and fell asleep on the couch. Awoke, took a shower, and felt better, extremely weary but better.
Purchased a bottle of wine but only drank one glass. It sits in the fridge. I’m afraid that it will make me more depressed and that is a bad experience. The dwindling daylight hours and cooler temperatures are bad enough without chemically adding to the sorrow. I still need to change out four storm windows and seal a multitude of drafty windows in the house. I must keep as much of the warm air in the house as possible. I can’t afford to heat it over 58 degrees so the poor cats suffer the most. I wear layers and earmuffs at all times.
Continuously rejected on job interviews. It is very disheartening. I try and try and try to no avail. I must procure a better paying job. My dad is struggling to pay bills so there will be no inheritance. My finances are near collapse and I am terrified of defaulting on my bills and mortgage. I have begun to sell stuff and I may raid my meager retirement savings. I will be destitute as an elderly woman, if I live that long. Government programs always seem to end just as I need them so I will undoubtedly be homeless when I am eighty. I don’t expect to be rescued. I want to support myself by working, good honest work. Maybe someone will want to publish this blog….
Time of Tears.
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Saturday, November 16, 2013
TENDER OF HEART
Week Two was difficult, after the death of my mom. I continued to cry several times per day. I kept the door closed at work because the sounds from the hallway were agitating. I cry every day. I am not accustomed to public display of emotion so it makes me feel uncomfortable on top of the sadness. My co-worker’s mom, who is in her 90s, has begun the transition process so I can provide direct empathy. However, the situation just made me cry more when I got home.
Sleeping a bit better 4-6 hours every other night but I feel exhausted after work. My house is getting messier and I don’t really care. I forced myself to do some yardwork but was totally exhausted after a couple hours. I feel very overwhelmed by the amount of winterization tasks to do. Admitted to myself that I needed assistance so I called a friend who will come to help next weekend. I will pay him with a meal of soup.
On the first day that I didn’t sob, I found the lost earring. It appeared on my dresser. How? I had searched that area before and it wasn’t there. Mom was that you? Or, just my own stupidity? I won’t know the answer until I join her – wherever that may be or not be. The ultimate question I suppose.
It is really good to write all of this out. I had kept a handwritten journal for many years when I was young but stopped in my mid-20s. Writing helps me to process the experience. One-way therapy though I am heartened by the number of people who read this blog. Your kindness and support is worth more than gold to me!
Motherless child.
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Sleeping a bit better 4-6 hours every other night but I feel exhausted after work. My house is getting messier and I don’t really care. I forced myself to do some yardwork but was totally exhausted after a couple hours. I feel very overwhelmed by the amount of winterization tasks to do. Admitted to myself that I needed assistance so I called a friend who will come to help next weekend. I will pay him with a meal of soup.
On the first day that I didn’t sob, I found the lost earring. It appeared on my dresser. How? I had searched that area before and it wasn’t there. Mom was that you? Or, just my own stupidity? I won’t know the answer until I join her – wherever that may be or not be. The ultimate question I suppose.
It is really good to write all of this out. I had kept a handwritten journal for many years when I was young but stopped in my mid-20s. Writing helps me to process the experience. One-way therapy though I am heartened by the number of people who read this blog. Your kindness and support is worth more than gold to me!
Motherless child.
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Saturday, November 9, 2013
ONESIXEIGHT HOURS
Jolted awake in the wee hours. I decided that I might as well travel to the bathroom and glanced at the clock across the room, which is not visible from my bed. It was exactly one week since my mother had died, to the minute. Eerie. Peed, returned to bed and cried myself back to sleep.
“No, you won’t need to pack
You’ve got a reservation
But you don’t have to wait
If you don’t want to
And you won’t feel a thing
All your friends are there already
Once you’re gone
You’ll never want to live again.”
Lyrics from Jeremy Messersmith’s perky song, “Deathbed Salesman,” keeps echoing in my mind. He is very talented at singing about rather somber subjects in a gleeful manner. I’d like to have him perform at my final celebration.
A week after Mum’s burial and I still felt tired and irritable. I continued to cry several time per day. Depleted physical and mental resources. My friends have invited me over to their homes but I am not ready to interact. Spoke with Roopa, she was very understanding about my meltdown on the night of my mother’s death. It is taking all my energy to survive a busy time at work. Thankful that there were few problems during my absence from the office.
Doing the bare necessities at home. Exhausted after running a few errands. Much to do outside/inside to prepare for winter and no chutzpah to do it. Picked the remaining herbs from the garden but was too late for some. Finally unpacked and bummed that I lost one of my favorite earrings, which I wore to the funeral. Searched the luggage, floor, auto, and called both my Dad and Betty to see if they found the earring. It is a simple elegant dangling silver teardrop by Monet, which I procured in the mid-1980s.
Worried about small skin scabs on the cats. I can’t afford to take them to the veterinarian. I had run out of the anti-hairball food so perhaps its because their bodies don’t like the new cat food. Odd that both felines present with the same allergy. I made a special trip to the pet store to purchase some of the no barf food. I hoped that the sores would heal but there was no alteration after almost a week. Their behavior hasn’t changed but Zozo has scratched off hair around the crusty sore between her shoulder-blades. I tried placing balm on it but she went wild and scratched it off reopening the wound. I will have to let it be and hope for the best.
Warmed by the heartfelt response of people leaving messages for me on my phone and Facebook. Tom, a Cree-Ojibwa Shaman, who is the spouse of an acquaintance of mine called me for three days to pray. I am of Dakota heritage but it meant a lot that he was so thoughtful. My employer and others donated in my Mom’s name to the Alzheimer’s Association, designated to research. Wrote thank you notes to my friends who got off from work, traveled a long distance to attend the funeral, gave me cards and gas money. Wrote notes to people who donated to other charities and helped me in other ways. Mom always emphasized the importance of thanking people. I will honor her teaching.
Disappointed that none of my neighbors gave me a card or dropped off food, which is the custom in rural Minnesota. I had done that for at least three neighbors who had a relative die and they did not return the gesture. What is wrong with city folk? I am friendly with all my neighbors. Since I don’t feel like cooking, a meal would have been greatly appreciated.
Sister #1 emailed to say that each of us owe $415 for the cost of Mom’s gravestone. I can’t afford that right now. I spoke with #2 and she doesn’t have the funds either. #2 wants to disperse Mom’s clothes and jewelry. I guess that I should of taken Mom up on her offer for jewelry back in 2011. My siblings will ensure that I get nothing of value.
Healing takes time.
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
“No, you won’t need to pack
You’ve got a reservation
But you don’t have to wait
If you don’t want to
And you won’t feel a thing
All your friends are there already
Once you’re gone
You’ll never want to live again.”
Lyrics from Jeremy Messersmith’s perky song, “Deathbed Salesman,” keeps echoing in my mind. He is very talented at singing about rather somber subjects in a gleeful manner. I’d like to have him perform at my final celebration.
A week after Mum’s burial and I still felt tired and irritable. I continued to cry several time per day. Depleted physical and mental resources. My friends have invited me over to their homes but I am not ready to interact. Spoke with Roopa, she was very understanding about my meltdown on the night of my mother’s death. It is taking all my energy to survive a busy time at work. Thankful that there were few problems during my absence from the office.
Doing the bare necessities at home. Exhausted after running a few errands. Much to do outside/inside to prepare for winter and no chutzpah to do it. Picked the remaining herbs from the garden but was too late for some. Finally unpacked and bummed that I lost one of my favorite earrings, which I wore to the funeral. Searched the luggage, floor, auto, and called both my Dad and Betty to see if they found the earring. It is a simple elegant dangling silver teardrop by Monet, which I procured in the mid-1980s.
Worried about small skin scabs on the cats. I can’t afford to take them to the veterinarian. I had run out of the anti-hairball food so perhaps its because their bodies don’t like the new cat food. Odd that both felines present with the same allergy. I made a special trip to the pet store to purchase some of the no barf food. I hoped that the sores would heal but there was no alteration after almost a week. Their behavior hasn’t changed but Zozo has scratched off hair around the crusty sore between her shoulder-blades. I tried placing balm on it but she went wild and scratched it off reopening the wound. I will have to let it be and hope for the best.
Warmed by the heartfelt response of people leaving messages for me on my phone and Facebook. Tom, a Cree-Ojibwa Shaman, who is the spouse of an acquaintance of mine called me for three days to pray. I am of Dakota heritage but it meant a lot that he was so thoughtful. My employer and others donated in my Mom’s name to the Alzheimer’s Association, designated to research. Wrote thank you notes to my friends who got off from work, traveled a long distance to attend the funeral, gave me cards and gas money. Wrote notes to people who donated to other charities and helped me in other ways. Mom always emphasized the importance of thanking people. I will honor her teaching.
Disappointed that none of my neighbors gave me a card or dropped off food, which is the custom in rural Minnesota. I had done that for at least three neighbors who had a relative die and they did not return the gesture. What is wrong with city folk? I am friendly with all my neighbors. Since I don’t feel like cooking, a meal would have been greatly appreciated.
Sister #1 emailed to say that each of us owe $415 for the cost of Mom’s gravestone. I can’t afford that right now. I spoke with #2 and she doesn’t have the funds either. #2 wants to disperse Mom’s clothes and jewelry. I guess that I should of taken Mom up on her offer for jewelry back in 2011. My siblings will ensure that I get nothing of value.
Healing takes time.
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Thursday, November 7, 2013
NO FUN AT ALL
Went en masse to Dad’s after the unfun-eral to sort though the 100+ condolence cards. He had already received about 20 in the mail and was surprised by the outpouring of affection for Mum. People liked Mom because she was kind, generous, and helpful. Dad is gregarious but condescending. Changed clothes. Ate supper. Mom showed up during dessert. I could clearly see her shape and could feel her happiness. I tried to make contact with my niece and sister who are also sensitive but could not get their attention. Surprised that #2 gave me a hug as she departed.
Slept at Betty’s, packed my stuff, and headed back to Dad’s. #1 & #3 were sorting Mom’s clothes eager to send a box full to their homes. I couldn’t handle it. I went into the kitchen and cried into my tea. #1 made nasty remarks and I departed. I can’t deal with her drama. #3 wanted to come with me but I do not have the emotional strength at this time. She did seem sad that I was leaving whereas #1 barely grunted when I wished her a safe journey home. #3 had promised to give me gas money for picking her up at the airport but she never followed through.
Visited the windswept graveside and sobbed. The 1 white and 4 red roses that had been on her casket were tossed aside and onto the headstone of my grandfather. I presume it occurred while they were sealing the casket into the vault, lowering it into the cold ground, and filling the hole with soil. It felt like a sting that the mortician in charge didn’t mind the details. I moved it to be on top of her decaying mortal coil. I know her soul is gone but it hurts so much.
I haven’t felt this depth of pain since Grandpa died while I was in middle school. I had to calm down in the auto for a while before I was safe to drive home. Tilly greeted me with a “Hold me” meow; I gratefully obliged her. Zozo snuggled on the couch later. However, I fell into deep despair. Wept and wept until I was dehydrated. Slept horribly.
When I did dream it was intense. I was attending an opening for a large metal twisting sculpture, which was seven stories high with two observation decks. I had procured free general admission tickets and planed to rendezvous with a friend. On the way to the event I stopped to help an elderly couple whose son who worked on the project. Met with the friend and joined the crowd. After the official dedication, my friend got us special passes to the lower deck. We rode the elevator up to the deck and I was thrilled. We were getting ready to depart when we bumped into the couple that was leaving. They remembered me and gave me their VIP Passes. My friend, unknown identity since I never saw their face in the dream, and I traveled up to the upper deck and were greeted to a special reception with music, food, drink, and celebrities. I was only interested in the sculpture’s details. A gorgeous man said that I had a “childlike response to art,” which made me feel insulted and I yelled at him. I didn’t know that he was the elderly couple’s son and the chief engineer for the project. He apologized and the next instant I was marrying him with the couple smiling in the first row. That is where the dream ended. Very very peculiar.
Back to reality. The morning after returning home I finally schlepped my luggage to the bedroom. Not in the mood to unpack. Decided to harvest my remaining produce before it frosted or froze. Brought in several buckets of green tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, beans, and broccoli. Too tired to clean up the outdoor garden mess – it will have to wait. Gloomy weather matches my somber mood. Reluctantly turned on the furnace.
Don’t erase Mom!
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Slept at Betty’s, packed my stuff, and headed back to Dad’s. #1 & #3 were sorting Mom’s clothes eager to send a box full to their homes. I couldn’t handle it. I went into the kitchen and cried into my tea. #1 made nasty remarks and I departed. I can’t deal with her drama. #3 wanted to come with me but I do not have the emotional strength at this time. She did seem sad that I was leaving whereas #1 barely grunted when I wished her a safe journey home. #3 had promised to give me gas money for picking her up at the airport but she never followed through.
Visited the windswept graveside and sobbed. The 1 white and 4 red roses that had been on her casket were tossed aside and onto the headstone of my grandfather. I presume it occurred while they were sealing the casket into the vault, lowering it into the cold ground, and filling the hole with soil. It felt like a sting that the mortician in charge didn’t mind the details. I moved it to be on top of her decaying mortal coil. I know her soul is gone but it hurts so much.
I haven’t felt this depth of pain since Grandpa died while I was in middle school. I had to calm down in the auto for a while before I was safe to drive home. Tilly greeted me with a “Hold me” meow; I gratefully obliged her. Zozo snuggled on the couch later. However, I fell into deep despair. Wept and wept until I was dehydrated. Slept horribly.
When I did dream it was intense. I was attending an opening for a large metal twisting sculpture, which was seven stories high with two observation decks. I had procured free general admission tickets and planed to rendezvous with a friend. On the way to the event I stopped to help an elderly couple whose son who worked on the project. Met with the friend and joined the crowd. After the official dedication, my friend got us special passes to the lower deck. We rode the elevator up to the deck and I was thrilled. We were getting ready to depart when we bumped into the couple that was leaving. They remembered me and gave me their VIP Passes. My friend, unknown identity since I never saw their face in the dream, and I traveled up to the upper deck and were greeted to a special reception with music, food, drink, and celebrities. I was only interested in the sculpture’s details. A gorgeous man said that I had a “childlike response to art,” which made me feel insulted and I yelled at him. I didn’t know that he was the elderly couple’s son and the chief engineer for the project. He apologized and the next instant I was marrying him with the couple smiling in the first row. That is where the dream ended. Very very peculiar.
Back to reality. The morning after returning home I finally schlepped my luggage to the bedroom. Not in the mood to unpack. Decided to harvest my remaining produce before it frosted or froze. Brought in several buckets of green tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, beans, and broccoli. Too tired to clean up the outdoor garden mess – it will have to wait. Gloomy weather matches my somber mood. Reluctantly turned on the furnace.
Don’t erase Mom!
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Monday, November 4, 2013
BURYING GROUND
The morning of the funeral I woke up and began to lament. Consumed a small breakfast and showered. Dressed and put on makeup and nylons, both of which I despise. No pockets and forgot to bring my small black bag but Betty let me borrow her purse. Went to Dad’s home. The funeral was scheduled for the afternoon. The mortician instructed us to arrive a half an hour before the visitation.
How do you bury the most significant person in your life? My mom taught me so much – how to walk, talk, read & write, ride a bike, the basics of everything. She shaped who I am today. It would probably be worse to inter a child or spouse. I don’t have either so burying my mother is the most tragic experience of my life.
The only other time that I felt this degree of sorrow was the death of Mom’s father. He was of part-Dakota heritage and we were close. I was in middle school and had spent at least one weekend per month with him since I was small. He taught me how to ride a horse, make proper knots, and use horse sense because I was profoundly naive. Grandpa took me to see family who lived on the reservation. He had been talking about death a lot during the year before he died. I didn’t want to see his body at the visitation; I didn’t want him to be dead. He spoke with horses and took his bow & arrow with him to the great hunting grounds. I still miss him.
Drained. Funerals are for the living but it doesn’t bring closure to the process. Mom’s body will slowly rot in a sealed tomb. Perhaps archeologists will dig it up in a thousand years and make wild assumptions about her life and death. Funerals only mark the disposal of the DNA. Her funeral was more than three days after her death to allow for relatives to travel in from out of the area. I just wanted the ceremony to be over, like watching my mom struggle to breathe for five torturous hours. She did not go peacefully into the night.
Dad was so anxious that we went an hour early. We followed the hearse as it traveled to the small church on the hill. Cried as they unloaded the casket, white with roses. Mom had picked it out several years ago. Tears washed away all traces of makeup before the mourners arrived. My blood pressure began to drop so I ventured into the kitchen for a glass of water. Nicked a brownie to increase my blood sugar since we didn’t bring in lunch before the service.
About 130 people attended on a cool autumn afternoon. I haven’t lived in the area for several decades so I recognized only about a quarter of the people. Nice to see cousins though the circumstances were sad. Betty’s son gave me a wonderful hug; he’s a sweetheart with a gruff exterior. A college friend of Sister #2 attended. He spent a lot of time with our family while in college because his family lived too far away to visit. We lost touch several years ago but Mom called him her adopted son. I managed to locate his place of employment and send him a message a couple days before the funeral. #2 even told me “thanks.”
The ceremony only took a half an hour but seemed much longer. I wept at the end of the line, furthest from the casket. Dad was closest to the coffin, with us in birth order. It was nice that statements from a niece and nephew who could not attend were read. #2 wrote a touching eulogy, which was read by the minister. I would have submitted my poem, if I had been notified. The hyper conservative preacher focused on conversion to Christianity. He kept stating that Jesus was the only way to Heaven. Not just once but three times during the service. He never spoke of how involved my mother was at church. All I wanted to do was punch him for his impudence. Mom was a Christian but accepted that I wasn’t. My soul is my business.
Folding chairs had been brought in to supplement the 100 chairs in the sanctuary. The chairs spilled into the atrium and balcony. The service was filmed to send to absent relatives. Deeply touched that six of my closest friends traveled from the Twin Cities. They all knew my Mom because she and Dad would occasionally visit. I would always host a potluck when they were visiting because they wanted to know my friends. Mom said that she didn’t worry about me because I had “such good friends.” That is because she taught me how to choose wonderful people as friends.
Stumbled out to cars to travel to the cemetery. Internment was on the windswept prairie. Mom wanted to be placed near her father and brother. A brief graveside prayer and I broke down while clutching my friends. I didn’t care who heard me wail. I could barely stand so they physically supported me. The wind blew coldly as they held onto me and cradled my head. I choked out a thank you; it was difficult to speak. Probably 20 people came to the internment. I don’t really know because I was awash in grief.
Returned to the church for dessert. Mom loved to bake so we thought it would be most appropriate. Most people had already eaten and departed because we were gone for about 45 minutes. Oddly, I felt relieved. The worst day of my pitiful life was over. Perhaps my relief was due to endless tears and exhaustion. The lead weight felt lifted. I sat with my friends after saying hello to a few relatives. I didn’t bother introducing my friends to anyone.
Friends are my Family!
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
How do you bury the most significant person in your life? My mom taught me so much – how to walk, talk, read & write, ride a bike, the basics of everything. She shaped who I am today. It would probably be worse to inter a child or spouse. I don’t have either so burying my mother is the most tragic experience of my life.
The only other time that I felt this degree of sorrow was the death of Mom’s father. He was of part-Dakota heritage and we were close. I was in middle school and had spent at least one weekend per month with him since I was small. He taught me how to ride a horse, make proper knots, and use horse sense because I was profoundly naive. Grandpa took me to see family who lived on the reservation. He had been talking about death a lot during the year before he died. I didn’t want to see his body at the visitation; I didn’t want him to be dead. He spoke with horses and took his bow & arrow with him to the great hunting grounds. I still miss him.
Drained. Funerals are for the living but it doesn’t bring closure to the process. Mom’s body will slowly rot in a sealed tomb. Perhaps archeologists will dig it up in a thousand years and make wild assumptions about her life and death. Funerals only mark the disposal of the DNA. Her funeral was more than three days after her death to allow for relatives to travel in from out of the area. I just wanted the ceremony to be over, like watching my mom struggle to breathe for five torturous hours. She did not go peacefully into the night.
Dad was so anxious that we went an hour early. We followed the hearse as it traveled to the small church on the hill. Cried as they unloaded the casket, white with roses. Mom had picked it out several years ago. Tears washed away all traces of makeup before the mourners arrived. My blood pressure began to drop so I ventured into the kitchen for a glass of water. Nicked a brownie to increase my blood sugar since we didn’t bring in lunch before the service.
About 130 people attended on a cool autumn afternoon. I haven’t lived in the area for several decades so I recognized only about a quarter of the people. Nice to see cousins though the circumstances were sad. Betty’s son gave me a wonderful hug; he’s a sweetheart with a gruff exterior. A college friend of Sister #2 attended. He spent a lot of time with our family while in college because his family lived too far away to visit. We lost touch several years ago but Mom called him her adopted son. I managed to locate his place of employment and send him a message a couple days before the funeral. #2 even told me “thanks.”
The ceremony only took a half an hour but seemed much longer. I wept at the end of the line, furthest from the casket. Dad was closest to the coffin, with us in birth order. It was nice that statements from a niece and nephew who could not attend were read. #2 wrote a touching eulogy, which was read by the minister. I would have submitted my poem, if I had been notified. The hyper conservative preacher focused on conversion to Christianity. He kept stating that Jesus was the only way to Heaven. Not just once but three times during the service. He never spoke of how involved my mother was at church. All I wanted to do was punch him for his impudence. Mom was a Christian but accepted that I wasn’t. My soul is my business.
Folding chairs had been brought in to supplement the 100 chairs in the sanctuary. The chairs spilled into the atrium and balcony. The service was filmed to send to absent relatives. Deeply touched that six of my closest friends traveled from the Twin Cities. They all knew my Mom because she and Dad would occasionally visit. I would always host a potluck when they were visiting because they wanted to know my friends. Mom said that she didn’t worry about me because I had “such good friends.” That is because she taught me how to choose wonderful people as friends.
Stumbled out to cars to travel to the cemetery. Internment was on the windswept prairie. Mom wanted to be placed near her father and brother. A brief graveside prayer and I broke down while clutching my friends. I didn’t care who heard me wail. I could barely stand so they physically supported me. The wind blew coldly as they held onto me and cradled my head. I choked out a thank you; it was difficult to speak. Probably 20 people came to the internment. I don’t really know because I was awash in grief.
Returned to the church for dessert. Mom loved to bake so we thought it would be most appropriate. Most people had already eaten and departed because we were gone for about 45 minutes. Oddly, I felt relieved. The worst day of my pitiful life was over. Perhaps my relief was due to endless tears and exhaustion. The lead weight felt lifted. I sat with my friends after saying hello to a few relatives. I didn’t bother introducing my friends to anyone.
Friends are my Family!
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Sunday, October 27, 2013
THE DEARLY DEPARTED
Lividly fuming because the United States Congress and President of the United States permitted the United States Governmental Shutdown to occur. Due to their infantile behavior in the region known as the Washington, DC Beltway Playpen, my Active Duty nephew-in-law was unable to access his military back-pay. They needed the money to procure gasoline to drive from their base to Minnesota because they could not afford to fly. My niece, their three kids, my other niece and her two kids couldn’t attend the memorial service. They were denied the ability to properly grieve because a bunch of morons decided to play games instead of compromise. I contacted some politicians but they could do nothing to access the funds.
Went into work because I had some projects to either complete or hand over to a colleague. It was good to be busy. Noise really bothered me so I kept the office door shut. Exhausting to express my sorrow in a professional manner. I informed my co-workers about my mom but didn’t mention it to any clients and only one community partner. I just told most people that I had to depart due to a family emergency. Since I don’t work full-time I only received 2.5 days of bereavement. Somehow, I managed to complete the projects within a day and a half. My co-workers were kind and a couple of them shared hugs. The grumpy receptionist even gave me her condolences. I handed over the projects to my boss just in case a problem popped up and hoped for the best. I’m not a control freak but I don’t like other people messing with my system. This is an incredibly busy time at work right now.
I returned to my abode after work to begin preparations for the funeral. I had to pick out an outfit. I chose a crushed velvet black dress with three-quarter sleeves and a V neck. Accessorized with simple silver earrings and flat silver chain, which my mom liked. Somber task. Made certain that the cats had food, water, clean litter box, and toys. Harvested from the garden and packed tomatoes to take to my Dad’s house. Informed my neighbors of my absence so that they could watch my home. Took a shower. Went through the motions of normalcy.
My friends have been checking in on me. We went out to consume calories the night before I ventured to the funeral. Good food but a grumpy waitron. I cried several times. I was glad for the companionship. The cats have been extra cuddly, I’m not sure if it is due to the cooler temps or that they sense that I need affection. I feel easily agitated, overwhelmed, and cheerless. I have been forcing myself to eat because I am not hungry, food tastes like ashes. The dreaded Alzheimer’s destroyed my Mom’s personality three years ago and chipped away more each day. She could still sustain a simple conversation until a week before her death, though she did repeat herself. I’m angry at whatever creator/deities permitted her to suffer. I have accepted that she is dead so denial isn’t a factor.
My body felt like it was buzzing. Stress, I presume. Fatigue. I nearly fell asleep while driving to my parent’s home. The route passes by the cemetery; it was eerie to see the mound of dirt piled next to the hole prepared for my mother’s body. I began to sob, again. Siblings #1 & #3 are staying with Dad. They were cool towards me but #1 actually acknowledged my presence. #2 came over with her grandkids. We ate supper. I kept falling asleep on the couch so I went to Betty’s house.
Experiencing a lot of aches and pains besides the psychological trauma. Probably exaggerated by the stress, brief and lack of proper sleep. Took a prescription painkiller but it made me constipated. Betty is more like an aunt than a first cousin. Her kids are older than me. Managed to rest after crying in bed. Dreamt of joining the circus and planting a garden that I would not see for six months. I asked someone to water it for me while I was gone. Odd.
Extra sparkly wings.
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Went into work because I had some projects to either complete or hand over to a colleague. It was good to be busy. Noise really bothered me so I kept the office door shut. Exhausting to express my sorrow in a professional manner. I informed my co-workers about my mom but didn’t mention it to any clients and only one community partner. I just told most people that I had to depart due to a family emergency. Since I don’t work full-time I only received 2.5 days of bereavement. Somehow, I managed to complete the projects within a day and a half. My co-workers were kind and a couple of them shared hugs. The grumpy receptionist even gave me her condolences. I handed over the projects to my boss just in case a problem popped up and hoped for the best. I’m not a control freak but I don’t like other people messing with my system. This is an incredibly busy time at work right now.
I returned to my abode after work to begin preparations for the funeral. I had to pick out an outfit. I chose a crushed velvet black dress with three-quarter sleeves and a V neck. Accessorized with simple silver earrings and flat silver chain, which my mom liked. Somber task. Made certain that the cats had food, water, clean litter box, and toys. Harvested from the garden and packed tomatoes to take to my Dad’s house. Informed my neighbors of my absence so that they could watch my home. Took a shower. Went through the motions of normalcy.
My friends have been checking in on me. We went out to consume calories the night before I ventured to the funeral. Good food but a grumpy waitron. I cried several times. I was glad for the companionship. The cats have been extra cuddly, I’m not sure if it is due to the cooler temps or that they sense that I need affection. I feel easily agitated, overwhelmed, and cheerless. I have been forcing myself to eat because I am not hungry, food tastes like ashes. The dreaded Alzheimer’s destroyed my Mom’s personality three years ago and chipped away more each day. She could still sustain a simple conversation until a week before her death, though she did repeat herself. I’m angry at whatever creator/deities permitted her to suffer. I have accepted that she is dead so denial isn’t a factor.
My body felt like it was buzzing. Stress, I presume. Fatigue. I nearly fell asleep while driving to my parent’s home. The route passes by the cemetery; it was eerie to see the mound of dirt piled next to the hole prepared for my mother’s body. I began to sob, again. Siblings #1 & #3 are staying with Dad. They were cool towards me but #1 actually acknowledged my presence. #2 came over with her grandkids. We ate supper. I kept falling asleep on the couch so I went to Betty’s house.
Experiencing a lot of aches and pains besides the psychological trauma. Probably exaggerated by the stress, brief and lack of proper sleep. Took a prescription painkiller but it made me constipated. Betty is more like an aunt than a first cousin. Her kids are older than me. Managed to rest after crying in bed. Dreamt of joining the circus and planting a garden that I would not see for six months. I asked someone to water it for me while I was gone. Odd.
Extra sparkly wings.
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Thursday, October 24, 2013
AFTER DEPARTURE
After my mother left to dance with the Ancestors amongst the stars, we wept. My sister #2 pressed the call nurse button and informed the staff of our mother’s death. The staff called the mortician who had to get up and dressed since it was in the wee hours of the morning. I was too wrapped up in woe to see her soul leave her cooling body.
We wandered into the hallway and then returned to the room to begin packing her paraphernalia. Mom was in the nursing home for three weeks, probably had a stroke and began to downgrade during the next week. I was not informed since Sister #1 was in town. They moved Mom to the Hospice Residence expecting that she would live for two more weeks. Sister #2 is a professional hospice nurse; she knows the signs of impending transition. The afternoon of the move, our mom declined quickly so that is when I got a call.
Mom couldn’t talk anymore due to extreme dehydration and she didn’t open her eyes. I know that she could hear me because she did respond to my voice. She flashed the “I love you” American Sign Language sign during her final hours. I would always sign it as I departed my parent’s home and drove away. Watching her die was the most horrific experience of my life.
The cordial mortician arrived about an hour after mom “passed” (what a stupid euphemism). He was gentle and explained the process. We said good-bye to Mum and went to my Dad’s house. The body was taken to the mortuary the embalming process was performed. I had to pull over and cry a couple times during the drive. Sat in stunned silence in the living room as people began to fall asleep in their chairs. After an hour, Sister #2 left for home and I went to our cousin’s house. I’ve often stayed at Betty’s home and she is a sweetheart.
I managed to sleep for a couple hours and then returned to Dad’s place. We choked down lunch and then went to the mortuary to make the final arrangements. The obituary was completed and Dad picked out the service cards, burial vault, and signed paperwork. It took about an hour and we returned to the house. Everybody was exhausted and sad. Sisters were polite but cold and I stayed quiet. That evening I went to Betty’s house. I called my friend Roopa, whose dad died a couple weeks ago, and wept. I didn’t intend to burden her with my sorrow but she was sympathetic.
The next morning I got up, had breakfast at Dad’s, and departed for my home. It took all my willpower to not pull over and turn on the waterworks. I kept singing the song, “These are a few of my favorite things.” I was utterly wiped out by the time I arrived at my residence. I began calling friends to let them know about the funeral arrangements. I left a message for my boss. The day was a blur of pain.
I have been vacillating between tears, numb exhaustion, physical pain, and wailing. Grief feels like a heavy lead body suit is pressing down on me. I’m tired but restless. I manage to sleep for about four hours a night. It is difficult to concentrate – not even able to distract myself by reading a book.
She flies on gossamer wings.
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
We wandered into the hallway and then returned to the room to begin packing her paraphernalia. Mom was in the nursing home for three weeks, probably had a stroke and began to downgrade during the next week. I was not informed since Sister #1 was in town. They moved Mom to the Hospice Residence expecting that she would live for two more weeks. Sister #2 is a professional hospice nurse; she knows the signs of impending transition. The afternoon of the move, our mom declined quickly so that is when I got a call.
Mom couldn’t talk anymore due to extreme dehydration and she didn’t open her eyes. I know that she could hear me because she did respond to my voice. She flashed the “I love you” American Sign Language sign during her final hours. I would always sign it as I departed my parent’s home and drove away. Watching her die was the most horrific experience of my life.
The cordial mortician arrived about an hour after mom “passed” (what a stupid euphemism). He was gentle and explained the process. We said good-bye to Mum and went to my Dad’s house. The body was taken to the mortuary the embalming process was performed. I had to pull over and cry a couple times during the drive. Sat in stunned silence in the living room as people began to fall asleep in their chairs. After an hour, Sister #2 left for home and I went to our cousin’s house. I’ve often stayed at Betty’s home and she is a sweetheart.
I managed to sleep for a couple hours and then returned to Dad’s place. We choked down lunch and then went to the mortuary to make the final arrangements. The obituary was completed and Dad picked out the service cards, burial vault, and signed paperwork. It took about an hour and we returned to the house. Everybody was exhausted and sad. Sisters were polite but cold and I stayed quiet. That evening I went to Betty’s house. I called my friend Roopa, whose dad died a couple weeks ago, and wept. I didn’t intend to burden her with my sorrow but she was sympathetic.
The next morning I got up, had breakfast at Dad’s, and departed for my home. It took all my willpower to not pull over and turn on the waterworks. I kept singing the song, “These are a few of my favorite things.” I was utterly wiped out by the time I arrived at my residence. I began calling friends to let them know about the funeral arrangements. I left a message for my boss. The day was a blur of pain.
I have been vacillating between tears, numb exhaustion, physical pain, and wailing. Grief feels like a heavy lead body suit is pressing down on me. I’m tired but restless. I manage to sleep for about four hours a night. It is difficult to concentrate – not even able to distract myself by reading a book.
She flies on gossamer wings.
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Monday, October 21, 2013
STAR DANCES
She slipped this mortal coil
To ride the light fantastic
And dance with the Ancestors
Amongst the stars
Fare thee well, dearest Mother!
Remember, I will always love you.
Ima
Painting by Alison Price www.alisonpricestudios.com
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved.
To ride the light fantastic
And dance with the Ancestors
Amongst the stars
Fare thee well, dearest Mother!
Remember, I will always love you.
Ima
Painting by Alison Price www.alisonpricestudios.com
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
THE LIGHT FANTASTIC
With a sigh, it was over. Five long hours of struggling for breath as her heart beat slower and slower and then not at all. My magnificent mother was dead. It was agony to watch her fight to stay alive. Bitter-sweetly, I was glad that both the physical pain and the mental anguish called Alzheimer’s no longer tormented her. I began to sob. My dear sweet mother was no more.
I know that death is a just a part of the cycle but it was an incredibly cruel ordeal for Mum and all the people who loved her. Why? She didn’t deserve to suffer. She was a good woman, a loyal friend, and sacrificed herself for her family. The diagnosis of dementia made her so angry and afraid. I called every week but it was emotionally traumatizing to visit. I did my best but I failed her.
The beautiful fall morning was benign. I had the day off from work and puttered in the garden with a lot of physical labor. After exhausting myself, I took a shower and sat down to read a book. The phone rang, Sister #2 said, “You better come down, Mom is near the end.” I queried, “Hours? Days?” She is a hospice nurse and knows the physical signs and responded, “It will be soon, very soon.” I told her that I’d come. I literally threw some clothes in a bag, made sure the cats had vittles, called my neighbors and a friend to let them know that I was leaving, and I went.
Encountered terrible rush hour traffic and two major construction zones. The sun was setting as I arrived at the hospice center. Sister #2, her son, and his wife were there. Mom looked like she was sleeping but they said that she hadn’t spoken or responded for more than a day. My emotions were blocking my ability to see her aura but I knew that she was already “gray.” I whispered to her parents, her brother, cousins, and her departed friends to be present and help her make the transition. I gave her a kiss on the cheek and said, “Its okay Mom, go.”
My sisters arrived with our Dad and brought along my friendly niece, daughter of #2. They were polite but cold. We took turns holding her hand. I thought it was rather disrespectful to watch tv and talk around her. I know that she could hear so I would go over and tell her that I loved her. Mom hadn’t eaten or drank anything so her mouth was dry and lips chapped. My sister would swab out the mucus in her mouth and apply chap-stick. Mom would groan and occasionally wave her hands. She did make the “I love you” sign with her hand so I know that she was there.
My nephew and spouse departed and we settled in for the night. Dad took the comfie lounge chair, Sister #3 slouched on the couch while #1 & #2 guarded the bedside. At about 11:15pm Mom began to struggle. #2 tilted the bed so mom was almost sitting but it still was hard for her to breathe. The duty nurse brought in some medications to help her relax and a morphine dose. It seemed to calm Mom down but her breathing would vacillate between gasps, regular breaths, and pants.
Dad and siblings all managed to sleep on and off but I couldn’t relax. The couch was not comfortable so I had to get up and walk around once in a while. I called a friend to let her know that Mom was dying and she agreed to inform the rest of my friends. Excruciating to watch Mom strive to inhale, the most difficult experience of my entire existence. She is the one person who has always supported me, taught me so much, and provided unconditional love. I didn’t want her to be in pain but I knew that I would miss her terribly.
Mom’s hands became cooler as the hours ensued. Her earlobes deflated, which is a sign of extreme dehydration. Two sisters were sleeping and the other half-dozing. Dad was half-awake in the chair by the bed when Mom’s breath changed. I knew it was the time of her transition. I yelled for the sisters, they jumped up and we were all there as Mom slipped free of this mortal coil to ride the light fantastic and join the ancestors in the stars.
I will always love you, Mum!
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
I know that death is a just a part of the cycle but it was an incredibly cruel ordeal for Mum and all the people who loved her. Why? She didn’t deserve to suffer. She was a good woman, a loyal friend, and sacrificed herself for her family. The diagnosis of dementia made her so angry and afraid. I called every week but it was emotionally traumatizing to visit. I did my best but I failed her.
The beautiful fall morning was benign. I had the day off from work and puttered in the garden with a lot of physical labor. After exhausting myself, I took a shower and sat down to read a book. The phone rang, Sister #2 said, “You better come down, Mom is near the end.” I queried, “Hours? Days?” She is a hospice nurse and knows the physical signs and responded, “It will be soon, very soon.” I told her that I’d come. I literally threw some clothes in a bag, made sure the cats had vittles, called my neighbors and a friend to let them know that I was leaving, and I went.
Encountered terrible rush hour traffic and two major construction zones. The sun was setting as I arrived at the hospice center. Sister #2, her son, and his wife were there. Mom looked like she was sleeping but they said that she hadn’t spoken or responded for more than a day. My emotions were blocking my ability to see her aura but I knew that she was already “gray.” I whispered to her parents, her brother, cousins, and her departed friends to be present and help her make the transition. I gave her a kiss on the cheek and said, “Its okay Mom, go.”
My sisters arrived with our Dad and brought along my friendly niece, daughter of #2. They were polite but cold. We took turns holding her hand. I thought it was rather disrespectful to watch tv and talk around her. I know that she could hear so I would go over and tell her that I loved her. Mom hadn’t eaten or drank anything so her mouth was dry and lips chapped. My sister would swab out the mucus in her mouth and apply chap-stick. Mom would groan and occasionally wave her hands. She did make the “I love you” sign with her hand so I know that she was there.
My nephew and spouse departed and we settled in for the night. Dad took the comfie lounge chair, Sister #3 slouched on the couch while #1 & #2 guarded the bedside. At about 11:15pm Mom began to struggle. #2 tilted the bed so mom was almost sitting but it still was hard for her to breathe. The duty nurse brought in some medications to help her relax and a morphine dose. It seemed to calm Mom down but her breathing would vacillate between gasps, regular breaths, and pants.
Dad and siblings all managed to sleep on and off but I couldn’t relax. The couch was not comfortable so I had to get up and walk around once in a while. I called a friend to let her know that Mom was dying and she agreed to inform the rest of my friends. Excruciating to watch Mom strive to inhale, the most difficult experience of my entire existence. She is the one person who has always supported me, taught me so much, and provided unconditional love. I didn’t want her to be in pain but I knew that I would miss her terribly.
Mom’s hands became cooler as the hours ensued. Her earlobes deflated, which is a sign of extreme dehydration. Two sisters were sleeping and the other half-dozing. Dad was half-awake in the chair by the bed when Mom’s breath changed. I knew it was the time of her transition. I yelled for the sisters, they jumped up and we were all there as Mom slipped free of this mortal coil to ride the light fantastic and join the ancestors in the stars.
I will always love you, Mum!
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Sunday, October 13, 2013
END THE SHUTDOWN
Cruel twist to the Government Shutdown, my nephew-in-law who is active-duty is not able to bring the family to Minnesota for my mother’s funeral because he can not access his back-pay due to the inability of the United States Congress and the President of the United States to end the shutdown of the United States Government.
Three adults and five kids are prevented from proper mourning because of the infantile behavior of elected representatives who are playing games in the big playpen of the WDC Beltway. Our family does not have the money to pay for their airfare, car rental, hotel, and food.
Please, if you are a citizen of the US – call, fax, email, or drop by the office of your Congressional Representative, both State Senators, and contact the President TODAY. Tell them to grow up and end the Shutdown. Their cruelty pours salt on the open wound of my mother’s death.
If you want to donate money for their trip, make a donation to the "Feed the Kitty" account and add a note. Thanks.http://www.gofundme.com/i4ix0?utm_medium=wdgt
Grow Up Congress!
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Three adults and five kids are prevented from proper mourning because of the infantile behavior of elected representatives who are playing games in the big playpen of the WDC Beltway. Our family does not have the money to pay for their airfare, car rental, hotel, and food.
Please, if you are a citizen of the US – call, fax, email, or drop by the office of your Congressional Representative, both State Senators, and contact the President TODAY. Tell them to grow up and end the Shutdown. Their cruelty pours salt on the open wound of my mother’s death.
If you want to donate money for their trip, make a donation to the "Feed the Kitty" account and add a note. Thanks.http://www.gofundme.com/i4ix0?utm_medium=wdgt
Grow Up Congress!
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
MEMORIES OF MOM
Mischievous, she delighted in the proverbial “pulling of the leg.” My mother especially liked it when someone asked for a “little” of something. She loved placing a teaspoon of ice cream in a large bowl. The extremeness of Minnesotan politeness caused the person to thank mum which made her laugh and then return with a single scoop, per the person’s request. It was her favorite joke.
July 31, 2011 was the first time we cried together about her diagnosis of Alzheimer’s. I had visited for a couple days and was packing to leave. She came into the guest room to say that I should look through her jewelry (costume, nothing expensive). “I don’t know how long I’ll have my mind,” mom stated and I burst into tears. She began to cry too. We sobbed into each other’s arms for several minutes. Oddly, it felt good to release the pain.
She had been so angry about the diagnosis two years previously and would not say the word Alzheimer. I’ve told her repeatedly that she did nothing wrong, she does not deserve to have this disease. During 2011 she began repeating herself more and only remembered about half of what occurred during the day. I’ve already written about when I cut my hair in May 2011 and she didn’t recognize me. In a way, this is worse than a terminal illness like cancer. I will be losing her twice, first her mind and then her body, which could be years later. Prolonged grief.
Mom said that she didn’t have physical pain in 2011 but not being able to remember hurt her heart. I feared that she would slip into oblivion quickly, but it was gradual. The twinkle in her eye, her personal spark, dissolved and the confused look became permanent. I hoped that she will fade into happy oblivion but she is fearful and confused in the nursing home. Her physical pain has grown and I worry that the prescription of Vicoden won’t be strong enough. It might be easier for her to be medicated into a coma. I hate to see her suffer.
I hope that a cure or vaccination for Alzheimer’s will be developed soon. I know that it is too late for my mother. I fear that my siblings, their kids, grandkids and I may carry the gene since my mother’s older sister also has the disease. I wish that the US’s National Institute of Health would provide guidelines to reduce the possibility of this awful condition. Are there herbs or supplements that I should take? Are there things that I should avoid? I am not interested in folklore but actual studies that have proven that these alternative medicines work. Somehow we are causing the gene to activate, what is causing it?
Don’t waste a day.
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
July 31, 2011 was the first time we cried together about her diagnosis of Alzheimer’s. I had visited for a couple days and was packing to leave. She came into the guest room to say that I should look through her jewelry (costume, nothing expensive). “I don’t know how long I’ll have my mind,” mom stated and I burst into tears. She began to cry too. We sobbed into each other’s arms for several minutes. Oddly, it felt good to release the pain.
She had been so angry about the diagnosis two years previously and would not say the word Alzheimer. I’ve told her repeatedly that she did nothing wrong, she does not deserve to have this disease. During 2011 she began repeating herself more and only remembered about half of what occurred during the day. I’ve already written about when I cut my hair in May 2011 and she didn’t recognize me. In a way, this is worse than a terminal illness like cancer. I will be losing her twice, first her mind and then her body, which could be years later. Prolonged grief.
Mom said that she didn’t have physical pain in 2011 but not being able to remember hurt her heart. I feared that she would slip into oblivion quickly, but it was gradual. The twinkle in her eye, her personal spark, dissolved and the confused look became permanent. I hoped that she will fade into happy oblivion but she is fearful and confused in the nursing home. Her physical pain has grown and I worry that the prescription of Vicoden won’t be strong enough. It might be easier for her to be medicated into a coma. I hate to see her suffer.
I hope that a cure or vaccination for Alzheimer’s will be developed soon. I know that it is too late for my mother. I fear that my siblings, their kids, grandkids and I may carry the gene since my mother’s older sister also has the disease. I wish that the US’s National Institute of Health would provide guidelines to reduce the possibility of this awful condition. Are there herbs or supplements that I should take? Are there things that I should avoid? I am not interested in folklore but actual studies that have proven that these alternative medicines work. Somehow we are causing the gene to activate, what is causing it?
Don’t waste a day.
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved
Thursday, September 26, 2013
HEAVEN SHE SEEKS
My mother is dying. The dementia, possibly Alzheimer’s, has been stripping away her memories and personality for several years. She spark faded and she hasn’t always known who I was for the past three years. It has been agony to observe and I have cried many many tears. During my last visit it was clear that she could no longer stay at home. I spoke with my dad about having her move into a nursing home/memory care unit. He reluctantly agreed but wanted to wait until the fall. Well, autumn has arrived and she has moved in.
Mum has been placed in the memory unit of a nursing home. It is a newer facility so the halls are wide and the rooms are large. The nursing home section has artwork and there are lots of activities, whereas the memory unit is quiet almost silent. It is a female-only unit and only half full. There is always at least one PCA (Personal Care Attendant) on duty and a nurse comes in to administer medicine. Sadly, statistics show that half of all dementia patients are abused. Half, how despicable. I hope that my mother will be safe.
Mom doesn’t like her new abode. She has slept in the same bed with my father for nearly sixty years. She is confused and exhausted. She has problems with her blood pressure and iron level. She used to walk five miles a day can now barely shuffle a few steps. It is heart wrenching to hear her plea to “come home” and telling her that we have to wait for her to “get better.” She’s never going to heal; neither her body nor her mind will mend. Her only exit will be death. I cried quietly during every visit. I didn’t want to upset her with my sadness.
Mother has suffered from chronic back pain her whole life. She would unenthusiastically consume painkillers. I urged my father to ask for prescription pain eliminator when they take her to the doctor. She isn’t eating much and sleeps a lot. She is off the warfarin so blood clots will likely develop. There is a DNR (Do not revive) order. I don’t want her to suffer. I reluctantly wish for her to let loose from this mortal coil quickly and peacefully, perhaps from a heart attack while sleeping. I don’t believe in heaven or hell but she does. I hope she moves to the heaven she seeks with no pain and full of personality. She’s been a good mother, I miss her already.
Uncoil Mortality!
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved.
Mum has been placed in the memory unit of a nursing home. It is a newer facility so the halls are wide and the rooms are large. The nursing home section has artwork and there are lots of activities, whereas the memory unit is quiet almost silent. It is a female-only unit and only half full. There is always at least one PCA (Personal Care Attendant) on duty and a nurse comes in to administer medicine. Sadly, statistics show that half of all dementia patients are abused. Half, how despicable. I hope that my mother will be safe.
Mom doesn’t like her new abode. She has slept in the same bed with my father for nearly sixty years. She is confused and exhausted. She has problems with her blood pressure and iron level. She used to walk five miles a day can now barely shuffle a few steps. It is heart wrenching to hear her plea to “come home” and telling her that we have to wait for her to “get better.” She’s never going to heal; neither her body nor her mind will mend. Her only exit will be death. I cried quietly during every visit. I didn’t want to upset her with my sadness.
Mother has suffered from chronic back pain her whole life. She would unenthusiastically consume painkillers. I urged my father to ask for prescription pain eliminator when they take her to the doctor. She isn’t eating much and sleeps a lot. She is off the warfarin so blood clots will likely develop. There is a DNR (Do not revive) order. I don’t want her to suffer. I reluctantly wish for her to let loose from this mortal coil quickly and peacefully, perhaps from a heart attack while sleeping. I don’t believe in heaven or hell but she does. I hope she moves to the heaven she seeks with no pain and full of personality. She’s been a good mother, I miss her already.
Uncoil Mortality!
Copyright © 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
WRETCHEDNESS PERSISTS
Learned on Facebook that a childhood friend had died of cancer. Morton had been ill with myriad illnesses for years and was on a transplant list. I had last seen him in November and he had the “gray” aura. We spoke about death. He was okay with making the transition but would miss his teenaged kids and hubby. I cried as I read the news at the computer. Morton was a terrific person. To reduce my malaise I spent time more with friends. Due to being out and about I didn’t notice until a couple days later that the fridge was 62 degrees. I lost a lot of food, had to spend time buying ice to salvage what I could, and arrange for another repairperson to fix the first person’s fuck up.
There was an odd Electro-Magnetic vibe in my garage for three days. My auto’s door opener and garage door opener remote would not work. Thankfully, the car battery was not drained and I could use the regular garage door switch to open and close the door. The car’s remote worked fine elsewhere but not at home. I had recently smudged the house and now I need to do the unattached garage and shed. Was it Morton???
Exhaustion threatened. I was sleeping at night (I’m happy to get 6 hours of sleep but its more like four). I kept falling asleep on the couch. I had trouble staying awake at work and doused myself with caffeine. There were lots of activities that I wanted to attend but I just could not drag myself out of the house. I really needed to mow the lawn. I was afraid that I’d fall over when I got done and have to crawl into the house. Thus, the grass grew as a result of the rain. I felt guilty for my sloth but my body demanded rest.
It was probably a combination of a stressful schedule and depression about Morton. His hubby is planning a celebration party and I will attend. It is always better to have a party than a sad ass funeral. During the two wild weeks, repair people came to my house five days. I’ll write about it later. Janice did apologize for not treating all her cats for fleas before she departed. Apparently the pests don’t bite her.
Seeing solice.
Copyright (c) 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved.
There was an odd Electro-Magnetic vibe in my garage for three days. My auto’s door opener and garage door opener remote would not work. Thankfully, the car battery was not drained and I could use the regular garage door switch to open and close the door. The car’s remote worked fine elsewhere but not at home. I had recently smudged the house and now I need to do the unattached garage and shed. Was it Morton???
Exhaustion threatened. I was sleeping at night (I’m happy to get 6 hours of sleep but its more like four). I kept falling asleep on the couch. I had trouble staying awake at work and doused myself with caffeine. There were lots of activities that I wanted to attend but I just could not drag myself out of the house. I really needed to mow the lawn. I was afraid that I’d fall over when I got done and have to crawl into the house. Thus, the grass grew as a result of the rain. I felt guilty for my sloth but my body demanded rest.
It was probably a combination of a stressful schedule and depression about Morton. His hubby is planning a celebration party and I will attend. It is always better to have a party than a sad ass funeral. During the two wild weeks, repair people came to my house five days. I’ll write about it later. Janice did apologize for not treating all her cats for fleas before she departed. Apparently the pests don’t bite her.
Seeing solice.
Copyright (c) 2013 by Ima B. Musing; All rights reserved.
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