Blessed Are The Pure Of Heart

Wednesday, December 30, 2015

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

Sunday, December 27, 2015

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.

Thursday, December 24, 2015

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).

Tuesday, December 22, 2015

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.

Sunday, December 20, 2015

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.

Thursday, December 17, 2015

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.

Tuesday, December 15, 2015

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.