A Pot of Gold

 

My sister and I took a trip to Ireland in 2005. Going to Ireland had been on my bucket list for years, so when we saw the trip advertised, we signed up for it and put down our deposits. We bought the trip insurance because Jim was in the nursing home, and his health and wellbeing would take priority over a vacation. Our trip was scheduled for September, and sadly, Jim passed away in April.

On St. Patrick’s Day in 2014, I posted some of our photos to Facebook, and when they came up in my “memories,” I reposted them. I think the one that got the most attention was the one of me kissing the Blarney Stone.

Of course, kissing the Blarney Stone was part of my bucket list too. To be perfectly honest, I had no idea how scary that entire experience would be. After we walked along the top edge of Blarney Castle, we stood in line to kiss the stone. A man held onto each person as he dipped him or her backwards over a sheer drop to the ground. My sister, grossed out at the thought of all the other lips on the stone, “air kissed” it. Not me, if I was going to put my life in the hands of an old man that dipped people backwards all day long, I wasn’t about to miss the opportunity of a lifetime, and I kissed the stone.

 Ireland, and St. Patrick’s Day, are blessed with a lot of symbolism: Ireland’s patron saint—St. Patrick, shamrocks, mischievous leprechauns, corned beef and cabbage, Irish music, the color green, and the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. We speak of the luck of the Irish as if it is a magical beacon, although Ireland and the Irish have suffered greatly throughout the centuries.

How many of us chase rainbows (dreams) believing that if our dreams come true, we’ll find that pot of gold (wealth or happiness) at the end. What many don’t realize is that the chase is often the best part and the pot of gold can be disappointing.

Jim searched for that pot of gold by buying lottery tickets. He always wanted to win the jackpot. After he became more forgetful, I’d find tickets lying around that he’d bought, but never checked. Occasionally, we would take a stack in to have them run through a machine. Jim never got that pot of gold, but the tickets were a small price to chase his dream of instant wealth.

I never had any desire to win the lottery because I figured it would just mess up my life. I was more than satisfied as long as I had enough money to pay the bills, buy groceries, and have some spending money left.

Jim and I never found gold, but our life had its share of rain and rainbows. We had hard times and good times. Although we never had monetary wealth, we were abundantly blessed with love and family. 

On St. Patrick’s Day, my hope is that you enjoy chasing your dreams, and that you find a pot of “gold” filled with health, wealth, and happiness.

Originally published 2023

Copyright © March 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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Write a Note

 

Jim and his uncle used to play music together on a daily basis. One time, our four-year-old son said, “Dad would you sing that song “I’ve gotta write a note?”

Jim looked confused and said, “I don’t think I know that song.”

That didn’t make sense to Eric because he had heard his dad sing the song. He prompted, “Oh, darlin’ if I’m losing you, I’ve gotta write a note.”

Jim smiled and said, “The line is ‘Oh, darlin’ if I’m losing you, I’ve gotta right to know.”

Song lyrics are often misunderstood and before the days of Google, many of us never knew the correct lyrics. In “Bad Moon Arising” some people swore that “there’s a bad moon on the rise” was “there’s a bathroom on the right.” Does that really fit the rest of the song? Yet, I swear that the live version I had, Credence played into the misconception by plainly saying, “there’s a bathroom on the right.” Pinky swear!

Sometimes our brain interprets what we hear in a way that makes sense to us, but may not be the words spoken. When a person has dementia, tone of voice and facial expressions mean more than the words we speak. As the disease progresses, our loved one tries to interpret our actions rather than our words.

Dementia affects each person differently. The care partner will notice that not everyone sees the stark changes in their loved one that they do. I believe that for an entire year after Jim forgot his social security number, his birth date, and right from left, that some of his family thought I had the problem instead of him.

At first, Jim could carry on polite conversation and talk on the phone without giving away his confusion. He could play his guitar and sing several of his songs. As time passed by, his repertoire dwindled to a few songs. The man who had the talent to sing a song after hearing it one time, no longer existed. For about five years into dementia, Jim could still play “Buckaroo” flawlessly after a few false starts.

Jim had aphasia and he rarely spoke. He had always been a prolific reader, but once following the storyline became impossible, he stopped. He watched “To Hell and Back” so many times that we had to replace the tape—twice. Jim watched “Walker Texas Ranger” and recorded it. Well, sometimes he recorded the commercials and not the show.

When Jim was in long-term care, I worked with the aides and nurses who cared for him while I was at my day job. They knew they could call me anytime day or night. I entrusted Jim’s care to others, but I was the one who knew the nuances of his character, could interpret his body language, and his facial expressions.

As Jim’s advocate, I kept the line of communications open with his caregivers. Occasionally, I even had to write a note and pin it to his bulletin board to make sure the day shift saw it. They had a right to know how to provide person centered care.

 

Copyright © March 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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Almost Snowmageddon

 

Recently, meteorologists predicted a snowstorm, and I went to the store and stocked up on milk, bread, eggs, dog food, and other emergency supplies. This week’s prediction hit while I still had most of the supplies on hand from the last snowstorm. I had to go to the Post Office, and on the way home stopped by Dollar General to pick up the bare essentials: milk and cosmic brownies.

OK, I seriously knew that I could bake blueberry muffins, but they fall short on the chocolate crave meter. I just couldn’t face a major storm event without chocolate.

Early Monday morning, I cancelled my Tuesday a.m. appointment with my rheumatologist, because I didn’t want to go dashing through foot-deep snow. “You need a four-wheel drive,” a friend told me.

“Have one in the garage,” I said. That doesn’t mean I want to slide off into a ditch going to an appointment I can reschedule. 

Monday was a holiday so I wasn’t able to do the banking that I had on my to-do list. Mentally, I red-lettered Tuesday as a snow day, and we all know that snow days are for sleeping late and being lazy. The banks will still be there Wednesday. This is becoming my theme—nap today, work tomorrow.

Tuesday, my designated snow day, I was surprised to see that the snow barely covered the ground. In fact, I could see the grass sticking up through it in the yard. Of course, the day wasn’t over yet, and I received an email notice that cars parked in the snow lanes in town would be towed. Although the routes are clearly marked, I’m sure that made some people angry.

The day was exceptionally cold, even for February in Missouri. I wore my polar expedition outfit complete with my N-Ferno balaclava. I have to be desperate to wear the balaclava since it fogs my glasses and makes my hair look like I stuck my finger in an electrical outlet.

Awe, the wonders of snow and cold weather. When I was working, I had my choice of hills. The one of the west side was steep, but I could get a good run and it by going down one bank and up the other side. That option was not ideal if the neighbor kids had been sledding down the hill. To the east was a more gradual slope, but it was hard to get any momentum to make it all the way.

When Jim was in the early stages of dementia and could still drive, sometimes I had him take me to work when the roads were snow covered, or worse—icy.

Now, that I’m retired snow doesn’t bother me. My calendar is clear for the rest of the month. As long as I have books to read and chocolate to eat, I’m in the zone. It will be a good day to play my ukulele since I want to learn a couple of new-for-me songs.

As far as I’m concerned, let it snow, but someone needs to have a serious talk with Punxsutawney Phil before next groundhog day.

 Copyright © February2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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Healing after Loss

On one of my recent trips to the post office, I found a package from my friend Cindy. She had sent a copy of the book Healing after Loss, a collection of daily meditations to help a person work through grief.

On my way home, I stopped by the cemetery, opened the book, and read the first few meditations. Each one begins with an inspirational quote, provides understanding of grief, and encouragement to let healing begin. At the bottom of each page, the author has added her own words of wisdom.

Each morning while I enjoy my first cup of coffee, I open the book and read that day’s meditation. Then, I take a moment and watch my sleeping dog. When I call her, she jumps up beside me and lets me savor her warmth and devotion.

In the book, I came across the term, “hour of lead,” and wondered exactly what it meant. I’m not sure why I had never heard the phrase, or more likely, didn’t have Google to explain what it meant. Emily Dickinson painted a word picture when she spoke of the hour of lead. I may not have heard the term, but I’ve felt the emotion. This phrase from the poem “After Great Pain, a Formal Feeling Comes” refers to the emotional numbness and paralysis after a tragic event.

Loss can bring inertia to the grieving. The body may want to move forward, but the heart and mind need ample time to cope with their brokenness. Imagine a person with leaden feet trying to run in waist-deep water while carrying the weight of grief on his or her shoulders.

Triggers for grief can assault our emotions at the most inconvenient times. At a show in Branson, I dissolved into sobs when the performers sang, “Angels among Us.” That night was the first time I’d heard the song since a dear friend’s funeral.

Jim sang and played his guitar, and several songs remind me of him, especially the songs he sang specifically for me. When I hear Elvis Presley’s “Tender Feelings” I can close my eyes and feel Jim’s presence a heartbeat away.

Another Elvis song Jim sang was “Young and Beautiful.” The song ends with the line  “…you’ll be forever young and beautiful to me.” I once asked Jim if he could imagine me with gray hair. Without hesitation, he said, “No. You would dye your hair.”

Jim died from an Alzheimer’s type of dementia at 59, so he’s the one who will be forever young to me, and he left me with beautiful memories. He always said he knew me better than I knew myself, and although I don’t dye my hair now, who knows, I may dye it someday. After all, he really did know me better than I knew myself.

One thing I’ve discovered about a healing heart is that in time, special songs that remind you of someone you lost can fill your heart with gratitude for their love. You may even smile at the happy memories and push aside the sadness. Our memories and love keep the ones we’ve lost alive.

Healing is not the same as forgetting, and the claws of grief can rake your emotions raw without warning—anytime, anywhere. Love lost for any reason leaves a scar on your soul. The scars of grief fade in time, but they are with you for life.

Copyright ©February 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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Stop Time

 

In all the years I’ve lived in this house, I was under the impression that the timer on the electric range was broken. Last week, I set the clock that had been flashing for months, or maybe years. The next time I put something in the oven I set the timer. It worked just fine, but every time I shut the timer off, the dial says, “Stop Time.” Well, that made me wonder what it would be like if a person could really stop time.

I think most of us would want to stop time before a loved one was diagnosed with a devastating diagnosis. But would we stop time after it was too late?

At an Alzheimer’s Forum, we heard about a drug that was supposed to stop the progression of Alzheimer’s. My friend Ralph turned to me and said, “I wouldn’t want my wife to stay like she is now.” She was in the late stages of Alzheimer’s in a nursing home. It broke his heart to see his wife dependent upon others to provide the most basic care.

  When Jim was in the early stages of dementia, one of the physicians thought that Jim could have possibly had a stroke. Our thoughts were that if his forgetfulness was from a stroke, he might not get worse.

At that time, if I could have stopped time, I would have done it. Some of his symptoms were troublesome, but life would have been almost normal. Sure, he would have needed some additional attention, but it would have been manageable. After false hopes and wishful thinking, we realized that Jim wasn’t going to stay the same, but was gradually getting worse all the time.

When families enter loved ones into experimental drug programs, it is usually with the idea that it might help someone else. Jim was in a study drug program, but due to side effects, we stopped the drug. The neurologist told me that the disease was progressing, and that no matter what new drug might come available, it wasn’t going to reverse the damage to Jim’s brain.

I know in my heart that if I had ever stopped time, I would not be the person that I am today. I am who I am because of my life experiences. I’m sure I took several missteps along the pathway of life, but somehow I wound up being exactly where I am supposed to be.

My life has been particularly challenging lately, but I’m no stranger to adversity. I have faith that better times are coming. I certainly wouldn’t want to stop time before the good days begin.    

 

Copyright ©January 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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Things that Go Bump in the Night

Early morning New Year’s Day, I heard what sounded like something falling. The noise startled me, but more concerning was a sound that could only be described as a jet engine taking off. I wandered through the house trying to locate the source, and thought it might be the attic fan. I turned the switch to the “off” position and went to bed.

At two a.m., I heard the sound again. Since my arthritis had been acting up, I limped through the house, but couldn’t pinpoint the origin of the noise.

I finally took the chairlift to the basement and discovered the furnace was vibrating. I went upstairs, and turned the thermostat down and went to bed. About five, the heat kicked on and I called the afterhours number for the heating and cooling company we have always used.

My sisters, sister-in-law, and Mom were on their way to visit, and I had full confidence that the heat would be back on by the time they arrived.

The technician arrived and after he had me sign an agreement to pay holiday rate, he went to turned up the thermostat to hear the noise. The HVAC technician attempted to tighten the part that failed, but as soon as he turned the system on…same noise. The verdict was it needed parts to fix the problem and they could not be ordered until the next day, of course. He suggested I use space heaters to keep the house warm.

When they saw what a hard time I had walking, my sisters and sister-in-law went to town to buy space heaters for me. Mom and I sat in front of the baseboard heater in the sunroom and visited until they returned.

I put some extra blankets on the bed and spent a comfortable night. The next day, I found out the parts were scheduled to come in Monday. With an epic ice/snowstorm predicted for Sunday, I offered to pay the $100 to have the parts sent over night. Problem solved, right?

Wrong. The parts didn’t come in Friday, but instead were “delayed” in Ft. Worth. The parts manager called in a favor and had a substitute part brought in from Kansas City, but although it was the correct size, the fan turned in the wrong direction. Back to square one.

My thoughts were that if the part didn’t come in Friday, it would surely be here Saturday. The parts guy gave me the tracking number but when I checked the progress, the package was “delayed.”

I know how hard it is to talk to a real person at UPS, but I made a valiant attempt anyway, and after a long wait on hold, I talked to someone. I explained the situation to him—furnace out, big house, space heaters, storm coming, and single digit temps. He gave me a case number and transferred me to a supervisor.

While I was on hold for another twenty minutes “expected delivery” popped up on the screen and it said Monday. When the supervisor came on the line, she said, “Sorry for the inconvenience, but your package was put on the wrong truck. It will arrive on Monday.”

Looking at the details, I could see the package had been delayed 15 hours before it was rerouted to the airport in Illinois. “Our planes do not fly on the weekends,” she said.

“So I paid extra to have it sent overnight and because of that, it can’t possibly get here until Monday? If you can put it on a truck to Illinois why can’t you put it on a truck to Missouri?”

“So sorry for the inconvenience,” she said.

I could feel my temper rising, “It’s more than an inconvenience. There’s an epic storm coming Sunday, and they may not be able to get here to put the part in Monday. My dog and I will be trapped in a house without a furnace in freezing weather. Whose fault is it that it was put on the wrong truck? ” It was a rhetorical question because we both knew the answer.

After a moment of silence, she said, “I can’t promise, but I’ll try to get it on a truck to you by tomorrow.”

Well, there is the “I can’t promise” part, so I’m not holding my breath.

Although my situation is not good, my heart goes out to caregivers who have to worry about their loved ones. Bad situations are only worse when you are responsible for the care and comfort of another person. With ice and heavy snow in the forecast, power outages may mean I’m not the only one without heat.

On the bright side, our generator was recently tested and working well. I’ve been able to wear the heavy sweatshirts and sweaters that I had always saved for a day outdoors. I most likely will spend my weekend layered and huddled in front of a space heater.

I’ve heard several people say, “God doesn’t give you anymore than you can handle,” but I’m not sure if that’s in the Bible, or just wishful thinking.

Copyright ©January 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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End of Chapter

Sometimes we don’t like a good year to end, and other times we are more than happy to reach the end of a chapter of our lives and move on to the next one. Looking back on my life, I can think of a few years that were filled with sadness: 1990, 2005, 2012, and now 2024. I know there were others too, but I don’t want to fill the page up with numbers.

A new year isn’t just flipping a page on the calendar; it’s putting up a new calendar. You have a fresh start until you begin to fill the pages with appointments, reminders, and, hopefully, some fun events.

Of course, many people use electronic calendars. I use mine and sometimes it keeps me on schedule. Too often, I forget to put a reminder and, oops, I was supposed to be at an appointment—NOW!

At least if I write appointments in red on my wall calendar, I can easily see that I have something on that day. I make it a habit to look at the calendar when I come into the kitchen for my first cup of coffee.

Harold used make a decision or pronouncement and follow it with, “End of story.” 

Well, the end of a year, isn’t the end of the story, it’s the end of a chapter. The story goes on for as long as we live.

I have always been a reader and lately I’ve been reading thrillers. Often chapters are cliffhangers and instead of putting the book down, I want to read the next chapter to see how the main character is going to get out of a dire situation.

Part of my nighttime routine is to read until I’m so sleepy I can’t keep my eyes open. I’ve found that reading a good book is better than counting sheep any day.

When we put up the new calendar, we are ending a chapter, but not the story. Here’s to hoping that the next chapter will be filled with love, laughter, and new beginnings.

My wish is that you and I have a happy New Year and that 2025 is the best chapter yet.

 

Copyright © December 2024 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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Courage

My family gifted me the Willow Tree angel “Courage” at a time when I needed to be reminded just how much courage it takes to live one day at a time. My sisters and sister-in-law had just helped me plan Harold’s funeral, and we stopped at the flower shop so I could order a casket spray. That’s when my sister-in-law spotted “Courage.” How appropriate, how timely.

The past few months have been a blur of emotions as Harold and I navigated the hospital and nursing home cycle. I cheerleaded Harold through physical therapy with the hope that he would be able to return home. On good days, I would get my hopes up, and on bad days, I tried to muster the courage to stay positive.

“I’m never going to go home,” Harold would say. I argued with him because I wanted it so much. Life had been a struggle for us both for a long time, but we’d been able to get him up and out the door to dialysis.

“You only have to get strong enough to get out of bed and into your chair.” He wasn’t allowed to have his power wheelchair at the nursing home and he missed the independence.  

Harold had me on speed dial. He called me when he couldn’t find the button to call for help at the nursing home, or when he had trouble breathing, or if he was confused in the night with dreams interfering with reality. One night when I drove through a downpour in the middle of the night, he said, “I don’t want you to have any regrets. You did everything you could do for me.”

That’s easier said than done. It was easy to have regrets when the outcome wasn’t what I had hoped it would be.

We held hands and reminisced about the good times during the bad times. He worried about the dog and me. “I can take care of myself, and I’ll take care of Lucy,” I assured him. All I needed was the courage to face life without him.  

Despite my assurances, he worried. He told his cousin that I put on a brave front but when I was alone, I fell apart. How did he know that?

Harold never made a snap decision in his life, and his decision for comfort care came only after all the other plans failed. He kept asking me if I would be OK. I told him that he didn’t need to worry about me, just make the best decision for him.

After several days of indecision and after he had a long phone conversation with a doctor he trusted, he said, “Let’s do it.” My biggest regret is that at that moment, I didn’t ask everyone to leave so that we could have some time alone. I didn’t realize that once he was pain free, he would fall asleep until the next evening when he peacefully left this world.

I held his hand and stroked his face as he took his last breath. This time I was alone with him, and I spent the next twenty minutes playing “The Rose” on my phone and talking to him.

Everywhere I look, I see reminders of our life together. I’m not handling this as well as I should. There’s just no time limit or boundaries for grief. Being widowed once doesn’t make it any easier the second time.

Most people are lucky to find true and enduring love once, and I’ve found it twice. Their love has become a part of me, and as long as I live, they live in my heart, soul, and memories.

Copyright © December 2024 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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Windows

The thing I liked best about the house that Jim and I built was the windows. Looking out a window is a way to connect with the world outside while being all comfy inside.

I often sat in my living room and looked out the patio windows to the woods behind our house. I remember seeing birds and squirrels in the summer and on cold winter days.

From the kitchen, I could look across the yard and see the little house next door where my mother-in-law lived. Deer often came into the yard to browse for fruit on the ground.

Now, as I remember those days, I realize that I was blessed to have lived during that special time. Families didn’t just get together for holidays, weddings, and funerals. Life was filled with impromptu jam sessions or feasts, anytime, on any ordinary day.

A few days ago, I saw a photo of Uncle Johnny on Facebook. Immediately, I thought of the pitch games that we played at Virginia’s kitchen table. Uncle Johnny and I were partners trying to beat Jim and Aunt Nita. They were the wild and crazy bidders who would bid on each other’s hands.

Now that I think about it, I wonder whether they were not so much clairvoyant as they might have had a stealthy method of signaling each other. Either that, or playing cards was their superpower.

I lived alone in our house for fourteen years. During that time, I saw our yard go from being the gathering place for family to a quiet, lonely space. I would look at the empty patio and imagine the time when Jim, Billy, and his dad would play music there. Virginia would cook a big dinner and everyone would gather around in lawn chairs at the picnic table with plates of food. The coffee pot was on all the time.

I sit here today in the house that Harold built. We have huge windows in the kitchen on the west side, sunroom windows, a bay window, and windows in every room. I can see the sunrise in the office and watch glorious sunsets from the kitchen or sunroom windows.

Now, I’m looking out the office window to the first ground-covering snow of the year. I see our fence and an abandoned bird nest in the Japanese Maple tree. The snow continues to fall, but with some thawing, I hope I’m only housebound for one day.

The house is quiet except for the slight hum of the Synology and the blowing of the heat through the floor vents. I’ve never been one to turn on the TV or radio for background noise.

In the stillness, I struggle with thoughts of my changing world. I think of the song, “I Am Not Okay.” We all feel the weight of life’s burdens from time-to-time. Conversely, we all experience joy and times when all seems right with the world.

The main message from the song is not the part about not being okay, although that is what we latch onto in times of sorrow. The secret message is that even though “I’m not okay, everything is going to be all right.”

All we have to do is look through a window, feel the power of positivity, and muster the courage to trust in a Greater Power. Solace comes with the knowledge that everything will be all right someday.

 

Copyright © November 2024 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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Be Still My Mind

Some people have an ability to meditate and turn off their thoughts. My mind, on the other hand, just gets busier, the more I try to clear it.

I’ve always had an overactive mind and sometimes it is a challenge to figure out how to turn it off long enough to sleep. The more stressful my life is, the more active my brain.

Caregiving is a special kind of stress where worry is a thundercloud ready to send bolts of lightning crashing down into the caregiver’s soul. It’s hard not to lose the sense of self while focusing on another’s health needs. A mind numbing tiredness turns into exhaustion during the push to  be responsible for another human being.

I had this crazy idea that when I retired, my life would be calm and serene. With the stress of my job out of the picture, I looked forward to lounging around the house, going to the park to watch the squirrels, taking my dog for a long, leisurely walk, reading a book while sitting on the porch, and living the dream.

The thought that life would become a whirlwind of non-stop activity never crossed my mind until it dominated my mind. My mental to-do list always outdid the physical to-do list that I prepared to keep me on track.

The outside world has invaded my inside space. When I have a quiet moment drinking my first cup of coffee, the cell phone will ring, a text will ping, or an email demanding my attention shows up in the in box. The digital devices that are supposed to make life more efficient and easier can become the disruptive force that sends the day spinning out of control.

My phone is a conglomeration of appointments, reminders, and alarms. I have an uncanny ability to turn off an alarm and immediately become distracted with another thought clamoring for attention in my overactive mind. I’ve found this an excellent way to miss deadlines.

I’ve become a procrastinator extraordinaire. If something can be put off until tomorrow, I don’t have to do it today. Exhaustion sets in at unexpected times and a nap is required to reset my soul.   

The busy mind is especially troublesome when trying to go to sleep at bedtime. The only way to stop the “would have, should have” section of my mind is to mentally focus on one special thought. Reading helps me calm my mind because I focus on the book in front of me. I’ll read until I’m so sleepy that I can’t see the words and sometimes I can close my Kindle and immediately fall asleep.

During stressful times, setting the book aside sends my mind into overdrive. Sometimes I’ll try to remember the lyrics of a song, but lately, I found my best bet is to recite the Serenity Prayer until I go to sleep.

The prayer is magical, and exactly what my mind needs to put aside the worrisome thoughts that make sleep elusive: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

 I repeat the prayer until I fall asleep. The prayer is my way of saying, “Be still, my mind.”

Copyright © November 2024 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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