Death Do Us Part

Good evening, my nocturnal blogsters. If you have a better memory than mine, (and I bet my life you do) then you know that I work with seniors- very old seniors- at an assisted living center. Although I'm not supposed to have favorites, I must admit I've gotten quite attached to a selected few. Some of them are real assholes, and don't make the favorite list... SO, I spend the majority of my time with my couples- I like to call them MY couples, because they live in my building and treat me like family. Couples are rare in an assisted living center, because by the age of 80, most of them are widowed and have been for years. The women far out number the men, which leads me to believe that we just live longer. Period. A home full of 80 year old ladies. Joy.

I dedicate this post to my couples tonight, because one of my favorite couples isn't doing so well. Tina, 1/2 of my couple, may die within the next few days. Walter, her husband, is sitting by her side in a hospital, and he'll never leave her, not even for a moment. They have been married for 58 years. They are, and always were, very much in love.

Walter is in pretty good shape for his age. He wears a cell phone on his belt, and knocks 20 years off his life with his "Vanz" slip on shoes. He lives in his house of 36 years, but arrives at the center in the early morning to have breakfast with Tina, and stays until very late at night, making sure she has everything that she needs. They were always quick to participate in my daily activities, even if they were occupied or tired. They like me and don't want to let me down. They are two perfect angels, meant to be, and even burdened with what was, is, and will be, they still possess genuine, kind, caring souls.

I saw them every day, and the last time I saw Tina, she was walking with her physical therapist. They sat down so she could take a short rest, and I told her she had had a busy day and should go take a nap. She looked fine otherwise, and I had no idea it may be the last time I would see her there. I found out today that she went into the hospital, and my heart sank at the thought of Walter, sitting there by her side, alone. So I went to see them. I called first, and Walter answered. He was alone, and said she wasn't doing well. He asked if I would bring the 4th of July picture that I had taken of her. He said it was a good picture. I brought that picture and lots of others he had probably forgotten about or didn't know I had. I put my 3 favorite ones in a frame, 2 in which they were sitting together, smiles on their faces. When I arrived, I sat down next to Walter and as soon as I looked at him, I cried. I think he cried a little too. He said it was ok, several times. But it wasn't. He was trying to be strong, even in the sterile room that his wife may never leave. He thanked me several times for the pictures and for the balloons I brought to brighten the room. In my card to Tina, I wrote that she inspired me to find love and that things wouldn't be the same without her. She couldn't open her eyes and she could barely speak, but she did manage to say my name, and the word "thirsty." Walter held a small cup of tea with a straw to her mouth and helped her to drink. She managed the word "sweet", referring to the tea, so he walked over to a counter where he had saved a few packets of sugar and blended one in. He returned to Tina and by her side, held the cup and straw for her again. Til death do us part. It was the most beautiful moment. I said goodbye to Walter in a way that wasn't final, with just the tiniest bit of hope in my eyes, behind the tears. I always knew I'd get attached to my residents, and it was my only concern going in. If she doesn't pull through, this may be my first death, and I hope if I stay in this field, my last will feel the same.

For Wilmotine.

Time.

Who sings that song, "Time keeps on slippin...into the future?" Was it Britney Spears? Pink Floyd? I've been thinking alot lately about time, and how fucking fast it goes by. Now, I know there have been many times when it seemed to creep as slow as the line in the Golden Corral on a Sunday, but for the most part, it flies by and before we know it, we have kids who don't know who Maddonna is. Now that I work with old people at the end of their lives, I have grown a much greater appreciation for life and time. I can't help but think about myself sitting in a wheelchair in an assisted living center, if my kids can afford it, withering away with 100 other old people who feel like today could be the last day of their lives. One day I'll go into detail about my experiences there, and the stories I've been told. Again, I am tired and my uncomfortable bed is seducing me into it. But I needed to get this off my old, wrinkly chest. Thanks for reading.

p.s. I'm also addicted to dark beer, black coffee, and good,dark company.

Yours,

ADDICTION

BRIGETTE PUGH SAID...
I had one of those far away moments the other day. One minute I was putting stuff in a bag for the kids' swim play date and the next moment I was wondering how I managed to get myself responsible for two more people? The space between the present and when I used to get paid a dollar and hour to babysit evaporated. Some days I wish I could take the dollar and go home.

For those of you who do not read my COMMENTS, this was a comment to my post "Far Away", left by my faithful friend. I thought it was a good read, and worthy of a post on the front page.

Back to reality and my own uncertain moods and words, I'd like to say this: I'm a bit tipsy and a bit angry, and don't honestly know how to approach this at this very moment, without coming across as a complete schizophrenic psychopath. (So I'll do it anyway.)

Addiction. Whathafuck?

What are we truly addicted to? Yes, I'm including all of you assholes as well. No one's excluded, no one's left out. Me first.

I'm addicted to...chocolate, bread, cheese, unsweetened iced tea, my cell phone, my make-up, the occasional fried food, and my couch. And music- I like music.

So. I guess 8 out of 9 are not so healthy. But hey- I never was, and never said I would be, at the age of well, thirty-something. But my addictions are weighing heavy on me this evening, and I feel they should be addressed. GOD, I'm so disgustingly honest.

So honest, that I must say I'm too tired to finish this post. Hopefully I'll remember next time what I was trying to say. So sorry, my sorry friends.

Love be to all,

Far Away

OK, bloggers. This may very well be the most serious post you'll read from me- or maybe not- who knows.

As you know, Rawboy is moving out. I swear. Although I prematurely went through my mourning phase over the whole ordeal, I am now at peace with the situation and am looking forward to his absence. I want to reclaim my house and myself. I no longer want to share groceries or moments or space. The remainder of his journey has absolutely nothing to do with ME. So good-bye, Rawboy. You made for a great story.

On a dimmer note, I am feeling very far away. Tonight, especially, as I lay in bed and fantasize about the past, thoughts of old lovers and happier times pass through my mind like fast clouds. I thought about where I was then and where I'm at now. And I feel very far away. I don't know how else to explain it. Just far away.

So after a very pathetic orgasm, the tears start to crawl down my cheeks and into my ears, and maybe God sees the sadness in my face, and maybe not. I just want that miscellaneous pill to kick in so I can fall asleep.

My new job is kicking my ass, but in a good way. I love my job. "Activities Director" for these people has somehow morphed into hairstyler, ass-wiper, wheelchair pusher, feed me-clothe me, counselor, and mediator, among other things. I'm finding that they need me much more for their daily routine than they need me for random activities. And that's ok. Being there for them makes me happy and gives me a hell of alot more purpose than serving a steak or mixing a drink. Now I just need more time in the day. I'm tired. I need gas money. And where's my social life.

Okaaaaay, pill...what the hell?

So next month it's back to living alone, talking to myself, and scrounging for mortgage money. I guess I'll get to know my dog a little better, as well as my couch. I am a part of a large population of strong single women, and all I can say is- I've made it this far. Trust me- I shouldn't have.

Brigette, if you're out there... you're a kick-ass chick. If I were a guy,(or gay), I'd want you for myself. Hang in there. And thank you for always saving me.

And Rawboy, thank you for tonight's pina colada. (He added frozen organic bananas!)

Much love to you all-