Hidden Gem
Needing a writer’s retreat to work on completing that novel? Look no further…you can have the solitude you’re craving to focus on that final chapter. From the moment you walk in, it’s all about you. The living room is charming with the exposed beams and stone fireplace. It invites you to breathe deep and inhale the simpler life. The kitchen has been updated with all the modern amenities you might require. The dining room boasts a large, rustic table for those evenings you might desire company. The winding staircase leads to a private master suite with a picturesque view of the gardens from the balcony. The bath has been redsigned to be efficient yet maintains the original clawfoot tub for the romanticism of the age. The outdoor gardens are steeped in blue and pink hydrangeas and old-fashioned gardenias. A tiny guest cottage is nestled among the fragrances for those times you need inspiration or a different point of view. You will remember the quiet peace you felt as you leave throught the white picket fence. Don’t hesitate because a private retreat, like the pages of a good book, will disappear quickly.
History Imparted
These hands held so much history within their weathered veins and calloused knuckles. A life-long civil rights advocate, a Civil War guide at Gettysburg, a Korean War veteran, and a old soul who shared in my passion for the written word. I met him when he had been widowed just about a year. He shared his life story through the pages of his old typewriter. Upon knowing of his love for literature, I began to send him letters through the mail and old books from my local used bookshop. One of the books I sent him arrived around his eighty-ninth birthday. He wrote me a letter sharing how it brought tears to his eyes upon receiving it, because it was always his wife’s tradition to give him a book on his birthday. I cried. His letters to me always contained favorite quotes, the story behind old hymns, points from his history teachings as a professor, and so much more. Few people appreciate the depth of our elderly. At nearly ninety years of age, this man gave me a personally guided tour of the Gettysburg battelegrounds. History unfolded that day as I listened to his heart and watched how much these hands loved this country. If their stories are not written down and shared with future generations, those stories will simply be lost among tattered pages that are tossed away. He passed away the end of last year. My heart was broken at the loss of such a man but it left me grateful for the history he imparted during our time as friends.
Hands Exchanged
Walk Among the Flowers
I took our walk today. I passed by the flower garden. I said aloud, “no blooms yet, mama.” But no conversation came back to me. I miss you, mama…your soft voice, your kind smile, and your hugs that made it all okay. Why did God take you away? I know He had a reason, maybe to care for heaven’s flowers as you walk the streets of gold. There are days my heart is still broken, and I just want to hold your hand. Instead, I take our walk remembering your hand now walks with Him. God holds you together; no more pain you need to bear. I’ll learn to walk closer to Him until I can meet you once again.
Lost but Not Forgotten
Melvin closed his eyes as he tried to recall the details. His family was desperately seeking to hear his wartime stories before they were lost, which seemed almost daily with his dementia stealing his once laser-focused mind.
“The attic stairs creaked as you carefully placed your feet on each narrow step. The tiny closet doors were the perfect hiding place should one hear footsteps of the enemy. The mortar was chipping away from between the stacked stone of the exterior wall. Sometimes we would write down our true feelings of the war and place the notes in the crevices not knowing if they’d ever be found. The fireplace chimney leaned as if wondering which side of the country to support. Brother against brother…both believing in their reasons for freedom.”
The last few words had been muffled and slurred as Melvin drifted into sleep once more. Oftentimes we wondered when the pain of remembrance would make sleep permanent. But for now our family was thankful to add a few more scattered thoughts to the family heritage album. (This is a fictional start of a story based on personal experience with this disease)
Dementia and Alzheimers begin to fragment the mind. So much history will be lost if we do not record the memories these individuals have trouble recalling. The details may be few but the rich stories that lie buried need to be transcribed so future generations can know and understand and most importantly, appreciate our ancestors and the lives they led.
As someone who has lost a parent to dementia, it is a painful journey. As you watch them slowly slip away, it does not ease the grief when they finally pass from this life. It is literally losing them twice. My grief has been a long journey with many valleys, but my mama always taught me to give back in any way you can because it helps heal the pain. So know that someone understands and cares how you might be feeling. Without the Lord, I could not be surviving because I would have no hope. Because of Him, I can face another day, knowing I will see my precious mama again…on the other side of tomorrow.
“weed your words wisely”
Any plant called a weed will go through life with low expectations. Think about it…if we are told as an individual the same thing over and over, we will begin to believe that about ourselves even if it isn’t true. We will assume we can be any different. Be careful what you say to people..words really do matter!