Your Dying Spouse 99 - It Gets Scary

Things are getting scary for Barbara. She's not entirely sure what she'll find when she comes into the kennel area in the morning - am I still alive?

Or when she comes home - am I still alive?

As a caregiver and a member of the working world, she has to face those fears effectively.

I think she does, and he's how - to my perception - she does it (we don't talk about this, so as not to upset what could be a fragile equilibrium) -

Prayer - we no longer pray together (though I email her a personal prayer each morning as she's taking the train to work), but she does pray, and spends a lot of time on devotional and Scriptural reading,

Diligence - nothing like taking your mind off things, and doing the best for one's employer is not only an obligation, but it's a good way to live...and it helps in maintaining a balanced life, keeping control over things that are under your control. That balance builds a solid base against the vagaries and heartache of a mate's terminal illness.

Exercise - exercise promotes good health and generates endorphins which lead to a positive outlook, both of which help in controlling the effects of fear (and perhaps help put fear in perspective).

Connections - barbar maintains friendships with people in her office, and regularly speaks with her Dad and the lady he's just proposed to (he's a widower, and he's 79, and it's a good match).Life goes on in the wide world, and being part of that - again - puts fear in perspective.

What do you think? Is there anything you'd like to add?

And here is the song (with a nice video) that inspired this post - Molly Jenson's "Give It Time"-

If you can.please do leave a comment. I am trying to answer all, and I am failing, but please know this - I read and treasure each one.

Below are my recent releases on Kindle -please excuse their presence in the body of the blog. I haven't the energy to get them up as 'buttons' in the sidebar. You can click on the covers to go to the Amazon links (they're 99 cents each). And if you'd like a free PDF, please email me at tempusfugit02 (at) gmail (dot) com, and I'll gladly send them

Your Dying Spouse 98 - The Comfort of John 3:16

"For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him might not perish but might have eternal life."

As I write this, the pain in my upper right abdomen is intolerable. It's like a large fish-hook has been passed under the ribs, and pushed out my back...and it's being tugged. Hard.

Morphine is not helping, and there's no getting away from it, save going to an ER and getting knocked out.

That's not an option, for two reasons. First, I have no insurance - can't afford it - and saddling Barbara with that kind of debt would be rather selfish on my part.

But there's a more fundamental reason not to go. I have to witness this. Yes, I'm cheating by taking morphine, but I'm not taking enough to put me under. Because of cost constraints I have to ration it, yes, but it would simply be wrong to bid pain a temporary 'Adios!" and drift off into la-la land.

Taking up the mantle of the highest presumption, I might be tempted to say that Jesus bore the pain, so I've got to do it, too.

I'm not getting myself measured for a robe and sandals, and have not yet ordered a halo from Amazon. And I look really bad in a beard.

It's just this...John 3:16 is both a Gift, and a Responsibility. We're called to live like Jesus, and He didn't back down from the pain He knew was coming, because He had to both take on our sins and thus expunge them...and He had to witness the process to the world.

So now I have a chance to witness a terribly painful and scary journey. How can I pass on this cup, how can I even think of trying to escape? Only a fool would say, "I love this painful and debilitating illness!", and I'm no fool (well, usually...or maybe sometimes not)///but I am here.

What would Jesus do?

I hope that I am right in this, that He would say that in spite of truly evil physical pain - and fear of how much worse it might get - He would say that life, from moment to moment - is still something for which to be grateful, that the promise of eternal life with the Almighty transcends each dreadful spasm.

And more than that (can there be more?).

Yes, maybe there can. Life is not about me. It's about you guys, reading this, who may be where Barbara is, as a caregiver, or who may be where I am (I hope you're not!)...or who may be in one of these place, one day.

I want you to know that there is still fun and joy here. I want you to know that you still have love to give, and that you can extend a hand and heart of faith to those who are faltering.

John 3:16 means that you matter.

If you can.please do leave a comment. I am trying to answer all, and I am failing, but please know this - I read and treasure each one.

Below are my recent releases on Kindle -please excuse their presence in the body of the blog. I haven't the energy to get them up as 'buttons' in the sidebar. You can click on the covers to go to the Amazon links (they're 99 cents each). And if you'd like a free PDF, please email me at tempusfugit02 (at) gmail (dot) com, and I'll gladly send them

Your DYing Spouse 97- Real Christmas

Before I start, I'd like to ask you to visit the blog of my dear writing friend Joe Pote, who's just been diagnosed with throat cancer. Please leave an encouraging comment for him...and please remember him in your prayers. His blog, 'Redeemed', is a Christian standout.

I recently heard, on Trinity Broadcasting, that Christmas is about family, beginning with the Holy Family, and extending to our own families.

People go to great lengths to be together for Christmas, putting up with sometimes dreadful traveling ambiance, and battling weather that would make a saint cry.

Indeed, yes...but here, standing on the edge of Eternity, I'm not so sure.

Families, you see, move on. It takes engagement to be a part of things - even within a marriage - and the swirl of life, especially in this season, calls for the ability to participate.

And while I'm treated wonderfully, I simply can't participate. Not to be melodramatic, but I'm a fading wallflower.

It's good to be able to be a spectator, seeing others' happiness (and sometimes querulousness!), but the feeling's a bit hollow. Like I'm on the harbor's shore, watching the boats setting out on a rising tide.

It's similar for the caregiver, who's tied by both love and obligation to a fixed point...or to a sinking anchor, to continue the nautical parallel.

So what is Christmas, now? If it's not to be a somewhat bleak day and a reminder of mortality...what can the dying and the caregiver make of it?

Perhaps the answer is to be found in the Magi's arrival, and the gifts they brought.

They surely could have expected no celebration, or if they did, they were quickly disabused. And yet they came, and knelt at Mary's feet as she held the Child that would change the world. Not change the world...

SAVE the world.

That salvation would would take up the trappings of royalty, in the golden and sweet-smelling days of Jesus ministry.

And it would come with a terrible cost, a body annointed in myrrh.

And there, I think, is the meaning. Our days, both sick and well, can hold delight in their pleasant fragrance and the riches offered by love and hope, but beyond that is the portal through which we have to pass.

The Magi knew that. So did Mary, and so did Joseph.One hopes that Jesus slept the innocent sleep of the Infant, and didn't think about it just then.

And thus, the meaning. What Christmas means is the promise.

The promise of life, with all of its opportunities, and of the death we all must face...

...and of the Rising that will come, because that Child became The Man who blazed the trail for us.

For the terminally ill, it's quite literal. Death is constantly at one's elbow, but Christmas Day was the beginning of the end for that Last Enemy.

And for the caregiver, it's the promise that this, too, will pass. The heartache will come, the body will be anointed, but the shadows will clear, and the sun will shine again...an emotional resurrection, when the loved one is finally placed in the hands of God.

Because, you see, Christmas isn't about family, and it isn't about a day.

Christmas is about process, the process that saved all of us.

As something of a gift to y'all, here is my very favourite Christmas song...it's relatively new, "Better Days" by the Goo Goo Dolls (which has to be the worst name for a band, ever).

If you can.please do leave a comment. I am trying to answer all, and I am failing, but please know this - I read and treasure each one.

Below are my recent releases on Kindle -please excuse their presence in the body of the blog. I haven't the energy to get them up as 'buttons' in the sidebar. You can click on the covers to go to the Amazon links (they're 99 cents each). And if you'd like a free PDF, please email me at tempusfugit02 (at) gmail (dot) com, and I'll gladly send them

Your Dying Spouse 96 - Christmas Alone

It's going to be an interesting Christmas...alone.

My wife's supervisor and friend has fallen ill, and her husband is taking her out of town for December 24 and 25, which is a very good thing.

They need someone to watch their house, and Barbara is the person they trust most.

It's necessary. Barb's supervisor is also a friend.

So I'll be alone for most of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Cool. I'll invite one of the local motorcycle clubs...say, the Banditos...over and we can...

Oh, wait. I'm saving that for Easter. I'll keep the beer cold, guys.

Seriously, this is a good thing. It is very possibly my last Christmas in this life, and knowing that, the occasion would have been freighted with 'memory-making', and a sort of artificial celebration.

Of which I would have been the focus. Let's get the pictures, guys, because next year...we won't be able to.

Does that sound as dreadful to you as it does to me?

It's better this way. Barb is doing something nice for someone who's become a good friend, and that's all to the good.

There is no bathos to the occasion of Christmas Day. It can be observed - individually - as it's meant to be observed...without the stupid sentimentality.

Observe it as the birthday of Jesus.

I don't see any negatives here, except -perhaps - missing the "Last Christmas".

Well, we didn't miss it . It was last year. And we celebrated normally.

So that normal celebration will go into the album as my final celebration of the Saviour's Birth.

Yeah. I like that.

If you can.please do leave a comment. I am trying to answer all, and I am failing, but please know this - I read and treasure each one.

Below are my recent releases on Kindle -please excuse their presence in the body of the blog. I haven't the energy to get them up as 'buttons' in the sidebar. You can click on the covers to go to the Amazon links (they're 99 cents each). And if you'd like a free PDF, please email me at tempusfugit02 (at) gmail (dot) com, and I'll gladly send them

Your Dying Spouse 96 - Conflicts

Arguments are a part of marriage. Ann Landers (remember her?) once wrote that marriage without conflict would be as dull as dishwater.

But when you're looking at a calendar that has a Last Day...they hurt.

Last week we had an argument. I don't remember what it was about, beyond the fact that I was in alot of pain, and rationing pain meds, and I reacted impatiently to something Barbara said.

It spiralled, and impatient became, well...cruel.

That's hard to write. I want to be better than that, but in this case, I wasn't.

I was...please pardon the language...an asshole of the first magnitude.

I offer no excuse. Illness is NOT entitlement.

The hard thing is...and this is part of the gulf that separates caregiver from patient (yes, I am a patient, though I've resisted the term till now) is that I only have a little time to correct things.

Not living under the gibbet's shadow, one feels that time will heal all wounds.

I don't have that time.

I have to be better than this. Barbara was quick to forgive, and I know that God already forgave me, but that doesn't obviate consequence.

And the consequence is a loss of self-respect, a trashing of self-esteem. They say that it takes about seven 'attaboys' to make up for one "dipshit!", and that shrinking calendar makes it hurt all the more.

I don't know if I will have time to make it up.

The takeaway here, for the patient, is to be constantly on guard in what one says. There's no justification for 'letting feelings out', when they are bad or unjust feelings. None at all.

Terminal illness adds a requirement for self-discipline, and a requirement that one watches...carefully...what one is about to say.

For the caregiver, the takeaway is this...that the anger to which you might be subjected isn't so much directed at you as it is directed toward circumstance. You're not the target, but you're the only visible thing downrange...so you're going to get hit.

This isn't a demand to make allowances for poor behaviour in your spouse...this is meant to say that it's nothing you did. You didn't bring the anger on yourself..

You didn't invite the heartbreakingly cruel words that were inflicted on you.

Don't give your spouse a pass on this. Please don't. Call your mate to better behaviour, even if it's hard to do, and even if 'mercy' says you shouldn't.

It's not mercy tolet someone get away with poor conduct.

Help your spouse to die a gentleman, or a lady...but above all, to die a Christian.

If you can.please do leave a comment. I am trying to answer all, and I am failing, but please know this - I read and treasure each one.

Below are my recent releases on Kindle -please excuse their presence in the body of the blog. I haven't the energy to get them up as 'buttons' in the sidebar. You can click on the covers to go to the Amazon links (they're 99 cents each). And if you'd like a free PDF, please email me at tempusfugit02 (at) gmail (dot) com, and I'll gladly send them

Your Dying Spouse 95 - Perspective's Shoes {FMF}

Time for the last Five Minute Friday for 2015, the timed key-word inspired weekly writing challenge.

Since I had a couple of nasty blows to the head last weekend - two falls, and my face is basically broken - I'm not going to be too watchful of the timer. Thinking and typing are tough, as I was concussed, and am still recovering.

The keyword this week is...hmmm. It's CHOOSE YOUR OWN PROMPT WEEK.

Well, let's use SHOES.

I'd post a picture of my shoes, but I think I would rather not. For one thing, I don't have a camera. For another thing, they loo pretty bad.

There were sort-of-dress-shoes. I used to wear them to conferences, and eventually realized thatthere would BE no more conferences, so they were relegated to Dog Duty.

They lasted quite a while, until the sole on one broke from side to side, and the other developed a lengthwise slit in ITS sole.

The uppers started separating, as well. Walking in burrs and on gravel, it seems time to retire them. Well, throw them out.

I still wear them. They're remarkably uncomfortable, especially in winter (never got above 32F today) and without socks.

This is really stupid. I mean,money's tight, but I should be able to get a cheap pair of shoes.

It isn't the money.

It's the perspective.

There are more people out there who can't afford shoes than who can, and this is simply a reminder that however uncomfortable I am, however bad the abdominal pain may be (and how much I loathe incontinence), it could be way worse.

Because, you see, I have shoes. Never mind that they're held together with duct tape. never mind that they transmit every rock-impression, never mind that sharp stuff can freely come in the sides.

Never mind that in the snow, my feet freeze.

I have shoes, and this is my constant reminder.

Please don't think that it's a sign of solidarity and compassion; please don't make me out to be a good person for this. This is for me -

Count your blessings, because you have what others dream of.

You have shoes.

That's it.

If you can.please do leave a comment. I am trying to answer all, and I am failing, but please know this - I read and treasure each one.

Below are my recent releases on Kindle -please excuse their presence in the body of the blog. I haven't the energy to get them up as 'buttons' in the sidebar. You can click on the covers to go to the Amazon links (they're 99 cents each). And if you'd like a free PDF, please email me at tempusfugit02 (at) gmail (dot) com, and I'll gladly send them

Your Dying Spouse 94 - Dangers

Linked to Messy Marriage's Wedded Wednesday

On December 12, 72 hours from my writing this, I had two bad falls and suffered a head injury - this will be a short post, as typing is still very hard.

As a caregiver, one must be attuned to the fact that your terminally ill spouse is fragile. You don't want that to be true; the illness itself is already overwhelming.

But the fact is that illness and the pain that accompanies it can result in other problems, ranging from opportunistic infections to, well, falls.

I went down very hard onto my face, breaking a cheekbone, and in trying to get up went down again. The other cheekbone may be broken as well, but Sylvia the Big Pit Bull threw herself under me to soften the impact. She almost got a broken leg. She's not too happy.

Point being, dear caregiving spouse...you've got to have Argus eyes, seeing everything. It doesn't seem fair, and it's not. It is merely the reality of your life.

I am sorry for that. Truly.

If you can.please do leave a comment. I am trying to answer all, and I am failing, but please know this - I read and treasure each one.

Below are my recent releases on Kindle -please excuse their presence in the body of the blog. I haven't the energy to get them up as 'buttons' in the sidebar. You can click on the covers to go to the Amazon links (they're 99 cents each). And if you'd like a free PDF, please email me at tempusfugit02 (at) gmail (dot) com, and I'll gladly send them

Your Dying Spouse 93 - The Mirror Crack'd {FMF}

Friday (well, Thursday night), and once again time for Five Minute Friday, the keyword-driven timed writing challenge hosted by Kate Motaung. Also linked to Wedded Wednesday.

This week's keyword is REFLECT.

A word of warning - there is some raw language here, because this is a raw subject.  A warning, yes, but not an apology. You want real - here it is.

Execute, execute, execute.

If I could have been in denial about being fatally ill, the last three days have evilly underscored the situation. I am hoping for a miracle, but realistically, I'm not gonna make it.

Too bad.

Under the circumstances, one does reflect on one's life.

In many ways, I'm a failure. The wars I fought did little to prevent that which they were supposed to prevent. A lot of good guys got turned into hamburger for nothing, and one of the topics - the drug trade - is grist for the stand-up comedians' mill. God how I hate those smug bastards, and their stupid damned jokes.

There's blood there. And those son-of-a-bitch humourists are making a name and a profit from drug joles.

I became an academic. And I failed at that.Not the teaching, not the research - I screwed up the politics, because I thought there was honour there. Turns out I was wrong.

And I have failed as a husband. I am grateful that Barbara is still here, but she married something that should have been locked up in a glass case marked "OPEN ONLY IN CASE OF WAR". It may sound romantic; it feels almost self-serving to write that. But living with me took a toll. Right now she's listening to a Michael Buble Christmas music TV show...and all I can hear is the silence of a dead village, and all I can feel is the rage that the people who once lived there would never know another Christmas.
\\
She's in the other room, and we're not talking about that. But she deserved better.

I didn't fulfill my dreams, of writing, and in aviation. I have a few novels "in the drawer"; all I can do is try to get them self-published, but they'll never see wide circulation.

I'm a failure.

But, wait...NO,  I AM BLOODY NOT.

There are twenty-one dogs in the house, and three more who prefer living outside, who had no place to go. And yes, I ruined barbara's dream of House Beautiful (of which she had every right, mind you).

But they are here, and alive. They have love, and I think hope, and I hope happiness.

It's not perfect. When you're bloody wasted by pain you can't devote the attention...

But I love them.

They deserved a chacne to live free from fear, to live with the knowledge thatthere would be a friendly and kind hand waiting, serving them food, pulling burrs from their paws.

These are small souls, yet co much greater than mine.

On reflection...

I FUCKING DID IT RIGHT!

Endex

If you can.please do leave a comment. I am trying to answer all, and I am failing, but please know this - I read and treasure each one.

Below are my recent releases on Kindle -please excuse their presence in the body of the blog. I haven't the energy to get them up as 'buttons' in the sidebar. You can click on the covers to go to the Amazon links (they're 99 cents each). And if you'd like a free PDF, please email me at tempusfugit02 (at) gmail (dot) com, and I'll gladly send them

Your Dying Spouse 92 - Change For Worse

We're linked to Wedded Wednesday, the compendium of marriage resources hosted weekly by Beth at Messy Marriage. Please visit!

This is tough to write, because it deals with an inevitable divergence between terminally ill spouse and the caregiving mate.

When you're circling the drain...eventually, you stop growing, and revert to the paradigms that formed part of your past, and which you can apply to this painful and foreshortened future.

It's tough for the caregiver, because he or she is caught between the obvious need for personal growth...and the beloved mate who's gone firm in a position that may seem obsolete.

Or at the very least drifting into 'outdated'.

The most telling example I can offer is my own. As pain and other travails have increased, this has become more of an ugly, physical fight that calls on a maximum effort to do anything besides sitting on the floor and watching DVDs.

It's tempting, believe me! A DVD and a cigar...

To do anything else...including the writing of this post...I have to go back into the days of hard training and harder fighting, to will every step and every movement.

But Barbara didn't know me then. She knows of that persona, but it's not the same...and the ability to force myself past barriers that I would prefer to respect brings with it a hardness toward myself and toward everyone in my vicinity that she finds appalling.

The person I need to survive today is there within me, waiting in my archives behind a glass panel marked "Open Only In Case Of War".

War is full on, but the problem is, that person's a dinosaur,and not a terribly nice one.

The growth I had achieved since those days has leached away...I do know it, and have some - not full - understanding of what was lost.

But Barbara remembers it well. She's living through a small death, with this. The man she'd grown with through marriage and shared joys and trials, who'd learned to share emotion and tenderness, has become a survivor.

Not always a change for the better. Survivors tend to be ruthless.

With themselves, and with those around her. And I am.

PLEASE PRAY FOR HER.

If you can.please do leave a comment. I am trying to answer all, and I am failing, but please know this - I read and treasure each one.

Below are my recent releases on Kindle -please excuse their presence in the body of the blog. I haven't the energy to get them up as 'buttons' in the sidebar. You can click on the covers to go to the Amazon links (they're 99 cents each). And if you'd like a free PDF, please email me at tempusfugit02 (at) gmail (dot) com, and I'll gladly send them

Your Dying Spouse 91 - Anthems

Please excuse the brevity of this post - today did not go well. Doubted I would get to write anything.

Does your life have a soundtrack?

Are there specific songs that resonate with who you are, or with what you hope to be, that you'll stop what you're doing, if at all possible, to listen to them?

If you're a caregiver for a dying spouse, I hope so. Life in this particular Shadowland can easily make one lose one's bearings, and the way that music can touch heart and spirit can provide a North Star to guide the footsteps, and calm an aching soul.

Barbara has several songs that she finds both inspiring and comforting...may I share these with you?

First, there's Amy Grant's "Better Than A Hallelujah"...

Next, Mandisa's "Overcomer"...

Also from Mandisa, "He Is With You"...

And Pharrel Williams' "Happy"...

I think that's a pretty good selection.

And what about me? Hard to say; they do change, but the most heartening is actually a movie clip, from Kenneth Brannagh's Henry V. It's the speech on the eve of Agincourt; Scott Hamilton used the music to accompany his figure-skating performance in the 1992 Winter Olympics...

What about you? Where do you turn for musical inspiration in troubled times?

If you can.please do leave a comment. I am trying to answer all, and I am failing, but please know this - I read and treasure each one.

Below are my recent releases on Kindle -please excuse their presence in the body of the blog. I haven't the energy to get them up as 'buttons' in the sidebar. You can click on the covers to go to the Amazon links (they're 99 cents each). And if you'd like a free PDF, please email me at tempusfugit02 (at) gmail (dot) com, and I'll gladly send them

Your Dying Spouse 90 - Season of Death {FMF}

Time for Five Minute Friday, the weekly timed keyword-driven writing challenge hosted by Kate Motaung.

The word this week is SEASON.

Execute, execute, execute.

I am not sure how long I can keep this up. The keyboard seems like a living thing, moving under my fingers, and I am chasing the keys to type.

But I have to, because there's no other good way to communicate. I can talk, but it hurts, and now my wife and I keep in touch by email, notes, and hand signals.

Hell of a thing

barbara is in the Season of Death. Mine, and it's much harder for her than it is for me.

Ilive with deterioration. I can fight back against it, hard as I can, and I do. I have an enemy with which I can come to grips.

But she's on the sidelines. She leaves for work in the morning, not knowing if I will reply when she emails at lunch, not knowing I will be conscious, or alive, when she comes home in the evening.

I can't imagine that kind of stress. I have it a whole lot easier.

And when she says goodnight, will it be 'goodbye'?

She's got her own room; since I don't sleep much, and often have to light up a cigar and put on a DVD to get through the night, I sleep on a sofa in the kennel room. The dogs don't mind; they enjoy my company.

And it's the right thing to do, but there's the question for Barbara...will she come out to greet a corpse?

I have a horizon; my body will, I think, tell me shortly before it's about to call it a day.

She has no such hope for closure. Her life is in a constant holding pattern of an unspeakable present, one that she can't 'hope' will end...but one from which she longs for escape.

And that is the Cross carried by the caregiver.

A season of death, a season without end.

Endex.

Aren't you glad you're not my wife?

PLEASE pray for her. Please, please, please.

And if you can.please do leave a comment. I am trying to answer all, and I am failing, but please know this - I read and treasure each one.

The most recent book on Kindle..."PTSD And The Holidays - Helping The Veteran You Love". If you'd like a copy, please either click on the cover to go to Amazon or email me at tempusfugit02 (at) gmail (dot) com and I'll send a PDF. It;'s short, but if you're dealing with PTSD, it may help.

I'd also like to mention, again, the other two new short ebooks.

The first is "Faith in the Night", which describes why, in the face of a life that has largely fallen apart, I still have faith, and still feel loved by God...and why I still want to live.

The second is a Christmas story, "Angela - A New Mexico Christmas". It's about a boy, his grandfather, and the cow that saves their lives in a blizzard...but she's part of a beef herd, and can the rescued become the rescuers?

If you'd like one or both, you can email me (tempusfugit02(at) gmail (dot) com) for a PDF, or click on the covers to go to the Amazon Kindle pages. They's both 99 cents.

Your Dying Spouse 89 - The Last Christmas?

We're linked with Messy Marriage's Wedded Wednesday - please visit them for a wealth of terrific marriage resources.

This may be my last Christmas in this life. It's a weird thing to consider, that a year and a bit from now, the decorations may be up, and I won't be here to see them.

It's not unsettling; I may be a bit more accepting of things now.

But the question remains - how do you celebrate a significant day for what may be the last time?

First, there's no way I'm going to talk to Barbara about that one. I don't doubt that she's thought of it, but to drag the topic out into the open does not seem like a good idea. The straightforward nod to this circumstance would cast a shadow over everything, and if she - or I - want to live in the feeling that everything's OK, talking about it would make that impossible.

Subconscious or unstated knowledge is fine, thanks. The sentiment of emphasis would not be helpful.

And there's little one can do, really. I'm no longer able to go to church or entertain visitors, much less visit friends. I can't keep a conversation going. It hurts too much to talk.

And the thought of taking a good number of pictures for posterity is...well...creepy.

So what is one to do?

The best thing seems to just let Christmas be Christmas. To enjoy the season and the day, and to let them develop as they will. To hope for next year, but we're really only granted the moment anyway...

Hmm. All right so far? What do you think?

But the question remains...is there something we could do, something special, that we'd regret if missed?

I can't think of anything. I really ca...

Wait.

I know.

A really big, premium cigar.

There you go.

Please comment; I truly value your input. I will do my best to reply

here's another ebook that is now live on Kindle..."PTSD And The Holidays - Helping The Veteran You Love". If you'd like a copy, please either click on the cover to go to Amazon or email me at tempusfugit02 (at) gmail (dot) com and I'll send a PDF. It;'s short, but if you're dealing with PTSD, it may help.

I'd also like to mention, again, the other two new short ebooks.

The first is "Faith in the Night", which describes why, in the face of a life that has largely fallen apart, I still have faith, and still feel loved by God...and why I still want to live.

The second is a Christmas story, "Angela - A New Mexico Christmas". It's about a boy, his grandfather, and the cow that saves their lives in a blizzard...but she's part of a beef herd, and can the rescued become the rescuers?

If you'd like one or both, you can email me (tempusfugit02(at) gmail (dot) com) for a PDF, or click on the covers to go to the Amazon Kindle pages. They's both 99 cents.

Your Dying Spouse 89 - A Hard Day

The weekend was a bit rough, and today is not shaping up too well.

A lot of ground lost, and more pain than I thought I could bear.

But in the midst of it all, I still think that God is on my side. But it's the way I think, and that is what I have to stress.

The hardest part of caregiving is that you really only have half of the puzzle-pieces...you can't know how your loved one is really feeling (and this goes for the dying spouse, as well, not being privy to the caregiver's perspective).

This may be the most telling in conversations of faith; there can be a total disconnect...for me, for instance, saying "God loves us because He said so in the Bible" cuts no ice. If I didn't have a carefully reasoned and solid framework, both experiential and logical (see my book Faith In The Night), for believing that, I wouldn't. When you're on the bathroom floor in a foetal position, vomiting blood, it can be hard to feel loved.

But from the other side, I look like a doubter, and if I press my thoughts too hard, I can shake the faith of someone whose life has been based around literal acceptance.

I am not saying I'm right, or that my perspective is in any way superior...it's just different, and both caregiver and patient have to see that there are some views that their mate sees while they, themselves, cannot.

We are linked with Messy Marriage.

I did not think I would get this written for today, Monday the 30th. As mentioned above...it was bad.

Please comment; I truly value your input. I will do my best to reply

here's another ebook that is now live on Kindle..."PTSD And The Holidays - Helping The Veteran You Love". If you'd like a copy, please either click on the cover to go to Amazon or email me at tempusfugit02 (at) gmail (dot) com and I'll send a PDF. It;'s short, but if you're dealing with PTSD, it may help.

I'd also like to mention, again, the other two new short ebooks.

The first is "Faith in the Night", which describes why, in the face of a life that has largely fallen apart, I still have faith, and still feel loved by God...and why I still want to live.

The second is a Christmas story, "Angela - A New Mexico Christmas". It's about a boy, his grandfather, and the cow that saves their lives in a blizzard...but she's part of a beef herd, and can the rescued become the rescuers?

If you'd like one or both, you can email me (tempusfugit02(at) gmail (dot) com) for a PDF, or click on the covers to go to the Amazon Kindle pages. They's both 99 cents.

Your Dying Spouse 88 - Tabula Rasa {FMF}

Time for Five Minute Friday, the keyword-inspired timed writing challenge hosted by Kate Motaung. We are also linked with Wedded Wednesday.

The word this week is...wait for it...TABLE.

Well, OK.

Execute, execute, execute.

I'm going to cheat a little bit, and use tabula rasa.

Clean slate.

That's what dying gives you, a clean slate...and, ironically, a fresh start.

Today is Thanksgiving Day in the USA, and if you have the television on, it's a day of highly hyped consumerism and a celebration of popular culture.

I was a part of that word, once upon a time, but I've been given a clean slate.

I can see past it now, to things that really last (and don''t worry, I'm not going to go all religious on you...y'all know me well enough to know that I keep that stuff pretty private).

I spent the day looking for lessons...yes, I can still apply them...and values.

I found some in Six Days Of War, Michael Oren's narrative of the 1967 Six-Day War between Israel and it neighbours in 1967.

It's really a tragedy...entire countries riding the tiger of bigotry and pride to an end which got a lot of people killed.

A mirror of my own life, in a way, and my own marriage.

How many arguments came from pride? How many times did Barbara and I go to bed angry because I did not want to be wrong?

Too many. Far too many.

How many were the 'positions' from which I would not back down?

Lots.

And the funny thing i that I cannot remember the positions, nor the reasons for pride.

I only remember the hurt it caused, because it planted the seeds of reticence and caution that exists in our relationship to this day.

But the slate has been wiped clean. I don't mean that the past has been erased...nothing will undo the hurt, not now.

But I can see thatt he reasons that I inflicted the hurt were meaningless. My pride, and my presumed rectitude...counted for nothing.

Human dynamics are whatthey are, and Barbara isn;t dying. Issues still arise.

But it's easier to let them go, because I know not - late, but not too late, that the love is more important than 'psoition', and that peace is more important than any point I could possibly make.

Ended.

Please comment, if you are of a mind to do so...I am still working through replying to the comments from last week...writing and thinking are getting harder, but your comments mean more to me now than ever.

I need you guys.

There's another ebook that is now live on Kindle..."PTSD And The Holidays - Helping The Veteran You Love". If you'd like a copy, please either click on the cover to go to Amazon or email me at tempusfugit02 (at) gmail (dot) com and I'll send a PDF. It;'s short, but if you're dealing with PTSD, it may help.

I'd also like to mention, again, the other two new short ebooks.

The first is "Faith in the Night", which describes why, in the face of a life that has largely fallen apart, I still have faith, and still feel loved by God...and why I still want to live.

The second is a Christmas story, "Angela - A New Mexico Christmas". It's about a boy, his grandfather, and the cow that saves their lives in a blizzard...but she's part of a beef herd, and can the rescued become the rescuers?

If you'd like one or both, you can email me (tempusfugit02(at) gmail (dot) com) for a PDF, or click on the covers to go to the Amazon Kindle pages. They's both 99 cents.

Your Dying Spouse 87 - The Worst Version of Myself

We're connected with Messy Marriage's Wedded Wednesday; please visit for some great marriage resources!

There is nothing like a severe trial to bring out the best in a person...and sometimes, the very worst.

We want to be accepting of that which we can't change, while working to do what we can, both as caregivers, and when we're terminally ill.

And often, we find ourselves far short of the mark, saying hurtful things and displaying a petulant sullenness that does no one any good. And it frequently causes harm, and drives a couple further apart when mutual support is urgently needed.

I did that a couple of days ago, and I am appalled at that. I'm better than that. Aren't I?

Well, no. I'm not, because I did it. I said the hurtful things. There are explanations, and it would be easy to try to twist them into excuses, a play on sympathy...oh, I was driven beyond endurance by the pain, and by vomiting so violently...

That sort of thing. It's called manipulation.

So I won't do it, and I'll admit to what I did, not to feel 'nobly responsible', or some such thing, but because it's true.

All that aside, the really important question is why we can suddenly become such awful examples of humanity.

I think it really comes down to contrast, and resentment, and jealousy.

Our lives, caregiver and patient, have been profoundly changed. We remember our old lives; the images are just out of reach behind the unbreakable window that stands between today and yesterday.

We can see them, we can feel them. We have the muscle memories of the former tools of our trades, but we're blocked from using them now.

It's just out of reach.

If we couldn't remember so clearly, if the movies of our memories weren't so vivid, it wouldn't be a problem. But we can, and we resent the restraints placed upon us.

The contrast between a Technicolour yesterday and the monochrome of today is heartbreaking.

And we see other who enjoy that which we once could...and are insanely jealous.

So we take it out on the person closest to us...either our caregiving spouse, or on the person for whom we're caring. It's the last place our anger should go, and it's inevitably the first destination.

There's no easy fix. It's going to happen, and there are three things you can do.

First, when you take out your anger on your spouse, ask for forgiveness (and accept theirs, when the situation's reversed).

Second, forgive yourself. You're going to slip; you're supposed to be like Jesus, but you're not Jesus.

Third, once you forgive...forget. Never bring it up again. Unless it's something really egregious, don't make your mate walk a long road to regain trust.

Let it go, because life is nowliterally too short.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Your Dying Spouse 86- Life Goes On

Today we're linked with Inspire Me Monday, where I happen to have written the guet post! Thanks, Anita! We're also linked with Wedded Wednesday.

This will be a short essay; the weekend was hellish, and I've been considerably weakened.

But I'm not dead, and life goes on, in whatever form it can take.

Cancer, you see, is not a death sentence. The death sentence is implicit in our birth into this world. Illness merely sharpens the focus.

And yes, it's uncomfortable, and painful, and often embarrassing, but it's our own choice - to a large degree - to accept those as the main influences on our outlook.

I'm certainly not talking about the I'm walking hand-in-hand-with-Jesus paradigm being proof against pain, though I don't denigrate it. It works for many, and I believe it represents the Truth of Creation...but though I feel His presence, I don't feel it that way.

Wish I did.

Instead I take comfort in the mundane, the tasks that have to be accomplished, well or badly, every day. They represent the continuity of the life of which I so long to remain an active part, for as long as I can.

Life goes on. I want to, as well.

Please pardon the delays that are becoming a feature of my replies to comments - your comments are immensely valuable to me, and I truly appreciate them...but writing is hard now, as are most things, and I simply can't get it done as fast as I would like.

I'd also like to mention, again, two new short ebooks.

The first is "Faith in the Night", which describes why, in the face of a life that has largely fallen apart, I still have faith, and still feel loved by God...and why I still want to live.

The second is a Christmas story, "Angela - A New Mexico Christmas". It's about a boy, his grandfather, and the cow that saves their lives in a blizzard...but she's part of a beef herd, and can the rescued become the rescuers?

If you'd like one or both, you can email me (tempusfugit02(at) gmail (dot) com) for a PDF, or click on the covers to go to the Amazon Kindle pages. They's both 99 cents.

Your Dying Spouse 85 - Con Thien {FMF}

Time for Five Minute Friday, the keyword-guided timed writing challenge hosted each week by Kate Motaung. We're also linked with Inspire Me Monday and Wedded Wednesday.

This week's word is DWELL.

Execute, execute, execute.

Con Thien is hard by the Z. It's more like California than Viet Nam, and the sea fog can be chilly.

The name translates as The Place Where Angels Dwell.

It's where the one-nine confirmed its nickname...The Walking Dead.

A little bit confusing?

I'll translate. Con Thien is a low rise in the terrain in the northern part of South Viet nam, very close to what was the demilitarized zone, the UN-mandated buffer between North and South that did nothing to ameliorate a long and tragic war.

The one-nine is the first battalion of the ninth Marine regiment, a unit that earned a reputation for getting into the heaviest contacts, and winning through with brutal casualties. Thus, The Walking Dead.

The TV show of the same name, about zombies...OFFENDS me. Those words are sacred.

What does this have to do with terminal illness? A lot, as it turns out.

With an abbreviated future, one turns to the past...not living in the past, that would be really stupid...but reintroducing the paradigms of that past into one's current reality.

In other words, personality growth slows, or stops.

I'm very different from the college teacher I was when I started getting sick, and very different from the man Barbara thought she married.

The affable goof with a broad sense of humour is largely gone, replaced by what has been described to me as a grim Centurion with a cold, thin-lipped glare. Tacitus' Centurion, really (as described by C.S. Lewis).

All the more relentless because he had endured it himself.

The Walking Dead...still walking among the angels, after all these years.

Endex

And now, if I may, I'd like to introduce two new short ebooks.

The first is "Faith in the Night", which describes why, in the face of a life that has largely fallen apart, I still have faith, and still feel loved by God...and why I still want to live.

The second is a Christmas story, "Angela - A New Mexico Christmas". It's about a boy, his grandfather, and the cow that saves their lives in a blizzard...but she's part of a beef herd, and can the rescued become the rescuers?

If you'd like one or both, you can email me (tempusfugit02(at) gmail (dot) com) for a PDF, or click on the covers to go to the Amazon Kindle pages. They's both 99 cents.

Your Dying Spouse 84 - My Miracle

We're linked up with Messy Marriage's Wedded Wednesday; please visit them to find some awesome marriage resources!

In this difficult passage, and in these particularly tough weeks, I've found my miracle. I really had it all along.

It's this - I want to live, and I am living.

Fully, and the best way I can.

The miracle comes with the somewhat surprising understanding that I'm OK with this, with the process of being terminally ill.

There are many things I won't get to do, sure. But life's like that anyway.

I expected to resent this, knowing that I would one day face the situation squarely. Hey, I can do denial with the best of 'em!

But the thing is, life really isn't about plans and dreams. Life isn't about tomorrow. It's about now, because now is all we ever have.

There is a clarity here, and each moment has become precious. When I kiss barbara goodbye in the morning, I do it with more care - it's no longer a perfunctory see-you-later peck. Nor is it a passionate let's have-sex-tonight smootch.

It's far more than the former, and far more than the latter. It's this -

I appreciate you, and I love you, and I will look forward to seeing you tonight, when you return.

Barbara isn't used to it yet. I still get some pretty puzzled looks.

When I have a cigar, enjoyed with a good book, to hasten the absorption of pain meds, I enjoy every puff. Whether it's a cheap one, or a premium...I don't have to pretend to myself that "well, it's medicine"...I like the taste.

I like Barbara better than cheap cigars, yer. Now when compared to good ones, well...

I can look at the dogs and really see them, really spend time with them. I'm not looking past their eyes to my writing, or my career (when I had one), or to the aeroplane parts I can now rarely touch.

I am there for them, in the moment.

Abd so it can be, dear caregiver, for you. There will come a moment, I hope, when you know that it's not about the battle, not about the things that will only get worse, and not about what -will-I-do-when-it's-over?

It's about taking every moment youhave together as a gift, and taking every moment you have, yourself, the same way.

Dreams are nice, and plans are necessary; I still have them. But whatever happens, it's OK, because it isn;t the goal that's important.

It's the path, and the person with whom we've chosen to share it.

Your miracle walks with you everyday, and it's constantly renewed. You haven't missed it.

You just have to take it into your hands, and your heart.

Charlie's Bottle - #BlogBattle

I've been two weeks away from #BlogBattle, and I'm sorry. I was just too ill to put pen to paper, so to speak, for a story. (We're also linked with Wedded Wednesday.)

But The Dude and Friends are back...with this week's keyword, BOTTLE.

Charlie's Bottle

Sometimes The DUde let me drive, though not without criticism, while he rode regally in the TC's cupola.

"TC...uh, it's a straight road, you know?"

"What? We're still on the road, right?"

"Yeah, but don't you think the locals would prefer the asphalt torn up in kind of a straight path?" Tanks are hard on just about everything under the treads.

Sonny was riding the loader's hatch. "Waalll, TC...lookin' back, we's looking lahk we's a couple'a big ol' rattlesnakes, walking sahd bah each...hey, TC, watch the..."

Te ditch seemed to have moved a little closer to the road...sneaky Asian terrain feature! - and Ship of Fools suddenly tilted sideways to the left, high-centered on the pavement's edge.

"Aw, crap." I gunned the engine, and gave it some right turn, to try to get the left treads to bite and pull us out.

"TC, don't do that, please." The Dude's voice as quiet and reasonable. That was scary. I thought he might kill me next. "Shut it down, TC."

I killed the big Continental, The silence descended like a big, wet heavy blanket. Or maybe that was just the tropical air, in the presence of a roadside ditch, the conduit for sewage.

I climbed out the driver's hatch, and joined TC and Sonny, who were standing on the sloping rear deck, looking at where I'd placed us. Biff had his head out the cupola, and he was trying hard not to grin. He failed.

"Ah, well," said The Dude.

Since something interesting had happened, on a road in the middle of nowhere, a crowd of Vietnamese civilians appeared. I wondered where they all came from, and so quickly. The inevitable Coke-hawker set up a stand, conjured out of thin air.

Any excuse for a party, and the best excuse was to see Americans being good-naturedly dumb. I smiled and waved, and most of the Viets waved back.

"Had to give you a challenge, Dude," I said. "It's all yours."

The Dude gave me a look of exasperation tinged with pity. "We're going to have to call on our betters to get out of this one. Sonny, would kindly ring up the New Guys, and ask them to hasten along to lend a helping hand?"

"Ah shur will, Dude...we'all's jest looking reel happy here, jest lahk a dead hawg in the sunshahn, ain't we?"

Biff quickly said, "I'll do it. I think the New Guys only speak English."

Sonny folded his arms and grinned. "Ah'm bah-linggel!"

The Dude walked to the back of the deck, and carefully jumped down, to avoid landing in the noxious ditch. "Well, then, Sonny, would y'll gimme a hand with the tow cable?"

Sonny's words were drowned out by a sudden burst of gunfire. "Down!" The Dude yelled. Sonny went headfirst through the loader's hatch, and I tried to slip back into the driver's position, missed, and landed headfirst in the ditch.

"Aw, SH..."

"TC? You OK?"

I sat up,...stuff dripping off me. I was in defilade, the bank above my head. "Yeah. Wonderful." I squelched smellily up the bank to peer over the edge.

The Viets had disappeared, even spiriting away the Coke stand, except of one. A VC from Central casting, black pajamas, coolie hat, and all, was weaving down the road toward us. In one hand was an AK-47, and the other held a bottle. As I watched, he took a swig, raised the rifle, let off a couple of shots, and fell on his butt.

The turret rotated slightly. "I got the coax on him, Dude," came Biff's voice. "Shall I?"

The Dude's voice came from behind the tank. "Wait. Stay on him."

Charlie was scrambling untidily to his feet, a desperate expression on his face. He dropped the bottle, and peered at the bottle....and then he raised his eyes heavenward, an unmistakable thank-you in any language, and hugged it. He hadn't spilled a drop.

Leaving the AK in the road, we walked...well, sort of...toward us. I raised my head higher when he was about ten feet away, and he suddenly stopped, eyes wide. Then he took a sniff, and promply vomited.

"Thanks," I said.

Charlie replied in a slurred torrent of Vietnamese. He waved the bottle.

"What's he saying? Does he want to chieu hoi?"

The Dude stepped around the other side of the tank. His .45 was loose in his hand, pointed at the ground. "No, TC, he's not talking abut surrender. The way you smell, I can see why. No, he's asking if you want a drink."

Charlie held out the bottle to me, and spoke again. It was jack Daniels, and it looked good.

"He says you have to use your own cup."

"