Even when we say, “Oh, God” or “Oh, my God” or plain old “God!” it’s a prayer of sorts. Whether we’re sharing grief, frustration, or joy, God hears us.
March 8, 2020Posted inBarbara Meyers, beach read, dads, daughters, If You Knew, parents, Reading, Romance Novels, Uncategorized, Writing
Joy left home at 18 with a boy her minister father didn’t approve of. Joy and Mike marry in Vegas and arrive in LA. Shortly thereafter Joy discovers she’s pregnant and before she gives birth Mike is killed in a motorcycle accident. Broke, pregnant and widowed, Joy calls home. Her father, Art, says, “You’ve made your bed. Now lie in it.” He hangs up on her.
November 11, 2018Posted inaging, death, dying, Family, God, hospice, nursing home, parents, senior citizens, Uncategorized
She had been in a nursing home for several years, deteriorating at a snail’s pace. On my annual visits, my brother and I would question the wisdom of stockpiling old people in places like this.
Between father and daughter: “I’m who I am because of you.” Meghan McCain gives a heartfelt, emotional eulogy for her late father, Senator John McCain. Through her tears she shares…
“We did the best we could.”
At the time I thought, yeah right. That was your best? Well, it wasn’t nearly good enough. Parents of their generation didn’t compliment their children because they didn’t want them to get a big head.
my audience is a lot like me: female; avid fiction reader; enjoys various romance genres and women’s fiction, suspense and mystery; mature; intelligent; loves libraries; owns a computer and an ebook reading device; has a smart phone she fears is smarter than she is; doesn’t completely grasp or understand social media but makes the attempt to; won’t waste time on bad books; takes advantage of senior discounts if available.
“We never agreed. You dictated and eventually I swallowed my own objections. I’ve been choking on them ever since. Joy is here now and she stays.” Marcy tugged Joy’s hand and Joy followed her to the kitchen feeling her father’s stare of disapproval like bullet holes in her back.
We sit with her and we become zombies too. Not the flesh-eating kind. Just the vacant non-thinking kind because all we think about is how sad our mother’s life has become. How powerless we are to do anything about it. How much we want to get out of this place. We leave and never want to come back.
Stick to the basics of reading, writing, and arithmetic. Everything else will fall in to place. Don’t feel like you have to replicate a school day.
I can be sympathetic and empathetic, but when people don’t do anything to take care of themselves, to take the reins of their own lives and health and well-being, then I wonder why I should help them when they won’t help themselves.