Part of what must be on my mind.

I do not often dream about people I can easily identify, unless I see them often. So last night it seemed odd that I should dream so clearly about my nephew Alan who is recently deceased. It was not a remarkable dream. For some reason, in my dream, Yvonne and I were out shopping at some sort of thrift store, and she had found several necklaces which appeared to be teardrop shaped glass pendants on dainty chains. Each pendant seemed to have images of babies, a little like Anne Geddes' art work, somehow embedded in high resolution into the glass. I get that... what woman does not like babies? Not something I would have bought , however... but the strange part was in my dream was my nephew Alan was apparently working at the shop in some capacity. He was wearing some sort of headpiece enabling him to manage the phones and talk to a supervisor while helping customers. That was strange. Alan liked people, and might have done well in retail at one time, but he preferred a different method to making money that did not involve actual work. Too, in the dream, he seemed happy, clean, and healthy. That was the odd part. I had not seen him be any of these things in several years. But, upon waking, I still felt somehow good, because in a way. I sensed that he may be those things now.

I am nervous, very nervous about tomorrow. I have been in pain so long now that I am desperate for relief, but I am still nervous. Not as scared perhaps as when I went in for heart surgery, but I have had a lot more time to think about this, and there are several reasons I believe that my nerves are getting the best of me. First of all, as with any procedure, there are risks. I could walk out of the procedure  and it could not work. I could have to go through it again. I could get a serious infection. I could end up walking out in worse shape then when I walk in. Or, it could work, and I may find the relief I seek. But even if I do, I know it is just a temporary fix, a bandage on a condition which I may have to deal with for the rest of my life. I hate that. I hate my damn walker, and I hate every moment of pain I have to go through. I took a shower last night, and the pain made it difficult to do, and more so, it made it difficult to dry off and get dressed afterwards.

That's the thing with this sort of problem, the little things we take for granted every day. When our body no longer lets us do those things without pain, or when the pain becomes so great that we cannot do those things at all.... it becomes overwhelming. Emotionally, since this all began, I have changed, a lot. But not necessarily for the better in all respects. In fact, all but one of the changes, it seems, are negative. The one positive change I have seen is that I am more appreciative of the "good days". But mostly, I regret not being able to do the things I once did. I regret that so much goes undone. I regret that household chores do not get done. I feel like a burden, and I feel guilt. I feel worthless, and I feel depressed.

I have no sense of accomplishment most days, and beyond that, I see things coming up that will require a lot of work, and I do not know how I will handle it. So it seems apparent to me that I am going to have to make it easier on myself in the future by getting rid of stuff, or I am going to have to ask for help. Asking for help is not always easy.But I suppose I had better get used to it. It would appear that some years in the future, I will have to rely more heavily on others. I hate that idea. But hopefully, I can maintain my mind, if not my body,, and I can at the very least continue to express my appreciation to those that are there for me when I need it. I used to joke that I planned on being difficult for the poor nurses when I do end up in a nursing home. I realize now, that by then, my pride will be largely broken, and I will be better off by being kind and appreciative. It may get me a lot further if I do not make all the nurses hate me.

I do have another option, and it is the scariest of all. I can make good choices now, and work harder than I ever have to reclaim my health, to strengthen myself, and to try to reverse as many of these things as I can now. That means a lifestyle makeover. I have to rethink everything, plan. make a commitment to myself, to God, and to others that I will not give up, that I will keep picking myself up when I fail, and try again. I have to will myself to beat this thing, and I may have to ask for help in doing it.

But for now, let me just get through this next week.

First Poem in a very long while.

Another poem by Jeffery F Walton

I do not write poetry as often as I would like. Nor do I necessarily write very good poetry. However, when I do get the urge to write poems, it is usually the result of feeling pretty low about something going on in my mind or life. Today, obviously, I am having struggles in my relationship.  It happens, but I have allowed things to get out of hand.

I do not necessarily want to go into details, and won't go into many. However, I will say that with the developments of the recent changes in my health, and the resulting pain, I have found myself    unable to control my emotions. I have been frustrated at myself and my situation. I have been angry at my inability to do the things I have always done with ease until now. I have been angry because in many respects my life feels totally out of control. Not good for someone with OCD. As a result, I have taken all of these feelings out on those closest to me. Shameful, I know, and pain is not an excuse for being an asshole. But there it is.

This poem is for the person I claim to love, but have not been acting like it. I do not blame her for her feelings right now. I only hope and pray that I can pull my head out of my ass and get back on track before it is too late. In as much as anything, this post is a public apology to a wonderful woman who deserves a whole lot better than I have been lately.

Unexpected encouragement.

Yesterday was a long day. I was presented with news that I could have gone a lifetime without hearing. The telephone rings, and a voice, perhaps familiar, perhaps not, disembodied, impersonal, yet belonging to a person who is faced with one of the more difficult tasks in life, proceeds to tell you that someone you know and perhaps loved is gone. It is a part of life. These things happen to each of us in time. Sometimes we are the recipients of bad news, sometimes the task falls to us to deliver the news to someone we care about, or other times to people we may not even know. It is an unenviable task, one which there is simply no easy way to do. You cannot really prepare someone for the news, because that only sets their mind to spinning, "Oh God! What is it?" On the other hand, the bearer of the bad tidings must be considerate of the recipients feelings. But there is no easy way. 

How do you tell them that someone they know and perhaps loved is dead, and not coming home tonight? In my experience, the direct approach is usually best. Don't beat around the bush, simply express your regrets up front, and simply state the facts in as clear and concise a manner as possible. Then remain with the person, either in person, or on the phone, long enough to offer whatever support and condolences that you can, listen to them, answer the questions, and then, making sure they are as okay as they can be under the circumstances, walk away. Your job is done. Anything less would be insensitive, anything more would be maudlin. I applaud young Quinn for the tactful way in which he handled the painful duty. He was personally involved with my nephew, worked with him, and knew him better than most. He was a friend to Alan John. I am thankful for everything he did for Alan, and in turn for me. Quinn is a nice man, a caring man, working in a challenging field, advocating for the needs of the homeless, focusing specifically on providing them with an avenue off the streets. 

In many cases, it seems like we walk past the homeless, sometimes not even sparing them a glance, or acknowledging their presence. But thankfully there are a few, people like Quinn, who find a calling in serving the needs of the homeless, of treating them with dignity and respect. People like Quinn who see people like my nephew Alan as more than just a sad statistic, but as a person, a human being who has a story, feelings, needs, but who most of all just one person to care enough about them to not look away.

In the past few years I have learned that there is a fine line between helping someone, and enabling someone. Sometimes doing one means doing the other. What can you do in those circumstances? That is something I have yet to figure out. But, along with the many other things that are important to me, this is something I have begun to feel strongly about. One of my things is that I enjoy writing, I find it cathartic. It helps me to sort out my thought and feelings. But I have a tendency to only write about the events as they happen. 

A friend of mine, last night, took me aside, and encouraged me to pursue my writing, as have many others before him.But he suggested that I not necessarily write in a linear fashion. Who says I need to keep things in any sort of order? The important thing is that I take the time, explore my observations, past present, and future, without regard to the actual sequence of events. Also to allow myself the freedom to write in whatever manner I see fit... forget about making points, or targeting audiences. Focus instead on the simple act of writing and see where it takes me. So... right now, I haven't a clue where it will lead, but I did want him to know that I did listen, I did hear him, and I genuinely appreciate the input.