Wednesday, January 7, 2015


It's 17 Degrees outside.  How cold is it in your neck of the woods?   The Midwest is sending the deep freeze our way today.  Predicted to get down to 1 degree tonight here in Connecticut.

My eyes popped open just before 5 a.m.  Ahh, back on schedule.  Stayed tucked under for an hour, praying for the first half, musing for the second half about what to write here.  The heartfelt?  The account of yesterday?  Today's aspirations?  Gossip?  Philosophy?

I can use up 15 minutes easily.  I'll write another get-it-all-out post!

Three women I know are intimately involved with the cusp of life.  No, not the cusp of marriage.  I wish.

One of these, my next door neighbor in her 70's, has been caring for her ailing husband for nearly ten years, when his bladder cancer made its first appearance.  I don't know her well.  I'd say she's an artfully dressed well heeled suburbanite, always spinning his grizzly details into light banter.  Her heart must be breaking but she isn't going there.  I don't see her often but I keep an eye on her driveway, because one of these days it will be filled with cars as her family draws her into its arms.

Another neighbor, an acquaintance I'll invite over soon, is well past that cusp, still in recovery phase.  Her brother-in-law died three years ago, then shortly after her own heart broken sister, both succumbing to cancer.  She was their ardent cheerleader and emotional support.  Also part time caregiver, and then sole cleaner upper. She's now two years out and ready to talk about it.

My dear friend Mary, is, by all searing evidence, perilously close to this cusp.  Her husband has lived 14 years through an incurable cancer  - part luck part determination part expertise part love part irritation.  I'll see her this week. 

I want to wrap my arms around them all.  But I'm scared at the same time.  Such is life, isn't it?

  Good morning.
Wishing you a day of cuddling and warmth


  1. This post reminds me of a good, stream of conscious diary entry.

    We've got temperatures in the teens and six inches of snow is sitting in my driveway.

  2. Six inches of snow? Any body coming over to shovel it for you?

    My Friendship Coach wants me to draw my entries. 'Feeling' snapshots.

  3. Another reason for me to be grateful. Fred went quickly. None of that having to care for him and watching him slowly die. God knew I wasn't cut out to be a caregiver. I probably would have ended up being resentful. That's the kind of selfish, scaredy cat person I am.

  4. You're perfectly normal! I haven't known a caregiver without a few 'I'm gonna kill 'im' fantasies. We couldn't have survived the ordeal without the comic relief from our selfish scaredy cat stories.