My Mom's Legacy of Love

 

My mom always looked and acted younger than her age. I can remember when she wore her auburn hair in a ponytail and everyone thought she was one of the kids. When someone is getting older, people jokingly say they are X number of years young, but my mom was actually 99 years young.

I am so thankful that I joined the Capps Family Band while Mom was still playing with the band. We practiced twice a month, and I saw more of my family than I had since I had become an adult. Mom was a favorite at the nursing homes where we played music for the “old” folks, most of whom were younger than Mom. 

I talked to Mom every day, and I went to see her as often as I could. When Mom and I visited, we never ran out of things to talk about. When I called her the last time, she picked up the phone and said cheerfully, “Well, my phone does work.” We had a good conversation and talked about taking naps since neither of us had slept well the night before.

Mom loved to travel by car or train, but she didn’t like flying. She traveled with family and friends, and loved the Girl’s Trips that we took for several years. The last trip we took was a day trip to Branson to watch her favorite performer, Daniel O’Donnell.

Mom, Aunt Freida, and Lainey made several train trips to California to visit Uncle LeRoy and Aunt Dude. On one trip, Aunt Freida thought they were on the wrong train and she stepped off. While she was away, the train pulled out for its destination. Mom, Lainey, and Freida’s purse traveled on. Lainey was worried about her “momma,” but Aunt Freida was on the next train. 

Mom also enjoyed the Alaskan cruise with Tom and Teresa. I was her roommate and had to help her find her way to the dining room, but she easily found her way to the casino.

Mom liked to go to the “boat” and one time someone asked me if the boat was on the Lake of the Ozarks or Truman Lake. Recently, Reta took Mom and Lebetta to Boonville, and I drove over to join them. Mom had a favorite machine, but someone was playing on it. When Lebetta saw the machine was open, she tilted the chair forward and told the guy playing slots close by that she was saving it for her sister-in-law. When I started to put the chair down for mom, the guy said, “That machine is saved.” I told him it was saved for us. Mom had to go to the bathroom so I sat at the machine. I said, “My mom is 99 years old.” He said, “That’s what the lady that saved it said. but your mom sure doesn’t look 99.” I told mom later that he thought some young chick was trying to steal an old lady’s machine.

Mom had a zest for life and considered every day a good day because she woke up that morning. Mom was good hearted but she wasn’t a push over. Mom was never afraid of hard work, and she went from the factory floor to the plant manager of Amex/Perfection Manufacturing. Although she retired in 1995, every time I met a former employee, they always said she was the best boss they ever had.

Mom was a woman of abiding faith. She was active in the Ivy Bend Baptist Church for many years where she served the church as treasurer and Sunday School teacher. She was the song leader and played her guitar. Mom was an original charter member of Big Rock Church. Faith was an everyday activity for Mom. She prayed over every meal, and she prayed for her loved ones by name every night at bedtime.

Mom was the heartbeat of our family. The Capps Clan was blessed that Lula Ellen Capps lived a long, active life for 99 years, 111 days. Her children, son-in-law, daughters-in-law, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, great-great-grandchildren, sisters-in-law, friends, former in-laws, nieces and nephews are charged with holding her warmth and love in our hearts. We need to be worthy of the personal legacy she has gifted us.

Trudy Capps Garcia wrote: It’s such an honor to be 1 of the 90 grandbabies. What a life! What a blessing it was to know her, love her, and call her ours.

When I wrote that I couldn’t imagine a more loved person than Mom, her granddaughter Amy Weis wrote, “Not only was she greatly loved, she loved greatly.”

I want to end with this poem I found a few days ago that Mom wrote about her own mother shortly after her death in 1984.

 

 

Mommy

She was a just a little old lady,

She was crippled and hardly could see,

She had raised eight of her children,

My brothers and sister and me.

 

She had lost dad and our two brothers,

Her family, her mom and her dad,

So she has known more hurt than we do,

And sometimes, I know she was sad.

 

But she also had something within her,

That reached to anyone who

Needed a shoulder to cry on,

Or someone just to talk to.

 

She loved us and let us all know it,

And her love will live on in the heart

Of all of us who called her “Mommy”

And from us this will never depart.

 

For Mommy is only sleeping,

She will never really go away,

A part of her will always be with us,

Until we meet her in Heaven someday.

 

Written by Lula Capps, February 10, 1984

Note: My mom helped me care for Jim, and for many years was a volunteer and advocate for the Alzheimer’s Association. We were so blessed to have her for more than 99 years and doubly blessed that she was mentally sharp and in good health until the day she passed. Her life was a testament to a life enriched by loving and being loved.

 

Copyright © May 2026 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Friends Are Family

 

A famous quote about friendship, attributed to Edna Buchanan, is “Friends are the family we choose for ourselves.” In my case, my family is my closest and constant friends.

Throughout life, each of us get to know a lot of people. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my lifetime, it is that no one is an “average” person. The estimates of how many people this mythical average person meets in a lifetime can range from 10,000 to 40,000, which is quite a span. The question is not how many people you meet, but the quality of the people you meet.

Although we may meet thousands of people, most people have three to five close friends at any given time. We all know that people move in and out of our lives, including close friends. In a lifetime, most of us will have twenty to thirty significant friendships.

When we think about what makes us like our friends, it is often because we share common interests which change as we age. One of my best friends in school was the one girl that liked the Beatles as much as I did. Sharon and I listened to their music, learned everything we could about them, and went to see their movies.

As a young married woman, Jim became my closest and best friend. Of course, the fact that I was crazy in love had a little to do with it.

His family became my family and my sister-in-law Dinah became my friend. We both had young kids, liked to go to garage sales, and spent a lot of time together. Dinah pointed out two elderly ladies walking arm-in-arm down the sidewalk. “That will be us someday,” she said.

When Jim developed dementia, I became involved with the Alzheimer’s Association. In 2000, I went to my first Alzheimer’s forum in DC where I met a lot of like-minded people with common goals. I made additional friends, but I forged a special friendship with Jane, Sarah, and Kathy. Our friendships were not defined by space or distance. We considered ourselves sisters of the heart.

My twentieth Alzheimer’s Advocacy Forum would have been in 2020, but the meeting was cancelled due to Covid. I have not been able to attend since then, but my three friends still hold a special place in my heart and always will.

 I made many other friends during my volunteer work with Alzheimer’s, at work, church, in writers guild, Sedalia Business Women, reconnecting with high school friends for monthly lunches, through playing music, through extended family, and random encounters. I believe the “average” number of friends isn’t even close.

Friends are the people that we care about whether or not they are present, and we mourn their loss when they are no longer a part of our lives. They are the ones we think about at random moments and remember the good times, or the sad times.  Friends are the people we worry about when they are going through difficult times.    

The best thing about my good friends is they like me for who I am. I don’t have to pretend to be anything other than myself, and they don’t have to pretend either. We may not agree on everything, but with mutual respect and kindness, it doesn’t really matter.

My friends are my family, and family is my friends. 

 

Copyright © May 2026 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Faded Love

 

I recently attended a funeral where his family provided a video of Pat playing “Faded Love” on his fiddle. I first met Pat when he jammed with Jim, his brother, and a couple of other friends. A man of many talents, Pat was a cabinet maker. He built the cabinets in Harold’s house, where I live now. Later after Harold and I married, Pat’s son Bart built cabinets for our laundry room and the downstairs bathroom.

 I didn’t know about Pat’s Cabinets when I knew him. I knew him only as a talented fiddle player. When I hear “Faded Love,” I can feel every nuance of the fiddle’s plaintive melody because my father-in-law and Jim both played “Orange Blossom Special” and “Faded Love” each time they played their fiddles.  

Life is often full of faded love. When someone you loved is gone from your life forever, eventually your own survival depends on letting it fade into the recesses of your mind, settle deep in your soul, and tackle life without that person.

True love fades, but it doesn’t disappear. Everyone you love leaves an indelible mark that becomes undeniably a part of you.

My life has been enriched by the two men I loved and married. Harold and Jim had different personalities but they were both intelligent men with loving hearts.  

From Jim I learned to love travel, camping, and country music.  Another lesson learned from our marriage was that you didn’t have to be rich to enjoy life.  He also taught me to be generous and to realize someone was always worse off than we were. One of Jim’s philosophies was that if you could solve a problem by throwing a little money at it, it wasn’t really a problem. Sometimes I have to remind myself of that lesson. When dementia changed everything, I learned to live in the moment and not think about the man he was or what the future held for us.

Harold had more faith in my abilities than I did. He mentored me at work and taught me more than I ever learned in college. When we no longer worked together, he continued to support my hobbies. He designed covers for my books, formatted the interiors, wrote a program to highlight possible grammatical errors, uploaded the books and patiently worked his way through the pitfalls of publication. He supported my music and was the one who set up my first solo gig. One day I was practicing, and to my surprise, he said “You are really good.”  Harold mentored me on farming, investments, and dozens of PC tricks and tools. He also taught me that everything that happened in my life was what made me the person that I am.

Although I usually heard only the tune of faded love, the lyrics tell a heartbreaking story of a lost love. It begins with reading letters from a loved one and remembering the past with every heartbeat. The strength of the love is that instead of forgetting this precious loved one, the longing increases over time.

I believe that the most shocking experience for me as being twice widowed is how the pain can break through all the protective defenses that I’ve built throughout the years. The heartbreak can be a tidal wave of grief brought on by any number of mementos. I can see a photo, a handwritten note, or hear a song, and find myself immersed in memories while liquid love rolls down my cheeks.

Not all memories bring about sadness. Sometimes, I have to laugh at the quirky things Jim used to do or the times Harold’s poor hearing made him mishear what I said to him. Yes, love may fade, but the memories, feelings, and stories remain to bring comfort for the rest of my days.

 

Copyright © April 2026 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Undone

 In my “spare” time, I try to go through a stack of papers, or a box of miscellaneous items. Yesterday, I checked out the box where I had dumped the contents from the console of the pickup before I sold it. From the pile, I pulled out a notebook where I had, of course, made several notes. I tore out the old notes so that I could eventually make more notes.

The book contained notes from zoom calls during the pandemic. One zoom call listed the personnel that had been suspended, others that had been changed to part-time, the employees who had taken on multiple positions, and the CEO who had forgone his salary. Tough times, and tough decisions.

Other notes in this same book were from a civic club and how we could carry on our mission without in-person meetings. Eventually, we changed locations so that we could socially distance while we socialized and did our work.

I noticed to-do lists, but so many tasks remained undone. Seeing the tasks that I never completed was more appalling than the checkmarks indicating the jobs that I’d done.

Life is all about tasks. During my work life, I had checklists for every monthly task I had to complete. Most mornings, I walked into work with a plan for the day, but the day was often derailed as I wound up putting out fires. I began to expect and anticipated the unexpected. No matter how much I did, certain things would be left undone, hopefully to be remembered and completed before the deadline.  

The stories of my personal life are a lot like that too. When I was a care partner for a Jim, I completed daily tasks without a to-do list. Just when I thought I had covered everything, and went to bed for some needed rest, my eyes fly would open and the panic set in as I had the sinking feeling that I had left something important undone. Between work and caregiving, I muddled through the days doing the best I could.

When we face our own mortality, we worry about the important documents we must have and wonder whether they really will help or hinder the process of our family’s adjustment. No matter how carefully we plan, our family can become undone when dealing with the crucial elements as well as the minutiae we leave behind. They can feel defeated before they start.

No one wants to root though mountains of paperwork, deal with someone else’s personal items, collections, and sentimental junk. Trying to figure out what to toss, donate, or sell can be time consuming and overwhelming.

I admire people who become minimalist, but I doubt if I can live long enough to do it on my own. I find comfort in the things that connect me to the past and to loved ones who have gone. I know a lot of the things I hold dear will mean nothing to anyone else.

Instead of one person’s trash being someone else’s treasure, it will be one person’s treasure is someone else’s trash. That must be my motivation for attempting the arduous task of doing the undone.

 

Copyright © April 2026 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ 

Easter and Homecoming

April 5 is Easter Sunday and a day for family, Easter services, and celebration. We will greet people with Happy Easter wishes and pause to remember why we are celebrating.

This date holds a different significance to me. On this day in my personal history, Sunday, April 5, 1970, Jim returned home after his tour of duty in Vietnam. We celebrated the day annually and though during the hustle-bustle of the Christmas season, we once forgot our anniversary, we never forgot the homecoming day.

Jim and I married in December during his R&R and my biggest fear was that something would happen to him before his scheduled return in May. It was good news when we learned that due to troop withdrawals, he would be coming home a month earlier.

 Excerpt from Indelible (unpublished memoir about Jim):

 Jim’s parents and I arrived at the Kansas City airport hours ahead of time. It was April 5, 1970, and Jim was on his way home from Vietnam. He was supposed to come home on the fourth, but after an anxious day waiting for a call that didn’t come, his parents and I had spent a restless night worried that something had happened to him on his last day in Nam.

The next morning, he called. He explained that the airport was under attack the day, and they wouldn’t let the planes leave. “We kept saying, just go!” After eleven months of expecting to be blown to bits at any moment, he thought the odds were better to just get the hell out of there.

We stood outside waiting for the passengers to disembark. I was wearing a long psychedelic patterned polyester blouse over a short royal blue pleated skirt. The blouse covered the baby bump.

A crowd of people awaited the plane and the arrival of loved ones. From our excitement, they knew we were there to meet a returning soldier. Airport personnel let me go out in front of everyone and across the do-not-cross line. Jim stepped off the plane and pushed his way past the other passengers to grab me up in his arms. He was home at last!

Years later when Jim was in the special care unit of the nursing home, I always remembered the date and tried to make it special in some way. I didn’t remind Jim of the date because I was afraid that he would be upset.

Sometimes, I couldn’t help but be depressed although Jim had risked his life for his country, he was confined behind locked doors because of a brain disease. I broke him out on a regular basis. We went for walks in the park, to DQ for chicken strips or milkshakes, to our home, drives around town, and later, walks in the facility’s hallway and wheelchair rides around the parking lot.

In the midst of Easter celebrations, I will remember the day as Homecoming too. I am the only one to remember the joy of that day in 1970 and how good it was to have Jim safely home.

 Copyright © April 2026 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ 

National Vietnam War Veterans Day

 

March 29^th is the day that honors the nine million Americans who served in the military. The last combat troops left Vietnam on this day in 1973. More than 58,000 soldiers never made it home and more than 300,000 were wounded. The most common cause of death was small arms fire (31.8%), booby traps and mines (27.4%) and aircraft crashes (14.7%). The average age of American soldiers was 19 to 23 years old and 61% of those killed were 21 or younger.

Statistics are an objective way to look at the scope of the Vietnam War, but each person who served during the war was missed and loved by their friends and family. As the war escalated fear and anger gripped the nation. Evening news listed the death toll of the US and Viet Cong and showed horrific scenes. Yet, the media coverage did not capture the smell of death, heart-stopping moments, physical discomfort, and the vigilance necessary to stay alive.

The randomness of death and destruction haunted the survivors. Jim talked about how he was on his way to the motor pool for his day’s work when he jumped the ditch instead of crossing the foot bridge. When he did, my class key hit him in the face. He wasn’t allowed to wear jewelry so he turned back to remove it. When he did, a mortar hit where he would have been. Such a small event to determine life or death.

Vietnam changed Jim. He came home haunted by the things that happened in Vietnam. He was claustrophobic, shattered by loud noises, avoided crowds, and occasionally had a flashback that had him in the middle of combat. Jim suffered from PTSD well before it was identified in 1980.

I always suspected that Jim’s skin issues and his dementia at such a young age was from his exposure to Agent Orange. Jim talked about being on the ground while planes were dumping Agent Orange in the same area. We tried to get compensation for his exposure to Agent Orange, but at that time you somehow had to prove you were exposed. The skin condition had to be diagnosed within a year following service in Vietnam and dementia was an exclusion to the Agent Orange presumptive conditions.

Jim’s disability rating was because of a service-connected injury to his neck. When he first applied for it, we made a trip to St. Louis where the VA gave him the bad news that they couldn’t locate his medical records. A DAV representative left and returned with the records in a few minutes.

Throughout the entire VA saga, records were lost multiple times. Eventually, I started copying every medical record before sending it to the VA. We finally had to hire an attorney to get an increase in Jim’s disability. By the time we had a court date, Jim was in the beginnings of dementia. The attorney was able to represent us in court without Jim’s testimony, and we were successful in getting the increase with backpay for two years. The case had been ongoing for decades, but we took what we could get.

The sad thing about the Vietnam War was the way soldiers were hustled off to war and separated from everyone they knew and brought home individually without ceremony or a welcome except by family. They were more likely to face hostility from random strangers on the street.

Jim told me that he thought the people of Vietnam would have been better off if we had stayed out of the war. Fortunately, most of us don’t have to live every day of our lives in fear of a bomb falling out of the sky and destroying homes in our neighborhood, hitting our kids’ school, a hospital, or the nursing home where our grandparents live.

 The sad reality of war is that no one wins, and everyone loses.

 

Copyright © March 2026 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Is Silence Golden?

While scrolling through Facebook, I came across a recording of “Silence Is Golden,” a 1967 song by The Tremeloes. The song’s lyrics are about a man who struggles with the possibility of telling a woman he loves that her man is feeding her lies. He finally decides to mind his own business because telling her would only hurt her, and she might not believe him anyway.

Throughout life, we sometimes learn a secret that affects a person we love and can’t decide if we should tell them the truth. Silence is golden when we choose not to hurt someone unnecessarily, especially, if we are trying to clear our own  conscience at their expense.

 Silence is not golden when someone is in danger. Some people put on a false front and may only show their true nature over time. I’ve seen this happen in more than one case. One woman heeded the advice of her friend and left a dangerous situation. Another one refused to believe credible evidence and never left until he was incarcerated.

Most of the day, silence is golden to me. I’ve never been a person to turn on a TV or radio to interrupt my silent contemplation. I’ve always worked best without distractions. I enjoy my first cup of coffee in solitude and relax better without unnecessary noise. I can handle soft music in the background, or listen to music when I drive or complete physical tasks. Often when I cook or wash dishes, I’ll listen to a library book on my Kindle.

I’m happiest in small groups or one-on-one with a friend. Too much chaos or noise gives me a headache and disturbs my peace.

I enjoyed thoughtful conversations with Jim, but when Jim developed dementia, I noticed a big difference in his communication skills. Over time, he spoke less often and couldn’t find the correct words to express himself. Eventually, aphasia brought about almost complete silence. The last several years of his life, he could go days without uttering a word.

Excerpt from Indelible (unpublished memoir about Jim):

Jim had an appointment with the doctor to have his ears checked. He had been falling a lot and the nurses thought he might have an ear infection. The staff had been using eardrops, but decided he needed to see the doctor.

It was time to take him to the doctor’s office, out the door and across the parking lot. Virginia decided to be there to help the nursing home staff member assigned to take him.

They took him into the examining room, and the doctor asked, “Does he talk?”

“Not much,” the nurse replied. “He is pretty much silent.”

The doctor started examining Jim’s ear and pushed a little bit too hard. Jim jumped up from the examining table, gave him a murderous look, and yelled, “Jesus Christ!”

The doctor was totally taken aback. “I thought you said he didn’t talk!”

“I said he didn’t talk much,” the nurse replied, “but he remembers how to cuss.”

 

I was often annoyed at how many videos Jim made of vacations, family gatherings, or jam sessions, but they are treasures now. On some tapes, everyone is talking at one time, and I can pick out the voices of family and friends that I will never hear again. I love to hear Jim’s voice on the old videotapes and still laugh at his corny jokes.

Whether silence is golden, or not, depends on the circumstances.

 

Copyright © March 2026 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

As Time Goes By

 

People who are in their final quarter of life marvel at how fast the years have whizzed by and how they age on the outside more than they do on the inside. Looking back on their past, some of them can categorize their past as more than one lifetime.

My first lifetime was from birth through graduation from high school. For the first six years, my only concern was whether I played inside or outside. The next twelve years was spent in school. Life entered the cycle of learning. I always took school seriously and couldn’t understand the mindset of the kids that didn’t care. The other part of the school years was building relationships with friends and falling in and out of love at an alarming rate.

My second lifetime was as an adult (or at least I thought I was) and marrying Jim. Nine months later, I became a mom and two years later we became a family of four. The early years were a struggle for us financially. Jim had physical and emotional problems from Vietnam. I went through anxiety and often felt like a failure because I couldn’t help Jim and give my kids the material things they wanted. Eventually, I found a good job and our financial status was stable.

Toward the end of my second lifetime, my sons grew up and Jim developed dementia. I felt as if my heart was being torn out of my chest as I helplessly watched his descent into the abyss of a faltering mind. Life was a whirlwind of doctor appointments and making caregiver arrangements. Between the sleepless nights and constant stress, I began developing health problems of my own.

My third lifetime was when Jim went into a nursing home. I began volunteering for the Alzheimer’s Association while visiting the nursing home almost daily. I was constantly vigilant for Jim’s next health crisis. The day finally came in April of 2005 when Jim passed away. I had already lived by myself for five years, and I continued to live in the house that Jim and I built for another five years. I joined two writers’ groups and BPW (now Sedalia Business Women). I began blogging in 2008.

My fourth lifetime began when Harold and I married in 2014. The first five years of our marriage were spent between work and play. He and I had some good times together before his health began to deteriorate. We had been married ten years when he passed away. Being widowed was worse the second time.

My fifth lifetime is my world now. More people I loved are no longer part of this world. Grief has become a part of living and foreshadows more to come. Along with the sad parts of life, it seems more important than ever to find joy in the mundane, life events, family time, and activities. My life is busy and my responsibilities have grown exponentially. At least I’m not bored.

Looking back on my different lifetimes, I think about the lessons I’ve learned and the love that I’ve given and received. Some people never have the feeling of accomplishment that comes with making that final payment, learning to be happy while living within a budget, and counting blessings instead of falling beneath the weight of troubles and failures.

Life is precious and whatever lifetimes you and I have weathered, we can bask in the good days and the love of our family and friends. Our memories are our connection with our past, and our hope is the guidepost to the future.      

Copyright © March 2026 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Good and Evil

 

I’ve recently been reading several books in addition to the e-book that I downloaded from the library. One of the books I’ve been reading is the ultimate “good book” also known as the Bible.

I thought that my re-read of the Bible after 20 years should begin in the beginning as “In the beginning.” The knowledge of good and evil are up front and center. Early in the Bible, Adam blames Eve, and Eve blames the serpent for disobeying God. This shift of blame exists today. Too many people won’t own up to their mistakes and/or evil ways.

I’ve been watching videos from Bible scholars which shine new light on some old translations. Nevertheless, I’ve been plowing my way through Genesis and it caused me to think about good and evil. Some of the goings on in the ancient text seem more evil than good to me. The stories are rife with incest, concubines, multiple wives, slavery, bartering for human life, destruction raining down from the heavens and etc. etc. etc. There’s a lot going on among God’s people and I’ve not yt efinished Genesis.

 The Biblical meaning of good is aligning with God through righteousness, holiness, and love. Evil is associated with sin, darkness and disobedience to God. Psychologically, good means a lack of self-centeredness while evil means an inability to empathize with others. Ethically, good actions are centered on the well-being of others, truth, and charity. Evil acts cause harm, destruction, and violating the dignity of others.

I’ve come to the conclusion that each of us has both good and evil tendencies. Some of our moral compasses think north is south, and east is west. Some of us wander around in a wilderness of hopelessness for years while ignoring the abundance of love emanating from family and friends.

Some battle and overcome addition while others choose to continue on the road to self-destruction. Sad are the ones who don’t believe they deserve a better life.

We cannot always know what lies in the heart and mind of another person. We only see through the windows they open for us, and not through the blackout blinds guarding their darkest secrets. Even in the most loving and open relationships we guard secrets that would not absolve us from our sins, but could only cause pain.

At one time when I was younger, I would think about wh,at others had done to me. The boyfriend that decided to dump me for someone else. The girl that I thought was my friend who said unkind things about me. I was a grudge holder and never forgot a wrong. Anger kept me awake. 

One major difference is what keeps me awake at night now. Sometimes in the stillness of night, I think about what I may have said or done that harmed another. I think about how it is too late to make things right. I think about my mistakes. That’s the way I roll. Self-reflection to a fault.

I have to remind myself that I never claimed to be perfect. I’m only human and sometimes life is overwhelming. I’ve spent fifteen years of my life as a caregiver: ten years with Jim and five with Harold. Caregiving is hard and all-consuming. Caregivers get worn out and cranky at times, but quitting isn’t an option. Respite isn’t an option either.

I don’t regret being a caregiver, but I’m not happy about the occasional meltdowns. In the end, love made me persistent.

 I heard a pastor say that some Christians believe that a box exists around Jesus and you are either inside the box, or outside the box. The job of the people in the box is to try to convince those outside the box to come in. He said that if we look at Jesus as inside the box and everyone outside the box, some people will move toward Jesus throughout their lifetimes and others will move farther away.

Old Testament good and evil aside, the New Testament gives us numerous examples of following the light (good) instead of falling into the ways of darkness (evil). I Corinthians 13 says that Agape (Selfless Love) does not delight in evil but rejoices with truth. At the end of the Chapter: Among faith, hope, and love, “the greatest of these is love.”

 

Copyright © February 2026 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Olympic Injury

 

I’ve spent the past two weeks binge watching the Olympics. I’ve watched sports that I never realized existed before. With 116 events, and 16 different disciplines, my TV was recording day and night on two different channels. I had to keep a sharp eye out for figure skating since that was my favorite. I usually had to cancel two or three other recordings to make sure that I was watching every figure skating event.

The athletes were amazing and I prioritized events that had an athlete from the USA. Eventually, I noticed that some of the athletes representing the USA were actually from another country but obtained citizenship prior to the Olympics. Also, athletes from the USA sometimes represented a different country, especially if a parent was from that country. It’s a small world after all.

During the Olympics several athletes were injured. Many of the sports are intended for the daredevils of the world. Freestyle skiing and snowboarding seem to be a combination of skill with a healthy dose of luck. Of course, ice hockey is a brawl with players wielding their sticks like swords. I thought the women were vicious until I saw the men. And I don’t even want to speak of the flying blades in speed skating.

One afternoon, I was lying back in my recliner watching the Olympics when someone knocked on the door. I used the buttons to pivot myself toward the floor and took a step and tripped over a shoe. I twisted my knee and as the pain was somewhat unbearable, I had to cancel my plans for Monday.

I whined about my injury which was minor compared to the multiple falls throughout most of the disciplines. Anyway, I have sympathy for anyone who was injured while living their Olympic dream.

  I missed Jim during the Olympics. He enjoyed them as much as I did. His favorite skaters were Katarina Witt and Tanya Harding. The only reason he liked Tanya Harding was because she could do a triple axel when no other woman could. He would have loved Amber Glenn who completed a quad axel in the Olympics.

The first time Jim and I went to see Stars on Ice it was in St. Louis. He was showing early signs of dementia but hadn’t been diagnosed yet and there was no way I was driving. A few things stand out in my memory. One was that our hotel bed had only two pillows on it, and Jim was used to sleeping with two. I dialed housekeeping for him, and he said, “My wife doesn’t have a pillow.” Which, I guess was technically true since he had confiscated both of them.

Another thing I remember about that trip was Jim getting confused and going the wrong way down a one-way street. At the arena, we discovered our seats were the highest ones possible. The skaters looked about two inches tall. I had always though that Oksana Baiul should not have won the Gold Medal in the 1994 Olympics until I saw her in person. She was magnificent on the ice.

We went to see Stars on Ice three times in Kansas City. The first time we went, we parked on a side street and had a difficult time finding our car. Jim had lost his uncanny sense of direction, and I never had one. We exited from a different door than where we had entered. When we started crossing a parking lot, I knew we had zigged when we should have zagged. Jim argued with me, but I insisted we go back to side of the building where we had entered. We came across a family looking for their car. We followed them and found out they were in the same lot where we’d left our vehicle.

The next year we parked in a side lot, but I wrote down the names of the streets and the buildings so that we could find our van. The following year, we went on a bus tour with my mom. Jim refused to take off his parka and he listened to his Walkman throughout the show, and paid no attention to the skaters, including Katarina Witt.

I miss the Jim that would have watched the Olympics with me and recorded the figure skating on the VCR if I wasn’t home. Of course, he couldn’t help himself and told me that, my favorite at the time, Kristi Yamaguchi won the gold medal at the 1992 Olympics before I got to watch it.

Good memories keep Jim close to me during the Olympic season. He would have totally babied me after my “Olympic injury,” but he would have also reminded me to leave my shoes on my feet, not underfoot.  

 

Copyright © February 2026 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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