A sad tale

Is love really all about the physicality of a relationship or is it something more. Something deeper. What constitutes being in love or just loving someone. Is there a difference? Or is love just that -- you either love someone or something or you don't. What are the parameters of being in love and can a relationship exist if one partner says that being in love doesn't exist for them?

Becoming me

It has occurred to me that no matter how hard we try, we can't protect our children from the hurts of life. It is these actions -- some of them anyway -- that turn them into well adjusted adults. Life must be lived on their terms, and not our own. No matter how much we wish it otherwise, we can't be there to cushion each fall.

I compare my own adventure into adult hood with that of my children. Did my parents feel the pain of each of my hurts as I do my own children? How do other parents feel? I have tended to surround myself with like-minded adults, and I know how they feel. I want to know how others feel.

Perhaps we are never really grown until we can take a step back and allow those most closest to our hearts pick themselves up when they fall. It is this act of letting go that frees them to find their own sense of self, and perhaps it allows us to close the chapter of who we are and begin the next chapter of our own lives.

The colors of Texas

The grand vacation to Texas is now just a memory. It was great fun though. Time was spent with family and friends -- so much love was shared. In addition, to the love, the region presents with such a variety of colors that it is almost overwhelming to the senses.

Living on the eastern border of Missouri, we have blues and greens, and beautiful muted autumn colors. Not at all what one sees in southern Texas. They have already experienced spring, so everything is bright emerald green. Cacti are in bloom as well as the blue bonnets.

The sky gifts such amazing colors -- shades of blue that are not seen in Missouri. Clouds play among the blue like children playing in the ever present pools of crystal blue water. Sunrises and sunsets present a variety of pink and purples hues that look like God himself has taken a paint brush to the skies. Beautiful and almost indescribable in their beauty.

A trip to the coast of the Gulf of Mexico presents another gentle assault on the senses. People crowd the sides of the ferries that take them from one piece of land to another in hopes of a glimpse of the dolphins that are often at play. On this day though, the dolphins seem to be at rest, but the ferry riders are awarded with the sight of a statuesque pelican gracefully perched on the landing.

A short car trip later, and the ocean appears as if someone opened a great pop up book. The scene spills into view. The great expanse of sand and the even greater expanse of ocean. The water is frothy with white foam as the waves tried to clamber to shore. Standing in their midst looking over the great expanse of ocean makes one feel so insignificant. The chill of the blue-gray water disappears as only the sounds and smells of the sea overtake a person as it becomes a living thing.

The colors of nature only barely edge out the colors that are man created. Although some homes are the traditional while, beige, or brick that we are used to seeing in the Midwest, many are painted with colors that remind one of a new box of crayons. The rainbow colors of the houses make even the ordinary yet unfortunate colored houses seem brighter, as if they are trying to compete in a beauty contest of sorts.

The love that was shared will remain with us forever in our hearts and in our minds. The unintended gifts of color will remain with us also.

Sarah

For those inquiring about my niece, Sarah, here is an update. She is out of the hospital and has learned that she has stage 3 colon cancer. You can google it and find out way more information than you ever wanted to know. My eldest sister had the job of telling me.

As you might remember, Sarah has no insurance. If you desire to help, you can make checks out to her (Sarah Rawson). You can send to me or to her parent's house. Please email me at patricknjacob@aol.com if you desire addresses. Also, I am sure Sarah would appreciate just a kind word of support and positive energy. Again, email me for the address.

This type of cancer is beatable. It is going to be a hard battle though. Please include Sarah in your prayers.

Life as a poor person

It seems that breaks are hard to come by these days. Fanciful thoughts led to a belief that things were finally getting easier for my family. However, it was just that -- fanciful thoughts.

Insurance is one big deal. The boys are on a state funded program, but the program is very restrictive. We went back to our old family practice that we haven't used in four years -- because that doctor accepts the plan. My son's psychologist accepts it, but his psychiatrist doesn't. Out of pocket for the psychiatrist is $135 per hour.

My husband lost his job after 10 years. His severance pay kicked us out of food stamps. The majority of that money was used to pay past due bills. It doesn't matter though, because on paper DFS has decided that it doesn't matter that we were behind on bills or whatever -- it is still too much.

There are programs in place that would allow me to get my meds at a greatly reduced cost -- except that I am a veteran. Veterans are supposed to use the VA for medical care, except that they use your previous year's income. That income doesn't appropriately represent our present situation. According to the VA, it doesn't matter. It is too much money, so benefits are not available. Long story short is that if a previous year's income is above the current guidelines, then VA benefits are not available -- and neither is assistance from the drug manufacturers.

Is it tense in the household? You bet. Do I know how to change anything? Not a clue.

To Heaven or Hell

An interesting conversation with my son tonight. It started because my niece, a young 20 something has cancer. So we started talking about how sometimes life seems so unfair. Then he asked me to tell him a story.

I told him about when I was in the third grade, all settled in school by then, with friends close enough that we could walk to each others houses. My grandparents, with whom I thought the sun rose and set, were within walking distance from our house. Life was good. One day my dad came home from work and told us that we had to move. He had been promoted, but we had to move to the town he was going to work in.

You need some background here to see the entire picture. My mom had never lived anywhere else but that town. She knew every nook and cranny, and I believe she was very happy there. If the sun rose and set with my grandparents (her parents), then the stars in the sky were there because of my mom. She was involved in everything -- the library board, march of dimes, my class room mother -- and if that wasn't enough, she kept the house running smoothly for me and my six siblings, plus my cantankerous dad. In my world, my mother was as close to perfect as a mother can be.

That all changed when we moved. In fact, everything changed. My grandfather passed away right before we moved. A hard blow to my mom. We lost my other grandfather and my grandmother the next two years. Plus, we didn't fit in. My dad was mean -- he ran off my mom's friends. He ran off our friends. We couldn't have anyone over when he was at home, because he would make them go home and we would get in trouble for having fun. Looking back, it must have been a very stressful time for him too. He also had to move away from his home town, and begin a new job. All in all, I think most of the family was pretty unhappy about the move.

So back to sharing with my son: he asked about what it was like to move. Then, for some reason, my son asked me how old my mom was when she died. He said that he thought it was cancer that killed my mother, and the fact that she had Alzheimer's -- well she was predestined to have that cancer and it was her time to go. Then he asked me what I thought about my dad, who has been so mean and hurtful for most of his life, still being here.

I thought about that for a moment. I didn't have to think about how I would answer, but only if I should share my thoughts with my son. Well, he did ask, so I told him. I shared that I thought it was awful that my mom had to suffer the illnesses that she did, and that I felt cheated because I would have chosen that path for my dad any day over my mom.

We then talked about karma, and heaven versus hell. My boy thinks my dad has no chance of being allowed into heaven. As for me, I don't know. Perhaps the laws of karma are already working. My dad is old -- 80, but he seems even older to me. His eyesight is failing. My independent stubborn father is now dependent on others for so many things. On top of that, he watched my mother's decline from day one to the very end. If that isn't hell, well, I just can't imagine it could be any worse. So maybe he is already dealing with karma. Maybe, getting into heaven is like my mother used to say, "As long as you have faith at least the size of a mustard seed, you will allowed into heaven."

The war

All around is mess. Papers - everywhere, books - everywhere. The clutter is taking control. The mind is loosing.

When no one is around, the elves come out and produce more -- leaving it to be found the next morning. Just a little here and there. Not even enough to notice, unless attention is being paid. A few more papers on the desk, a book laying on the floor, some dirt scattered on the table in front of the plant pot.

Insomnia kept them at bay for a long time, but the little sneaks, in their proud pointy shoes and ridiculous hats, are smart. The wait on the fringe for the eyelids to droop and finally close. Then they tiptoe around, knowing where the squeaky floorboard is and how close they can get to the family dog without waking him. Snickers muffled, they create just the ever so slight difference.

Their hope is to gain control Their prayer is that the human will either leave or be locked away. Their freedom is at stake, and the war is on.