I’m writing this to update those of you who follow my blog. I am not posting because my husband is very ill. My heart is simply not interested in being creative right now so I feel the need to explain why my blog will be quiet for a while. Thanks for following my blog and I hope to write again soon.
The scent of a sentimental smell
Triggers the transmitters
Be it food or flower or family
Memories of mother’s meatloaf
Recollections of red roses
The cologne of an older cute cousin
All are part of a personal perfume
An opus to an old olfactory
A life of smells to stimulate our senses
Daily Prompt: Perfume
Branches grow upward
Under the soil they grow deep
Roots of a large tree
Stones become boulders
Outcrops appear far and wide
Roots of a mountain
Frozen water blocks
Far below the cold surface
Roots of an iceberg
Loved ones embracing
History repeats itself
Roots of tradition
People old and young
See themselves in each other
Roots of family
Daily Prompt: Roots
The hospital room
Is very rarely quiet
People pass quickly
Like a train station
On a busy commute line
Zip in and zip out
Nurse and therapist
One after another one
Stop at our station
They stay a minute
Take vitals, check oxygen
And off to next room
We close the hall door
And draw the big curtain closed
Trying to find Peace
Soon another train
With more people in white coats
Approaches our stop
Grateful for their time
Thankful for the job they do
Quiet time heals, too
Daily Prompt: Zip
Caregivers don’t get many chances to reward themselves. But they should.
My husband is in the hospital. He had a real good day, a victory of sorts.
I left him in good hands with a good nursing staff.
Tonight, I drove home with the windows down and the radio turned up.
I felt the breeze and relished the freedom. I even stopped for ice cream.
A chance for a moment of celebration.
A Caregivers Touchdown on the gridiron of life…..Spike the Football!!!!
Daily Prompt: Spike
He was born a small white potato on a large Idaho farm.
Up from the dirt he arose under the International Tractor.
Behind the tractor was a big cart that collected the tators.
Inside the big cart, he was meeting many other little spuds.
In the processing plant, he was peeled and sliced.
He knew he was special little guy. He was chosen to be frozen.
The eighteen wheeler with a frozen trailer exited the interstate.
It entered the parking lot with the Golden Arches glowing in the night.
Out the back of the trailer came a long conveyor belt.
Direct from the trailer to the back door of the fast food restaurant.
The zero degree freezer kept everyone cold until just the right time.
Until the time when the square basket was dropped in the hot grease.
In a matter of minutes, the proud little spud was a thing of beauty
From that boiling kitchen grease there emerged a golden fry.
Daily Prompt: Fry
Watching him drift off to sleep in an upright recliner
From across a quiet and semi-dark room
I see the man I married who must be carried to each room
By a contraption on wheels that I must push
His muscles are weak and his spirit is tired
Yet he smiles at me with beautiful eyes
We are exhausted from a day of aides and nurses
Parading in and out of the house claiming to be helpful
We sit in the stillness of the evening
Listening to an internet radio that seems to know our favorite songs
We quietly listen to soft rock songs both old and cherished
And mouth the words of The Eagles and James Taylor together
The future is as clear as an opaque piece of stained glass
We sit still and await the morning
Daily Prompt: Opaque
Anxious to know the result
Patient rolls up sleeve
The sound of Velcro
Wrapped around arm and fit snug
Stethoscope in place
The valve closed tightly
Air fills the cuff with each pump
Arm pressure tightens
See needle climbing
Jumping higher and higher
Until the right point
The valve is released
The air begins to escape
The needle descends
The heartbeat is heard
A number is recorded
The patient breathes deep
Needle keeps dropping
As the heartbeat fades away
Now a new number
Loosen cuff with Velcro sound
Patient hears good news
Daily Prompt: Climbing
How do you measure the anger you feel?
You measure it with Love to make you patient and kind.
How do you measure the frustration you feel?
You measure it with Love that makes you understanding.
How do you measure the sadness you feel?
You measure it with Hope that gives you strength to keep going.
How do you measure the physical aches you feel?
You measure it with Hope that shows you the blue sky during a storm.
How do you measure the love you feel for a loved one?
Some days it’s hard to measure. Some days it’s measured with a teaspoon because it’s so hard to find. Some days there are no earthly words to measure the abundance that you feel inside your heart.
The last few days, I have felt all of these. My responsibilities have increased. Caregiving is transitional and what I did yesterday may not be what is needed today. On these days of transition, focus on the love. Focus on the strength of your loved one. Look in those eyes and remember when and where you first loved them.
This is all any of us can do. Focus on the love. Look for the blue sky during a storm and hope the sun returns tomorrow.
Daily Prompt: Measure
This writer wife is tired
And the quality of today’s blog post is weak.
One hubby sick with pneumonia
And three hospital nights.
A parade of nurses
And treatment for breathing issues.
Finally feeling better
And able to taste food.
Doctors allowing hospital discharge
And the paperwork will be completed.
Hubby smiling and pleased as punch
And we’re happily going home today.
Daily Prompt: Pleased